A Bellemisère Academy Story

Content Warnings: BDSM Fantasy, non-consensual, F/m, F/f, M/f, femdom, lesdom, maledom bondage, bondage slavery, sexual slavery, slave training, chastity cage, kidnapped, lingerie, leather, Bellemisère Academy, St. Sebastian’s College

Bellemisère Academy and St. Sebastian’s College belong to Cotinusa

Isaac hated the “bus.” 

For starters, it wasn’t even a real bus. Not in any way, shape, or form. It was a sleek black Audi with tinted windows. Nice enough to look like it belonged in the parking garage of the luxury apartment building it was being driven to, but it wasn’t exactly a jaguar or a BMW. Nobody’s heads were going to turn to look at it passing by. It was called a bus because its job was to deliver its cargo of students to and from “school.” 

On top of that, getting halfway comfortable in the backseat was impossible. The fact that Isaac’s wrists were trapped behind his back with tight leather cuffs made it hard enough to find a truly relaxing position. His hands, contained within leather mitts that kept them balled into useless fists, were annoyingly sweaty. So was his neck, underneath the collar he was wearing. And then there were the leather pants, which Isaac was convinced were exactly one size too small for him. It left nothing to the imagination, just the way Mistress wanted it. She loved being able to see and grope her Darling’s “nice and firm ass” whenever she wanted.  

Maybe the worst part of the bus ride was being seated next to one of his fellow passengers. Today it was Daffodil that had the middle seat to Isaac’s right. She wasn’t a problem on her own, in fact she was very nice whenever Isaac had a chance to talk to her without supervision. He enjoyed talking to her. But the way they sat hip to hip put constant pressure on Isaac’s denied and caged cock that was outlined so clearly in his leather pants… 

Isaac closed his eyes. He had to redirect his thoughts, focus on anything other than the woman sitting so close to him or the other women in the car. 

…Prisons used buses too, didn’t they? Isaac had seen The Shawshank Redemption and the Better Call Saul finale. No matter what the staff at St. Sebastian’s said, the black Audi he was stuck in was a prison bus. Not a school bus. The thought made Isaac chuckle to himself. How had it taken him more than a year to make that comparison? 

Nearly every head in the car turned in Isaac’s direction, both the two women sharing the back seat with him and the one sitting next to the driver in front. Isaac felt his face go white a split second before the driver paused her classical music and spoke. 

“Is there something you’d like to share with the rest of us, boy?” 

“No ma’am,” Isaac answered as fast as he could. Damn it. How could he have been so careless? 

Her eyes, visible from Isaac’s view of the rearview mirror, briefly glanced up to look at him. She was a black woman with prominent bangs, and was staff at Bellemisère instead of St. Sebastian’s. Isaac didn’t know her well enough to be able to guess at her moods. This was the first time she had ever been the bus driver. 

“Are you sure? I know I heard something just now. What about you girls? Did any of you hear it?” She waited for the quiet chorus of affirmatives from her three female charges. “I thought so. And since I know that no one on this bus would interrupt my music if it wasn’t important…” 

She trailed off, leaving Isaac squirming in his seat. Answering without being explicitly told to was a gamble. It seemed like she was inviting him to fill the air, but ‘good boys should be seen and not heard,’ and all that. She could just as easily be looking for an excuse to dole out some extra punishment.  

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said after a few seconds. “I just, um, remembered something funny and laughed before I could stop myself. It won’t happen again.” 

“I should hope not. You’re a second year student, right?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Then you should know better than to make a nuisance of yourself. Especially when you might distract a driver. I don’t know what they’re filling your empty little head with at the boys’ college, but if you bother me again I’ll pull over, shove the biggest ball gag I have in your mouth and show you how we discipline unruly students at Bellemisère. Is that understood?” 

“Yes ma’am!” 

“Good.” 

Silence reigned. The driver didn’t say anything else, but neither Isaac nor any of his fellow prisoners let themselves react for several minutes after her music returned to the speakers. One by one, Isaac felt more than saw the others sag back into their seats. First the fit Asian-American woman who was handcuffed to the rear passenger door on Daffodil’s other side. She was Naomi to her fellow students when they could get away with it, and Number One to her Master and the staff. Second was Daffodil, the tall, slim blonde who refused to tell anyone what her real name was. But it wasn’t until Jackrabbit, the petite Mexican woman in the front seat whose actual name was Juanita, visibly relaxed that Isaac allowed himself to silently sigh in relief. 

This driver was a real hardass. A lot of the Bellemisère and St Sebastian’s staff members who were assigned to deliver the four captive “students” to their respective owners over weekends and longer school breaks were irritable. None of them wanted to spend a long-ish commute to and from New York City when they could stay at their school and find some poor sap to torment. But most of them didn’t flip out like that when one of their passengers sighed or chuckled, so this one seemed to have especially little patience. 

Indignation surged up in Isaac’s chest, making his heart thump underneath his annoyingly tight shirt. He clenched his teeth and tightened his fists in their leathery prisons. Raw hatred–at this hardass driver, at all the psychotic “teachers” he was familiar with, and most of all at the woman who sent Isaac into this hellhole–threatened to make him explode. It was a familiar feeling, one that hadn’t been entirely beaten out of him even if he didn’t experience it as often as he had when this nightmare started. 

St. Sebastian’s College, it was called. A demented place where Isaac and dozens of other men were held prisoner and trained to serve the vile people who paid horrifying amounts of money to send them there. Their owners. Isaac’s owner was an executive at a company he applied for an internship at. He hadn’t really expected to get the position, so was surprised and excited when he was told that his interview had made enough of an impression on one of the higher-ups that he was being offered a “career enrichment experience” instead. 

If only he’d known what kind of “career” that higher-up had in mind for him. 

For over a year now, three semesters of time, Isaac had been taught to please his Mistress, sexually and in any other way she wanted. But mostly sexually. It only took a few days for Isaac to lose count of all the tortuous punishments and humiliations he was subjected to when he tried to resist, all while they pretended it was happening in a high class private school. 

Bellemisère Academy was the women’s version. There were differences, for some reason Isaac had yet to figure out Bellemisère was staffed entirely by women while St. Sebastian’s had a mix of both sexes lording it over the students, but they were the same organization. They were even physically close enough that students who served owners of the opposite sex occasionally had joint training without any difficulty, and that one “bus” could collect and transport students from both campuses when they were being sent or collected from the same destination. It was all one big sex slave school. 

Because that’s what Isaac and every other passenger in the sleek black car were. Captive, unwilling sex slaves. 

Was it any wonder that Isaac would occasionally get angry about it?

But Isaac was used to suppressing that anger by now. He let himself fall back against the headrest, took deep (silent) breaths to calm down, and made himself stare out the tinted window. Other cars shot past while the landscape streamed on by. They were drawing close to the city. Trees had long since given way to the outskirts of the concrete jungle. The driver’s music swelled up in some epic brass blare. 

God, these drives were BORING. Some of the drivers–it was usually St. Sebastian’s staff driving them to school and Bellemisère taking them back to their owners–would speak to the passengers. It wasn’t friendly conversation, obviously. They would quiz the slaves on things “all good boys and girls should know,” play embarrassing mind games, and have them describe their “studies” in graphic detail. All of it was meant to keep reminding them of their place as sex slaves, as if they needed extra reminders. But even that was better than the drag of silently waiting for the drive to end, like Isaac had to do with this woman right now. The only thing she seemed to do do to passengers to pass the time was–

Oh, there it was. The driver was reaching out to run a hand over Juanita’s nylon-covered thigh. 

It wasn’t a hard grope. It was casual, almost gentle. A simple touch to remind everyone who was in charge. Most of the drivers did stuff like that with the front seat passenger. A touch of the thigh like Juanita was getting right then, a quick groping of a breast, or in Isaac’s case a grasp of his crotch. Staff members thought it was amusing to get a good feel of Isaac’s ever-present chastity cage, as Isaac learned when it was his turn to sit up front. 

Seeing it happen then and there forced Isaac’s attention back to something he normally tried to ignore on bus trips: the fact that he was trapped in a confined space with several sexually skilled, gorgeous women. 

Daffodil shifted in place, inadvertently rubbing her leg slightly against Isaac’s as she did. She had legs for days, being such a tall woman, and wore thigh high suede boots as part of her customized uniform. In the further corner of Isaac’s eye, beyond those magnificent booted legs, Isaac could see Naomi, who he knew was wearing nothing but lingerie under her body-covering overcoat, crossing her own stocking-clad legs. It wouldn’t help to look out the window, since all of this was perfectly visible in its reflection too. 

Isaac’s penis throbbed against his chastity cage. He couldn't help it. As much as he didn’t want to be aroused by the presence and sight of his fellow captives–they all had more than enough of that to deal with outside of his imagination–he simply could not help it. Isaac’s cock was ALWAYS caged at school. His Mistress wanted it all to herself, and she got what she wanted. With the lone exception of the staff members who strapped Isaac down to wash him, nobody other than Mistress was allowed to touch his cock. That meant it was kept firmly under lock and key whenever he was away from her. 

So bursts of indignant hatred wasn’t the only troublesome, distracting emotion Isaac had plenty of practice suppressing. 

The drive continued. Isaac watched as they drew closer to one of the famous city’s enormous bridges, which soon enough gave way to the skyscrapers. He saw countless people making their way to and from whatever business they had, all with no idea that four captive sex slaves were hidden just a few feet away. Sometimes he wondered if anyone else was in a comparable situation. 

Eventually the inconspicuous car turned off the street and into the parking garage of the building all the car’s student cargo lived in when they weren’t at school. It probably had a name, but Isaac had never heard it. The luxury apartment building was friendly to the underground network of sex slave owners that Isaac had no idea existed before it swallowed and collared him. As far as he knew, all the people who rented or owned apartments there had unwilling human property at their beck and call, though only the four slaves in the car seemed to be enrolled at Bellemisère or St. Sebastian’s. 

That meant security. The people who ran the building took no chances when it came to their clientele’s captive property. From the outside it looked like any other parking garage. There was a gate and a bored-looking security guard manning it in one of those glass stations. You could spy a couple rows of cars inside before the sloping floor turned onto the next level. Isaac suspected those were the security team’s cars. 

Two turns later, it was exactly a floor and a half above that outside entrance where the real entrance was located. A heavy duty steel door that started sliding open as soon as the guard let in a resident. Right behind that was another glass security station, manned by a much more alert guard. Then, another half-floor up, was a second heavy duty steel door. Behind that was the real parking garage. 

Cameras were all over the place. Some of them were obvious, others were harder to notice. All the lighting was fluorescent, with no windows or openings to let anyone see outside. Doors that were visible yet unobtrusive were on every floor. Guards would come streaming out if anyone decided to cause trouble in the garage. There was no point in trying to make a break for it or resisting your owner here. 

Isaac had heard from more than one person that the building’s main entrance was similarly secure. Apparently no slave was allowed within a floor of the lobby without supervision, and you had to pass through a security checkpoint to even be allowed inside. Isaac hadn’t seen any of that himself though. He only left or entered the place in a vehicle, either with his Mistress or school staff. 

The car came to a stop in its regular drop off spot, and the driver initially said nothing as she got out and circled around to Juanita’s door. It wasn’t until she had pulled the small raven-haired woman out by the arm that she leaned in to bark out another command. 

“Behave yourselves.” She waited for another chorus of obedient yes ma’ams before she left, pulling Juanita along. 

She didn’t need to say it. Everyone knew the car was in sight of the cameras. No one would actually try to escape the locked car while she delivered each passenger one by one to their owners. All the three slaves would be able to do was sit there and wait. 

And talk to each other.

“What were you laughing about before?” Asked Daffodil. 

Isaac blinked. He turned to find both his seatmates looking at him. “Um, nothing. I was laughing at myself, mostly. It wasn’t actually funny.” 

“It was funny enough for you to risk making noise,” Naomi observed.

“No it wasn’t. I just kind of… forgot where I was.” Isaac looked down, embarrassed. But neither woman pressed the point. Daffodil even gave him a light, sympathetic touch. They understood. 

And just like that, the ice was broken and the bus riders could talk. Not about “school” or their captors. At least not right away. Free conversations between slaves usually went in that direction at some point, it was hard not to talk about it when you spoke with the only other people who knew what you were going through, but they always began with anything else. Basic small talk, mostly. The unseasonably warm weather, how much everyone did or did not enjoy the driver’s music, that type of thing. It was all they really could do while they waited for the driver to return in the mostly dark car.

Before long, their quiet conversation was interrupted by a commotion outside. Isaac had to crane his neck a bit to see what was happening. 

A pair of figures were walking to another car, a parked Mercedes. One of them was obviously a resident of the building, a woman Isaac might have vaguely recognized if she wasn’t so far away and her face wasn’t obstructed by long, wavy black hair. She wore a nice cream colored overcoat, comfy low-heeled boots, and she was dragging along her sex slave. The slave in question, a woman who’d been squeezed into a scarlet latex outfit, was struggling in an automatic way Isaac recognized. She wasn’t actually resisting, just trying to stay upright as her owner yanked her around on unsteady feet by her dyed red hair. And anyone would be unsteady in heels like that. 

In a flash, the ranting Mistress was shoving her property up against the glass door and smacking her across both cheeks. Isaac could hear the latex squeaking against the window. After a few seconds of that she grabbed the unfortunate woman by the hair again and practically clung her onto the car’s hood. Isaac winced as she started wildly smacking the unlucky woman’s ass. Latex wasn’t exactly the thickest material in the world to protect the covered parts of her butt, and it probably wouldn’t be long before the uncovered parts were just as red as the material. 

“I can’t get a good look from this angle. What’s going on?” Naomi asked from the other end of the back seat. 

“Just someone getting punished. Can’t tell you more than that. They’re too far away to hear clearly,” answered Daffodil. Isaac felt her twist back into a normal sitting position beside him. It was a bit unusual to see a punishment delivered so publicly (even if no one was standing around, the cameras were always watching down here), but it wasn’t really anything special. There was no need to watch it when you experienced it firsthand often enough. 

Isaac was about to stop watching himself when the Mistress abruptly abandoned her assault on the slave’s rump in favor of getting something from her car. The slave remained in place, keeping herself bent over the hood of the car. She even stuck her ass out a bit further, unless Isaac’s mind was playing tricks on him. The only way she moved at all was to pull her head upright. 

“She’s not tied up at all,” Isaac observed out loud. The latex-clad woman’s limbs were totally free of anything other than shiny red gloves and stockings. She was either very well trained or one of those ignorant suckers that thought they were in an extremely kinky, but still consensual relationship. Isaac had met a guy like that right here in this building. 

“So? I’m not tied up either. And neither was Jackrabbit.” Daffodil didn’t call her Juanita. It wasn’t only her own real name the blonde refused to use, she stuck to all the humiliating new names the owners picked out for them. Hell, she stuck to all the stupid little terms Academy teachers tried to make all their prisoners use. She thought it was safer that way. Isaac didn’t want to understand why, but he did. Daffodil didn’t want to be punished for accidentally saying someone’s real name. 

“Good for you,” Isaac rattled his cuffs a bit. The short little chain binding his wrists together made just enough of a jingle to remind Daffodil that she was the only one in the car who wasn’t restrained at the moment. “But it’s still pretty rare to see someone in a collar go untied in this place, you know?” 

“Not really. I’m stuck in Chloe-sama’s apartment all the time. I only ever get to leave to go back to the Academy.” 

“Oh.” 

The angry Mistress had found what she was looking for: a sizable strap on. She was in the process of putting it on when Isaac turned back in his seat. There was no reason to watch any more, and Isaac was starting to suspect that the show was the point. Maybe this lady was an exhibitionist as much as she was mad at her slave. It could be that the reason he didn’t recognize her was because she just moved in and he’d be seeing her make spectacles like this more often in the future. 

“I don’t think it’s too unusual,” Naomi spoke up. “My Master sends me and his other slave to the building’s gym without restraints fairly often. Never at the same, and I go more often than she does, but I see other captives there too. Sometimes they’re tied up, especially if their owner comes down with them, but they’re usually not since it’s dangerous to work out in bondage. No sense in ‘damaging the goods.’ At least not when no one’s around to see it.” 

“Huh.” Now that he thought about it, Isaac realized that he mostly saw other slaves in the building at events. Parties and gatherings and stuff like that. The occasional orgy. His Mistress was a bit of a social butterfly, at least as much as one could be a social butterfly in a secret underground society of bondage slave owners, and liked to show him off. 

She never sent him out alone, either. Isaac had never seen the building’s gym for himself. He did all his exercising in a private gym his Mistress kept in her suite. Usually under her personal supervision. Workouts with her were intense in a lot more ways than one. 

“I didn’t know your master had another slave,” said Isaac a minute later, when the rest of her words registered. “Why isn’t she here with us right now? Did he buy her from another organization?” 

“She graduated, right?” asked Daffodil. 

“Yes, she graduated,” Naomi confirmed. “She was put up for adoption when she finished her original courses and Master bought her. He’s thinking about sending her back, since her two-year program was really generalized and he wants her to have more specific skills. But he’s probably not going to do it until I graduate so he still has someone around full time.” 

Isaac frowned. “Why are you Number One if he already owned a full time slave?” 

“He actually bought me first, straight from the, um, catalog.” Naomi paused long enough to shake off unwanted memories of her ‘enrollment’ at Bellemisère. “Then he picked her and took her straight home during my first semester… You should avoid mentioning the numbers if you ever meet her, she doesn't like being Number Two. At all. It’s not really a ranking, but… well… try telling her that.” 

“Duly noted,” Isaac said. “I’m just happy this is still a four-person bus ride. If there were five of us you just know they’d stuff someone in the trunk instead of using a bigger car.” 

The two women were giving him a look. 

“What?” 

“... Number Three is in her first year right now. She’s staying back at the Academy until Christmas, Master’s present to himself, but she’s pretty well behaved. So this probably will be a five-person bus next semester.” 

Isaac let his head fall back against the headrest. “Great.” 

The three playthings fell into a few seconds of companionable silence, until Daffodil twisted around to get another look at the Mercedes-owning Mistress and her latex-wearing toy over Isaac’s shoulder.

“Oh damn, she put on a strap on and she’s just–damn. Christ, lady, do you really have to do that where anyone can see it? I get enough of that back up in–Oh shit! Ms Givings is back!” 

Isaac blinked. He had enough time to ask “What?” before the right-side door was abruptly ripped open. Naomi yelped, since her hand was still cuffed to it and she wasn’t ready. 

“Shut up,” barked the driver, who was apparently called Ms Givings. She hauled Naomi to her feet and shoved her against the inside of the door. “You should have been ready for me.” 

“Yes ma’am, I’m sorry ma’am.” Naomi’s voice was desperate. Isaac and Daffodil kept quiet, hoping their own inattentiveness wasn’t noticed. 

“I said shut up, you stupid little bitch. That means you stop. Talking! Or do you want me to bend you over this car like that slut over there?” 

Naomi replied with a mute, energetic shake of her head. Ms Givings paid it no mind. She was hunched over to unlock Naomi’s handcuffs, a silver pair that a cop might carry instead of the more encompassing leather kind that was currently locked around Isaac’s wrists. And almost as soon as one cuff was freed from the door it was re-applied to Naomi’s other wrist, leaving her hands bound together in front of her. It wasn’t the most secure way to handcuff someone, but the sight of her standing there in that nice coat, with stockings and heels poking out from the bottom, wrists locked demurely in front… it made for a hell of an image. 

“Now come on,” Ms Givings didn’t bother with a leash this time. She grabbed Naomi by the back of the neck to pull and push her along towards the elevator, slamming the door shut with a car-shaking thud as she did. Isaac and Daffodil watched as she marched Naomi away, past the Mercedes owner who had finished fucking her slave on the hood in favor of pressing her up against a door and feeling her up. 

“She seems nice,” Isaac whispered when the elevator door shut.  

“Yeeaaah. Bus driving would normally be beneath Ms Givings. She had a pretty high position. But something happened a couple days ago. Don’t ask me what. I don’t know and I don’t want to know. All I know is that the headmistress is pissed off at her. Not enough to demote her or anything, but she’s far enough in the doghouse to get saddled with some grunt work. I’m honestly surprised she didn’t explode at one of us on the ride over. I mean, she got mad at you, but…” 

“That wasn’t the same thing,” Isaac replied. She had not been as angry at him as she’d been at Naomi just now. He started thinking about Arthur, a high ranked St. Sebastian’s guard with a similarly short temper. 

“Not even a little.” 

The two of them looked away from the windows and at each other. Neither spoke. The interior lights switched off. 

Then, at precisely the same moment, they were on each other in a sudden, desperate kiss. 

The two pressed against each other with willing abandon at first, then shifted into something softer. Isaac felt her hands on his sides and responded as best he could with his own hands bound behind him. It was thrilling to kiss someone because you wanted to, and not because you would be viciously punished if you refused. Happiness and fear, sorrow and fury, hope and despair all roiled around inside Isaac as tried to give Daffodil as much of an experience as she gave him. 

It was only possible because of the tinted windows. Otherwise the cameras would pick it up and someone would probably say something to get both slaves in massive trouble. And this was only the fifth time they’d ever done it, since it was rare for it to be just the two of them remaining in this car. It would have been so easy for whichever driver was on duty to pull out Isaac before Naomi or Daffodil before anyone else (it wasn’t like she was permanently assigned to the middle seat).  

Isaac longed to be able to touch her like she could touch him. Gently. It felt good to kiss and be caressed by someone who saw and thought of you as another human being and not a toy who existed solely for their personal amusement. She paused the kiss, took his face in her hands, and went back in for more. Isaac strained against his leather handcuffs, wishing he could give her as much of that feeling as she could give to him. He didn’t even care about the way his throbbing cock was straining against his chastity cage. 

They weren’t star-crossed lovers. This kiss was not the end result of some passionate longing they felt for each other. It was simply not allowed. Isaac and Daffodil’s respective owners were extremely possessive. They didn’t want anyone other than themselves or the necessary trainers touching their property, and would deliver harsh punishments if they ever found out said property was kissing anyone other than them. That was all this was. Two kidnapped and very unwilling captives sharing a secret defiance with each other. 

They let it last a bit longer than they probably should have before breaking it off. Panting gasps of air were the only sound in the car. 

“How’s my lipstick?” 

“It’s good,” Isaac had to strain his eyes a bit in the dark, even with the fluorescent garage lighting that streamed in through the tinted windows, but he could see her face well enough. “Maybe touch it up a bit.” 

Daffodil had already pulled the tube out of the discrete little pouch she’d been given to carry. She was to look her best at all times, and generally trusted not to be tied up 24/7. 

“You have a little bit on you,” she said a second later. Isaac stuck his head out so she could wipe the red traces off his lips. “There.” She wiped her own fingers off inside of her makeup pouch. 

And just like that, there was no remaining trace of their stolen kiss. 

Well. No trace besides the precum that was leaking out of Isaac’s caged cock into his leather pants, but that was usually there. Mistress wouldn't think anything of it even if she did notice. 

It wouldn’t take Ms Givings long to return, but there was enough time for Isaac and Daffodil to talk. They were quiet and careful as they discussed things that had become normal to them but would sound insane to anyone living a normal life. Gossip about their schools, commiserating about their owners, and so on. They kept an eye on the elevator this time, so they wouldn't jump in surprise when Ms Givings came back like Naomi had. Because of this, they saw the Mercedes owner finish up what she was doing, shove her slave into the trunk and drive out of the garage. By coincidence, the elevator opened to reveal Ms Givings just as that car disappeared from view.

“Well, I guess this is me.” Isaac whispered to Daffodil as the formidable woman drew close to his door. In just a few seconds she would be pulling him to his feet and shoving or pulling him towards his owner’s suite, where he would be spending the weekend getting bound and fucked in whatever ways most pleased Mistress. 

Then, when the weekend was over, he’d be dragged back into the “bus” for the ride back to St. Sebastian’s College and another week of classes, bondage, and discipline. 

Isaac sighed, and said the only thing that came to his mind. 

“I’ll see you on Monday.”