Date: Sat, 9 Sep 2006 20:05:57 +1000 (EST)
From: Country Mouse <dr_country_mouse_top@yahoo.com.au>
Subject: The Breaker: Chapter Two
Standard Squib: The themes and subject matter in this story are adult,
including but not limited to both consensual and reluctant (including
coerced) sexual acts between persons of the same gender, extreme medical
fetish, mind control, body modification and non consensual sexual
slavery.
Author's Note: Kids, do not try this at home.
This is a fantasy.
Trying to recreate any or all of the elements in this tale would earn you
prison sentences in any country in the world. Everything about it is
non-consensual and unsafe, and would result in long term psychiatric
trauma that would take years to recover from.
In reality, I advocate the principles of Risk Awareness; Safe,Sane and
Consensual BDSM and always observe safer sex guidelines. Safer Sex is a
way of life.
In my fantasies, I can engage in all sorts of reprehensible behaviour
with no harm, no foul.
Mmmm, let's pretend...
There may be additional chapters of this tale. There may not. It
depends on whether the smut bunnies rumbling in the back of my brain
decide to hop out and play or not.
If reading about power dynamics and graphic smut between women is illegal
in your jurisdiction or offends you, please leave now.
I am the feedback whore from hell. If you like my tale, please write to
me and let me know. Don't bother lecturing me about my sins. I already
know that I'm a pervert. I rather like that about me. If, on the other
hand, you're a kinky female (over 21) willing to endure a little training
of your own, I'd love to hear from you.
Email me at: dr_country_mouse_top@yahoo.com.au
The Breaker: Chapter Two
copyright 2006 by dr_country_mouse_top
Story codes: F/f, F^f, BD, anal, fist, non consensual , spank, sm,
medical fetish, mind control,
body modification, pony play
Nifty category: Lesbian/authoritarian
The author grants the Nifty Archive a non-exclusive, worldwide,
royalty-free, perpetual, and non-cancellable license to display the
work.
All other rights reserved.
Stockholm Syndrome, or `capture-bonding' as it is more properly called,
can begin to manifest as early as a handful of days. One of the more
entrancing things about training a wild caught bitch is that there is a
very clever brain at work under the cropped hair and the helmet.
Part of my strategy for avoiding the whole martyred bottom problem was
educating my wild caught bitches. I just put the information out there,
and made it available just like I made sure she had received an adequate
education about her own sexual anatomy and function. There were clips
from several documentaries, explaining the phenomenon of Stockholm
Syndrome and discussing the actual psychological process of capture
bonding.
The wild bitch had also seen the various instructional videos for the
major training devices. I began removing her blindfold so she could
witness carefully chosen training sessions and workouts, with my pair
providing a well trained example of the expected behaviour. My favourite
moved with arrogant grace, proud and strong and obedient as I put her
through her paces.
Although the rectal dilator set had five units of increasing length and
girth, I really only needed to use the first three on most outside
bitches. The last two sizes were of 1 ¾ inches and two inches in
diameter, more dilation than was strictly necessary unless one were
prepping for large toy penetrations, fisting or other large object
insertions. All <i>*my*</i> bitches learned to accommodate all five
sizes. I considered it good discipline, particularly when paired with
the sphincter training.
On the sixth night, the wild bitch received a laxative meal, heavy with
bran and prunes to prepare her for her weekly purging. She cried less,
but she was no happier about the proceedings the following morning than
she had been the first time, although she juiced up quite nicely from the
petting and spanking. She had been wearing the third rectal dilator for
the better part of three days, and accepted the clean dilator without
fuss after her purging. The routine of hand walking was familiar to her
now; she was quietly obedient as we guided her through her routine.
The wild bitch alerted when we moved her to the main training area. She
was blind and deaf inside her helmet, bound to the extreme leg spreader
bar, still wearing the wrap that restrained her torso and provided those
oh so convenient handles for my favourite and I to use when muscling the
wild bitch around.
Don't let anybody fool you. Training wild stock is hard, physical
labour, and far too much time is spent dealing with simple bodily
functions, which is why so many wealthy Owners have grooms and
professional handlers.
"One, two and three..." I counted it off. We moved with the ease of
years of practice handling wild bitches together, my favourite and I.
But I still never turned my back on her, and my favourite moved slowly,
hobbled by the restraint weights strapped around her ankles. I could
have moved the wild bitch myself. The system of pulleys and
counterweights may have been a bastard hybrid between a sail boat and
back stage at the local community theatre but it worked.
The Clinic the transport company operated had the very latest in medical
restraints and all the lifts and mechanical aids one needed to move
comatose, catatonic or paralysed patients. My mate the medic had quietly
slipped me the password that enabled me to sign in for access to their
internal surveillance system, so I had been able to see how the equipment
made handling the patients infinitely easier. Of course, they also had a
well trained and experienced staff. There were aids and registered
nurses, several doctors as well as physical therapists, psychotherapists
and psychiatrists.
In my little country training stable, I made do with my sail boat rigging
and smart body mechanics. We soon had the wild bitch strapped into the
modified examination table, strapping her legs to the stirrup supports,
removing the leg spreader bar and then shifting the leg supports into a
more extreme position. The wild bitch moaned at the stretch, so I eased
her position slightly. She would start her flexibility training soon
enough. For now, I was happy enough just to get her to some small
approximation of the desired position.
The first serious session with a wild bitch is always such a delight. I
removed the training belt and studied the raw material that I would work
to shape into a Finished Bitch like my favourite.
Her genitals were engorged and swollen, plump with arousal and slick with
lube and her own juices. Her asshole clung to the dilator, reluctant to
surrender its mass, but it was slick with lube. The wild bitch moaned
imploringly as I tugged it playfully, finally easing it past her well
softened ring.
I slicked up both hands and played, teasing her clitoris, exploring the
insides of her cunt, tugging at her inner labia, swirling in and out of
her ass. She easily accepted two fingers in her ass, a third finger
arousing no protest. Her cunt was surprisingly small and tight, even
with the copious evidence of her arousal. Inexperienced, or perhaps
unaccustomed to vaginal penetration, I mused as I worked more lube into
her pussy.
The first Epino slipped into her ass, the silicone `washer' I had
customized the equipment with preventing the device from slipping in
beyond the sphincter. I held off on the second device, which should
properly be inserted into her vagina, but she was not yet sufficiently
dilated. The familiar blue form nestled sweetly inside her well prepared
asshole, somewhat smaller than the third rectal dilator, making it an
easy fit.
My favourite dutifully recorded the reading from the pressure gauge,
documenting the resting tension to provide a baseline for later readings,
while I kept playing with the wild bitch's cunt, working more lube into
the small passage, massaging and twisting and teasing with my fingers
until I could squeeze in the second Epino, using plenty of clitoral
massage to ensure a proper reading.
The wild bitch had watched the others go through their treatments, and
had watched the manufacturer's tutorial video. She was panting,
shivering, smelling of fear and arousal, anticipating what would come.
The wild bitch climaxed as I eased the second unit into her lube slicked
cunt, crying out around her bit, her body clamping down on the two Epino
units, sending the needles on the pressure gauges dancing.
Chuckling, I called out the readings for my bitch to record, utterly
delighted. The wild bitch was showing some natural talent for the
training, having a climax so easily. It also provided a perfect base
line measurement of her pelvic floor strength. The orgasmic contraction
of the PC muscle would grow stronger through the training and
conditioning program she would begin that day.
* * * * *
Although the double penetration made things a bit more challenging for a
novice bitch, the Epino is hardly larger than two fingers when deflated
to its smallest size. The wild bitch had seen the videos, and listened
to delighted cries and gasps and orgasmic roars of my bitches as they
went through their daily training sessions.
She was hooded, wearing the blindfold and earplugs to focus her
concentration on what was happening inside her body. There were no
instructions necessary at this point of her training. All she had to do
was relax and respond.
As always, I began with anal dilation. It's foreign to most bitches,
forbidden, alien and devastating. Waiting to introduce the Epino until
she could easily accommodate the third rectal dilator meant that the
first set of dilation exercises merely stretched her open as far as the
familiar dilator.
I found that it calmed a wild bitch considerably to have that easy start,
reducing any fear of the equipment itself. The last thing I wanted was a
bitch who clamped down in fear when she encountered the Epino. There was
no hesitation when I guided her left hand to her clitoris. Her fingers
flew over the swollen shaft as I played with her anal Epino, dilating it
until it was as large as the third dilator plug and then deflating it,
over and over again.
She moaned and rocked in her restraints, finally exploding in what looked
like a glorious climax as I inflated her anal Epino just that little bit
beyond what she had been trained to accept. Just holding the Epino in
her cunt was enough for now, although I made careful notes of the vaginal
readings when she climaxed.
I laughed out loud at her delighted whimpers after I folded her fingers
around the Hitachi Magic wand and she discovered what it could do for her
clitoris. The wild bitch came twice more during that training session,
good strong orgasms that loosened her up nicely.
My new prospect was proving to be deliciously responsive, which would
make training her infinitely easier. Having firmly established a
positive association to the Epino and the double penetration she would
continue to experience daily during her training, I retrieved the Hitachi
from her hand, chuckling at her little sigh of disappointment. She had
enjoyed that thoroughly.
She shivered convulsively as I eased the vaginal Epino free of her
body. She was even more reluctant to surrender the anal device, the
sphincter clinging stubbornly around the base of unit as I tugged it
loose. I tipped them both into the disinfection bucket, and changed my
gloves, slicking up my hands with generous quantities of lube.
The wild bitch was soft and receptive, her body sated and welcoming. I
wasn't trying to coax any further sexual response from her. I simply
handled her, leisurely slipping a finger or two into either her ass or
her cunt, and sometimes both at once. It wasn't long before I was
inserting a clean number three rectal dilator, and slipping in the
intelligent version of a set of ben wa balls into her cunt, once more
leaving the cord dangling free of her body.
The wild bitch squirmed under the rough caress of the hot wet terry
cloth. It was probably slightly hotter than was truly comfortable,
particularly when I cleaned her engorged genitals, then her ass and
thighs. The fresh tack was soon fastened in the correct position;
neoprene straps all fitted one more.
Dazed with a surfeit of pleasure, the wild bitch was easy to handle as my
favourite and I urged her off the examination table. She was hobbled
with the leg spreader bar, even if we only had to move her a few yards to
put her back in her cage.
Since she had been spread wide for more much of the morning, I secured
her in another of the basic training positions for lunch. The wild
bitch's legs were folded up, her knees to her chest, her neatly bound
torso tipped slightly forward of the vertical, ensuring that she could
comfortably swallow as I fed her the yoghurt that would always be on the
menu following a full purging.
The after lunch routine of a toilet break and walking was familiar to the
wild bitch now, and she made no protest when she was subsequently
returned to her cage for her usual anal relaxation therapy, bound and
spread with the Hitachi Magic Wand fitted to her rectal dilator, her left
hand positioned over her clitoris.
The timer turned the vibrator on and off, fifteen minutes of powerful
vibrations followed by a rest period of fifteen minutes. By cycling the
vibration on and off, it minimized any chance that she might just go
numb, although it was less of a concern for anal vibration than it was
for clitoral stimulation. Sensory exhaustion wasn't really a problem
for this stage of her anal training. Even if she went a little numb
from the vibration, it was still working her sphincter, relaxing and
massaging it firmly.
She was wet and slick after ninety minutes, the sphincter unresisting as
I rocked the base of the dilator filling her ass. The wild bitch was
clearly disconcerted when we pulled her from her cage again, carefully
hobbling her with the leg spreader bar before walking her over to the
exercise area.
The antics of my first captive bitch had taught me some hard lessons
about the dangers of introducing the tread mill. My favourite cast me a
flirtatious look as we hooked the side lines up to the wild bitch's
ankle cuffs <i>before</i> removing the leg spreader bar. I had to
laugh. Only my bitch would get mushy over memories of one of our
earliest and most violent confrontations.
Again, I didn't bother with explanations. We just coaxed the wild bitch
up on the treadmill, carefully securing her into the training frame. Her
head came up as her bare foot found the treadmill's rubber belt,
apparently recognizing that she was on a tread mill. She had been
permitted to watch my bitches train on the treadmill. Her hands
automatically sought the bars of the training frame, even if her fingers
were still bound inside the hospital restraint mittens.
Of course, for a proper work out, she would need to wear a pony harness,
but on that day, all I wanted to do was get her moving. She wobbled just
a little as the treadmill slowly began to roll, moving awkwardly after a
week during which her only walking was accomplished while wearing a leg
spreader bar
It didn't take her long to find her balance, although she had moments of
disorientation, still unused to navigating the world in blinders and
unaccustomed to the way the rectal dilator moved as she walked in a more
normal and upright position. I let her settle for a few minutes and then
carefully increased the speed of the treadmill until she was striding out
properly in a ground covering walk.
After a week of such restricted activity, a thirty minute walk was enough
of a challenge. Once again, all I really wanted to do was to let her get
used to the procedure and the process, as well as to give her an
opportunity to become accustomed to walking with the third dilator seated
firmly in her ass.
The small taste of freedom apparently inspired her to rebellion, which is
precisely why I handle wild bitches the way I do. The moment of danger
would always be in the moment that I switched the rigging, changing from
the lines on the training frame back to the leg spreader bar.
The wild bitch soon learned that just because she wasn't attached to the
leg spreader bar didn't mean that her legs weren't under my control
when she stepped off the treadmill, a fact that she swiftly learned the
hard way. Oh, I didn't let her fall, and my favourite hastened forward
to help me, but if the wild bitch was going to kick instead of walk, it
was a simple matter to take those feet and legs out of play.
She was swiftly upside down, balanced on her shoulders with her feet it
the air, and then suspended entirely, swinging gently. She swore and
snarled but it only took another moment to spread her wide and hobble her
with the leg spreader bar. We continued with the afternoon's scheduled
training with hardly a bobble.
There was no need to fuss, no need to punish the wild bitch. That was
the key thing to remember -- she was <i>wild</i>. This was no tame
submissive, joyously offering her obedience. The wild bitch hated us,
hated what I did to her body, and probably hated herself for the
helpless, neurological response to stimulation.
She was also deaf and blind inside the hood, and no doubt disoriented.
She was helpless, angry, aroused, completely at my mercy and I loved
every minute of it. She was also a complete novice and utterly
unprepared for what I wanted to do to her in that instant.
Sometimes being virtuous really sucks.
Oh, I could have done anything I wanted to her, but I would then be stuck
with months of extra training to do in order to deal with the behavioural
problems that would inevitably arise as a result of indulging my own
appetites. I'm a sadistic bitch, but I do try to avoid making my own
life more difficult. Classical training methods have been refined over
thousands of years, honed by the latest scientific research and field
studies. And according to those principles, I couldn't indulge myself
as I was so tempted to do.
My finished bitch knew me well. She understood the reason for my sulk
and flashed me a surprisingly indulgent smile. She may be my bitch, but
in her eyes, I'm <i>her</i> Owner. She is fiercely possessive and
protective of my person, as the very best of the wild ponies so often
are.
The light of amusement in those beautiful grey eyes heated, sliding from
laughter to lusty invitation. She knew intimately what moved in me upon
witnessing the wild bitch's struggles and looked forward to the way I
would work off my frustrations on her willing body. I nodded an
acknowledgement before we began moving the wild bitch back to her cage
and she grinned.
She likes what she knows I can do to her.
She hadn't always been willing, of course, and there was always an
element of bondage and coercion about our relationship. Life as a
Finished Bitch would always be very different than the pampered existence
of the boarded bitch. My favourite spent her day either in training or
assisting me with the training of the other bitches. She didn't work.
She didn't have holidays or weekends. Her existence was defined by
athletic effort and erotic response.
There would, however, be no playtime until we first dealt with the wild
bitch, who was busy wearing herself out by thrashing around, fighting her
restraints. When she wound down a little, we put her back in her
cage for a little more anal relaxation therapy. The wild bitch was too
distraught to pay attention to a video but a little pleasure settled her
down, grounding her as it so often does. Ponies need regular and
thorough pleasuring if one hopes to get any sort of performance out of
them.
We let her watch that night, after she had another session of hand
walking and dinner and toileting. I bound her in position so that she
had no choice but to watch me work out my frustrations on my bitch,
pushing her to multiple roaring orgasms and having a perfectly wonderful
time.
The wild bitch seemed spellbound, as well she might be. There was a
reason I was still utterly entranced by my favourite five years into her
Training. She was beautiful in her extremity, muscles straining, face
twisted in a wild rictus of pleasure as she exploded in yet another
spectacular orgasm.
After five years of Training, my bitch had strength, endurance and
phenomenal courage. She didn't have it easy, and what she gloried in
would be far too much for any novice bitch, let alone a fresh catch.
However, it still made a last impression, particularly since my bitch was
both demanding and participatory. We both felt much better when we were
done.