Captive in Dar Leather

I'm awakened and dragged out of my cage. It must be the next morning. Is this my 3

rd

day of captivity on this ship? A sense of time is impossible when your head has only come out of the leather hood for short daily showers. With only nose holes for breathing, all I see is darkness. I can feel that we're on a ship, and that I am not the only woman here, but that's about all I can sense. The Woman with the thigh-high leather boots started my training yesterday. I crawled, heeled and licked for her. We are being trained for sexual slavery apparently. That explains why my wrists and ankles are constantly restrained. But nobody's violated me yet. I can't help but wonder why.

My husband and I have been married awhile. Our kids are teenagers now. It seemed like it was time to try some things in the bedroom. He'd always had a kinky fantasy or two, and I decided to indulge that when I found a small BDSM themed vacation getaway in the Bahamas. It was a little pricey, but every time we talked about it, our libidos took over the conversation. We arrived at the main airport on the islands and boarded the airport shuttle. Next thing I knew, I was waking up groggily chained to a floor in this hood, with my ankles, wrists and thumbs cuffed in bondage. I've heard the distant, muffled sounds of women screaming as they are whipped. It sounds like a torture chamber. I have been spared most of that. Why, you ask? What makes me so special? Simple. When I heard my first command to lick, I licked. Ever since, the only thing centering me has been the opportunity to lick the boot of the Woman who commands me here. Yesterday, as a special reward for doing so well during my training, she let me lick them all the way up to the top. I was so thrilled when I discovered they were thigh-highs!

The Woman isn't here this morning, just the two men handling me roughly. The routine is the same at first. I piss and shit for them, get cleaned up in the shower, and eat my meal from a dog dish. But it's different after that today. I expect more training with the Woman, but she never comes for me. Instead, the men walk me around. I am un-bound and guided on exercise equipment. My body is given the once over, with a manicure and a pedicure. My cunt is shaved. I only see darkness throughout all of this. The hood is only taken off in the shower, where my view is restricted to the wall of shower tile, and when my face and hair are worked over. There is no mirror for me to watch how they're making me up. I am commanded to keep my eyes facing front, so I haven't even caught a glimpse of my handlers or the person making me up yet. The dildo gag is only taken out of my mouth when they need me to eat, drink, lick, or have my face made up.

I am dressed after this, if you can call it that. The two men stuff me into a skin-tight latex catsuit. It encases my entire body. My leather hood is replaced by the latex hood, which covers everything but my mouth, with nose-holes for breathing. They are necessary, since the dildo gag is shoved back in my mouth. Going from bound and hooded nudity to this is jarring. I feel claustrophobic now, but there is nothing I can do about it, so I force myself to endure it. The feeling fades as they progress with me. I am put in heels, higher than I am accustomed too. The collar is put back around my neck, and I am leashed.

I am led through different rooms by my leash, with my wrists and elbows bound behind me. The heels make walking like this very tricky, and it takes awhile. There are various people in these rooms. Once I am led into one, I hear my command to heel and stop. Hands grope me, all over, especially my most private areas. There is a feeling I cannot entirely fathom about this. The feel of fingers poking and squeezing through latex is unlike anything I have ever felt before. There are different people in every room, but there is no talking. The only gauge I have for guessing the number of people in these rooms is by the sound of their shoes. After the groping is over, my leash is pulled down. I follow the leash down to the point where I'm on my knees bent over with my face inches from the floor. My dildo gag is removed and I hear my command.

"Lick."

I lick. My tongue always makes contact with a shoe or a boot. They are all different, ranging from lace-up work boots to fine leather to open-toed high heels to stilettos. I realize as I lick that I am licking the shoes and boots of both men and women. After a minute or so for each foot, my leash is pulled up and my dildo gag is shoved back into my mouth. I am then led into another room. I lose count of how long this takes, or how many rooms I am led through. It takes maybe an hour? Two hours? I am not alone in this. The corridors are busy with the sounds of heels clacking on floors. Bodies brush against me in them. I assume other women are also being led from room to room like this. I occasionally pass a room and hear the command to lick coming out of it. I also hear the sounds of whips and sudden screams from other rooms. Apparently, other women on the ends of leashes are not obeying their commands like me.

After the last room, I am led back to the main room I am kept in. I am stripped of the latex, with the leather hood replacing the latex one. I am fed and locked in my cage for sometime. But this time I am not bound in position. I can almost curl up and relax. I think I may even doze off. After some time, I am pulled out of my cage and sponged clean. My hands are bound behind me again, and the heels are put back on my feet. I am led out of the room like this, naked except for the hood, dildo-gag, heels and wrist cuffs and arm-binders. I hear others being prepared and led along with me to another room.

This new room is bigger. I can feel it. There is an echo to it. I hear the sounds of conversation, like the ambient sounds of a cocktail party. But I can't make out what anyone is saying. I'm not close enough, and the hood muffles the sound too much. I am stopped, and feel a chain from the ceiling being attached to a ring on the back of my collar that I didn't even know was there. It is pulled taut. I am now stuck in this standing position, in these uncomfortable heels, with my wrists and arms bound, and the chain making any temptation to slouch completely impossible. I hear muffled sounds of murmuring and movement. It must be other women also being chained in place like this. After a long while, all the sounds die down. There is just silence. Then I hear a very distinctive voice.

"Thank you everyone, for taking your seats so promptly. At last...it is time!"

It's her! The Woman! Her voice is so loud and clear. It must be amplified. I hear the sounds of people shuffling around and applauding. Only after it dies down to complete silence, does she speak again.

"Thank you. I want to welcome all of our guests here to Club De La Desclos."

Club De La Desclos!?! That's the name of the resort in the Bahamas we were going to!

"Yes, named after the true author of The Story of O. We all owe her such a debt of gratitude for her inestimable contribution in legitimizing our...true selves. Her only sin in life was not going far enough with these philosophies. We here at Club De La Desclos have done it for her."

A huge roar suddenly fills the room. She speaks to a sizable audience, from the sound of it. I feel a new kind of fear now, distinct from my initial fear when I realized I was captive on this ship. Up until now, my world has been kept very small. It has mainly consisted of the Woman and my two handlers guiding me, with anything else falling into a muffled distance. I may have been a prisoner, but I felt I was becoming accustomed to their expectations. I was lulling myself into a false sense of security. Even being led through the rooms was different from this, since I was only being groped by two people at a time at most. Now I realize I had no idea what is really in store for me.

After waiting for the cheering and applause to die down, the woman resumes speaking.

"If you'll grant me a moment of patience, I want to reiterate our mission statement and our expectations for you during your voyage here. I know our veteran guests have heard this many times, and that our newcomers have also been exhaustively informed during the application process. But I feel that this starts the festivities off on the best possible footing for everyone on our first night together. Also, there are certain participants you are about to meet who are just dying to learn what it's all about. So, if you will indulge me..."

I know I am all ears.

"The mission of Club De La Desclos is to provide the most exquisitely visceral sadomasochistic experience that money can buy. Yes, everyone is created equal outside. But here inside, things are as they should be. There are masters, and mistresses, who earn that right by paying for it, and there are slaves who lick their feet for the right to serve them. You get to be your true selves here, and do what thou wilt. And that is how it should be. We have charged each and every one of you more than most people make in a lifetime. But I'm sure you'll agree that you will get what you pay."

More applause. I'm getting a sinking feeling.

"Even though you all move in circles where money can buy most everything, you still encounter limits. You all have needs, desires, primal urges, that just can't find expression in even the most impolite of society. We feel your frustration, and luckily for you, and us, it has created a market where we can all benefit. For the next week onboard this re-purposed luxury liner out to sea, your wildest, deepest, darkest, cruelest most sadistic desires can find expression. Now, I'm sure you've all been waiting for this moment, so..."

I hear a loud industrial crack, and then feel sudden heat on my body, as if I stepped out into the sun.

"...Behold! A fresh supply of female slaves, procured just for you!"

The audience erupts in oohs and ahhs and applause at that instant. The crack and heat must be from big lights turning on. I'm guessing we were here in the dark waiting for our cue, and now we've been revealed in dramatic stage lighting.

"On this stage you'll find 22 brand new slaves, literally fresh off a plane. Fresh meat, carefully curated for your pleasure. Under my expert supervision, we have begun their training, to start the process of keeping them in line. But there is still a long way to go, and that's where you come in. They are yours to train, to mold, to discipline, to beat, to fuck, to torture, to interrogate, and anything else you may think of. Now, as part of their initial indoctrination here, they've been kept hooded and blindfolded for almost every moment of their stay. I think it's time to give them a good look at what's in store for them, and also see the pretty faces of our slaves."

More wild applause. I hear movement near me after that. Every minute or so, it's punctuated by more cheering and applause. This seems to go on for quite awhile, as the movement gradually gets nearer to me. I start to hear the sounds of muffled screams and crying here and there as well. And then I feel her, the Woman. I don't know how I can tell, but she's standing right next to me. Her voice is still amplified, but I hear it right beside me as well. Then I feel a hand as it caresses my leather-hooded chin.

"This little beauty is my personal favorite. In every collection, there is always one who is first to break, without need of the whip. One who follows commands so well, that she begins to crave them. One who is born to lick, to crawl, to pleasure, to debase herself for the taste of a mistress' boot. My little beauty has done so well so far. She has earned the time she will be spending as my personal little pet. But don't worry. Slaves are not exclusive here. You will all get the chance to use her if you so wish."

I feel activity at the back of my head now. The straps for the dildo gag are unclasped. It's yanked out of my mouth. I can't help it; a mouthful of drool comes flooding out of my mouth. Then my hood is unzipped, and unceremoniously yanked off my head.

I struggle to see at first. My eyes have been encased in darkness for days. There's a big black spot in my field of vision, with bright, blurry light around the edges. Slowly, the black spot in front of me revolves as my vision comes back gradually. It's a face, right in front of me. Our noses almost touch. It's a Woman. Mid-40's, close-cropped hair dyed jet-black, which offsets her pale skin, and blood-red lipstick. I look down, and there they are...those shiny black leather thigh-high boots. It's the Woman! I knew it! I lose myself in staring at them for a good long moment. I can't help it, I even salivate a little. Then my chin is tilted back upwards. The Woman's eyes are following mine back up from there. She knew exactly what I was staring at, and exactly what I was thinking. The Woman smiles. It is not a kind or friendly smile. It's the kind of smile that tells you she's going to enjoy what happens next, but you won't so much.

"I have been waiting to do this for three days."

Before I know what's going on, her lips are on mine. She grinds into my lips, then pushes her tongue through them. She grabs the back of my head, and pushes it in as she pushes her tongue as far into my mouth as she can. It's forceful, brutal, rough. There is nothing remotely tender or romantic about this. She's doing this because she can. She holds me like that for a moment, exploring my mouth with her tongue, then abruptly pulls out.

She moves away from me now, to my side. I realize that she's presenting me. My eyes have gotten used to focusing on her right in front of me. They have to re-focus now. I squint, struggling to take in the blur of light that seems to roll back for eternity. As my eyes adjust, I start registering shapes. Out in front of me is a crowd of people, staring at me. I can't tell how many at first, it could be a legion. But gradually, I begin to see walls, and a ceiling. I'd guess there are between 30 to 60 people in this room, on couches and plush chairs, all staring at me. I still can't make out much more than shapes. Very bright lights are shining on me.

Stage lights, that's what they are. I'm on a very low stage, just a foot or so off the ground. I look up and see lights there as well. I'm the show, and they're my audience. Wait, they're not just my audience. As I look up, I catch shapes in my peripheral vision. Now I turn to look. There's a woman right next to me, staring back at me. She can't be more than two feet away, and she's strung up just like me. Naked, bound, collared, with a taut chain stretching from the back of her collar to the ceiling. But she's not exactly like me. Her body, there are red welts all over it. She's been beaten, whipped. Could she be one of the first two women who didn't lick? She's blonde, with her messy hair not quite touching her shoulders. She looks about 40 maybe? 45? I see other shapes beyond her on this stage. Other women, all collared, bound and strung up like us.

Then I notice something. I know this woman! I mean, I don't know her, but I've seen her before. How do I know her? Where have I...I've got it! The plane. She was on the same plane as my husband and me. She was coming to the Bahamas, just like we were. Then I notice a woman just down from her. That woman was on the plane too. I look at the other women, and then I turn my head. The woman on the other side of me was on the plane too. She's a redhead. Young, has to be in her 20's. She isn't covered in welts. She must have licked when she was commanded, like me.

There are women all around me. And I recognize just about all of them...from that plane. So that's it. Club De La Desclos, that BDSM-themed resort that my husband and I thought would be a kinky salve for the next step in our marriage...it was just a front. A lure, to bring us all here for. It's so clever. The club exists, but it doesn't exist. The picturesque resort we were all sold on was just an illusion. This is the real club. And it's not for us. It's for them.

I should have known. We all should have. That fabulous package deal was just too good to be true. I'll bet we're still getting charged for it on top of all this too.

As I continue to gaze at the women trussed up on this stage, I realize there is no unifying theme to us, except that we were all on the same flight. Our ages must range from the 20's to the 50's. Maybe even the 60's. Blondes, brunettes, the one redhead, some with a touch of grey, one with bright purple hair. White, black, Asian, Hispanic, Middle Eastern. Are we all women who were searching for something in a unique sort of getaway? Did we all come with our husbands? Where are the husbands, for that matter? Are they here? Are they being held somewhere else? I don't even want to think of alternatives beyond that. I am shaken out of my reverie when the Woman speaks again, looking out to the audience.

"One last reminder before we start. I say this from experience: this is not the week to hold back. It is not the week to temper your impulses. I guarantee you, if you do not give full vent to your most brutal, savage, cruel, sadistic urges, you will regret it. These are slaves, property, to be used, beaten, fucked, and subjugated. There are no safewords. Your only limits this week are the limits of your twisted imaginations. There is just you, your will, and these objects of your possession. And remember, their participation in our little excursion is not what one would call voluntary. There is a good chance they won't like the things that you do to them. You should use that to enhance your own enjoyment. I know I do. Although, there will be a few who take a liking to this sort of thing. There always are."

There always are. Am I one of those few? Is that why I am adapting better than others? Not out of fear, but out of some primal need to be taken and subjugated? Is that why even now, I crave the taste of her boot on my tongue?

The Woman has one more thing to add.

"The only guideline that I insist on, which you have agreed to, is that no permanent damage is permitted, beyond the odd scar or two for them to remember you by...and the brandings, of course. Otherwise, they must be in shape to make their return flights home."

Brandings!?! I look around and see women shaking and sweating. After three days of captivity, training, and punishment, we all knew things like limits or safewords didn't exist in our world any longer. But branding? That's inspiring a whole new level of fear. But that mention of our flights. I hold on to that. This is not meant to be permanent. We will be let go. That must mean our husbands will be there as well. Sure, maybe that's all a lie to keep us in line with a slim thread of hope. Maybe I'll never know life beyond this ship, these bonds, and the taste of her boot. But I need that hope now, so I grab it and hold on to it.

As I've made that determination, the Woman turns from the cheering audience to face me again. She looks me straight in the eye.

"Now then...there's something else I've been waiting to do for three days."

As she says that, I can't help but stare down at the cruel looking leather strap in her hand.