disheveled, lank hair, now sticky with cum, her ripped blouse and the blue jeans stained with fear. Almost as strong as Robert, Brenda leaned down and lifted the thin young woman into her arms, carrying her into the small room that would become Jane's bedroom, or more accurately, her prison.
There was no bed in the room, but rather a large cage with thick metal bars at two-inch intervals. It had some old blankets inside of it, and would hold an adult if that person curled up or lay on their side. A large water bottle was secured to the side, with a little metal straw hanging down, like in an animal cage. On the walls of the room were various hooks and manacles, placed to secure a person against the wall at varying heights and angles. There was one small window high in a corner through which a blood red sun was setting.
The room wasn't large. In the corner opposite the cage, newspapers were spread, as if indeed an animal would be staying here. Near the newspapers a small drain had been set into the floor. Pulleys and hooks were embedded in the ceiling, and hooks were set here and there in the floor. The floor was actually slanted slightly toward the drain. This way they could hose down their prisoners without flooding the house. Chains and rope were neatly coiled and hung on hooks too high to reach without a ladder. There was no furniture in the room.
The cage door was open. Brenda set Jane down inside of it and quickly secured the latch, locking it with a key she kept around her neck. Reaching up to a small video camera in the corner of the room, she removed a protective lens and smiled for the camera, as if posing for a picture. Taking a last glance at the still unconscious Jane, she left the room to join Robert for lunch.
***
When Jane awoke again she was first aware of her pounding head and a sickly sweet metallic taste in her mouth. When she tried to move, to stretch out and assess any damage, she found that she was cramped. She tried to sit up but realized she couldn't. She was in some kind of cage! As she came fully, painfully awake, she realized she had wet her pants, and it all came rushing back to her. The
terrifying situation hit her with a force that would have knocked her down if she'd been standing. She lay still for some minutes, trying to control her rapid breathing, trying to assess the situation.
Moving carefully, Jane flexed various limbs to determine if there was any damage. She seemed to be all right, at least physically. She remembered being pulled from her car and forced into the back seat of another car. She remembered the mind-numbing fear that scorched through her when the man forced himself onto her. She remembered the sickening nausea, the blackening of her sight, the ringing in her ears as she had passed out. And coming to again with the big man looming over her. That time she welcomed the escape of the darkness as she fell back into a false and short-lived peace. If only she could go back there, escape back to oblivion.
At least no bones were broken. She was in one piece and she was alive, if captive. There must be some way out of this! She willed herself to calm down and slow her breathing. If she could just think. But her head was clouded with fear and confusion.
She moved slightly, uncomfortable in her wet jeans, too frightened to be embarrassed, shifting her weight as she tried to see where she was. Track lighting along the edges of the ceiling lit the room. She would learn that these lights never dimmed. She was always to be visible, always on display. As she took in the instruments of torture, the ropes and chains, the manacles, she drew in her breath audibly. These people weren't just kidnappers. They were insane! They were going to kill her in some horrible, painful way. She started to cry, great noisy gulping sobs of fear.
In the kitchen Robert and Brenda were eating sandwiches. They heard Jane's cries from the microphones hidden in her room. Their eyes turned quickly to the large screen which projected the video image of Jane's room, with her cage the main focus. "Looks like she's up," Brenda noted, her mouth still full of meat and bread.
She swallowed, took a noisy slurp of beer and continued, "Let's let her stew awhile. We can finish lunch and then see how our new pussy is doing."
Robert grinned broadly and stared up at the screen. Jane's cries had subsided to snuffled sobs, her head hidden in her arms.
Twenty minutes later the pair entered the room and Jane's head jerked up. She regarded them fearfully, but her mouth was too dry with terror to speak. "Hi, froggy," Robert said good naturedly, as if greeting a little niece or an old friend. "How ya like your new digs? Had it refurbished especially for you. Like new. Hope you like it, because you'll be staying there a while. In fact, quite a while. Unless, that is," he paused dramatically, knowing he had her full attention, "unless you don't cooperate. Fully. Then you'll be out of here in a cocaine heartbeat.
If
you know what I mean."
Jane paled. She was sure she knew what he meant. She listened to him now as if her life depended on it.
"Now, you do everything we ask and you stay alive. You do it
well
and you slowly earn privileges. Little things, like food and water. You fuck up, and oh boy, are you gonna pay."
Jane looked at him blankly. She seemed to have no idea what he was saying. Brenda said, "Here's the thing, Jane." Jane's eyes opened even wider, and Brenda, responding to her unspoken question, said, "Sure we know your name. We have your purse. What'd you think, we'd leave it behind for the police? No one's gonna find you. Ever. You belong to us now. Our slave girl. You see," she said, kneeling down beside the shaking woman, "we have stolen you, and we plan to keep you. Forget about your past life, Janie girl.
"From now on you exist solely to please us. To entertain us. And we have kind of, uh, shall we say, bizarre tastes, as you might have guessed from the room here."
"Please," Jane managed to whisper. "She speaks!" Robert observed.
"Please," Jane tried again, "please let me go. I'll get you money. I can get money." This was a lie, but now hardly seemed the time to be truthful.
"We don't need your money, frog," Robert said disdainfully. I don't guess you got to notice where you are, but we are what you would call independently wealthy. Brenda's dad made his money in oil, and then
had the bad luck to drop dead of a heart attack, leaving everything he owned to dear little Brenda here. We've got all the money we need, honey girl. In fact, we're too fucking rich, and it's made us bored. That's why we need a distraction. A toy. A girl toy to play with. In a word, you."
"Please," Jane began again, but Brenda cut her off.
"That's enough. Stop talking. We don't want to hear it. You're still in shock. You'll figure it out soon. Now, as Robert was telling you before, we have house rules. You start out with nothing. You are a slave. Scum of the earth. Shit. Slowly you can earn your way into our graces. We will set tasks for you, and you do them. You do them well and you are rewarded. You do them poorly, and you are punished. Am I clear?"
Jane only stared at her.
Brenda continued, "That was your first transgression. You need to learn from the outset that the first rule here is speak when spoken to, and otherwise shut up. We don't want to hear your opinions on anything unless, of course, we ask. Then we expect an honest and immediate answer. First transgression equals first punishment. And ignorance is no excuse. You will never say you didn't know a rule and that's why you broke it. You break it, you pay the price. Period. So your first punishment is no food or water until we say so."
Robert looked impatient. He was less interested in control, in mind games. That was Brenda's forte. He liked sensation. Physical, visceral thrills. He liked to hear them scream. He shifted from one foot to the other, like a little boy waiting for permission to be excused. Brenda turned toward him, smiling indulgently. "Go ahead, I know you can't wait. What's on your list for the frog's first day?"
Robert licked his lips and smiled cruelly. "Janie Frog. You wet your pants. You're disgusting. Take off those wet pants and those nasty panties. Now. From in there. Move it."
Jane was too terrified to argue. She clung to a thread that if she obeyed them, they might let her go after a while. After all, what other hope had she? With hands trembling so hard she could barely get her fingers to bend, Jane managed to unbutton her jeans and slide the
zipper down. She was contorted on her side, trying to pull the wet pants from her body. Even with the fear of imminent death, she managed to blush fiercely at the knowledge that they were watching her pull down her jeans.
She finally got them off. Robert knelt down and, holding out his hand, said, "Go on, push them through the bars." As Jane tried to obey, he yanked them through and added, "Good girl. Now the panties."
"Oh, God," Jane whispered, pleading in her voice.
"Do it, bitch," Brenda ordered, and something in her tone brooked no resistance. Miserably, Jane pulled off her wet panties and tossed them through the bars.
Robert reached in and grabbed Jane's arm, hauling her roughly out of the cage. He pulled her up so she was standing, bare assed, her ripped blouse and cut bra useless. She tried to cover her pubic area with one hand while holding her shirt together with the other, but Brenda came up behind her and pulled back her arms, pinning them behind her. Jane screamed in pain and surprise as Brenda wrenched them up and back.
Robert stood in front of her, appraising the skinny girl, admiring the lush dark blonde pubic curls. He leaned down, his face close to her mons, and said, his voice dripping with disgust, "You stink! Old piss! What a pig!" Laughing cruelly, he nodded at Brenda, who used one foot to kick Jane's legs far apart. She held Jane tight so she couldn't fall. Robert reached down and pressed a large beefy finger into Jane's pussy. Jane screamed again.
"This is getting tedious, Robert. Do something about her screaming, for Christ's sake." Robert picked up Jane's urine-soaked panties and forced them into Jane's mouth. She spluttered and tried to pull back, horrified, but she only managed to press into Brenda, who advised, "Better bite down and shut up, girlie, or you'll really be sorry."
Jane believed her. She bit down on the wet fabric, sobs choking in her throat. Meanwhile, Robert continued to finger fuck her. "This bitch is one tight little cunt, Bren. I wouldn't be surprised if she never
got any! Who would want her, anyway? Skinny, pale little thing. Not worth fucking, is she? Well, never mind. We can do lots and lots of fun things to get her fuckable."
"Let's chain her up and mark her. I like my slaves marked right away, you know, Robert." As Brenda spoke, she forced Jane over to the wall, pressing against her neck so Jane's cheek was mashed against the cold plaster. Deftly she placed Jane's wrists into manacles set in the wall, which she adjusted so that Jane was forced onto her tiptoes. Taking a long scarf, she tied it across Jane's face, forcing the wet panties further into the poor woman's mouth.
Robert brought his wife the cane, a long rod of bamboo bound in black leather with a bright red painted tip. Brenda whooshed it through the air and said to Jane, "Your ass is next." Then she let the cane land, slicing flesh, raising a welt on Jane's small bottom and eliciting a muffled cry of agony from the bound girl. Expertly Brenda wielded the cane, lashing each cheek several times till there was an angry crisscross of red welts on her ass and thighs.
Robert loved to watch his wife torturing someone. It got him so hot he had to unzip his pants and pull his cock out again, massaging it lovingly as Brenda beat Jane. "Her ass must be so hot, Bren. Do you think…?" He didn't finish the question, but Brenda knew what he was asking.
"Go ahead. Fuck that bony little ass, if that's what turns you on, lover. Why not? Just grease it up or you're gonna have trouble with her puny little butt."
Robert nodded, quickly getting the tube of lubricant they kept handy for such occasions. He smeared it on his cock and pressed his hand between Jane's butt cheeks, smearing a glob on her little asshole. Jane was slumped in her manacles, her wrists bearing most of her weight. She was quiet now, and it wasn't clear if she was conscious or not, but Robert didn't care. He just wanted to fuck her nasty little asshole.
Pressing against her, his pants tight around his muscular thighs, Robert put the tip of his cock against her gooey hole. He pressed, gently at first, then harder, forcing himself into her. Jane jerked and
screamed into her gag. Her ass felt like it was being split in two. His rough jeans scraped against her bruised and welted skin. Jane writhed in agony, her piercing screams muffled against the gag.
"She's so hot," Robert moaned, aroused by Jane's obvious terror and pain. He eased in slowly, but relentlessly, pushing his way past her tight sphincter. And then he was fucking the hapless woman, rutting into her, using her like a dog. It only lasted a few minutes because his arousal and need were so great. With a loud groan of pleasure, Robert shot his thick wad of cum into Jane's ass. He pulled out, wiping his cock with the cloth Brenda handed him.
"Got any left for me?" Brenda asked, smiling coquettishly at her husband. Robert turned to his wife, who had unbuttoned her blouse, revealing her own large breasts and erect nipples. Robert grinned and they left the room to have sex together, both wildly excited by what they had done. For the moment Jane was forgotten, or at least not necessary. It was as if the manacled half-naked woman with the welted bruised ass and semen dripping from her asshole was nothing more than an object. Not a real human, but a toy that existed solely to titillate and amuse its owners. And this was only the beginning.
When Brenda finally came back an hour later to let Jane down, she admired her handiwork. Jane was quiet, her eyes closed, body toward the wall where she was chained. The scarf was still wound around her head, holding the soiled panties in her mouth. Her ass was bruised and long red lines marked her buttocks and thighs. Robert's semen had dried in a long thin line down her thigh.