Silent

H. Jekyll

MF, Mf, Ff, bdsm, nc, some scat:  story codes refer to the series, not to 
specific chapters.

Chapter Five:  Daughter


When he checked on her he was angry at first, until he realized that she was 
truly ill.  A puddle of vomit lay below her head and a film of it was on her 
chin.  She was hot to the touch, cramping, and her back ached.  He washed her 
face with a warm washcloth and took her out of the stocks, over to the small 
bed, where he fastened her in loosely.  There was enough play for her to be able 
to reach a glass of water beside the bed and a plastic waste can.  Because she 
couldn't hold anything down, he got some medication for her.  He decided she was 
too dehydrated, so he inserted an IV to bring her fluid levels up and to deliver 
an antibiotic.  He told her she could tell him if she had to use the bathroom.  
She thanked him.  He did not let her remove the blindfold.

Something he gave her knocked her out.  When she woke she had to urinate.  She 
could hardly walk. He half-carried her to the bathroom where she went.  It 
burned.  He checked her urine and her vagina.  Afterward her let her soak in the 
tub, washed her, then carried her back to the bed.  She leaned her head on his 
chest while he carried her.  

She had no appetite for the orange slices he gave her, whole, from his mouth, 
but he made her eat them anyway, after which she slept again.

This continued for some time, though she had no sense of time at all, for any of 
the period since she had arrived.  He seemed always to be near the bed when she 
woke, and he did not hurt her at all.  He let her ask simple questions.  

The third time she awoke she was hungry again, though very weak.  He got some 
food and fed her like the last time.  He leaned forward until their lips 
touched.  He blew ice cream into her, rich vanilla with a chocolate syrup, 
melted together from the heat of his mouth.  He did not kiss her while feeding 
her this time.  Later he came by with quiche, a Caesar salad, frozen peaches, 
good French bread and butter.  He blew enough Merlot into her to get her a 
little high.  She was resigned to the fact that he would chew all of her food 
before she got it from his mouth, and that it would come mixed with his saliva.  
It disturbed her that almost none of this disturbed her.  She looked  forward to 
him leaning down to her.  She found the warm Merlot exhilarating.  

But this was only weakness and illness and the memory of torture.  She rested - 
what else could she do, always trussed and blindfolded - and in doing so, 
thought.  Her husband's face and body floated in front of her.  Her daughter, 
too, though she was having a hard time remembering her daughter's face.  She had 
heard that this could happen.  She worried that her son would go through life a 
shattered person, because of what had happened to his mother and sister.  Could 
he sleep at night?  He had always worried about monsters.  Well, one was real.  

After some time she was stronger and more confident that she could, and should 
resist him.  He was bonding to her and she would use this.  So, when he next 
leaned down with a mouth full of food for her, she turned her head away.  "No, 
this isn't right.  You need to let us go."  There.  She had said it.  She tried 
to hide her terror.  She waited for a response, a refusal, even a whip, but he 
was silent for a long time.  When he spoke it was softly, as usual.

"I'm very disappointed in you.  You are willful, and you use my caring against 
me.  It is time to start correcting you again.  But differently.  We'll begin 
now."

She said nothing while he loosened her, took her to the center of the room, and 
fastened her to the ceiling as before, though her feet touched the floor this 
time.  He gagged her then left the room.  Her heart was pounding and she was 
weepy.  She had miscalculated, and was going to be hurt. 

When he returned he was not alone.  He removed the blindfold.  It was the first 
time in days, and the light was absolutely blinding.  When she finally could 
see, squinting out into the room, there were two, blurry figures.  No!  Her eyes 
cleared a little and she could tell one was her daughter.  

Her daughter.  She was alive!  What was this?  She was naked, and had some marks 
on her abdomen.  Her breasts were larger.  She noticed that right away.  She 
seemed taller than the mother remembered.  Her pussy was shaved, too, though the 
mother couldn't remember ever having seen her pubic hair.  She also was gagged, 
and was blindfolded too.  He took away the blindfold and the daughter stared  at 
the mother with the same intensity as she stared back, and squealed.  Oh, to 
communicate.

He spoke.  "Awhile back I said I might let your daughter take part in your 
punishment.  Well, here she is."  He handed he daughter a riding crop.  "Now, 
you haven't seen your mom for a long time.  Why don't you get good and close to 
her, close enough to whip her breasts and stomach.  And we don't want any 
holding back, do we?  Do a good job."

The daughter held the crop awkwardly, down from her body.  She moved so slowly, 
her legs stiff, looking her mother square in the face, obviously trying to not 
look at her breasts or pussy, then turning to look at the captor, then looking 
down at the crop, repeating the whole cycle at least three times.  He did 
nothing.  The daughter looked back at her mother and her sweet young eyes 
filled.  She was close enough to touch the mother.  She was crying, and in the 
middle of a cry she swung the crop and hit her mother right on the belly.

She screamed through the gag.  It had been awhile since she'd been hurt.  You 
can't remember until it happens again.  Her daughter swung again, lower.  She 
writhed in the bonds.  It hurt so much.  He spoke:  "I won't have you pulling 
your punches like that.  Try to swing through her, like I told you before.  And 
be sure to mark her breasts up well."  The daughter was obedient and swung the 
crop with more authority.  The next stroke was right on the left nipple and 
caused it to pop up, with an instantaneous welt on the side.  Then a stroke 
across both breasts.  Then just above her pussy.  The daughter did not take much 
time between blows, and the mother was constantly in motion, making sounds 
through the gag, trying to dodge the crop, jerking at the impact.  

The mother tried to talk with her eyes at first.  She couldn't, though.  At the 
first pain she thought "he is making her do this," but soon she had room in her 
only for the pain itself.  When capable of thinking words, she thought "how can 
she do this to me?"  and "how can she hurt her mother so?"  Soon she saw the 
daughter as the immediate instrument of torture and writhed as she saw the 
girl's arm move back, swing forward.  Back and forth it went.  In the end it 
didn't matter that it was her little girl.  She jerked and neighed and sweated 
and would have eaten shit for her as well, if only she would stop.  The daughter 
seemed tireless in her whipping.  There was no end.  It went on and on, while he 
carefully took off his clothes, folded them, and put them on a chair.  He had an 
enormous erection.

Finally he had the daughter stop.  Mother and daughter were both covered in 
sweat and breathing heavily.  The mother had several trickles of blood running 
down her front.  She hung heavily by her arms, her knees bent and her legs 
splayed, barely conscious of anything beyond the feeling all up her front 
exactly like that of a flame being applied.  She hadn't the strength to respond 
actively to the flame, and so just hung.  The daughter had stopped crying once 
she started whipping her mother, and now she stood blank-faced.

"Now, wasn't that something?  I told you there's nothing like being on the other 
end of the whip.  If you're good, I'll let you do it again sometime."

He made the daughter kneel in front of him, take his penis in her mouth, and 
suck him.  This was mostly lost on the mother, for now.  The daughter was very 
well practiced.  She took the prick in deep and pumped with both hands.  She 
licked it all the way from his balls to the hole, a long, luscious lick.  She 
licked the head like a popsicle.  He held her head and used his hips to fuck her 
face.  She took it and didn't gag.  When he came, she swallowed it all easily 
and, like her mother had done, held his dick in her mouth until it all would fit 
inside.  He caressed her hair and told her how sweet she was.

He took the mother down and let her sit in a collapsed heap on the floor, not 
even chaining her hands.  Then he called the girl over to the center of he room, 
to the hanging cuffs.  He told the girl to raise her hands.  At this the girl 
began crying again, but this time in fear.  Still, she raised up her hands.  He 
put the girl in the cuffs, raised her up, and spread and tied her legs.  She was 
hanging.

"Now look what mother gets to watch, to remember her little rebellion by."  He 
started whipping the daughter with the crop.  Just like the daughter had done, 
except that he was infinitely more powerful, and slower, making sure that she 
experienced the entire stroke before going on to the next.  The daughter 
screamed at a higher pitch than the mother, at which he reminded her that she 
was to take her punishment silently, as an example to her mother, and of course 
he would have to punish her more for this breach.  She didn't stop screaming.  
Her movements in the bonds were quicker but more gangly, and a great deal more 
frog-like.  In a few minutes she too ran out of gas and between stokes writhed 
slowly, like some curious marine creature, only dancing when he hit her, but he 
kept on going and going.  

And the mother lay in the most miserable pile on the floor and couldn't turn her 
head away because he wouldn't let her, though the burning wouldn't let her lay 
still. Part of her wanted the girl punished.  She watched the trickles of blood 
and the heap of welt on welt and watched her daughter's eyes glaze over.  Please 
God, please, please let us die.  But you know the answer.  He only stopped when 
it was time for the mother to suck his penis.
