Coming Up In The Ranks

by Brad Mathews


Originally Published in Bondage in the Buff Vol. 2, No. 4

Transcribed by guardian46w
Story Codes: MF/f, bdsm, slave, sold, n/c, torture, whip, oral,  XX

The interior of the 747 seemed strange, almost frightening to Christine.  She had not been permitted to travel by herself for nearly five years.  Her newly found freedom was a bit unsettling and she wasn't sure that she liked it.  She had become very comfortable in her role as a slave.

Was it five years, already?  Yes, it had been that long since she had first become the property of one Wilson Gaiman.  Gaiman was one of the richest men on the East Coast.  Publicly, he was CEO and primary stockholder of Gaiman Enterprises, a conglomerate with a finger in practically every financial pie in the country.  Banking, pharmaceuticals, the auto industry, Gaiman covered it all.

What the public remained unaware of was Gaiman also ran a huge underground slave network that catered to the rich and powerful.  He and his people trained slaves, both male and female, in the art of pleasing their masters, and then sold them for huge sums of money.  Occasionally slaves would be used as bargaining chips as Christine had.  After three years as one of Gaiman's personal slaves, she had been given to Robin Haining, one of Gaiman's West Coast associates, to seal a business arrangement.  She had remained Haining's property ever since.

Now her master had ordered her to return to Gaiman's estate in upstate New York.  She was not told the reason for the journey, and as a slave it was not her place to ask.  Christine had risen through the slave's hierarchy and had recently been given the responsibility of adapting new slaves to their life of bondage.  Perhaps this trip was a test to see how far she could be trusted.

Christine's plane touched down at La Guardia only a few minutes behind schedule.  Since slaves are rarely permitted to wear clothes, this was, in fact, the first time she had been fully dressed in nearly a year, she had no luggage to claim.  She proceeded directly to the front of the terminal where she was to meet Braunbeck.

The limo was parked right by the exit, and the chauffeur stood waiting nearby.  Braunbeck was a huge bear of a man with short red hair and small sinister eyes.  In addition to his chauffeuring duties, he had often been given the responsibility of disciplining slaves.  Christine had felt the flat of his hand against her breasts and the stinging blow of his belt many times.

They exchanged no words of greeting.  Braunbeck opened the rear door of the limousine for Christine.  She climbed in.  Rather than enter through the driver's door, he climbed in beside her.  With the one-way reflective windows they were now completely sealed off from the outside.

"Take off your clothes," were the first words spoken to her by this man she had not seen in two years.  She immediately peeled off the red silk blouse and black skirt.  As uncomfortable as the clothes had been, she now felt vulnerable being naked in the presence of this man.

Braunbeck produced the shackles and with practice ease bound the naked girl's ankles together.  A metal band was placed on each of her wrist and then locked to special hooks on either side of the leather seat.  Christine was now kneeling on the limo seat with her arms outstretched as if crucified.  A leather slave collar completed the picture.  If she had felt vulnerable before, she was now totally helpless.

Braunbeck unfastened his belt.  Was he going to take her?  It certainly wouldn't have been the first time.  No, nothing quite that easy, she realized as he pulled the belt from its loops and curled it into a makeshift whip.  She recognized the leather strap even though it was becoming old and frayed.  It was the same one the chauffeur had used and apparently continued to use to punish the slaves.

"This is for keeping me waiting," he said.  The plane had only been a few minutes late, but Christine knew better than to argue.

The belt lashed through the air and struck a stinging blow to Christine's stomach.  Her breath caught in her throat, and before she even had a chance to exhale, a second blow landed across her left breast.  It wasn't until two more blows hit the soft, round breasts that she cried out.

Braunbeck paused for a moment to turn on the stereo system and turned the volume way up.  The car was not completely soundproof, and the driver evidently wanted the music to drown out Christine's cries.  She recognized Brahm's Fifth Concerto as it blasted from the speakers.

The next blow as a downward blow, that scored a direct hit on the slave girl's cunt.  Tears, streamed from her pretty, blue eyes.  Each blow now drew a full scream from Christine's lips, and her body heaved with sobs.  Bright red welts marked each of the points where the belt had lashed at her white skin.

Finally, Braunbeck stopped and threaded his belt through the loops of his uniform pants.  He switched off the music as well.  Now the only sound in the car was the sobbing of the bound, naked girl. 

"Guess that's enough for now," said Braunbeck.  "Mr. Gaiman and Anita are expecting you, and we all know how it's not good to keep folks waiting, don't we, little lady?"

Christine found it difficult to talk through her sobs, but not to answer would only invite further discipline.  "Yes, sir," she finally managed to say.

The Gaiman estate was an hour and a half north of the city, but Christine had enough on her mind to keep her from getting bored.  Braunbeck had said that Mr. Gaiman and Anita were waiting for her.  That could only be Anita Moran, the trainer who had ushered Christine into the world of slavery.  Anita's duties had been not unlike Christine's acquired responsibilities.

There were two types of slaves that worked their way into the underground slave network.  There was the natural submissive who actively sought out the network because of a deep-seated desire to be subjugated.  This type of person often made an excellent slave, and some would say too excellent.  With the desire to serve so firmly ingrained, there was no challenge for the master.

The second type of slave, included those who were brought into the network against their will.  These slaves, of course, required the most training.  Christine fell into his category.  Her boyfriend had been a New York cocaine dealer who owed some bad debts to some equally bad people.  To protect himself, he had given Christine to his creditors, knowing that they could get a good price for such a feisty young slave.

Gaiman had immediately bought her for himself and turned her over to Anita for training.  Christine looked back on that time in her life with mixed feelings.  She had eventually come to accept her role as slave and ultimately to enjoy it, but those first sessions with Anita...


Christine lay naked and shivering on the cold stone floor.  She had never been so terrified.  She was blindfolded and she felt steel shackles digging into her ankles.  Her hands were bound to her hips, attached by leather cuffs to a metal band around her waist.  She had been blindfolded ever since the slave auction.  She still couldn't believe that such things actually took place.  Dozens of beautiful women, each of them bound and naked, had been paraded out and bid upon like cattle.  Christine in particular had been the subject of some heated bargaining.

There were footsteps on the stone floor.  Pain shoots through Christine's head as someone grabbed a handful of her beautiful blonde hair and gave it a savage yank.  She had been blindfolded but not gagged, so there was nothing to hold back her shriek of pain and fear.  From somewhere in the darkness, Christine heard a cruel laugh, "Save your voice, little one," she heard a woman's voice say.  "I'll be giving you plenty to scream about soon enough."

The woman's words took Christine's fear and amplified it three times over.  Dear God, what were these people going to do to her?  "Please," she began, "Please, I... " her words failed her.

The laugh came again.  "Please," mocked the voice.  "You'll learn soon enough that please is the word most often used by slaves.  Novices like you, always say, 'Please don't hurt me'.  Before long, though, you'll be saying, 'Please don't stop hurting me'.  Right now, let's get a good look at the master's new plaything."

The blindfold was removed.  Christine expected to be blinded, but the room was in semi-darkness, lit only by flaming torches that hung from the walls.  The room itself looked like a medieval dungeon.  Chains and various other restraining devices hung from the walls, and several ominous-looking devices were scattered throughout the room.  The exact purpose of these machines was something that Christine did not wish to contemplate.

Her captor was a strikingly beautiful brunette.  She was nearly as naked as Christine herself, save for her black spike-heeled leather boots that extended to mid-thigh and the studded leather harness that encircled, but did not conceal, her large round breasts.

"My name is Anita.  We're going to get to know one another, very well.  I'm going to teach you a lot of things, first of which is that you are now property.  Get used to the idea."

As Anita spoke, she worked at the steel shackles that bound Christine's ankles together.  For an instant the helpless slave dared to hope that her ankles would be freed, allowing her at least some chance of escape.  Hope vanished, though, when she saw that the metal bonds were now connected to a length of steel cable that extended upward and disappeared into the darkness above.

Anita moved to a nearby wall, threw a switch, and the rumble of an electric motor echoed through the dungeon.  Christine sat in a terrified stupor not knowing what was happening.  Then she realized that the cable had lost its slack and was pulling her feet upward, and she couldn't help whimpering.  Again she struggled to escape, all the while, realizing the pointlessness of the act.  The cable continued to retract until Christine was suspended upside down, her head about three feet from the damp stone floor.  Now the metal shackles shot fire through her feet as they dug mercilessly into the soft skin around her ankles.

Anita approached the slave girl.  Christine was eye level with her tormentor's naked cunt, and its musky tang filled her nostrils.  Anita drew closer and closer until her dark pubic hair brushed against Christine's nose.  Christine turned her head away, but Anita grabbed her blonde locks again, forcing the slave to face forward.  The blood was rushing to her head, and for the first time since her captivity began, tears of pain and frustration filled her eyes.

"Lick me," commanded Anita.  To punctuate the statement, she yanked Christine's hair forward, pulling the slave girl's mouth snugly against her cunt.

Christine had never had sex with another woman, had never wanted to.  There was something about the scent of Anita's cunt, though, the scratchy feel of her pubic hair against Christine's mouth.  Amidst her terror and confusion, she found her own pussy getting warm and wet.  "No, please no... " she said, not sure if she was begging Anita to stop or attempting to deny the sensations that were building within her.  Either way, she still refused to do as she had been commanded.

Anita stepped back.  "I was hoping you wouldn't cave in right away.  That wouldn't be any fun, now would it?" She turned and walked away, allowing Christine a view of her beautifully naked ass.  A tiny heart-shaped tattoo adorned her left buttock.  Her captor consulted a rack of finely tooled leather whips, made her selection, and returned.  She was carrying a riding crop.

At the sight of this implement of torture, Christine was reminded of how utterly helpless she was.  Bound, naked, and upside down, she was at Anita's mercy, if in fact the woman had any mercy.  She understood now why her hands were fastened to her side instead of tied behind her or in front.  This way she was totally open.

Anita stroked the riding crop down the length of Christine's body.  The soft leather strap caressed her belly, then moved over her breasts and toyed with her nipples before finally coming to rest against Christine's red, pouting lips.

"Last chance," said Anita.  "Kiss it.  Kiss the strap and I won't have to use it." There was a tenderness in Anita's voice that hadn't been there before.  "I really don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.  Do this and I'll take you to my bed where I can teach you the more pleasant ways that a slave can please her master."

Tears of humiliation had all but blinded Christine by now.  She was a slave now, mere property.  If kissing the leather strap would make her new life in bondage any easier, then she knew she had to do it.  It didn't matter that in doing so she would be surrendering her last shred of dignity.  With trembling lips, Christine took the strap in her mouth and caressed it like it was a lover's tongue.

Anita smiled.  "Thank you," she said tenderly.  Then quick like a cobra, the riding crop lashed out with a stinging blow to Christine's stomach.  The pain shot through her, and to her degradation it made the ache in her cunt even more intense.  As the second whipping blow came down against her right breast, she cursed herself for having believed Anita's promises.

"You're far too trusting," said Anita.  She moved around behind the naked slave and gave her ass and back several solid lashings.  Each blow brought a cry that echoed through the dungeon.  Anita returned to the front where she delivered several vicious blows to Christine's blonde furred cunt.  Pain and desire sent alternating pulses through Christine's body.

Finally, dropping the riding crop to the stone floor, Anita resumed her previous position with her cunt pressed against Christine's mouth.  "Lick me," she commanded again, but before she had even finished giving the order, she felt Christine's wet pink tongue slithering across her cunt lips.  The bound girl's body heaved with her sobs as she lapped at her mistress's cunt.

Anita wrapped her arms around Christine and lifted her slightly.  This took the pressure off Christine's legs and allowed her to spread them slightly.  Anita was delighted at how wet her Christine's cunt was, and she drove her tongue deep into her captive's smoldering hole.  It would seem, Christine realized as her orgasm shout through her, that Anita was not entirely without mercy after all.



By the time the limousine arrived at the Gaiman mansion, Christine had decided that she must have been summoned for some additional training.  Why else would both Mr. Gaiman and Anita be waiting her arrival.  No doubt Christine's slave training skill needed some fine tuning and Mr. Haining had requested that she be returned to Anita's care.

The limo pulled up to the mansion's main entrance.  Braunbeck unfastened Christine's shackles, and after attaching a leash to her collar, led her inside.  They passed several slaves who were moving about the house performing their many duties.  She recognized many of them as old friends, but dared not acknowledge their presence.  Braunbeck would not have liked that.

She was led into the library, but the chauffeur did not follow.  The huge oak doors swung shut behind her and she was alone in the room with her older master.  He was slightly more gray at the temples, but Wilson Gaiman seemed essentially unchanged by the last two years.  A man in his mid forties, Gaiman was nearly as large as Braunbeck, but there the resemblance ended.  While the chauffeur inspired fear, Christine's former master brought forth respect and, yes, even love.

Gaiman set his drink aside and rose from the high-back leather chair.  Silently, he closed the distance between them.  Christine began lowering herself to the floor so that she might kiss his feet, but he grasped her arms in his powerful hands.  He pulled her to his body and their lips met in a deep kiss.  His wool suit scratched against her naked flesh, a delightfully familiar sensation, that she had not felt for far too long.

"I've spent the last two years kicking myself for giving you to Haining," said Gaiman.  "I would have bought you back sooner, but that bastard is almost as good a negotiator as I am."

The meaning of his words took a moment to sink in.  Bought.  Then you mean... " Christine's words trailed off when she caught sight of the slave in the far corner of the library.  The girl was bent face down over a spanking horse, her ankles and wrists shackled to the device's sturdy wooden frame.  Christine had been fastened to such a device many times, and it was easily one of the most degrading forms of bondage.  Bound like that, the slave's ass and cunt were accessible from one side, while her mouth was open to violation from the other.  A slave was nearly always helpless before her captor, but bound in this way that was especially true.

Christine could not see the slave's face, only the smooth contours of her bare legs and naked ass.  Beneath the cleft of her buttocks, the girl's cunt looked open and inviting.  Then Christine noticed the tiny heart-shaped tattoo.

"Anita," she said in disbelief.

Gaiman smiled and stroked her cheek.  "Yes, in the time you've been gone, Anita has become a little too comfortable in her position.  Because of the power she held, she began to forget that she was still a slave.  Her recent behavior has led me to believe that she is in need of retraining.  Haining tells me that you are one of the best slave trainers he has ever seen."

Her attention still riveted on Anita's helpless, naked body, Christine felt something being pressed into the palm of her hand.  She looked down.  It was a riding crop.  She had been on the receiving end of such an implement many times, and since her appointment as slave trainer, had used such tools in her work.  Using such a device on her former trainer, however, was something that had never occurred to her.

Christine crossed the room to where Anita lay naked, bound, and bent over.  She could feel her heart thudding in her chest and her pulse pounding in her temples.  She leaned forward and gave a loving kiss to the tattoo on Anita's beautiful ass.  She stroked the riding crop across her backside, brushing it over her exposed orifices.

Moving to the other side of the horse, Christine grasped the woman's dark hair and pulled her head, so they could make eye contact.  Anita's new station obviously did not sit well with her.  There was pride in her face, too much pride for her to be a good slave.

Christine knew what to do.  It would take some time, but she was confident that she could carry out her master's wishes.

Parting her legs slightly, she pulled Anita's head slightly higher and thrust her blonde cunt down onto her former trainer's mouth.  "Lick me," she commanded.

THE END