Chapter 12

 

Fishy was confused.

Most of the doors in the hallway were single doors. This room had double doors. Inside… it was not a bedroom… not a room originally meant for long term occupancy…

It was a big indoor swimming pool! There was also a round hot tub in one corner, racks of towels… and, over in another corner, yes, there was a bed.

A waterbed!

She heard footsteps approaching out in the hallway. Her new Master! My God!

She turned and tried to pose sexily for him while still standing at the edge of the pool. It felt awkward and she knew she was damp and bedraggled from previous events but she wanted to look as sexy as possible for her new Master. Pleasing him was now job one and she knew pleasing him physically would mentally please the amazing Master Jones.

He entered, looked at her, spread his fat lips in a slow grin, and his belly shook when he giggled.

Wilrey’s delight was inversely proportional to Fishy’s horror.

Wilrey’s amusement did not stop him from issuing sharp confident orders and Fishy’s horror did not stop her from following every one of them to the best of her ability.  

After sucking his fat cock to hardness on her knees -- it didn’t take long -- and gently undressing him, they were soon both in the pool in waist deep lukewarm water. He pushed her against the cement side and pressed her hard-nippled breasts down against the little tiles leading up to the edge of the pool. He penetrated her pussy from the rear. He called her foul names and rattled off a nasty list of deeds he would make her perform over her lifetime. It fueled her dread and stoked her lust.

She couldn’t keep track of everything he said but later on one snippet of conversation would stand out, glowing in her mind in an almost legendary form.

“You’re a good catch for someone like me, aren’t you? “

“Uh, uh, uh, uh, umm, uh, I guess so. “

“Address your owner properly! “

“I guess so… Master. “

“You fucking know so. “He kept driving that fat cock into her as if he was driving home his point and her new slave status.

As she was fucked with disregard Fishy looked up and noticed other people were all around the large pool. She hadn’t even noticed them enter. His abusive proclamations and her wavering moans of arousal had deafened her to their entry and movements.

She saw a couple of the other guards up on ladders installing cameras in the corners of the room. She would be under constant video surveillance perhaps for the rest of her life. Even when Master Wilrey -- she didn’t even know his full name -- wasn’t with her she’d never know when he was watching.

Somehow worse, she saw two dozen women, clearly slave ‘inmates’, naked except for most of them sporting tattoos and / or pierce rings, painting the walls of the room in bright colors. They were adding to previous paint work Fishy hadn’t noticed at first. Painting coral, fishes, underwater seaweed, bubbles, and even a mock sunken ship with a demonic-looking Octopus peering out from a tear in the wood ship’s side.

They were turning the entire swimming pool room into a huge aquarium! A suitable home for a Fishy!

Wilrey was pleased to shoot his sperm home into his first personal slave and basked in Fishy’s scream of orgasmic delight and horror.

***

Wayne Jones walked free and alone from Building C of the Institute of Submission. The cement path led toward the facilities parking lot where he knew a van was waiting for him. His modern jester, Little Johnson, was behind the wheel and, in the back seat, sat the lovely and skilled ladies, Firecrotch and Flamepussy. The comfortable passenger seat in front was empty and waiting. His mobile throne. Jones knew any seat he sat upon, whether stool or bench or toilet or finely upholstered leather bucket seat, instantly became a throne. If anyone ever doubted it he would have slaves polish the furniture in question with their tongues.

Jones knew he would need to be precise and cautious in completing the next stage of his plans. The manipulation, taming, enslavement, and, ultimately, revenge on Cassandra Zane whose false claim had led to his incarceration. Of course, he already had all that thoroughly planned out. Now it was just a matter of making it happen.

Jones paused in the pleasant air and glanced back at Building C. He supposed Wilrey was putting his new slave through some tasking or fucking right about now. The thought was satisfying. He was happy for Wilrey and pleased he’d been able -- of course -- to reward the socially awkward guard’s loyalty. Jones thought it important to keep his subjects happy. Loyalty had to be fostered and rewarded, it was not automatic. Loyalty was a two-way street.

He’d also repaid the loyalty of Anni by promoting her from Administrative Assistant to Director Wendy Carter all the way up to Director. Wendy would be far too preoccupied with slave duties to fulfill the Director role. Anni would run the show at the Institute so that Jones was free to enact his plans in the outer world. Jones had very big plans.

Thinking of ugly out-of-shape Wilrey pushing his swollen cock into the beautiful orifices of Fishy was absolutely delightful to Jones. She really was a smart girl and Wilrey was about as intelligent as a mossy stone. The contrast in their forms -- Jones could easily picture Wilrey’s larded belly bouncing and sliding on that trim tight ass as he fucked one of her orifices from the rear -- and the contrast in their intellect was compelling. The juxtaposition was pure art.

Jones had originally agreed to allow Dr.  Arlington to keep her in that box in his office. Jackie-in-the-box. That was also a pleasing thought but she just wasn’t Jackie any more. Fishy belonged in the giant aquarium. He’d caught her in his net and it was his right to keep her. He would settle with Dr.  Arlington differently.

Jones wondered if Fishy knew yet why he’d given her to Wilrey. She was a clever slave and would probably figure it out. If she did or did not didn’t really matter to Jones. Fishy was just a slave, of only slight consideration. True, she was the final instrument of his release but that had more to do with his machinations than anything she deserved credit for. Whatever she was before, however useful, she was now a slave, no more and no less.

Jones always took time to get to know his subjects, great and small, all in detail. Only then could he best gauge how they could be useful to him and how he could reward them for their usefulness. Symbiotic.

Everyone had pastimes and hobbies. Jones’ was enslaving women. Enslaving and punishing them. His collection was made up of slaves.

Wilrey was no exception. He also had a pastime. Wilrey was an avid fisherman…

Jones turned away from Building C and continued down the well-manicured path. He knew it would continue to be well-manicured. The new Institute was no longer a medical establishment. It was, as advertised on the world-wide net, the Institute of Submission. Across the globe Dominants and the submissive in the know were logging on, paying for memberships, and voting on what slaves should do or what should be done to them. For exorbitant fees they could order very specific and very severe acts instead of just watching whatever transpired. All the rooms were hooked in with multiple camera views and the members could switch between rooms or camera shots as they wished. Of course, the actual location of the Institute of Submission was kept secret for obvious security reasons. The funds already garnered were promising and would only increase exponentially over time as more joined.

Building A and Building B were mostly empty and there was a lot of unused acreage on the property. Many of the submissive internet club members wanted to submit themselves for endless incarceration at the Institute. No half measures and nothing temporary allowed. Perhaps they would build on additional buildings to house hundreds more slaves…

Jones felt an emotion beyond triumph. He felt like he had gotten away with murder. Murder and creation. Jacqueline Thorpe, that personality, was no more. Gone and life could never be resuscitated back into it. That personality had lain dominant over Fishy’s natural core submissiveness. Once Jackie was stripped away, it left Fishy free to breath at last as herself. Jones had freed Fishy in order to enslave her. Destruction and creation were inseparable.

Most submissives were hidden from the world. Hidden even from themselves behind a superficial mask of free will. But they were not hidden from Wayne Jones.

One hundred and seventy-four of them -- whether they knew they were submissives or yet to acknowledge it -- were locked up behind him in the Institute. Their future held indefinite use and abuse by eighteen guards, three dominatrix nurses, Director of Slaves Anni, and various big-spending special clients.

Jones smiled placidly.

So far, so good.