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From: Robin Neal <robin-neal@hawaii.rr.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Pet {Robin Neal} [2/?] incl Synopsis
Date: Fri, 22 Aug 2003 08:10:05 -0400
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This story may be included in the ASSM archive, but may not be
reposted
or published elsewhere without written permission from the
author.
<1st attachment, "Pet2.txt" begin>
Copyright (c) Robin Neal, all rights reserved, reposting without
permission prohibited
PET
SYNOPSIS
Raised by hopelessly repressed and dysfunctional parents in a
wealthy suburb, an adolescent girl rebels by rejecting authority
and social interaction, becoming a bitter, introverted loner.
She drops out of school, alienates her childhood friends, and
spends her days in her room, unnoticed by her remote, workaholic
father and at war with her sexually neglected, neurotic mother.
She has a pretty face, but refuses to care for her appearance or
health and immerses herself in alternative music and
entertainment. Finally, jaded and depressed, unable to relate to
the artificial culture of her television or the moral wasteland
outside her room, she turns to drugs. Her weight drops
drastically, she shaves her head and cultivates a Gothic,
androgenous appearance as a protest against what she sees as the
depraved shallowness of sex- and money-driven American society.
Accidentally involved in a drug bust while buying cocaine, she
is jailed, rejected by her parents, and sentenced in juvenile
court to a year in a girls' work camp. She is placed on a bus
with other prisoners for transport to her incarceration. At a
rest stop, she suddenly disappears, kidnaped by a shadowy and
very capable team of women who take her, bound and heavily
sedated, to a remote and secret clinic. There she is kept for
nearly a year, while an exhaustive program of cosmetic surgeries,
pharmaceutical treatments and enforced physical therapy and
nourishment transform her from an anemic, drug-wasted waif into a
lovely, outrageously voluptuous siren. Psychotherapy and hormone
supplements leave her confused, partially amnesic and with a
constantly overstimulated sex drive. As she recovers, she
manifests anger and outrage at her mistreatment, deep self-pity
and emotional instability. She is prone to tantrums and
violently irrational behavior.
When her physical health is completely restored, she is sent to
a huge, beautiful estate outside a major city in the southeastern
United States. This institution is called the House by those who
live there, and its purpose is to educate, train and support
hundreds of very sophisticated, very accomplished modern geishas,
who are sent on assignments around the world as companions,
models and courtesans, and in other, more mysterious roles. Its
clients are major international companies, governments, and
fabulously wealthy private citizens. Part girls' school, part
prison, part corporation and part brothel, the House is ruled by
a mysterious woman called simply the Mistress and its students
are called House girls. Administration, training, education and
discipline are the responsibilities of the Ladies of the House, a
staff of graduate House girls who live at the House permanently,
keeping order, teaching classes, and personally overseeing every
facet of the lives of the House girls assigned to their care.
Every House girl has a personal Lady whom she serves and who has
total authority over her training and her life. The kidnap victim
is assigned to the care and service of one of the most senior
Ladies, a tall and aristocratically beautiful dominant named
Cissy. She receives a new name, Pet. Her memory of her previous
name has been erased. Still angry and maladjusted, Pet takes
every opportunity to rebel against the strict rules of the House
and against her Lady, Cissy, who rules her with an iron hand.
Misbehavior results in cruel, often erotic punishment. House
girls are also required to serve their Ladies sexually, as part
of their training, and Pet learns the hard way that she must do
as Cissy instructs, in and out of bed.
The House is maintained and the House girls are cared for by a
corps of professional maids who serve meals, clean, organize and
perform every sort of personal service for the girls and the
Ladies of the House, on duty in shifts twenty-four hours a day.
During her first six months at the House, Pet earns a reputation
as an outlaw, making no friends and contesting with her Lady over
every detail of her training. As time goes by, however, she
unwillingly begins to respond to Cissy's patient, inescapable
authority.
2. THE PUNISHMENT ROOM
I was in a little room, not more than fifteen feet or so on a
side, with an overhead light and a little shelf on one side at
about table height. The wall in front of me was mirrored, the
door was to my left, and it didn't have a knob on the inside.
When I had been brought in by the Trainers, I had seen that there
was a knob on the outside and it hadn't been locked. I had
fought them with all my strength, knowing I would lose but hoping
at least to get in a kick or something, mostly just fighting them
because I wasn't going to go placidly, OBEDIENTLY to a
punishment, but I hadn't been able to do anything useful. I
usually had a hysterical fit when the duty Trainers showed up, if
I wasn't having one already. They had put a wrap of thin cord
around my waist, tying a knot in front by my belly button, and
then taken the free end between my legs and pulled it up behind
me, passed it between my tied wrists and pulled it cruelly tight,
so that I had to reach way, way down between my cheeks in back
and still the cord was cinched deeply into the cleft of my naked,
shaved sex. They tied a knot and I was left like that while they
manhandled me through unfamiliar corridors, my legs tied together
above the knees with the same slim, cutting cord so that I was
forced to take small steps and kept losing my balance again and
again, trying to keep up, and would have fallen except for their
grip on my shoulders.
The humiliation of my abject nudity and helplessness was much
worse than the pain, and I would have done anything I could to
hurt those women, if one had come within biting distance or I
could have kicked out, but they were just too strong and too
clever, used to dealing with situations like this and totally
professional. I called them every name I could think of until I
finally realized that I was making no impression and I was
running out of breath that I desperately needed. They hustled me
along without a word until we got to what I thought of as a
punishment room, and that probably was its only purpose.
In the middle of the little room was a kind of pedestal, a steel
pole standing up vertically, screwed right into the floor somehow
and very solid. It was about waist high, and on the top was a
long, thin little seat of leather, like a slim bicycle seat.
About a foot up from the floor, the pipe had a kind of adjustable
fitting on it with two steel cuffs, like manacles, that opened
and closed with simple catches, and the fitting could slide up
and down the pipe and be locked at any height. When I saw the
contraption, I figured it out right away and I fought those
Trainers wildly, uselessly as they untied the cord between my
legs and took it from around my waist, then untied my knees and
physically picked me up between the two of them and wrestled me
onto the seat. I twisted frantically, squealing and trying to
kick, but when my weight settled on the little seat I had to be
much more still, because any wiggling or shifting hurt my pussy.
While I tried to get my balance, they quickly reached down and
one of them grabbed each ankle, and before I knew it they had
them in the cuffs and locked. Then one of them pulled down on
the fitting, stretching my legs toward the floor as I shifted my
ass around trying to ease the pressure of my weight on the seat,
and then she levered the little catch and locked my ankles in
position. I was completely helpless.
Even if my hands had been free I couldn't have done a single
thing to get down from the punishment stand, but I wasn't going
to be allowed that mercy. The bitches untied my wrists as I
shifted gingerly on the seat, whimpering with discomfort and
trying to get into some position where I could rest, and then one
of them went to the little shelf and brought back two
strange-looking slim tubes of supple leather. I didn't
understand at first, and I wasn't thinking too clearly anyway,
and then they took one of my arms and held it out straight behind
me while they slipped a tube onto it. It turned out to be like a
sleeve or shoulder-length glove, with a little strap around the
top of it that buckled so it would stay firmly in place. Down at
the other end, there really wasn't any allowance for my hand, it
just tapered to a point, sort of, and my fingers were stuffed
into it, and it ended in another buckle. When my other arm was
similarly done, I effectively didn't have hands, and then one of
the women went back to the little shelf and got a couple of
simple leather straps, like belts. They took my sleeved arms and
forced them behind my back, and despite all I could do they got
one of the straps around my elbows and buckled them together,
passing the strap around several times. I had already stopped
insulting them and started whining, and now I begged, but they
didn't pay any attention. My shoulders were pulled back and my
spine arched, my boobs forced out helplessly as I explored my
position, trying to find a way of easing the pressure. There
wasn't any. They took my wrists and pulled them around to the
front of me, so that I was reaching around my waist as far as I
could, which wasn't very far, and then took the other strap and
fitted it to the buckle at the end of one sleeve, down by my
fingers, and passed it around behind my waist once, pulled it
very tight and then buckled the other end of the strap to the
buckle at the end of the other sleeve. Now my elbows were
touching behind my back and the ends of my fingers were almost
touching by my navel, and it was like I didn't have arms at all.
I threw myself against the arrangement in a spasm of frustration,
with my full strength, and all I really accomplished was to
bounce my tits. I couldn't get my hair out of my face and tears
of frustration and pain dripped off my chin.
One of the Ladies took a handful of hair and forced my head back
so she could look in my eyes. I thought of trying to spit, but
she saw the idea take form and shook her head slowly in warning
and I got the message.
"You are to apologize to your Lady for your behavior," she said
in a matter-of-fact tone, as if she were telling me to clean my
room. She was an athletic, pretty black woman with clean,
springy dreadlocks, and she didn't seem angry with me. But she
wasn't sympathetic either, she acted like the Trainers always
did, just doing the job. Somehow that made me madder than if
she'd been enjoying hurting me, and my hysterical anger rose
again, making my head hurt and my vision dim with its relentless
pressure.
"You are being videotaped," she went on in a calm tone. "The
tape will be reviewed every few minutes to see if your apology is
on it. When an apology is found, it will be taken to your Lady
for viewing, and if she is satisfied with it you will be released
and returned to your room according to her instructions. Do you
understand?"
Did I understand? Did she think I was completely stupid?
"Fuck off, bitch!" I gasped, assuming that nothing I said would
make it worse than it already was. Never assume.
She didn't act surprised or anything, but she shook her head
again, the impression being that I really must be completely
stupid, and she reached into her pocket and took out two little
pieces of fishing line, the plastic kind. They had little
pre-made eyelets at one end, and she took the first one and
threaded the other end of it through the eyelet, making a noose.
I couldn't figure this one out, but I didn't like it and I fought
my restraint and whined, rocking a bit on the pedestal. She put
one hand under my left breast and lifted it while with her other
hand she rolled the nipple between her fingers, looking at it
critically as it hardened and lengthened from the stimulation. I
stared at it too, nervously, and I realized that for some reason
my oversensitive nipples had already been erect. I couldn't
fight her at all, and when she was satisfied with the size of the
nipple she slipped the little noose around it and pulled gently
toward the ceiling, getting it just right, and then the other
Trainer took it and held it so that part of the weight of my
breast was supported by my nipple. The breath hissed between my
clenched teeth as I tried not to cry out, and after a moment I
adjusted. The pain wasn't really that bad because my nipple
wasn't being pulled on very hard, but it was irritating and the
fishline noose held my nipple swollen and stiff, a brick red
color. Of course the other nipple was done the same way, and
then they took the two fishlines behind my neck, holding my hair
out of the way, and tied them together. They didn't pull it too
tight, but tight enough to lift my boobs a little and pull my
nipples up.
With a last check of their work, especially to make sure I was
settled straight on the little seat, they walked out the door and
closed it.
I won't go into a lot of detail about that night, but I will
admit that I wasn't smart enough to just make the best apology I
could think of, right away, and wait to be rescued. I tried to
hold out, and I was there a long time, until my mind got fuzzy
and I was in a kind of half-dream world. Then I had an orgasm,
stimulated by the leather seat and the pressure on my nipples.
That made the seat slippery and much more uncomfortable, and I
gave in, beaten. But I doubt my first apology was accepted, and
thinking back it really wasn't very contrite. I'm not sure,
because there was no way to tell how long an apology would take
to get to Cissy and how long after she accepted I would be
released, but I squirmed impatiently on the pedestal, watching
myself helplessly in the mirror and fearing another orgasm, and
after a little while I apologized again, better. Then the next
orgasm overtook me and I couldn't keep from bucking on the seat
and the bouncing of my boobs tightened the fishlines holding my
nipples. I thought I was going to pass out, and immediately
after that I blubbered a tearful, sincere castigation of myself
that no one could have disapproved of. I don't know if she ever
saw it, but it was a short time later that the door opened and a
different set of Trainers took me down and half-carried me to my
room.
I lay on my bed while a maid dutifully treated my small
injuries, mostly stiffness and a few scrapes and welts and of
course my painfully swollen nipples. Time and the punishments I
had endured had toughened my constitution, and I was back at
class the next day, hiding my lingering discomfort and defying
the House to do its worst.
<1st attachment end>
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