The Queen Of Spades

******

The door was unlocked. With deafening rattle of keys and chains the steel door opened to allow the key-holder to pass. Chantel could not help looking to see who it was that was entering her prison cell.

Veronica, of course Veronica. Who else could be at centre stage in this drama? As always she wore simple clothes, in black. The only discordant element was the short savage riding crop that hung from her velvet gloved hand like a bringer of doom.

Only in her private circle of hell did she carry the evil lead weighted crop, as a symbol of the relationship that she had with the cast-down inhabitants of her inferno of pain and abject servitude.

Behind Veronica was Elisabeth. The lesbian that had been lusting after her body, the would-be lover that she had denied. Elisabeth. Dressed in a soft leather corset of her own design.

Lingerie and lust. Stockings and steel. Heels and hate.

In her hand she bore an item from her vast catalogue of fetish weapons. Huge, obscene and threatening. The dildo was twice the size of the largest imaginable man's cock. In ebony like rubber, black and shiny as though dressed with a condom, it told Chantel who it was, was her new owner.

Who would it be that determined her subjugated future?

Elisabeth.

The woman that had asked her nicely to fuck was now going to take that fuck by force. She was to become the property of the woman that she had rejected.
But there was a third person behind the two glorious angels of pain. Henry, her wimp of a husband. In his usual quiet way he came to the forefront and looked down at his stricken wife.

"Veronica and Elisabeth have persuaded me that you would be better off, and so would I, with someone who loves you, even if she shows that love by wanting to hurt you more than you can possibly imagine. So I am giving you to Elisabeth as a present! At last I shall be rid of your endless cosmetic operations, spending money like water on clothes and lovers and treating me like a resource to be plundered, not a husband," he said in his quiet voice.

"I am paying for all the training and the special work. In the long term it will save me so much money. Personally I have no desire to own you but I must admit a frisson of pleasure that you will not only be out of my life but serving as a helpless slave rather than bossing me around as a mistress. It is ironic really, you have always loved being under the knife, how can you not be totally euphoric to experience the ultimate cosmetic work that has been planned for you?"

Chantel was stunned by Henry's speech. Since shortly before the marriage she had written him off as a wimp and a weakling. Rich beyond imagining but still ineffectual and a doormat.

Now it seemed that Veronica and Elisabeth had their claws in him, they had straightened his spine. All hope of being missed, of remote rescue and of sudden deliverance faded as he left the room to rejoin the normal stream of social life that lay far outside the walls of this prison.

Elisabeth came to stand beside the bed, allowing Chantel to look up the flouncy lace skirt of her corset and see for the first time her hungry cunt. It lurked in the shadows above the fine lace of stocking tops and the polished white of those smooth thighs. Dripping and slick with anticipation of pleasure to come and power over Chantel, it almost radiated sexual need.

It demanded attention. That hungry cunt was the brain behind Chantel's capture and it's first action was to allow the sex slave to sample its molten excitement.

Elisabeth pushed the huge dildo into the lips of her own avid sex. She moved it around the gaping lips to gather the moist dew of her excitement. Finally satisfied that she would be allowing Chantel to taste her passion she moved the slick rubber violator to her victim's face.

"Taste me," she murmured as she pressed the perfumed prick against Chantel's lips.

A slap in the face made Chantel open wide to allow the evil penetration. Elisabeth did not stop as the bulbous tip passed her former friend’s lips. She pressed the dildo home to the back of the throat with the push of her fingertips.

With her mouth filled and the rubber form pressing her into the bed she felt her chains tighten savagely as Veronica pulled them tight to leave her stretched out and fully accessible on the bed.

The chains sawed through the ratchets and pulleys with a metallic rasping that filled the echoing room with sound. Chantel felt as though her joints would snap as the chains almost lifted her almost completely from the bed allowing cool air to move under her sweating body.

Elisabeth sat on the bed by Chantel's violated face and slapped her face once again. She smiled as she enjoyed the power that she had over the desired suitor that had rejected her without care of the consequences. This was so much better than the meek acceptance of her advances. This supremacy was what she really required.

From both sides she slapped the face on which the tears pulled rivulets of make-up to cascade onto the soft pillow. This time Elisabeth allowed her nails to scratch her former friend's face as she spoke in a flat voice. But there was still a hint of restrained excitement and delight as she spoke.

"You might be interested to know that Aisha has been sold to a connoisseur of the dark arts of training whores to make him money from men and women who appreciate suffering," she said.

"On the other hand you are incredibly lucky to be enjoyed by my own good self. So very lucky! I too consider myself a connoisseur of the female form, and yours is so very, very female. You will not be trained, I do not like 'willing'. I prefer involuntary and non consensual sex from my partners. So why are you here then if you do not need months of training to prepare you to serve as my sex dolly?"

Elisabeth looked down at her weeping victim. The large silicon breasts heaved and trembled with emotion and fright. Tears streaked Chantel’s face and ran across the red weal of the scratches whilst she struggled with the vast intruder that forced her to gape, mute, in fear.

"Since you have guessed, but cannot speak until I use this to fuck you," Elisabeth pointed at the dildo with a forefinger, "then you do not really need me to tell you what work needs nearly two hundred thousand dollars to complete. You chose for Aisha from the same menu of degradations. But you chose only the starter. I am going to have the five course banquet that is going to leave you as helpless as a child's soft toy."

"I would not change your breasts, cunt and ass for the world. They are all your own work, they define you and make you what you are. I am going to make some adjustments so that they are all you are. Just tits, holes and padding for my pleasure. All the extraneous parts of your body will be smoothed off, reamed, cut, and polished to leave you as a sexual core. A collection of helpless attractions with no distractions."

Chantel managed to cry out despite the full mouth. It came as a small cry, a whimper of distress, a sob that shook her body as her worst fears became reality. She felt the prick of the needle in her arm and realised that she was going to slide into unconsciousness without even being able to beg Elisabeth not to have her limbs cropped by the surgeon’s knife.

To beg not to become a helpless sex toy. Unable to do anything but serve as a plaything for Elisabeth. A suffering bed cushion to be tormented. A set of three holes. A soft, large breasted cunt crying as she was used and punished because she had refused to sleep with her malevolent friend.

Elisabeth moved her face closer to that of her victim and smiled. Chantel could not see the hand that was ploughing her owner's dripping cunt but she could see the rapture in the eyes that gripped hers in a hypnotic stare and she could smell the perfume that wafted from her possessor.

"When you have healed we will begin the process of tattoo and piercing. I have not settled on a design yet, but rest assured it will be so artistic, you will become a work of sexual art, a private showing in the theatre of my bed."

She would lie all day, paralysed by her inability to move. She would be part of the bed. A decorated pillow for sex. A soft malleable pain slut, always ready for mistreatment, always on the brink of pain, always able to travel over that brink for her barbaric mistress.

Then would come the evening. The approach of her lesbian owner that heralded hours of service, punishment and torment.

A dominatrix with no chains or cuffs. They would not be required because Chantel would present cunt and ass without any restraint. The owner would coo over the helpless object of her desire, smother her body in kisses and loving strokes of the hands. Oil her flesh and sooth her victim. Pamper and prepare her toy before the real journey began.

The journey that would take Chantel into the shadows of degradation and humiliation. The owner would push her tongue into that open mouth and enjoy the power of her strength, her freedom to punish, please or simply exploit. The power that brooked no refusal, no denial and no boundaries.

Then would come the play. Not the loving feeling of intimacy and contact. Not the sharing and giving. No, Elisabeth would be taking, extracting and consuming. Her bed slut would be arranged on the soft pillows to service her needy mistress. Tongue and nipples would tickle Elisabeth's body, bringing her to one shuddering orgasm after the next until sated with that banal contact sex, she would move to the next realm.

That kingdom of suffering. The psychological and physical torture of the object that lay in her power. The hands that had stroked her former friend would slap and punish those breasts and the round ass. They would ream and twist their way into cavities, oral, anal and vaginal. Elisabeth would orgasm again. This time not from physical stimulation but from the pleasure of misuse and degradation.

Night after night, until the compacted body of the slave would flinch involuntarily from the abuse. Until every imaginable desire had been quenched by making every evil fantasy real in all its awful actuality. After all where is the reason for restraint? Where are the limits set? Chantel was just a thing. Just property to be used, abused and finally discarded.

There would be no limits.

It would take months for Elisabeth to get tired of snuggling up to those vast silicone breasts and narrow waist. The loving would turn to sex. The sex to abuse. The abuse to persecution, and the persecution to frustration at the eventual lack of reaction.

Crops whips and other straps would chastise Chantel from cunt to face. Then the breaching of her body and the filling of her holes. All the while professions of love and tender moments would alternate with pain and persecution, heightening the contrast, giving hope of respite from endless abuse.

But that all lay in the future. The certain future of the still-complete slut.

The reality of the here and now was the drug in the syringe in the hand of Veronica, ordered by Elisabeth, paid for by her husband. Reality was an injected medication that washed like waves at Chantel's consciousness like the tide on a sandcastle.

Eroding reality and levelling all emotion and feeling.

As she slipped under the influence of the drug she could see Elisabeth’s smile, hear her superior laugh of glee. She saw her former friend bring herself to orgasm at the thought of Chantel's future suffering.

Chantel knew that eventually she would be discarded and sold on. Eventually!

Elisabeth had no attention span worth speaking of and would sell or give her disabled lover to a fate even worse than her sordid revenge. She would throw her toys out of the pram and acquire new partners and sensations.

Slavery is addictive when you are the mistress or master.

"Do not think that you will not thank me every day, hour and minute of our intimate future," said Elisabeth in a voice of restrained excitement.

"If you protest just once, beg for mercy just once or say anything other than heartfelt thanks, words of love or praise for me I shall make you suffer in silence, permanently."

“I have decided that you will be willing and you will express the joy at being my lover every moment that you are with me, pleasing me, making me happy with your everlasting love!”

Chantel's second last sensation as her consciousness fled, was that she felt the dildo being pulled free of her mouth and being pressed against the opening between her thighs. The face, so close to hers contorted with the rictus of renewed orgasm as the vast dildo was forced into the carefully sculptured cunt with steady but irresistible force.

Chantel mumbled and tried to thank Elisabeth for her love. The love that was going to tear her apart.

Then she saw a marker pen move at the edge of her vision. Gently it touched her shoulder marking where the blade work would begin. Describing the exact point in dotted lines where the arms would be severed, where joints would be unstrung and flesh rendered under the knife. With that delicious kiss of ink, Chantel faded to black.

*** contact author at: MissIreneClearmont at Yahoo dot Com, Most E Mails get a reply.