2 comments/ 47169 views/ 5 favorites The Training of a Slave Ch. 01 By: darkknight0307 (Author's Note: I began writing this story after a role play I began with a friend of mine. After it fell apart, I started to write it out on my own. For those who have been asking, Enslaved to the Mob will be finished *eventually*. For the time being, I'm just not interested and uninspired by it. Thank you all for sticking with me and reading my stories. As with all of my stories, all characters depicted or mentioned are eighteen years of age or older, and all characters and story is the sole property of this writer.) * Roland Norton was a man that had almost everything. He was obnoxiously rich, coming from a long and distinguished background of European royalty. The house he owned certainly didn't feel like a house. It was large and spacious like a famed chateau of France. His garage was reminiscent of a parking garage that held everything from sports cars, antique cars, and limousines. He was a man that seemingly had everything. But Roland Norton didn't have everything. Some things could not be bought with money and favors. Time was something he didn't have. The octogenarian was becoming weaker with each passing day, the obscure disease slowly eating away at his muscles and strength. Pills and treatments only prolonged the short time he had. Eventually, he would die. That was something he could not escape. Patience and tolerance was another thing Roland Norton did not have. It was in those last few months he had left according to doctors, which he decided to have more of the finer things in life. With no wife and certainly no bastard children running around for money, the rich old man decided to dabble in the illegal sex trafficking auctions. A great deal of money was spent upon her, his newest toy and possession. She was a beauty to say the least. Eighteen years old. Blonde. Blue eyes. The typical, idealized American girl with a slight Southern accent to her voice. She was exactly what Roland wanted: a slave to take to go to the grave with. Roland was mistaken when he assumed the young girl would be too frightened to fight him off. She was a fighter, a rebellious little cunt that fought and kicked and used every ounce of her spirit to fight him off. It was only with his paid body guards in the room, forcing her legs apart with their bare hands, that he finally broke her hymen. She was a fighter, there was no doubt about that, and on one fateful night, she had gone too far. "That fucking bitch!" The old man wheezed as he stormed into his private library. His red silk robe was wide open as it billowed in his wake, his naked and old form displayed. In his hand, he clutched a cloth to his member, holding it painfully close as he moved across the room and sat himself down in behind his desk. It was with pain and grimace that he slowly removed the cloth to stare down at his flaccid and bleeding cock. The teeth marks were obvious, the dark blood evident where she bad bitten down upon him. "We've locked her up in her cage, Sir." A man, dressed sharply in a suit said as he closed the door to the study behind him. "It wasn't easy, but she'll be fine there after we forced the sedatives into her mouth." "If I didn't spend three quarters of a million on her, I would say kill the bitch." Roland growled out, patting his pained cock with the clean fabric. Although a rich man, Roland Norton wasn't a man that was going to just forget about that kind of sum. Quietly the right hand man stepped closer to the desk. The dim lighting from the desk lamp brought his features into view with his smooth face and salt-and-peppered hair. "She's not worth it, Sir. I'd say give her to the men and dogs for scraps. Such a little whore like that doesn't deserve to live." The old man scoffed at the suggestion. "No. I'm not going to let that much money go to waste just to let some lowly bodyguards fuck her and give her body to the dogs for scraps." He said as he turned a knob on an oxygen tank before holding the breathing mask to his face. "I may be a generous man to charities, but I'm not that generous, Holmes." Holmes kept his posture straight and firm, showing no signs of disappointment in his suggestion and advice being shot down. "Then perhaps selling her off to someone? I'm sure the Russian Mikhail would take her." He again suggested. Again Roland rejected the idea with a wave of his hand. "And still lose out on money?" The greedy old man asked. He sat back in his chair, breathing in the rich oxygen from the tank as his eyes seemed lost in concentration. What was there to do about this troublesome little bitch? Selling her to someone else would only result in a loss of money. Giving her away to his men would give him nothing at all, not even the satisfaction in knowing that his men enjoyed the tight cunt. Killing her would do nothing for him, even though he had to admit the thought crossed his mind. If he was younger, he would undoubtedly be up to the task of training and breaking in the stupid little bitch. Gone were the days where he would love nothing more than to beat a girl senseless, to show her just who had the power and say in whether she feasted of suffered famine, whether she lived or died. It pained him to do so, but Roland Norton was stuck with the girl. The only way he could be happy was to spend more money on the bitch, and as a result, on his happiness. Looking over the top of his oxygen mask, Roland's cold grey eyes locked onto Holmes's. "Get Francois on the phone." He wheezed out. "Tell him I would like to arrange a meeting with his man." ~~~~~ Miles away, Zach Price didn't have a care in the world. The loud, thudding music from the bar and club on the other side of the wall seemed a life time away. His cigarette smoke filled the room around him, mingling with the cheap perfume of the Latina stripper sucking on his testicles. With the slurping sound her throat around his saliva-coated cock, the young man in his early thirties felt completely and utterly relaxed. He was in no rush to end this moment. It was moments like that which made him feel almost godly. A young, hot twenty year old was down on her knees hungrily feasting upon his balls as if she were worshiping them; a cigarette and alcohol toyed with his senses. It couldn't get much better than this. Zachary felt relaxed for the first time in a long time as his companion for the hour sucked and teased his balls whilst her hand slowly and fluidly stroked his thick, full shaft. The former Marine Black-Ops soldier felt,at ease with everything. There was no shouting for bombs. There was no bullets whizzing my his head and body. There was no fucking heat, except for the heat in this little Latina's mouth. It was perfect, and the tongue stud piercing in her mouth as it moved against his flesh only made it all the better. There were only a few things that could have ruined the perfect moment of bliss for him, and unfortunately for Zachary, one of those things happened. A sigh came from his lips as he pulled out his ringing cell phone. "Keep sucking." He said idly to his Latina friend who slowly began to pull up at the sound of the phone ringing. His voice dull and bored as if he were some professor talking to a student as he read over term papers. One look at the number who was calling him, however, caused all of the casual idleness to leave. "On second thought, get the fuck out of here. I'll call for you when I'm done." He said, and almost instantly the somber-looking stripper slowly moved her lips and tongue from his then glistening ball sack and aching member. His eyes watched her ample behind, watching the way it swayed with each movement in that skimpy little g-string. "You could not have picked a worse time to call, my friend." Zachary said once he answered the phone. "I assume you have a job for me." A laugh came from the phone. "Do you ever remember me calling just to shoot the breeze?" An amused man's voice said with a hint of a foreign accent. "I do have a job for you. An 'emergency' as the Client said." "When are they not emergencies?" Zachary asked. "What's the details?" There was a sound of rustling papers on the other end of the phone as the foreign man rummaged through notes. "Blonde. Biter. Freshly opened package, with a return date of two weeks." Zachary laughed at the last detail with a short, yet polite laugh as he ran his hand through his short, buzz cut hair. "Two weeks requires a miracle worker." "That's why I called you over the others." The voice said, calm and casual with the hint of a smile upon his face on the other end. "One hundred and fifty grand for you. One hundred grand for me." There was no denying that Zachary was a miracle worker in the limited field of Slave Trainers. His Black-Ops background certainly helped give him the tools necessary to break and torture the unfortunate slaves that came into his way. Back in Iraq, he was an interrogator, the kind of interrogator that was kept off of the books and records. When he returned home, he had no idea what he was going to do in order to adjust to civilian life. One recommendation and tip from a friend, however, changed that forever. He sighed as he finally came to his decision after a few long moments of debate. "E-Mail me the details. I'll finish up what I'm doing now and get on my way."He said, feeling up to the task and challenge of training a feisty young lady. "I already did." The man said with a soft chuckle, and with that, the phone line went dead. Zachary closed his phone and deposited back into his pocket before sitting back further against the soft cushioning of the booth. Two weeks. Most of the slave trainings took at least a month, and that was when the girls were half way cooperative. It was going to be a challenge to say the least, especially if the girl was as feisty and resilient as he had been made to believe, but it was a challenge he was up for. He took a sip of his whiskey before setting the glass back down onto the small table beside him and getting back to his feet. Without his pants, he walked with purpose towards the door of the private room and peeked his head out of the door to the awaiting girl. "Come on Sweetheart..." He said, as he stepped aside and opened the door for her. "I don't have time to dick around and wait for you." The Training of a Slave Ch. 02 (Author's Note: Yes, another non-erotic chapter for this series. I'm taking it easy with this one, letting it build up rather than jump into the action. The next chapter will definitely have some more erotic details, but for this one, it's key to the story. I know that some of you have written about Enslaved to the Mob and whether it will be continued or not. Right now I'm not in the right mind set to continue writing it. I'm bored and tired of it, and just not feeling it at the moment. As with all of my stories, all characters depicted are eighteen years of age or older, and plagiarists will be prosecuted to the furthest extent of the law.) Zachary closed his phone and deposited back into his pocket before sitting back further against the soft cushioning of the booth. Two weeks. Most of the slave trainings took at least a month, and that was when the girls were half way cooperative. It was going to be a challenge to say the least, especially if the girl was as feisty and resilient as he had been made to believe, but it was a challenge he was up for. He took a sip of his whisky before setting the glass back down onto the small table beside him and getting back to his feet. Without his pants, he walked with purpose towards the door of the private room and peeked his head out of the door to the awaiting girl. "Come on Sweetheart..." He said, as he stepped aside and opened the door for her. "I don't have time to dick around and wait for you." ~~~~~ It took him only ninety minutes to finish the tantalizing blow job with the stripper and make a trip back home to shower and change into more appropriate clothing for what was needed. Instead of the faded t-shirt with some vintage band logo and a pair of jeans that he usually wore upon his muscled body when going out to the clubs to relax and unwind, he adorned what he most commonly thought of as his uniform: black pants, a tight muscle black shirt, and steel toed combat boots that were polished to an immaculate shine. More than ever, he felt up to the task and challenge of setting to work upon this young woman. Zachary felt ready to see and meet the girl that was in need of such a short training time. Although he was curious as to why there was a need for a quick and short training, Zach was not going to ask his employer and client. He was a professional, not some fuck that thought it was their business to pry into their clients' personal reasons, nor was he going to duck the product. After parking his precious car in the turnabout in front of the impressive mansion, Zachary slowly climbed the stone steps that led to the large front doors before grasping the brass knockers and knocking to allow the inhabitants to know he had arrived. He certainly didn't have to wait long at all. Within a few short moments, the doors opened, and before him an older gentleman in his forties stood. "You must be the Specialist." Mr. Holmes said as he held out his hand, to which Zachary shook before entering the rich and elegant entrance hall. "My employer wishes me to extend his apologies as to his absence this late evening. The medication he has been prescribed tends to weaken his energy." 'Terminal illness.' Zachary thought to himself. 'Has to be it.' "I completely understand." He said, his voice full of a courteous polite attitude that came natural to him when dealing with clients and their respective middle men. "May we get down to business? It's getting late, and two weeks is a very short and limited time to break a young woman such as the one you have." "Yes, of course..." Holmes said before turning and leading the way through the impressive and untarnished halls. In silence Zachary followed the well dressed middle man through the labyrinth of hallways and corridors, their footsteps gently tapping against the polished and elegant marble of the house. It was not long before they traveled down a flight of stone stairs, traveling into the depths of the mansion until finally coming down into a hallway made of concrete. With its reminiscence of an old bunker, Zachary quietly followed the man into the dimly lit hall that soon opened up into a much larger, darker room. Two lights mounted onto the wall gave some illumination of the holding room. In the sparse and cold room, the sight of the metal cage was plain as day. Even by Zachary's standards, the cage looked rather cruel and deranged with the barbed wire lining the top of it and car battery lying idly by the cage. It was only a matter of time before the sight of her hit his eyes. Within the confines of the cage, the young blonde girl laid quietly in a curled up form. Zachary could not help but to stare at her small form, almost like a sleeping angel, within the cage. Her face seemed at peace, calm and resting in her sedative-induced sleep. Apart from the layer of dirt, sweat, blood and semen, she was truly a beauty to behold. "This is the girl." Holmes said, gesturing with his hand over to the cage. "We had to have her legs pried open with our 'help' and tied down just so my Employer could claim her virginity." Idly he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and extracted a folded piece of paper. Zachary immediately took it and pocketed it into his pants pocket. "My Employer has a list of requests he would like done to her. Nothing of great importance or out of the ordinary..." Holmes said as he casually walked over to the cage. "Piercings upon her body. A typical slave brand upon her back. No inappropriate relations, of course." "Of course." Zachary said politely as he remained close to the door. "I'll have it all completed and finished by the albeit short time frame." Holmes smiled at his response. "I'm glad to hear the confidence... My Employer is an old man, a dying old man, that wishes to have a slave to torment and torture while his ailment tortures his. The two week deadline is just a part of his short time left." Zachary listened quietly and respectively as Holmes talked. His heart and mind felt disgusted with this job. To him, it was nothing more, and nothing less than a waste of his time and talents. It was not a way a slave was to be treated, but politeness kept his mouth shut. Also the fact that they were paying such a good sum of money for his services for a short time helped to keep his jaw shut tightly. "I will have the girl bound and brought up to you vehicle by a few of the men, if you would like." Mr. Holmes suggested. "They know better than to toy with the girl. If you ask me, they're like wild dogs on a very short leash." A stiff nod of agreement came from Zachary. "The sooner, the better... With our limited time frame, I'll need just about all of the time I can have with her training." He said, folding his arms across his chest as he slowly stepped out of the room. There was just something about the room that he did not like. Even to a slave trainer like him, known for his sadistic cruelty in breaking young women, the room gave him a feeling of uneasiness, a unsettledness that made him feel as if this would not be the last time he would be in this room. Together the two men walked back up the maze of hallways and corridors through the chateau. Silence held over both of them, the sounds of their footsteps, and the footsteps of the men not far behind them carrying the young unconscious blonde, the only sounds between them. He was anxious to leave this palace, to escape that lingering feeling of death and misery that hung around the dying. In the back of Zachary's mind, he couldn't help but to begin to plan out just what he was going to do with the young girl when she finally awakened. Soon they arrived at the sleek, black muscle car parked in the front of the turnabout of the chateau. Zachary wasted no time in opening the trunk of the vehicle, it's large opened area designed and altered just for these special occasions. There would be plenty room for his precious cargo inside, along with a hidden compartment with an air pump to keep her from too much exhaust inhalation. Every detail of his rebuilt vehicle was meticulously attended to by him, in very much the same way he intended to deal with his new project. "Two weeks, then the little cunt will be sleeping forever in the dirt." Holmes remarked with almost a gleam to his voice as the men placed the young woman into the trunk, a happiness that came with the thought of the young woman being put to death. The mere thought of his words made Zachary feel disgusted deep within his mind. A slave of that beauty, broken and obedient, should be a treasure to cherish like gold and priceless jewels, not treated like some mangy beast that should be put down. Part of Zachary thought it was almost an insult, a waste of his time, to be training a girl destined to die in such a short time. But then again, he reasoned, we all die, and money this good can't be passed up. "She'll be completed and delivered by that time." Zachary said with politeness as he restrained the thoughts and feelings that wanted to come from his lips. "I'll even have a nice little bow upon her head." Mr. Holmes smirked at Zachary's comment. "I'm sure we will be delighted with the results." He remarked one last time before turning about with the muscled body guards in tow. Zachary stood alone by the opened trunk as he watched the men enter the large chateau. Once again that feeling of uneasiness overtook him, a feeling deep within the pit of his stomach. It couldn't be anything more than some passing sensation that was nothing more than a hungry feeling, he tried to tell himself. Without another word, without waiting for too much longer, he slowly climbed into the cabin of his car and drove off, anxious to begin work upon the new project. The Training of a Slave Ch. 03 (Author's Note: I know some of my readers have been curious as to when the next Enslaved to the Mob story comes out. I honestly don't know when it's coming. I'm absolutely shot on the story, with no idea what to do, or whether I should keep the story going. My muse and creative flow for it just isn't there. This is a project I'm working on to get me back into the flow of things. Yes, it's light on sex so far, but I'm keeping this labeled as BDSM. As with all of my stories, all characters depicted are eighteen years of age or older, and all intellectual properties are the possession of the writer.) Zachary stood alone by the opened trunk as he watched the men enter the large chateau. Once again that feeling of uneasiness overtook him, a feeling deep within the pit of his stomach. It couldn't be anything more than some passing sensation that was nothing more than a hungry feeling, he tried to tell himself. Without another word, without waiting for too much longer, he slowly climbed into the cabin of his car and drove off, anxious to begin work upon the new project. ~~~~~ In the nineteen fifties, the neighborhood of Villefort was a picturesque series of streets and houses. Back then, it was an ideal place to race a family, to be around friends, and to enjoy life. There once was a time when the streets were filled with children playing on their bicycles or with an inflated ball in the friendly neighborhood. There wasn't a house that wasn't occupied back then, a time when the neighborhood was filled with life and happiness. That was then, however. Over the years, it slowly became a neighborhood that time and people had seemingly forgot. The paved, well kept streets and sidewalks became cracked and rotten with veins and plants growing through them. Lawns once meticulously maintained became overgrown patches and wild jungles that claimed much of the houses and architecture of the neighborhood. Vagrants and the dredges of society claimed some of the houses, living in the rundown buildings that once were places of happiness and love. There was one house, however, that the junkies and destitute knew not to go to. Unlike the other houses of Villefort, the house at the end of Lookout Street was the only one that was maintained. High, iron fences incased the house, preventing much of the people around the house from getting in, or getting out for that matter. The windows were blocked by thick sheets of iron, preventing anyone from seeing just what takes place behind the reinforced front door of the two story house. It was that very house that Zachary called home. Villefort Fort was what he had nicknamed it, a fortress to prevent the unwanted from entering or leaving. The sight of it, so intimidating and fearful at the end of the street, made him smile each and every time he turned down Lookout Street. This time, however, it was the very same time that the noises from the trunk of the car reached his ears. She had finally began to awaken, and from the sounds of the banging and indistinguishable yelling and screaming from the trunk, she truly was going to be a feisty young woman to deal with. That alone made him smile. After pressing a small, garage opener button upon the driver's side sun visor, the buzzing of the electrified fence ended as the gate to the driveway began to open. Excitement filled him as he reached over for his black ski-mask and placed it upon his face. Better for the time being, he thought, in case any one of the drunken vagrants that populated the neighborhood was feeling up to being a vigilante. As soon as the car came to a stop within the electrified compound, Zachary sprung from the car. His movements were slow, a joy filling up within him. It was moments like that, moments before the storm and the training began that he basked in. Peacefulness was about to be thrown out the window with the simple opening of his trunk. It truly was the calm before the storm, a rest and peaceful feeling before the training began. Within that trunk, his project was contained, safe and secure where only he could touch her, in a place where she could not bother him. Out of the trunk, she would be Hell personified with feet, a nightmare walking and breathing judging from the sounds of the muffled screams and banging upon the closed trunk of the car. "Let's get started..." Zachary sighed to himself softly as he turned the key to the trunk and allowed it to slowly open before him. For a split second, everything seemed to pause and be put upon hold. The two of them stared at each other in silence, Zachary from his comfortable position standing outside of the trunk, and the young bound woman before him within the cozy confines of the vehicle. Her eyes were wide as a doe's caught in the headlights of a fast moving eighteen wheeler: frightened and confused. The deep shade of sapphire in her eyes caught Zachary off guard, pulling in his mind as if he were in a trance. She was beautiful to say the least, even with the layer of dirt, sweat, and cum caked upon her soft flesh. He couldn't stop looking back into her eyes, until she struck. The feisty young woman within the trunk capitalized on the pause in Zachary's movements. As best as she could in her position within the trunk, the spry and flexible young woman swung her bound legs out in a futile attempt to strike him as her screams echoed throughout the dead and deserted neighborhood. Zachary only smirked and chuckled at her wasted attempt to alert anyone who might be around to her distress. "You can scream all you want, Cupcake." He mused, grasping her swinging ankles before reaching in and grasping the binds around her wrists. "Those drug addicts and homeless bastards would love a piece of you." "FUCK YOU!!!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, trying in vain to find some way out of her situation with forceful kicks and wiggling of her arms to attempt to leave his grasp. More screams of help and terror echoed through the neighborhood, falling silent upon the overgrown vegetation and shambled houses. He paid no heed to her screams or struggles to free herself. Instead, Zachary was entirely focused upon getting her out of the car and inside the Dungeon. Although he felt relatively safe outside even with her screaming (the vagrants and drug addicts knew not to interfere with him; he was sure they got that message after he executed one trying to become too heroic), there was nothing like being inside the confines of the house. There he was in control of more things, where he could control things more easily rather than out in the open where his little project could escape. His strong hands gripped the bindings around her ankles and wrists, showing no signs of comfort or welcome as he threw her onto his shoulder and slammed the trunk of the car shut. Zachary couldn't help but to smirk softly in the midst of her lively and fierce struggles as she banged her bound wrists and arms against his back. He was finally home, doing the job deep down inside he loved. Through the front door he carried her inside of the dark, cold house. Zachary said nothing as his young captive continued to endlessly scream and cry for help. There was no one to help her, no one around to save the day and be her savior. She was stuck, locked away with the automatic door closing behind them with the dull, drowned out sound of the electric locks locking in place. He gave no heed to her cries and pleas for help, even as he carried her through another door and down a set of old, creaking stairs that led to 'The Dungeon'. It was clear that this room was a large, cavernous basement with it's cool, moist air and cement floors. His captive would learn that the hard way when Zachary dropped her onto the cold, smooth concrete floor. A sharp cry came from the girl as soon as she fell to the hard and cold, unforgiving floor. In the darkness, Zachary could hear her scamper away from him as best as she could with her ankles and wrists bound together. As the darkness veiled his face and features, Zachary could not help but to smirk at the sounds of her fear and panic. The frightened woman had tried her best to escape, trying so desperately to find a way out in the stronghold of a room. That very fear she seemed to radiate, that unpredictable fear that made him feel all the more powerful and in control. She was like clay in his hands, easy to mold and shape, something he was fully intent upon doing. He flipped a switch upon the wall closest to the stairs. Instantly light flooded in from the various placed lights throughout the basement room, providing each other the chance to see their lone companion in the room. For the first time without the darkness of the outside, nor the dim lighting of her cage and holding room, Zachary had the chance to lay his eyes upon her from behind the black ski mask. Almost instantly he could see why this girl was as valuable and precious as he was led to believe. Even though she was dirty, caked in an assortment of dirt, sweat, blood and cum, the young blond kneeling against the far wall was truly a beauty to behold. In another time, where she wasn't a sex slave with a looming date with death, Zachary thought she would have been a woman chased by all with her blonde hair and wide, doe-like blue eyes. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, no younger than twenty from the looks of her. She would be able to get nothing from him and his appearance. In his all black clothing, with black jeans, steel toed boots, and a black shirt that clung to his muscled and intimidating form, the ski mask he wore to hide his features from any possible lingering vagrants outside his house added a veil of mystery and intimidation to him. It was the way he wanted it. For the first experience with him, he wanted her to be afraid and intimidated. "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" She screamed out, her little hands balling up into fists as her voice echoed throughout the room. From the sight of her fists alone, Zachary knew her fear was becoming laced with anger, anger directed towards him. "WHERE THE FUCK AM I, YOU SON OF A BITCH?!?!" He was silent for her loud and emotional reaction to the new surroundings. Quietly he leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest as if he was bored and this whole experience mundane. For the time being, he felt as if there wasn't much he had to say. The room, in his mind, said everything that needed to be said. Within the sparse room sat only a few objects: a locked cabinet holding some of his devices and tools, a bucket for a toilet, and a metal frame of an old, rusted bed. There was nothing warm, nothing inviting, nothing soothing. It was all cold, harsh, and frightening to any kidnapped person's mind. As the deafening silence began to fall between them, Zachary calmly spoke up. "You're here because you've been a rotten little bitch." He said casually, his voice calm and collected. "Your Master has hired me to break and train you, in addition to some other things." The mere mention of the her Master made her cringe in disgust. "Fuck you and him!" She coldly lashed out. "Both of you can go to hell, you sick fucks!" Zachary let out a soft sigh as he turned around to the locked cabinet. "We could have had a nice evening, but no. You want to play? So be it." He remarked, pulling out a set of keys from his pocket before unlocking the cabinet that held all of his toys. For a brief moment, Ryan peered into the large cabinet of his toys and tools. Hanging from the inside walls were his tools, ranging from whips made of fine leather, all the way to the spiked bamboo rod. There were other devices and toys, of course, most of which made from his own hands. They were, in his mind, unnecessary for the moment. She didn't need his more intensive treatment the first night. But soon that thought went out the window. With his back turned towards her as he debated what he would use against her for the first night, the young captive blonde seized upon the opportunity. Zachary didn't see her reach for the ties around her ankles, nor did he see her untie her legs. He had no idea what was going on until it was too late, when the desperate woman charged with all of the strength and power she could muster into his back. The sheer force and power caught Zachary off guard. Immediately he lost his footing as she charged head on into his back, sending him forward into the cabinet of torture and pain-inducing devices. With nothing to help break his fall, he fell into the closet with a clatter, his anger and frustration quickly rising as he hurried as best he could to remove himself from the closet. By the time Zachary had pulled himself free from the work closet, his face cut in a few places from some of the toys, he merely watched as the young captive scrambled up the old stairwell. Although angry, he couldn't help but to chuckle at her futile attempt to escape. It was amusing to the seasoned trainer, knowing she wouldn't make it through the locked and secured doorway. Time and time again he had seen this, seen the sliver of hope in their eyes at the thought of freedom, and each and every time, they never find the freedom they sought. They would find freedom, but not of being a normal person, but freedom in servitude. "Got any more tricks up your sleeve?" He coldly asked as he moved to the stairwell, his heavy boots providing the sound in the otherwise silent basement. His eyes were trained upon the blond, her face drained with fright as she stood at the door. "You ain't going anywhere, Cupcake. You're like a rat trapped in a maze, and I'm the fucking cat that's going to decide whether you suffer of not." He said, his eyes focused and trained upon her at the top of the stairs. "You have a choice. You can either come down here on your own, save yourself some bruises and a little less punishment, or you can stay up there, and I drag your ass down and beat you until you're ready to apologize." The tension between them was palpable. For a moment, all seemed to die away into nothing, as if they were the last two people left on the earth. Their eyes locked, reminiscent of two outlaws in the Old West preparing to duel to the death. There was no other choice for her in Zachary's mind. She was trapped in a corner. The only question was whether she would take the easy way out, or continue to be a beautiful pain in the ass. Before he could say another word, before he could move forward to take her, his captive had given her blatant answer. Using all of the force and power she could muster, the young blonde launched herself from the top landing, throwing her body at Zachary in an attempt to cause even more damage and pain to her captor. The sheer force, the sudden impact, caught him completely off guard. He could do nothing but to fall back with her, his brutish form falling down the stairs entangled with her. Down the stairs he fell, finally falling upon the large landing at the end of the stairs with a low thud, with her falling right beside him. "Have it your way, you fucking cunt." He groaned out, his body moving sluggishly as he moved to his feet and gripped her by her hair. Mercilessly he dragged her back into the center of the cold basement. Her protests, as meek and weak as they were in her battered condition, couldn't deter his bruised body. Soon he threw her into the center of the floor, the lone light above that shone down upon her giving her body an almost angelic glow. In any other situation, any other place and time, Zachary would have felt sorry for her. There was just something to her, something to that beauty that hid under the bruises, the dirt, and dried sweat and blood upon her. She truly was a woman to behold, to worship and admire, and yet, she needed this. Zachary knew that kind of behavior could not be tolerated; not by him, nor by his employer. "We could have had a nice evening together, Cupcake." He said, his voice tinged with regret as he backed up and pulled a long, thick, bamboo rod from the clutter that was his closet. Never once did he take his eyes off of her, knowing just how feisty and unpredictable this young woman was. "I was going to take it easy on you: give you a little taste of what I could do to you... Give you food... Let you bathe... Even let you sleep in a bed... But no. You want to be a bad little cunt, don't you?" A hard swat of his hand brought the rod against her thighs. By no means did he be as brutal as he possibly could, merely swatting at her body as if attacking a fly. Her reaction was almost instantaneous, matching the loud, lightning-like crack of the rod. Just seeing her body ache and writhe against the floor in that beautiful agony called pain made his member twitch with excitement. All too well he knew what she would be feeling, that hot, burning sting of the stick being brought down upon her soft flesh. It was just a taste of the pain he would bring her, a pain he would train her to love to endure, to enjoy, all for the sake of making her master pleased. His arms were merciless as he brought the bamboo cane down upon her back. Tightly he gripped the silver-plated handle, using all of the power he could into the few loud, heavy swats of the rod against her soft, smooth flesh. Zachary was in the zone, feeling totally and utterly in his element. It was a rush he couldn't get anywhere else. "STOP IT!" She screamed out, her voice piercing the lightning-like cracks of stick against her flesh. "STOP!" It was just the opening he had been looking for. "You want me to stop? I could stop right here, if I wanted..." He said, threatening to attack her again with the gentle dragging of the bamboo end against her red back. "All you have to do is kiss my boot and thank me, and I'll end it here and now." It was important in her training, especially at this early stage. Such a feisty, spirited young woman, she needed to be pushed, to be shown that she is not an equal, but a slave. The beatings were to show just who was in charge. Now came the mental game, to plant the seeds of servitude in her mind. "Who knows, I might even let you sleep in an actual bed tonight instead of down here." He said, offering the promise of reward in the hopes of pushing her into the right direction. Slowly her head turned upwards. In the lone light of the room, her eyes glistened and gleamed with the sorrow and agony filled tears. She had looked as if she had been through the wringer, battered and broken to no end, and in Zachary's mind, she couldn't have looked any more beautiful than she did there. The sight of that agony, that pained look in her eyes, just further evoked the sadism in him. His cock strained through his pants, pumped with lust to be released and freed upon. It took all he had to restrain himself, to keep from tearing into her flesh with an aroused hunger for lust. No. He was not going to do that. He watched as the fire within her took a hold once again. It was with a satisfied curl of his lips as she spat upon the top of his shoe, looking up to him with defiance etched into her agonized face. "Go fuck yourself, you fucking prick." She said, her voice distraught and ravaged by the pain. "I'm glad you feel that way." He said, bringing down another hard and furious barrage of the lightning-quick snaps of the bamboo upon her back. Once again he became focused on the task at hand. Zachary was absolutely merciless with the rod in hand, raining the swats down upon her like a monsoon. The cries from her lips were like music to his ears in the room filled with the cracks of the wood against her back. His heart raced, desire filling him with every motion of his arm. He was a pure sadist, loving every moment of the power he held over her. It was like a work of art, a beautiful masterpiece that nothing could compare to. So lost in the power rush and the lust pumping through his veins, he almost, almost did not notice what the young woman was doing. It was in between the rough, powerful swats of the rod, and the painful, agonized screams from her hoarse throat, that she had crawled to his feet, her lips kissing his boots in a frenzy. The Training of a Slave Ch. 03 "Please..." She said, her voice faint and out of breath as she laid her head by his boot. The sight of her kisses against his black boots gave Zachary pause before punishing her again. Just looking upon her made his heart race with excitement. Already he could feel his member throbbing and aching against the material of his pants, straining to be unleashed upon her body. The sadistic pleasure he took from the sight of her body was something that nothing in the whole entire world could compare to. This was why he loved his job so much. "You know what I want to hear if you want this to end, Cupcake." He said, gently nudging his boot closer to her face. "Kiss my boot like a good slave and thank me for your punishment. I can go all night long, if you'd like. I'm just warming up." Standing over her, he could see the internal struggle she contained within her. A spirit like hers wasn't meant to be kept in check. She was a woman, a strong woman independent of others. That, however, was in the past. Her independence would bring a price for her to pay with her suffering and physical pain only he could bring her. It was the struggle going in within her. Although she was beaten, although she had suffered and endured a gauntlet of harsh cracks against her flesh, part of her wanted to fight, part of her wanted to free herself from him and never give him the satisfaction that came in her pleading for mercy. And yet, despite that struggle going on within her, she caved into the pain that ached throughout her body. Zachary watched as she slowly leaned closer to his boot, her dry lips pursed as she kissed the leather of his boot. "Th-thank you, Sir... For my punishment... I deserved..." She said softly, the pain filling her voice as it mixed with the shame and guilt that came with caving into the pain. "Good girl." Zachary said, genuinely proud of her. Although it was just a small step in the right direction, it was a significant one at that. To Zachary, it was a crack in the foundation of her strong resolution and spirit. He would slowly chip away at her determination, breaking her down and training her slowly, until she was nothing more than the perfect example of a slave. It pained him to know just what was going to become of her. There was no doubt about that. It was a shame something so beautiful, a work of art, had to die. But, as he reminded himself, he wasn't being paid to think. He was being paid to train her, to break her, and turn her into a slave. Slowly he turned away from her, walking towards the cabinet to stow away the bamboo rod. A switchblade was pulled from his hands, eyes locking as he cut through the rope that held her wrists together. "In my presence, you'll crawl on your hands and knees. If I catch you walking around without my permission, I'll make you watch me break every bone in your feet." He threatened, showing no signs of lying to her as he pocketed the blade. "Now..." Zachary said, stretching his thick arms. "You have a choice, a rare choice for a slave. You may either sleep down here in the cold, or come up stairs to sleep as a reward." As he climbed the old, wooden stairs to the main floor, Zach knew what choice she would make. It was a no brainer in his mind. And yet, as he climbed the stairs, he couldn't help but to wonder why he was doing this on her first night. Under the normal circumstances, any slave would have spent the first night locked down in the cold basement, with nothing but the dirty cement to comfort her wounds. There was just something to her, something that made him want to know more and more about her. It was a dangerous game he was playing, that was clear. Getting to know a slave, any slave was bad for business. Too often he had heard of other slave trainers being killed and murdered by slaves that took their trainer's weaknesses for their own opportunity, or in the rare instances, of slave masters killing their trainers for getting too close for their own comfort. Standing at the top of the stairs, he waited patiently as he saw her small, battered body slowly turn the corner and begin to climb the stairs. Her body shook and trembled with fear and pain. It made him smile, knowing he was wearing her down slowly but surely.