Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 HELOISE, Chapter 8



   Next morning the phone rang as Hole was doing the breakfast dishes.

   "Good morning, Forrest residence," she said.

   "Get me your master, Hole," the caller said.

   She was taken aback by the harshness in the caller's voice as well as
his calling he by her slave name but just asked politely, "Yes, sir, may I
tell him who is calling?"

   "Just get him!"

   "I'm very sorry, sir but my master has instructed me that he will not
accept calls from persons who refuse to identify themselves."

   "Tell him it's Chet,"

   "Certainly, sir, please hold," she replied.

   "Master, you have a call from Chet," she informed him once she had
tracked him down in his office.

   He picked up the phone and Hole hurried back to her duties.  She
couldn't help wondering who the caller was.  It disturbed her that some
outsider knew she was a slave.  She still considered her relationship with
her owners something private but she knew that was silly.  Chet must be
from the Order, she decided.  She recalled her initiation ceremony when
Master and Mistress had pledged only to take her to Order-approved doctors.
Perhaps he was now one of those doctors she speculated.  Certainly he
wasn't seeing anyone else in his fully-equipped office, maybe it was just
for treating other owners' slaves who fell ill...  or were injured by their
masters?  As she worked her entire body still hurt from the treatment she'd
gotten the night before but scenes of helpless saves being horribly maimed
and needing Master's medical skills filled her mind.

   Soon part of her curiosity was satisfied.  Mistress informed her that
they would be having guests over for dinner and wanted everything
absolutely perfect.  Hole did everything in her power to make it so.  While
Mistress began preparing a gourmet meal she dusted, swept, mopped, and
polished until the house looked like like something from a magazine spread
House Beautiful.  Chet and his wife (Hole assumed).  He was middle-aged,
average height and looked rather like Kevin Spacey but lean and muscular.
He had an air of command as if the automatic answer to anything he said
was, "Sir, yes, SIR!" and she saw that even Master seemed to be deferring
to him.  The woman was at least ten years younger and rather heavy but
attractive in a Rubenesque, cherubic way.  Master and Mistress took their
guests to the patio for cocktails and after Hole had served them, Master
introduced introduced his guest.

   "This is Agent Smithers of the witness protection program," he said, "he
created your new identity for you."

   Unsure how to respond, Hole settled for, "Thank you very much, Sir."

   "Put you foot up here," Smithers said, pointing to the arm of his chair.

   She obeyed even though it was strange taking orders from a stranger but
she obeyed instantly but blushed when she realized she was giving him a
perfect view up her dress..  He produced a briefcase and took out a short
chain with a medallion on it.  He snapped it around her ankle and said,
"There!"

   "I'm in charge of security for the Order," he explained, "just so in
case you ever get any ideas about escaping," he began and "Never!" sprang
to her lips but she caught herself.  She couldn't shame Master and Mistress
by being so disobedient as to interrupt a fellow owner, "you should know
that this can track you anywhere."

   He took his laptop out of the briefcase and logged on.  He called up a
map of the US speckled here and there with green dots, each representing a
slave.  Major cities had large concentrations but there were a few singles
sprinkled here and there.  Smithers zoomed in on California -- there were
apparently hundreds of slaves in Los Angeles and the Bay Area, dozens in
other cities.  There was one in between LA and San Francisco, he zoomed in
and clicked on Paso Robles.  A mugshot of Hole came up with a complete
dossier.

   "If you run not just the Order but every cop in the country will be
looking for you.  You'll be caught.  And punished.  Unto death," he said,
relishing the words as if he longed to be the executioner.  He looked at
her as if waiting a response.

   "I would never try to escape, Sir," she said, trying to get across her
horror of the very idea, "I love Master and Mistress, I am their worthless,
lousy nigger cunt slave for life."

   "Very good," he said but still seemed unsatisfied by her answer though
Master seemed pleased.

   Mistress announced dinner was ready and Hole rushed to serve them. 
Everything was perfect.  The linens were snow-white, the silverware
gleamed, the wines were properly chilled, the food was excellent, and she
served flawlessly, remaining unobtrusively in the background but appearing
instantly to refill their glasses, clear away dishes and bring the next
course and wipe up their spills.  Master and Mistress discussed everything
with Chet and Darla, matters concerning the Order, their private lives,
Master's planned new real estate investment business.  At first she was
surprised that they would let her overhear their talk, but obviously it
didn't matter to them any more than the walls eavesdropping.  After they
finished dessert and she served them coffee in the living room
...........................................................................
.





   Smithers smiled wryly.

   "Tell me, Hole, do you like serving your Master and Mistress?" Darla
asked.

   "Oh, yes!" she answered wholeheartedly, I mean, yes, Madam."

   "Very good,.  And you enjoy them using you?"

   "Yes, Madam,"

   "And who do you like having sex with better, your Master or your
Mistress?" Mr.  Smithers asked.

   "My Mistress," Hole answered without even thinking, "I mean I love both
of them . . ."

   "Don't start lying now," Smithers warned, why do you like your Mistress
better?" he persisted.

   "I...I guess because when I...  when I first was a slave I was with
Mistress all the time.  I love pleasing her and eating her pussy and she
knows just how to hurt me and how to make me...." her voice trailed off.

   "Keep going," Master said, anger in his voice.

   "It's just . . .  I'm sorry, Master it's just you always, it's like your
cock is a weapon you're using against me.  It's different with Mistress, I
mean it's not like I'm a lesbian or anything but she . . ." Hole stopped.
She knew she was digging herself in deeper but she couldn't really
understand her feelings herself.

   "Hold it right there," Smithers said sternly, "you aren't gay or
straight or bisexual or anything else, you are salve.  You're whatever your
owners want you to be."

   "Yes, Sir," Hole answered humbly.

   "Now getting back on track, why don't you like your Master using you?"

   "I didn't say that," Hole defended herself, "he...makes me, uh, orgasm.
But when he's using me I can feel how much he hates me...  he wants to kill
me..."

   "Let's talk about something else," Darla chipped in to Hole's relief,
"how do you like being a maid?"

   "Oh, I like it," Hole said, "after...  being at the Order place it's so
nice to be serving Master and Mistress again.  And my own room!  I never
expected that."

   "And you look very nice in your uniform,"

   "Thank you, Madam, I like it too.  It makes me feel like a real person
again," Hole replied.

   The room was silent and Hole knew she had just made a major mistake
somehow.  Darla stood up and asked Nathan, "Where do you keep your gear?"

   He showed her their toy chest, explaining that he and Suzanne had hardly
had a chance to try out most of the equipment

   Hole remained in "the position" as Sir had ordered her.  The silence
continued, wearing on her nerves.  From the corner of her eye she could see
Darla had selected several items.  Mistress ordered her to stand in the
center of the room and strip.  Once she was naked, except for her new
anklet.  Darla came up behind her and told her to squat, knees apart and
hands behind her neck.  After she complied a leather hood was placed over
her head that completely covered her eyes.  There were tick felt pads
inside the blindfold to keep it snug and also over her ears so she couldn't
hear anything.  Once she was plunged into silence and darkness she couldn't
help wondering what was being said about her.



   Suzanne looked at the collection of gags Darla had left on the coffee
table.  There were ball gags, cock gags, mouth-stretching metal rings . . .

   "One of the dildoes, I think," she said, picking up the biggest, almost
ten inches long.

   "No, dear, try this one," her new friend suggested holding one that was
only six inches long but more than nine inches around, "give her jaws a
good stretch."

   "Whatever you say, you're the expert," Suzanne agreed.  Darla took and
forced it into Hole's mouth over her muffled protests.  Once in, it was
secured in place and the only part of Hole's face showing was her nose.

   "I wish we'd been there for your orientation," Chet said, "I know you
haven't been owners for long.  Can I make some suggestions?"

   "Sure," Suzanne said.  "Absolutely," Nathan replied.

   "First of all," Darla said, "this isn't criticism, you can take our
advice or not, she's yours to treat how you want.  But you're being far too
lenient with her.  She's sincere about loving you and that's good in its
way.  But she shouldn't be obeying you because she wants to."

   "Or getting off when you punish her," Chet added, "The only way to keep
a slave in line is make sure she's in pain all the time."

   "ALL the time?" Suzanne asked, clearly not liking the idea.

   "Yes," Darla told her definitely, "and real pain, not something she's
going to enjoy or get aroused over.  Here."

   Darla went to the toy chest and brought out a short chain with alligator
clips on the ends.  "Some thing like this," she said, fastening the clamps
to Hole's erect nipples, "simple, effective, she can wear it under her
uniform all day long and no one will notice."



   "And if you work things right you can make sure she NEVER has orgasms,
from fucking, from whipping, from anything."

   No one said anything for a moment.  "Just how do you manage that?"
Nathan finally asked both fascinated and horrified.

   "Well, she hasn't been able to accomplish it with a female yet," Chet
stated to his wife's obvious displeasure.

   "Because we don't have any females," she said.

   "But how'd you do it?" Suzanne demanded.

   "Easy.  Stick a couple electrodes on the balls and tip of his penis and
give him some volts every time he starts erecting," Darla explained, proud
of her ingenuity, "But you have to keep it up -- you should pardon the pun.
This slave was like Hole, he was enjoying getting punished and buggered way
too much."

   Nate and Chet were uncomfortable with how much the women liked the idea
but, ever the doctor, Nathan couldn't help asking, "What about nocturnal
erections?"

   "Easiest thing in the world," she said, "you know those little collars
they put on the base of a guy's dick to see if he can get it up?"

   "Yeah," Dr.  Forrest answered, "it's a diagnostic tool for treating
erectile dysfunction." He caught himself -- no one wanted a medical
lecture.

   "Right," Darla went on like a teacher who's been interrupted by an
unruly student, "hook that thing up to the switch, he starts getting
nocturnal emissions of piss hard-ons or whatever and bzzzz!

   "Last time we took him to the mansion in SanFran the most expert slaves,
men and women, couldn't get a rise from him.  Limp for life."



   Suzanne and Nathan looked at each other.  Not for the first time they
thought their fellow owners in the Order were too extreme.  But they knew
the Order was like the Mafia -- once you're in, you're in for life.

   "I'm not quite sure how you could work that on a woman," Nate said to
break the silence, "anyway, it's not like we have to decide right now."

   "No," Chet said, "it's just an idea.  We just wanted to give you our
experience -- philosophy, if you want.  For us it's about power, control,
not sex -- or I should say the sex is just a means of control."

   "And you'll decide for yourselves what you want," Darla said, "some
owners are more extreme that we are, and some are gentler than you.  But if
you're too easy you're really not doing the slave a favor.  She'll still
have to serve her time at the Order."

   "Who's more extreme than you?" Suzanne asked.

   "Well, the owner I was thinking of isn't a member," Chet said, "She has
`cellar slaves'.  They never see the light of day.  She's had one in the
same cell for a year and a half and a new one bound in the same position
for months now.

   "Anyway, for me it comes down to this; until you reduce your slave to
despair, you don't really own her.  Once you've broken her, THEN she's
truly yours for life."



   "Anyway," Darla said, trying to lift the mood, "I hear you've got a your
dungeon all finished."

   "Yeah," Nate said brightly, "would you like to check it out?"

   Chet and Darla agreed readily and everyone trouped downstairs.  At the
foot of the staircase there was a door to the laundry/utility room to the
right and a thick steel door.  He keyed it open, flicked on the lights and
stood back to let his guests enter first.  They gawked, taking it all in.
To the left was a row of four cells like real jail cells with bars instead
of the cyclone fencing that most masters had to use.  On the right every
instrument know to man hung on the wall ready for use: whips, quirts,
straps, riding crops, chains, manacles, collars, hoods, spreader bars,
hooks, chains, ropes...  And for good measure three horses, four whipping
posts, a rack and other furnishings were distributed about the room.



   Nathan beamed with pride as Chet and Darla looked around with envy.

   "Just how did you get an eight foot ceiling in a cellar?" Smithers
asked.

   "Easy," Nate said, "dig up the floor, go down a few feet and put the new
floor in.  I used the contractor you referred me to and he came up with the
idea."

   "It must have cost a fortune," Darla observed.

   "My late mother-in-law's life insurance," Suzanne deadpanned, "she would
have wanted it that way.

   Nathan shot her a dirty look but said nothing.

   "You still haven't brought her down here yet?" Chet asked.

   "No, like I said we've been busy," Nate replied.

   "About time, don't you think?" Darla asked.

   * * * * * * *



   Hole remained upstairs, deaf, dumb and blind.  Were Master and Mistress
still talking to that evil man and his wife?  What were they saying about
her?  She certainly didn't want to find out what plans they had cooked up.
Her squatting position had quickly gone from uncomfortable to painful and
was coming up on agonizing fast.  All her muscles were cramping, her
circulation was cut off below her knees and she'd lost all feeling in her
arms as the blood drained downward.  Compared with everything else the
clamps biting into her sensitive nipples were a mere annoyance.

   Please, she thought, please take me, do something with me.  PLEASE don't
let those people get hold of me.  I'll do anything, I'll be absolutely
perfect.  Time dragged by, hours and hours it seemed.  Maybe they're
leaving me here all night, she thought.  No, it's impossible, they wouldn't
do that to me.  But in her heart she knew they would be doing that and far
worse.  Just when she decided she had been abandoned, at least for the
night someone (Master?  Mistress?  one of them?) grabbed the chain and
yanked the clamps off her nipples.  Her scream didn't make it past the
monstrous gag.  She managed to keep her balance and stay in position as a
leash was fastened about her neck.  Whoever held the leash gave it a good
pull, landing her flat on her face.  She tried to rise up to all fours but
her arms wouldn't support her.  More tugging on the leash and she managed
to get up on all fours.  She followed gratefully hoping that like last
night her pain would be followed up by pleasure.  Going down the steps to
the basement proved a problem, she had to hold herself up by her arms and
just drag the rest of her body along.

   "Say, what was that about `assuming the position' earlier?" Suzanne
asked as she led Hole into the dungeon.

   "Oh, that," Darla said, "It's just most owners have a standard position
that their slaves are supposed to assume whenever the owner is present. 
Like..."

   Hole felt the strange woman's hands arranging her kneeling, face to the
floor, hands behind her neck.

   "Or..." she posed Hole on her back, knees pulled up to her chest, "I
like this one for male slaves."

   Nathan let Chet decide what Hole's first torture in the new dungeon
should be and he decided on crucifixion.  "I know you don't want to get
your cutie there all marked up so this'll give you the most pain for the
buck," he explained, chuckling at his own witticism.  He expertly tied
Hole's arms to the crossbar, all the way from her wrists almost to her
shoulders.  Cables were attached to the bar and Nathan hit the switch.  The
bar rose slowly, pulling Hole up, up , up until her toes barely touched the
floor, then up some more until she hung in the air.

   Chet suggested several improvements to Nathan and Suzanne for the next
time they used it on her.  He chided Suzanne for having removed the nipple
clamps and Darla explained that each stage in a slave's mush be carefully
planned for maximum effect.  It was fine, she said, to yank the clips off
but it would have been even better if they had stayed on longer.  Putting
them on again now would distract her and ruin the psychological effect of
the solitude and abandonment she was feeling.

   They left her there to discover a new kind of pain; hateful, impersonal,
uncaring pain.  Agony not inflicted by her owners' or any human hand but by
simple gravity pulling her body down, pulling her arms out of their
sockets, making each breath a torment.  With her whole heart she cursed
these strangers who had intruded into her loving servitude to Master and
Mistress and ruined everything.