Mature Content

The Schism

Part 6

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"Mistress, why am I cold?" After years of sweltering in my owner's home, it seemed surreal that one act of passion should leave me shivering.

"Did my mother never kiss you, Syd?"

"Only with a whip, Mistress."

"Ahh, a learning experience then. Demonia's kisses weaken prey. But you have fed from me now, slave. You are now my Famula. My kisses will no longer weaken you but strengthen you. Your body is as warm as mine now. You'll be stronger too, soon, fast as well."

It was dawning on me that after all this time in chains my world was being turned on its head. I looked around the room. In the past, I had entered only to clean it. Now it seemed like a window into another world. A world I would soon be living in. A question that would have been impertinent in the past escaped my lips.

"Mistress, what do you use the computer for?"

"Games, mostly, and surfing the web. You know Facebook and Twitter."

"No, Mistress, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Really? When were you enslaved?"

"Nineteen eighty, Mistress."

"Ahh, yeah, I can see why you'd be a bit out of touch."

"What year is it now, Mistress?"

"It's the year two-thousand and fifteen. The twenty-first century."

I was glad I was laying down as my head started spinning. I was fifty-six years old! I'd been a slave for two decades. Murderers served less time in chains than I had. What was the world like out there? Visions of TV shows predicting the future flashed through my mind. Were people dressed in silver jumpsuits now? Holidaying on the moon, perhaps?

"Mistress, I may be a bit out of touch."

"Don't worry, my love, we'll get you caught up. But first, I think we need to re-invent you. Get in the shower, and then we'll go see the smith about your chains.

My collar was clamped in a vice, and the head of the rivet drilled out. It took ages and made lots of screeching noises. But, eventually, the drilling stopped, and the pin fell out, striking my shoulder as it fell.

The vice was released, and the collar swung open, and it too clattered to the ground. The sensation of being free of a collar was ghastly. I had never felt more naked. The air on my neck felt wrong, and my head seemed too free and wobbly.

The smith, a different man to the one who had riveted my old collar in place, laughed at the expression on my face. Then threw a stiff leather posture collar at my lover.

"You may want to put this on your new beau, Miss," he chortled. "Slaves get quite distressed if their throat's bare."

Suzie looked at the thing and shrugged. Stepping up to me, she wrapped the leather around my throat. She pulled the straps tight, and I was reminded of the days I was first collared. Back then, I was convinced I would be throttled by the ugly steel fetter about my neck. This new collar was unquestionably too tight and too tall, but I resolved to endure it for my new Mistress.

The stiff leather dug into my chin as I watched the smith repeat the drilling procedure on my cuffs. Just as with the collar, my arms felt light and fly-away once devoid of the chain.

I nearly bounced after my owner on the leash back from the smith. I was uncertain if the new strength she had mentioned had started to manifest. But I had just been relieved of a fair few pounds of steel, and all of a sudden I felt very light and free.

Returning to her quarters, Suzie sat me in a chair and started examining my hair.

"How did you wear it when my mother caught you? No, don't answer that, it's irrelevant. The main thing here is we need to see your ears," Mistress pulled my hair back and up, so both my ears were on view. "They're pretty, Syd, they'll look good in chains. You are cute enough... you could go super short. No chance of you looking boyish. Hmm, where are my clippers?"

I sat still as Suzie played with and cut my hair. By the time she was happy, it seemed most of it was now on my lap or scattered around the chair on which I sat.

"That looks good, but the colour is wrong... We should bleach it, so you get to see what you'll eventually look like." Thus I was dragged into her bathroom and soon had her massaging chemicals stinking of ammonia into my hair. This culminated with us both in the shower and having more wonderful sex.

After that, I was dragged down to one of the more sterile playrooms in Mistress Vanda's home. In short order, I was strapped to a padded chair, and my lover was wheeling up a tray of very pointy looking tools. As a regular bed partner of Ruth, I determined as a new Famula, I too was about to be similarly decorated. Perhaps counterintuitively, I anticipated the pain with relish. In my years enslaved, I had learned to equate pain with pleasure. I was sure the needle would be as delicious as any whip.

Once Mistress was happy with my new appearance, I was finally allowed to study the new me in a mirror. My hair had been reduced to a snow-white mohawk. While I agreed with my Mistress, that it was not masculine, it was quite a shock after decades of never cutting it. Silver rings were now set in both nipples, my septum and the hood of my clit. The collar looked as tight as it felt. Ruth wore a steel one, would I be getting a new collar?

"How does it make you feel, slave?" Asked my owner, hugging me from behind, as I stared at my reflection.

"Owned, Mistress," I confessed, gingerly tugging on one of the nipple rings. The pain sending delightful waves through me.

"Don't play with it, slave. It needs to heal. Besides, I'm the one who gets to tug on those in the future."

"Yes, Mistress," I meekly replied.

"Now, slave, on your knees. Eat me out again before we do your tongue." Silently I obeyed.

Later, with what felt like a scaffolding bar piercing my tongue, I was stood in front of another mirror as Mistress had me try on outfit after outfit. It was clear she wanted to pursue a fetish sex slave theme. As she experimented with corsets, catsuits and thigh-high boots. Yet she ended up leaving me in comparably vanilla latex leggings matched with a rubber hoodie style top. After falling off the three-inch heels she first gave me, Mistress gave me a pair of kitten-heeled ankle boots in black patent leather.

"I like you in rubber, girl. It shows off your curves."

"Thank you, Mistress," I responded.

"You are not sure?"

"Mistress," I managed to mumble past the iron beam in my mouth. "I think it's just that I've not worn a thing for twenty years. It feels strange to be covered. Plus, rubber clothes feel very odd too. If you like it though, that is all that matters. I'm your slave, Mistress. I truly do want to make you happy."

"I know you do, my love. I am indulging myself with these clothes for you. In these early days, you will taste differently. Eventually, you will become like Ruth. Until then, I wish to savour your embarrassment as much as I yearn to make you writhe under my whip." My new love smiled sardonically, "In truth though, the style and quality of latex fashion has improved massively in recent years. The flavour of the material enhances the taste of your suffering and shame, and I can entertain myself and still dress you stylishly."

Two days later, Mistress re-collared me. It was the biggest ceremony I'd ever seen, since becoming a slave, and it was laid on for me and my love. I later learned it was the nearest thing to a wedding the Demonia did. But with Mistress Vanda producing so few daughters, they were rarely held. Then again, because they were rare in House Bismarck, all the stops were pulled out.

Everyone was there in their finest clothes. I, like the rest of the slaves, went to my 'wedding' buck naked. I was led up the aisle by Ruth, who unusually was also nude. Once at the alter, I had my ears set with chains, like Ruth's, before Mistress stepped up with a new collar for me.

This collar was polished mirror-bright and had no clumsy or unsightly rivets to hold it shut. After Mistress removed the leather item I had been wearing, I had to beg for my new collar. Mistress then obliged by securing the new collar around my throat.

She said some words. I have no idea what they were, my ears were roaring, and I think I was close to fainting. But then the collar clicked shut. That tiny sound thundered in my head. I could be promoted no higher. Nor could I be demoted. I was now my lover's Famula, and I would die wearing this collar. Unlike the collar and chains, Mistress Vanda had enslaved me with, this collar was not to hold me in bondage. The primary function of this collar was to proclaim me a slave to all I met. For I would now go out into the world again. But I would be seen as nothing more than I was. Property, a thing, my lover's toy.

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