Chapter 9

 

Jackie could barely contain her impatience. That fat-faced guard Wilrey was inspecting her hard won permit to see Shara and Milligan. Jackie had worked so hard pleasing Anni in order to obtain it and Wilrey was treating it like it was a possible counterfeit bill. He even held it up to the light at one point!

Jackie realized the jerk was messing with her. She turned to look out a window in order to tune out his game or at least act like it. Damn, if he did that long enough she could miss out on visiting hours.

After another half minute she couldn’t stand it and turned to look back at him. He was staring at her legs! So that was his game. The fat boy just wanted extra time to ogle her. Jackie considered pulling up her skirt a few inches like a hitchhiker trying to get a ride. The concept gave her a tiny thrill. No, she’d better not. That would be like throwing gasoline on a fire! She couldn’t believe the thought had even occurred.

Fat-face Wilrey spoke, “Sooooooo, you’re done with visiting Mr.  Jones today? You’re visiting those two former Psychoanalysts? Some kind of little convention? Ha ha! “

Jackie flashed a glare, “Read the permit. “

“OK, OK, geez. Down the hall, past Mr.  Jones’ suite, second to last suite on the left.  Those two are roomies now. They moved Tillings in with Milligan. They do have a lot in common. “

From the look on Wilrey’s face and the gleam in his beady black eyes she knew what he felt they had in common had to do with their physical attributes and not what pastimes they enjoyed. She frowned. What they had in common was being imprisoned here against their will.

Jackie flushed. Wilrey was looking at her with creepy fascination. She plucked the pass out of his meaty fingers. She didn’t want him -- or anyone else -- catching her without a pass and using it as a premise to use and abuse her. No more of their tricks! No more of their wickedness! Time to pull off her plan.

“Do you want me to come with you, little lady? Rules say I can accompany you if for any reason you don’t feel safe. I wouldn’t mind hanging out with you three brain doctors. I can referee any cat fights. “

He accepted her glare as an answer and buzzed her through to the locked down hall. As she strode down the hall she ignored Wayne Jones’ open suite on her way past and didn’t even look to see if he was still sitting at the little table. Screw him!

She couldn’t help but recall how Anni had tricked her into masochistic sex in order to obtain the second permit slip because she wanted to save Milligan as well as Tillings. The whole time she’d known they were in the same room and had put Jackie through all that… the pain… and the lesbian acts… and… those orgasms. She was furious at Anni and at her own gullible vulnerability. Tricked again!

That little bitch tricked her just like everybody else had. Wayne Jones, Little Johnson and Monica, Robert and Hannah, Anni. No more. Time to take control.

Still, Jackie could not completely regret the turns of events in Anni’s office. That encounter… had been satisfying.

The silver lining to this dark cloud was that Shara Tillings and Carol Milligan rooming together was going to make it much easier for her to carry out her plan to free them both. Everything would work out.

***

Outside the electronically locked door to the “suite” -- really a holding cell -- containing Shara, who Jackie had met at a few conferences, and Carol Milligan, who she had never met, Jackie was nervous. Her belly was full of little butterflies. She felt like she had to pee even though she knew she didn’t. She knew Wilrey must have watched her on the hall camera on her entire walk and he must know she was waiting outside the door, waiting for him to buzz her in. He was probably purposely dawdling to get under her skin. Wayne Jones intimidated her but Wilrey disgusted her. Any interactions with him always made her angry.

The wait did give her time to make final mental preparations. Once inside, she would reintroduce herself to Shara and introduce herself to Milligan, explain her plan to break them out, and then get them prepared. She knew the poor women may not be dressed at all so she’d packed two sets of simple clothing -- long sleeve T-shirts and sweatpants -- so they would have something to keep them a little warm once they got outside in the Winter air. They’d still be cold but she’d get them to her car quick as possible so they’d be out of the wind. Her car had a good heater that would warm up fast once they got on the road. It wouldn’t be too bad. In the euphoria of escape they may not even notice the cold.

Jackie snuck a peek down the hallway. She saw the emergency escape door with its push bar. They’d go through that door so they wouldn’t have to go past Wilrey and get into any kind of confrontation. Even when Wilrey saw what was happening on camera view or looked up because he heard the alarm activated when the door opened they would have the better angle on the parking lot. If Wilrey wasn’t too stupid to realize they were escaping he would still be too fat and slow to catch them as long as they kept moving. Someone might drive after them but Jackie would drive straight to the nearest police station. She had looked up the address and practiced driving the route so she was fully prepared.

The electronic lock finally buzzed and continued pending her pushing it open. She knocked out of politeness. She saw the viewing window on the door was covered with a curtain. Jackie knew this would not have been allowed with real patients. Doubtless, they hadn’t wanted possible visitors to see Shara and Carol. They might have been able to signal non-verbally that they needed help.

Jackie thought she heard a female say “Please come in. “When she pushed on the door, just as she made contact the buzzing stopped and the door would not open. She pushed it but it was locked. Her hand dropped. The door started buzzing again and again stopped before she could push it open. Wilrey pulled the same simple-minded juvenile routine twice more before he finally kept it buzzed long enough and she was able to open it in time. That damned jerk! She’d be getting the last laugh though. How was Wayne Jones going to react when Wilrey told him their third prospective Psychoanalyst slave escaped and freed the first two and, through their freedom, insured Jones’ ongoing and indefinite incarceration?

When Jackie stepped in and the door drifted shut behind her with an electronic click Jackie was surprised. Shocked. Other than the possibility Shara and Milligan would need clothing she hadn’t thought much at all about what she might find in the room. She had left everything beyond the door and her set plan as a comfortable gray blank.

Even if she had mentally prepared herself Jackie knew she would have been shocked.

The two women incarcerated in the room had, of course, heard her repeated frustrated attempts to enter and each stood at the foot of their beds, nearest the door. They were not bound but they also were not dressed. They were in identical poses. Their arms were behind their backs interlaced so their hands gripped opposing elbows. Legs were wide and rigid so their feet lined up with the legs of the beds. Their backs were arched, shoulders squared, lungs inflated to feature their beautiful breasts to maximum effect.

Obviously, they’d expected someone else and had arranged themselves in a way they’d been trained to perform. Jackie had expected nudity but hadn’t envisioned trained performance from intelligent and educated women.

At the foot of the bed on the left was Shara Tillings who she’d expected to see though perhaps not so very much of her milk chocolate skin. She had an incredibly fit body with majestically full breasts and dark chocolate nipples and black forested V of pubic hair. Jackie felt something like passion at her peer’s naked condition until she corrected the feeling and identified it as relief at finding her.

She wasn’t the real surprise. The other woman was. Jackie was disappointed to recognize her. Instead of Carol Milligan -- who Jackie had never met -- it was the blonde woman who she’d seen suck off Wayne Jones. This same woman had twirled half his load of sperm around one of Jackie’s newly pierced nipples while the other half was swirled around her other nipple by that slim brunette whose tattoos were as fresh as Jackie’s piercing. Both women had pushed the sperm into her mouth for Jackie to subsequently swallow. Jackie’s face burned red from the shameful memory and a fire was lit in her womb as well. What was this blonde’s name? An image of a thick patch of butterscotch pussy hair dripping juice and the name came back to her. Swampy. Jones called her Swampy.

Jackie felt cheated. They’d moved the Milligan woman -- it must have just happened -- and replaced her with this slave slut Swampy. She’d have to keep an eye on this one while she saved Shara and she realized she might be “one and done” and have to leave Milligan wherever she was and come back for her with the authorities after Shara told them everything.

She faced Shara, “Shara, I hope you remember me from those conferences. Jacqueline Thorpe. I’m here to get you out of here. “

Shara stood still, facing forward. She didn’t look at Jackie but she did look confused.

“Shara, it’s OK. I’m here to save you! Here, put these on. “Jackie pulled one set of clothing out of her purse but didn’t throw them when she saw Shara had not moved and obviously would not catch them.

“Shara? “

The blonde named Swampy spoke matter-of-factly, “That isn’t her name. Not any more. She isn’t allowed to talk with anyone who does not know and use her new name, her real name, her earned name. That’s just one of the rules. “

Jackie looked at Swampy, wondering if she was going to be an obstacle. Swampy remained standing at slave attention but her expression was neutral and her tone had been helpful.

Swampy’s deep green eyes flicked to Jackie and then went back to staring forward, “Her real name now is Sharer, as in ‘one who shares’. She shares in all things. All her pains and all her joys. Mostly, I’m the one who shares them with her. “

Bizarre, thought Jackie. Jones and his cronies renamed Shara with a play on her birth name. She’d have to play along for the moment if that was what it took to communicate meaningfully.

“Uh… ‘Sharer’, I’ve come to take you away with me. To safety. Swampy… you can come with us if you’d like. I have some clothes for you as well. “

Shara finally spoke, “Are you a Mistress? “

“No, of course not, I’m here to free you. Take these clothes and put them on. “

Shara faced forward staring at the wall and gave no answer.

“Shara. Sharer. We need to go. “

Swampy spoke again, “Sharer and I must respect the rules. So should you. We must be addressed by our proper names: Sharer and Swampy. Also, we normally cannot speak at all. There are exceptions. We can answer a Master or Mistress who addresses us. You’ve made it clear you do not fit that category. The only other option to allow communication is slave exercise between slaves. “

“I’m not a slave! “

“There are only Dominants and submissives though there are many levels of each. This Institute has mostly the extreme ends of the spectrum. You are not a Mistress so you are not a dominant. Process of elimination leaves submissive. You are a slave. Slaves like Sharer and I are status aware. That means we know and accept we are slaves here to serve the Dominants. You are status ignorant; a slave who is not self-aware and does not know she is a slave. Yet. “

Goodness, thought Jackie, this Swampy is thoroughly brainwashed. She hoped Sharer, Shara, was not so deeply indoctrinated. She couldn’t hope to talk them out of their regimented behavior. Or could she?

“Look, you’ve already broken these ‘rules’. I’m no Mistress and we aren’t ‘exercising’ yet we’re still talking. So, let’s relax, have a civilized chat and make some common sense choices. “

Swampy wasn’t falling for logic, “We are still following the rules. We’re obeying one of the allowed exceptions to the rules. The most senior slave present is allowed to speak freely to a status ignorant slave in order to explain the rules. This gives you the opportunity to fully realize your slave status. To become status aware. It is a most gracious allowance by Master Jones. Now, agree to slave exercise and we can continue to interact verbally. Otherwise, leave. “

“To Hell with that Swampy or Marshland or Bog or whatever your fucking name is. The only exercising I’ll be doing is running to my car. With Shara. “

Jackie felt a surge of adrenalin as she strode to Shara, grabbed her by the forearm, and pulled her off balance to get her moving. Jackie was ready to fight Swampy if need be. She knew the woman was a brainwashed innocent but she’d knock the bitch out if she had to. She yanked the mostly unresisting Shara over to the door. She was relieved to see Swampy made no move to interfere.

Her triumph was short-lived, attached to a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Of course! The door was electronic and had electronically locked behind her once she entered. She looked at the call button. If she pressed it Wilrey would look at the camera view, see she was dragging Shara Tillings, and would not release the lock. Damn! Come to think of it, he may already be watching the camera view. What if he was? Now what?

Swampy spoke again, her tone still helpful, like a customer service clerk, “You may leave alone without further conversation or you are welcome to engage in slave exercise and you may then say whatever you want and can say. “

Jackie felt like a cornered rabbit and looked around wildly for an avenue of escape. Locked painted metal door. Barred fingerprint-clouded windows. Two beautiful full-figured slaves who would not listen to her. Dull-eyed cameras in all four corners of the room.

Shara / Sharer spoke for the second time, this time very quietly, and with her long straightened raven hair draping over her face as if hiding the fact she was speaking from the cameras, “Just do it. You’ll have to be bound but I know where the key is. I’ll listen to anything you say. It’s your only chance. “

Shara spoke so low Jackie didn’t think even Swampy could hear her. Obviously, Shara wanted to be saved. Wilrey wouldn’t just let them walk out but Shara must have a plan. Of course, a clever woman like her, with all that time on her hands had probably planned it all through just in case this kind of opportunity came along.

Jackie would just play along a little bit. Just a little more of this madness to secure their freedom. Thank goodness Shara had mumbled an understanding to her. She’d been about to leave the poor woman to her fate.

Jackie let go of Shara and calmed herself as well as she could, “All right, Swampy, I guess I’m up for a little ‘slave exercise’ with you two. What will it be? Push ups? Jumping jacks? Or just running in place? “

“More like staying in place. See those manacles hanging down from the ceiling? Just put them on willingly like a good little slave. Let Sharer and Swampy do the rest. We’ll listen to whatever you say during exercise. “

This was crazy. Jackie knew it was. But she felt like she was on a wicked twisting speeding slide -- she even had that feeling in the pit of her tummy -- and had no choice now but to ride the slide all the way.

She shook her head trying to displace the foreboding. A little ‘slave exercise’ with these two slaves would surely be no big deal after everything she’d already been through. Inconsequential. A small price to pay.

The heavy manacles hung from thick chains in the center of the room between the two beds and equal to the foot of the beds. It felt all too final when she closed the first one locked tight on her wrist. The metal was continuous from her wrists to halfway up her forearms. The second manacle was difficult. She had to press it closed and locked against the one on her other hand, both hands well above her head. They were so heavy and at such an awkward angle it really was like exercise.

Grinding chains startled her. Swampy was fingering a remote control and her eyes glistening eagerly. Spare chain links spooled upward into a ceiling casing until Jackie was stretched, arms straight, spinning slightly, her big toes fighting to keep her in place. Her shoulders immediately began aching.

Time to say her piece before this went any further, “Let’s talk, girls. You don’t want to be here, you don’t want to be slaves the rest of your lives. No one would. Let me down after the bare minimum to make this ‘slave exercise’ look convincing then I’ll buzz to leave with you two back in your beds or standing in that slave parade mode. Then, when the door opens, you jump to it and we all leave together down the hall, out the fire escape door, into my car, and back to freedom. Good plan, right? “

Sharer produced a couple short whips from under her bed and handed one to Swampy.

“Good plan, right, ladies? “

Sharer and Swampy used non-whip wielding hands to begin tearing away Jackie’s clothing, popping buttons and ripping skirt material.

“Oh, careful, don’t rip it. I’ll need to put all these clothes right back on when we’re done going through the motions here. “

They kept ripping, pulling and stretching, rapidly revealing Jackie’s lush pale body. Their too realistic play-acting was making Jackie angry.

“Hey, be careful! We could get pulled over by police as we speed away from this hell hole. I don’t want to look so disheveled I won’t be credible to them. “

Sharer’s eyes were gobbling up Jackie’s revealed skin and lingered appreciatively on her nipple-ring weighted heaving breasts. Swampy pushed her face close to Jackie’s and looked steadily into her eyes as she viciously tore away her final shred of clothing, her panties.

Sharer turned to Swampy, “Swampy, will you please share with me a whipping delivered to this status ignorant slave? You know I cannot do it unless you also will. “

“I’ll be happy to, Sharer. I’ll take her backside, you can have her front. “

As they assumed their agreed stations Jackie had more than an inkling things were not developing well for her. They were such good actresses, she thought, they were even fooling her into thinking they were dedicated slaves.

“Make it look good, but don’t whip hard, I’ll need to be able to sit in the driver seat. If you’re good with those whips I think you can make them snap without even contacting my skin. “

SCHWACK! Across the middle of both ass cheeks a trail of meteoric fire.

SCHWACK! Across her torso, just millimeters below her breasts, a trickle of splashed lava.

Jackie yelled and twisted, chained manacles clinking together.

More and more slashing splashing pain. Sharer and Swampy were putting all their strength and concentration into it. The pain did not just go on and on. It built upon itself. While the pain built Jackie’s self-control dismantled. Her yells turned into screams, her screams eventually into lost soul groans of torment.

Jackie was in danger to losing herself to the pain. She knew it. She may only have a few moments of purposeful consciousness left. She had to make sure they were fully on board with the plan, that no adjustments were needed. Other than having one of them drive her car, of course. In ten minutes, or however long this whipping was going to last, she would be in too much ongoing pain to drive. One of these strong-armed expert whipping bitches would have to do the duty. Did they even realize how much they were hurting their rescuer?

Jackie gulped back a groan-scream. Her voice was a croak, “You’re all good with the plan? “

She saw Sharer’s calmly sympathetic dark face float into view very near, “It was a good plan, Fishy. “

How did Sharer know her name? How did Sharer know to call her Fishy? Perhaps Swampy had overheard Jones and had mentioned it to Sharer in some other slave exercise. That didn’t seem realistic. Why was Swampy here in place of Carol Milligan? Was it all some kind of set up? Maybe she could find out just by asking. Maybe it would jog Sharer’s memory in more ways than one, make her remember she was really Shara.

“Do you know where Carol Milligan is? Do you know where they put her? “

Sharer smiled a warm genuine smile, “Sure, Fishy. She’s right here. Or was. Swampy was once called Carol Milligan before finding her true self. “

Jackie blinked and finally allowed the full picture to come together. She’d been tricked again and again by others but now, this time, she had fooled herself. She hadn’t thought the subservient bimbo Swampy could possibly be Milligan. Had not even entertained the idea.  

Shara and Carol were not being held here against their will, at least not any longer. Sharer and Swampy were content in the Institute’s suite/cell, happy to follow the orders of Wayne Jones, thrilled to serve their new king. They wouldn’t leave even if the doors were all wide open. There would be no “escape” for them and so there would be no escape for Jacqueline Thorpe.

Wayne Jones’ plans would not unravel. They would continue to unfold.

“No! “

“Your mouth says ‘No’ but your soul says ‘Yes’. “

At least the two former Psychoanalysts, now slaves, were no longer whipping her. Sharer was petting her hair and cheeks. Swampy was gently squeezing both painfully lashed bottom cheeks. The tender fondling hurt but felt good. Sharer’s caresses were an intimate invasion of her personal space but still welcome.

Jackie realized she should have recognized their lack of true cooperation and their trickiness in getting her to shackle herself cooperatively. It was so obvious! What was she thinking? How couldn’t she see where it was all going? Or… had part of her known… a newly awakened part eager to continue on the dark path? Dear God, had she been tricked into entrapment or did she cooperate in her own capture?

Their touches felt good. Sharer was hefting the weight of both breasts and grinding thumbprints into her nipples. Swampy reached between her legs from behind her and wiggled curious fingers in her curiously wet folds.

Jackie almost wished they were still whipping her. Anything might be better than their corrupting pleasures. My God, I’ve just found out my plan is shot and my freedom is forfeit yet I’m impossibly hot, thought Jackie. This isn’t right, none of this. These bitches are pleasuring me only to defeat me!

By arching her back Jackie was able to push her breasts more heavily into Sharer’s hands while jamming her crotch against those scouting fingers of Swampy.
“Oh, it feels so good! “

“Of course it does, little Fishy. “

Jackie’s eyes were closed and she couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the pleasures and the pains. She didn’t know which slave said what but they sounded confident and self-satisfied. Those stupid bitches. She’d come to rescue them and this was the thanks she got? Still, she couldn’t deny her own body was grateful for their ministrations. It was bizarre but she felt like thanking them!

Jackie supposed they were pleasuring her now in order to create a positive association with her comprehension of her failed and dangerous situation. She had to admit it was working. A little bit. She knew lesser women would have fallen for it by now hook, line, and sinker. Not her. She couldn’t. Her free will was at stake. Her individuality. She could not take the bait!

Her hips were in autopilot. They arched her rear and ground her hot pussy all over Swampy’s hand. Swampy balled that hand into a fist and Swampy just fought to keep it in place as Jackie slid and twisted her pussy on the knuckles. That pussy just wanted sensation and didn’t care if it was pleasure or pain. It was all the same. Her pussy wanted as much sensation as it could get and didn’t care how it was gained, who provided it, or what it cost her.

Sharer rolled both nipples harshly between her thumbs and fingers, “Do you like this, Fishy? “

“Mmmmm. “

Sharer leaned in and licked her ear lobe just before and just after she spoke, “You need it you sexy bitch, you’re out of control of yourself and we’re in control of you. You’re just a hot, sexy, wonderful pussy on legs. “

If Jackie were capable of rational thought she’d marvel at how she could be so ashamed and yet curiously proud of her passionate nature. Unable to think clearly while she desperately tightened her wounded buttocks and ground her enflamed pussy insistently backward into Swampy’s slick fist she still felt both emotions deeply and they both stoked her arousal into a wildfire.

With her swollen pussy lips rolled by Swampy’s fist and Sharer tonguing her ear while using the conveniently wide nipple rings to harshly tug, Jackie climaxed. Her orgasm was savage and prolonged. The profound sensations and her jittering hips caused droplets of pussy oil to spatter on the room’s gray marble imitation floor.

“Aaaargh! Ahhhhhhh! Oh, oh, oh. “Her cries were pleasing to all three of them.

Jackie’s thin wrists took her entire weight as her spent body hung from the manacles, her feet dragging haphazardly on the floor.

Some things were being said but her mind couldn’t decode the words until Swampy slapped her face twice with the same wet hand Jackie had come all over.

“Disrespectful slave! Don’t soak selfishly in your own pleasure. You should already be at attention ready to take orders, ready to please. “

Jackie got her feet under her shakily and actually heard herself mumbling an apology.

Both women were looking at her up and down, clearly enjoying the state she was in. Swampy stared into her eyes, gauging, “Be fair, Fishy. Don’t you owe us for the pleasure we just gave you? “

Jackie stammered, “Oh, yes. Of course, I’m sorry. Anything you want. I’ll do anything for you. “Jackie was dismayed by her simpering eagerness but also felt her lust spark and flame up all over again. Being forced to say things was so hot!

“We’ll give you the opportunity to repay our kindnesses. As more senior slaves than you, what should you do for us? What could show the proper respect for our favors while also showing the proper lack of respect for lowly Fishy? “

“I don’t know. Anything. Whatever you want. I’ll… lick your pussies. “Jackie felt heat on her already red face.

“That’s nice, but… maybe you could do something else… on the other side… between our ass cheeks…. “

Jackie worked her mouth, horrified and shamed, but still hot and eager to please. Suddenly, words poured out, “I’ll do it. Let me lick your assholes. I’ll suck them for you. Please. I’ll do it so good for you. Please. “

Jackie saw Swampy and Sharer were both smiling widely and their nipples were quite hard. As hard as Jackie’s whose nipples and breasts were so blood-engorged they were defying the weight of the ridiculously heavy nipple rings.

“All right. For you. We’ll let you clean our butt holes with your mouth. However, you’re so eager, you’ll still owe us. We’ll figure that out later, though. “

Sharer picked up the remote control Swampy had tossed on her bed, pressed a button on it, and machinery hummed and chains jangled as Jackie was lowered onto her knees. At first her arms still stretched above her head but the humming and jangling continued until her still manacled hands had extensive freedom of movement.
Swampy turned, backed up towards Jackie, and leaned forward with her hands on her knees, “Do it, Fishy. Get that slut mouth to work. “

Jackie knew such an act was reprehensible and totally alien for her. Not ever part of her sexual repertoire nor had she ever thought it would be. She even remembered friends at school making a reference to it and everyone laughing hilariously. She looked at Sharer. She was standing near, looking eager to see, and perhaps eager to get her own turn.

Jackie could hardly believe her fellow professional was watching her about to go down on another professional’s ass. She didn’t know if having a watcher increased her trepidation. It certainly made the flames in her own pussy flare higher. She guessed she was a little bit of an exhibitionist. And a whole lot of a slut. And, maybe, a full blown submissive.

She figured only a submissive could be at all aroused, let alone this aroused, under these circumstances. Was she really going to do this? Of course she was.

Jackie used her manacled hands to grip Swampy’s waist to hold her place and then crammed her face into Swampy’s ass crease. Swampy had generous sexy butt cheeks so her crack was deep and it was a moment of nose-burrowing struggle before Jackie could find and reach her anus.

She found the crinkled circle, swiped it once with her tongue, withdrew to roll up saliva in her suddenly wildly salivating mouth and used her tongue to splash wetness all around and all over it. It was easy to tell she was doing good work.

“Oh, good, that’s good. Sharer, the slut is doing it like a good girl. Keep going, Fishy. Don’t stop. “

Fishy wasn’t about to stop. It felt so rewarding to please the slave woman. So gratifying to do what others wanted instead of worrying selfishly about her own concerns.

Fishy worked her tongue for a long minute on that asshole. Her face felt steamed with humidity from the close contact with that hot shaking ass in the warm room. When she pulled back her tongue for a moment to re-supply it with saliva she found she could actually taste ass.

Swampy’s voice was thick with demanding arousal, “Get that tongue up my ass. Deep. Do it, Fishy! “

She sounded so needy! Fishy hurried to obey. It took a lot of tongue strength to get the tip past the sphincter. She got the tip in and then worked it in and out trying to maintain and expand her precious beachhead.

Swampy flexed in passionate reaction and the muscular ring of muscle compressed on Fishy’s tongue, nearly entrapping it before rejecting it, “Oh, ooooh. Keep trying, Fishy! “

Fishy was having a hard time getting air with her tongue out and the sweaty butt cheeks occasionally pressing her nostrils closed. She wasn’t about to give up. This was the most important thing in the whole world. It was the only thing. Nothing else mattered.

Fishy reached her manacled hands between Swampy’s legs and up. When she contacted Swampy’s saturated bush her hands were instantly soaked. She knew she was onto a solution when she heard Swampy groan and then keep groaning in delight as the fingers of one of Fishy’s hands penetrated that pussy while the fingers of her other hand sought, found, and squeezed her clitoris.

Now Fishy’s insistently stabbing tongue forced Swampy’s sphincter to blossom open. She followed that success with deep tongue thrusts as far in as she could manage. She felt the root of her tongue aching, then screaming in pain, but that was not significant. The pain was fine. The pain was good.

It was even better when Swampy whooped her climax and her sphincter clenched tight and painfully on Fishy’s soft tongue. Fishy delighted in Swampy’s flesh-quaking cries of orgasm. Even with the bitter taste of ass on her tongue, success was sweet.

Fishy herself was so close to coming. Just a little more contact, maybe one more thrust of fingers up her hot loose pussy.

It was not to be.

Swampy staggered forward, leaving Fishy’s tongue seeking empty air. Vision clouded by lust, Fishy saw droplets of pussy oil streaming down off Swampy’s still orgasming pussy. The droplets spattered all over the floor as Swampy stumbled away. Sharer slapped Fishy’s fingers so hard they popped out of her pussy. Fishy’s pussy and tongue felt simultaneous abandonment.

Fishy could hardly bare the loss of pleasure or the loss of a task to perform. Terrible. Her needs were terrible. Both her manacled hands descended on her ripe pussy and delved multiple fingers into her wet slot.

Satisfaction was not her immediate destiny. She heard the grinding chains and harsh rattles. The pulled chains forcibly plucked her hands away from her hot wetness and dragged her away from achieving satisfaction. She looked up and saw Sharer standing over her with the chain and manacles remote control in her hand.

“Selfish, Fishy. Remember, you’re here to serve. Since you are the newest -- and sluttiest -- slave you must serve all others. Your pleasure is incidental, or sometimes even a negative. Now that Swampy has come from your ass-sucking, I, too, can take my enjoyment. We’ll keep your naughty hands right there over your head so they don’t make mischief in your pussy. It’ll make it much harder to make me come. That’s good though. You’ll be sucking my ass much longer. “

Sharer turned and bent forward, hands on knees, and backed up in little shuffles met halfway by Fishy squirming roughly forward on pained knees.

Fishy found Sharer’s ass was just as slick with sweat in the warm room but was much more toned and muscular than Swampy’s soft cushions. The crack was not as deep but the asshole was much more prominent and thick. Fishy swiped her whole tongue rough and wet up and down the crack and then swirled it all over the anus, over and over, counter-clockwise. She felt Sharer’s ass tense and vice grip her face. The sensation was surprisingly pleasing because it was a reflection her tongue was accomplishing its aim. Service to another seemed so rewarding!

Sharer couldn’t help but jerk and sway with pleasure from time to time and it caused her ass to gently smack Fishy’s face. It made it hard for Fishy to keep her tongue in contact but she tried her best and mostly succeeded. As much as she could she kept her mouth directly on that asshole.

She kept changing up what her mouth was doing. Stretched and manacled so awkwardly in that kneeling position, and with all the previous tasks her mouth performed, her entire jaw ached wearily. So she moved from licking the dark hole, to kissing it, to nibbling with her lips, to plunging her tongue in and out, thrusting like a tiny agile cock. Each time her jaw muscles began to scream she moved to the next method.

What was this twisted behavior called? She knew she’d heard it before. Previous references had caused distaste. Now here she was on her knees, achy, sore, abused, aroused and her distaste had become just taste. She could literally taste it. Analinguas. That was the word for it.

Swampy grabbed a handful of blonde and pulled her face out of Sharer’s crack, “Which ass tastes better? You have to say. “

Fishy urgently considered the question. She knew pain was hovering a moment away. Even without the threat of pain, imagined or real, she wanted to get this right. The women did each taste surprisingly unique. She had to work her mouth in order to form a name.

“Sharer does. “

Swampy spanked her ass hard but just once and she seemed a little amused when she spoke, “You like dark chocolate! “

Swampy pushed her face back to work in the crack and Fishy immediately dove back into her work. She had even more gusto now. The simple question had forced her to use her rusty mind, forced her to take things into consideration. She did like the taste of Sharer’s ass. A lot. But only just a little better than Swampy’s. She liked them both. She liked it all. She really did. The realization made her give her utmost effort to please and perform.

Sharer kept moaning and gasping and shuddering but, as long minutes passed, despite all of Fishy’s devout efforts, she just did not come. Fishy was eventually frustrated almost to the point of tears. She was working so hard but her mouth was hurting more and more, and was getting looser and weaker. How much longer could she continue? Fishy understood a woman like her could suffer a lot of abuse, even deserved a lot of abuse, but there must be some limits. She was only human, after all. She wasn’t really a slave but… even if she was… a slave was still a human, wasn’t she?

Fishy honestly did not know what was worse, the aches and pains glowing all over her body, flaming in her knees and jaw, her weariness, or her own sexual need to have another orgasm. She needed one soooooo bad. Maybe the worst was not being able to complete her mission and satisfy the hotly aroused Sharer. She wished they would let her get her face up into that steaming hot pussy whose lowest portion was barely an inch from the dark hole she was servicing.

Finally, Swampy took mercy on them, “Sharer, do you want me to diddle your clit? “

“Ohh, God, yes! Please, please, please! “

Fishy wished she could also beg but kept her mouth working hard. It sounded like she was in the home stretch and it renewed her lingual vigor.

Swampy reached out and cupped Sharer’s mound entirely, her wrist grinding on the clitoris, her sweltering breasts rubbing Sharer’s sweaty tits.

“I came with her tongue up my ass, you can too, Sharer. “

Fishy hurried to cram her tongue up Sharer’s ass channel in order to better comply with Swampy’s spoken image.

Within seconds Sharer released a primal roar, her ass cheeks juddering. When her legs went bolt straight in muscular reaction to the climax, her butt smashed Fishy’s face and Fishy bounced backward. She would have ended up on her back if not for the suspended shackles holding her up, arms straight over her head like she was trying to eagerly volunteer for something. Or, perhaps, trying to surrender.

Sharer lunged over to a bed and sprawled on her belly and began grinding her squirming pussy into a mound of blankets. She released a wavering keening howl as she ground down.

Swampy stood over the dazed and needy Fishy. She cocked her head to one side, “Does Fishy need an orgasm? “

“Oh, yes, please! I do need one! “

“That’s nice. “Swampy moved to the other bed and laid on her back with a vacant expression.

Fishy couldn’t believe it. Why wouldn’t she let her have one? She needed relief, needed satisfaction. She had earned it, hadn’t she?

“Please, Swampy! I beg you! Please, please! I’ve done everything you’ve asked, I’ve worked so hard, please help me come! “

“Hmmm. “

“Please, please, please, please. “

Swampy stared at ceiling dreamily, “Well. . . “

“Please, Swampy, please! “

“You did satisfy us well and you did do as you were told. That does not mean that you get any reward. You don’t perform to get something in return. You’re a slave. You do what you are told because you are told, not for any ulterior motive such as obtaining an orgasm. Your pleasure is of very little importance to anyone but you, and should not be all that important even to you. Give them up as a goal in and of themselves and, conversely, you will have more of them and orgasm more powerfully than ever before. A selfish slave is a slave failure. If your orgasm-denial gave a Master or Mistress the slightest mental pleasure, shouldn’t you suffer it? “

Fishy was horrified and worried there would be no orgasm, “Oh, please, Swampy. Just a little mercy, please! “

“Answer the question, slave Fishy! Shouldn’t you gladly suffer orgasm-denial for the satisfaction of a Master or a Mistress? “

Fishy’s wild thoughts of sexual satiation were cornered in a dark alley with no escape. After a long moment her shoulders slumped in resignation, “Yes, I guess so. “

“Very good, Fishy! Well, lucky for you, I’m not actually a Mistress. I don’t begrudge you another orgasm. “

“Oh, yes. Thank you, Swampy. “A vision of orgasmic pleasure danced in Fishy’s head. It would make everything -- the pain, abuse, humiliation, hard work, and teasing -- all well worth it.

“Remember what we told you before you licked out our holes. You were so eager you would still owe us after that. Now, an orgasm in addition? How can you fairly pay for everything we have done for you and are about to do? “

“I… I don’t know. Tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. “

Swampy hopped out of bed and Sharer hauled herself more slowly off her damp blankets. Together they unshackled Fishy. No one was concerned Fishy may try to escape. Swampy and Sharer were not at all worried and the thought never even entered Fishy’s pretty head.

Once they had her on her feet a trembling Fishy expected them to lead her to a bed and begin giving her relief/satisfaction. Not to be. On either side they led and supported her over to the tiny two-chair table in the room, an exact likeness of the one in Wayne Jones’ room. They flopped her down.

“Your aim should always be to obey and satisfy others. That is its own fulfilment for you and it also leads to other fulfilment benefits. Mental, emotional, and, just incidentally, physical. You have so much to learn here and everyone is eager to teach you. But you come second. Actually, something like one hundred and seventy-fourth. There is a hierarchy here. Can you guess who is number one? “

It wasn’t even a guess, “Wayne Jones. “

“Right you are, Fishy! Now, focus on your number one goal, pleasing he who is number one. What could you possibly do to serve him? “

“Free him! “Fishy spoke without thought, without any consideration of appearances or ramifications, and with far too much enthusiasm. It left post-exclamation Fishy with a bad taste in her mouth.

“Exactly. Clever girl. “Swampy moved a placemat on the table and revealed a professionally formatted typed report. There was a pen next to it.

Fishy knew the entire scene had been anticipated -- manipulated to occur -- and perhaps had been since before Little Johnson invaded her privacy and then her home and then her sex. He’d just happen to mention Shara Tillings and Carol Milligan’s predicament. Why? This was why. She’d been guided all along to this crossroads intentionally and dexterously.

Fishy picked and scanned the document. It was a very thorough and professional analysis of the Wayne Jones psyche. It was a complete clean bill of health for his sanity. In combination with the ones Swampy and Sharer had doubtless already filled out, it was his ticket to freedom if it was signed by a professionally certified and case authorized Psychoanalyst. The letterhead at the top of each page of the document identified it as produced by “Jacqueline Thorpe, Independent Psychoanalyst”. There was also a line at the bottom of each page for her signature and the date.

They could not make her sign it. Not really. Or, maybe they could, but they actually weren’t. They were telling her to do it saying she owed it to them and offering the carrot of an orgasm. They weren’t actually forcing her. She knew she owed them nothing. If anything, they owed her an apology! An orgasm… would be so nice… but it would just be one orgasm in a lifetime. Maybe the orgasm of a lifetime but, still, she had to keep this in perspective. Freeing Wayne Jones was a serious matter. All this time, she’d worked to keep him incarcerated while pretending to be objective. She had defied him at every turn though never successfully.  

The only one who could make her sign it was herself. Her own nature.

Her own nature called for fairness for others though, ironically, she was indifferent or maybe even aroused at unfairness towards her own person. Or perhaps she thought she deserved mistreatment and so, in a way, regarded unfairness to herself as fair. But she did want to be fair to others.

In all fairness, Wayne Jones was not insane and never had been. In all fairness, Wayne Jones should not be incarcerated at this institute. It wasn’t her job, it wasn’t her business, however many people he corrupted and women he enslaved once free.

That was the private business of Wayne Jones and not for… someone like herself… to ask or anticipate. It was not for her to act as a roadblock to Jones. That was hardly good service.

Her fair nature demanded she release Wayne Jones.

But that was not her entire nature. She knew that now. She’d made many discoveries in the dark deep ocean of her soul. She knew now her nature was to submit, serve, and obey. It wasn’t that she liked it or wanted that.  It was just her nature. If it hadn’t been her nature, she would have resisted and easily stopped all their machinations.

Her sense of justice to others demanded she release Wayne Jones. Her servile nature demanded she obey and serve and enable, demanded she release him unto the world.

She would do what any good slave slut would do when issued demands. She gave in to them and followed their orders, echoed by the needs of her own heart.

She rapidly filled out and signed every page while Swampy and Sharer hovered over her. She marveled her hand was so steady, the lines so even. She found new strength in embracing defeat.

On the final page she looked up at Swampy and Sharer staring at her, glanced over at one of the staring cameras, and then completed her final signature. Swampy immediately plucked the document away and Sharer replaced it with a different document, several pages long.

Fishy examined it. What could this be?

The first two pages made Carol Milligan and Shara Tillings into her designated psychiatric health counselors. The next two were filled out notes of commitment with her name typed into the generic slot. Each were signed with flourishing confident signatures, one by Swampy, the other by Sharer, though the actual signatures read Carol H.  Milligan and Shara Y.  Tillings. Below each were blank lines with “designee” printed underneath.

Fishy well knew what these documents entailed. If she signed them it would put these two in charge of her and she would be agreeing to her own indefinite, possibly everlasting, commitment for incarceration in the institute. Once signed in she would never be able to gain release for herself on her own. She would be totally dependant on the mercy of these two, or their replacement representatives. Since they were slaves now, she would actually be in the utter and complete control of whoever bossed them around.

Now that the institute was fully privatized, apparently for the incarceration and use and abuse of slaves, submissives, and masochists like herself, there would be no government inspectors to appeal to. Fishy doubted she would ever be let go. They would always have some use for her. The horrors and awful pleasures signing such a document would bring down on her were far too intimidating to fully contemplate.
No way.

She’d come here to save them and failed because they did not want to be saved but she sure as hell was not going to join them.

No way in hell.

Swampy massaged her defensively stiffened shoulders, “You don’t have to sign those if you don’t want. But you could. “

“No way. “

Sharer got in on the action tugging on both of Fishy’s hard nipples at once and staring warm brown eyes into her soul, “You could join us. You’d do things you would never allow yourself to do on your own. And you’d love it all. You’d be used and abused every day. Not just like this. Often and much more so. “

“No way. Thanks. No way. “

“We’d have such fun and others would have such fun with us. Don’t you want that? “

“No. I’m not like you or her. I don’t want to be like that. I won’t be treated that way. “

Swampy’s hands drifted down and she squatted on her heels, her cheek pressed on the back of Fishy’s chair, both hands spreading and caressing Fishy’s aching needy pussy, “You’ve been ‘treated that way’ again and again and you loved it every time. You can’t go back to not being treated the way you deserve. That would be the true hell. “

“No. I suppose you’ll tell me I can’t come unless I sign these documents? “For a crazy moment Fishy found herself wishing she would be issued that ultimatum so that she could give in gracefully, just not her fault. She wouldn’t ever sign, of course, but no way could she ever sign these things voluntarily and ever look herself in the mirror… not that these rooms had any mirrors to look into anyway…

Swampy was oh so delicately but rapidly caressing her hardened clitoris and Sharer began mouthing her left nipple, nipple ring and all, with harsh suction, “It must be of your own free will. After all, it will be the last free act of your entire life. Whether you do or do not, you will be given the orgasm you desire. “

Fishy could barely speak, “Then… no… I won’t sign them. Don’t stop! “

As soon as she begged them not to stop they did exactly that.

“But you said…. “

“Don’t worry, Fishy, everyone here always keeps their bargains though not necessarily in the way people expect. We’ve had our fun slave exercise time with you but are a little hurt you won’t join us after all everyone has done for you. “

Fishy was a little suspicious. A lot suspicious. They seemed to give up their “persuasion” awful quickly. They lured her into the situation, had those documents all prepared, only to give up after several denials…These people, extensions of Wayne Jones, were used to getting their way. It seemed to Fishy like they were giving up too quickly. Or was she just disappointed?

“Since we’re slaves you think you’re better than us but the truth is you’re less. We’re proven slaves and you’re a slave who still doesn’t even accept she is a slave. Sharer and I will share our pleasures with each other once we’re alone. Don’t worry, you’ll get your orgasm, just not from us. Sharer, take her off to some other slave cell and let her exercise with the slave there. “

“After… do I get to leave? “

“Of course. If you want to leave you may. You’re not kidnapped! Everyone is law-abiding here. We violate social mores but do not break laws. But don’t leave yet, you’d lose out on your orgasm. After, you can leave this place if you still want to. “

Their hands and lips were back in contact but very lightly, too lightly for any chance at true satisfaction. It was a breathless and trembling Fishy who said, “I can’t wait. “

Fishy realized her response may have sounded to them like she was looking forward to escaping but in truth was she was preoccupied with the rewarding thought of another orgasm. She’d been such a naughty slut tonguing their dark holes, she needed a slut-worthy orgasm. She guessed it would be her final taste of twisted sex. She had a feeling of loss and a deep need in her pussy.