Prisoner 1

As the days grew into weeks, I actually found myself relaxing into my new routine. When first they'd taken me I would never have thought this possible. Yet now, only a few weeks later - but how many, how many... I had no way of knowing. At first of course I'd been drugged and I didn't know how long I'd been out. There were still drugs... and they had ways of administering them that were unavoidable. I gave a small involuntary shudder. Yet, now... whenever now was... there was something almost soothing about the unrelenting routine. I didn't have to think... I was actively discouraged from thinking... I was not a person any more, as they kept telling me, I was now a thing, a toy, their toy, their plaything, and as long as I was useful and fun to play with they'd look after me - after their fashion.

The threat implicit in all their actions, in all their words, and in everything they did not say and do, was that once I ceased to amuse them, my life was forfeit. They could hardly return me to the world, to my world - my safe, sane world, so far off now it seemed, that world where women went about their business and were not suddenly snatched in broad daylight, kept drugged for who knows how long, and forced to service an unceasing parade of men... and at all other times kept chained and confined in a box, padded, dark, sense-depriving... half-starved, wholly-disoriented, naked, whipped, at the whim of a faceless procession of masters, none of whom ever identified himself or made any human overtures. They were distinguishable by their differing heights, girths, by the sizes and tastes of their cocks, by the timbres of their voices; but for the remarks they made, and the way they chose to use me, they might all have been clones or cybermen...

Although I had plenty of time to think, immured in my box, somehow the thoughts didn't gel... thinking had become hard work, my brain resisted. If I was to start thinking about my situation, really thinking, I'd go mad.... Sanity demanded that I become what they wanted, a creature with basic physical needs that were being satisfied, a creature with certain desirable talents that were being fully exploited... So I lay there, the tube from my urethra slowly dripping my own piss into my mouth - their neat solution to the problem of what I should do if I needed to urinate whilst locked in my box - feeling the soreness in my arse, the bruising in my cunt and on my thighs, the throbbing of the weals criss-crossing the greater part of my body... but I didn't think, no, I made myself an unthinking, insensate organism, a simpler form of life, an amoeba perhaps, but no longer a person, no longer human. I was less than human now... slightly more than a thing but not much.

Hours passed in my airless prison and I dozed them away, grateful for the peace, the cessation of demand. Yet when they came for me I'd be equally grateful for my release, for the freedom - momentarily - to stretch my limbs; even for the human contact, although that was of the basest sort. No light penetrated the box in which I lay and even temperature changes were minimal. I never knew what hours were passing or whether they came for me by day or by night. My world was one of total darkness alternating with electric light; there were no windows in my world, no world beyond the four walls of my room, a room with a door which had no handle on the inside. I never heard the door being opened. The first I'd know that it was time for me to resume my duties was when the lid was lifted and the light from the low-wattage bulb hanging from the ceiling dazzled my eyes anew. Quickly, impersonally, methodically, hands unlocked the padlocks holding me by my wrist and leg irons to the framework of the box. The irons stayed in place, however, as they lifted me from my prison. There was no need for them - there was no way I could escape the room, there were always half-a-dozen of them and I was no match for even one of them. I suppose they kept me in irons because it amused them to see me so much at their mercy, because of the increased discomfort the irons afforded me and the way in which they emphasised to me my status as prisoner and victim.

Likewise with the metal collar they'd rivetted around my neck shortly after my capture, and the rings with which they'd pierced my nipples, labia and clitoris. All were marks of their ownership and my abject dependance. Before... in the world... I'd never even had my ears pierced - I'd had a horror of piercing... Now it was made clear to me that my body was theirs to do as they liked with, it was not mine to be adorned as I wished. The metal belt around my waist had also been rivetted permanently into place. Clearly, all too clearly, I was here for keeps.

Today - tonight? - events followed their usual course. Suddenly the lid was lifted and I was temporarily blinded by the light as they unlocked and lifted me from the box. I allowed myself to be handled, my muscles all relaxed, limp, I made myself as much like the doll they desired as was possible. I knew better than to look directly at any of them and kept my gaze averted. They were all masked in any case but even so, my untutored examination of them in my early days here had resulted in some vicious punishment. Although I didn't look at them directly now, I registered that today there were eight of them and that one of them was familiar to me, I recognised his peculiarly hairy legs and feet. No doubt the others had all had the pleasure also but I didn't recognise their legs...

Apart from the masks, the men were all clothed similarly in white towelling bathrobes. If I dared think about it I might think how ludicrous they all looked but of course I didn't dare. In any case, they might look ridiculous but they had the power of life and death over me. More to the point, they had complete control over my body for the next few hours and whether the time passed excruciatingly or whether, as I had discovered, I could actually derive some pleasure myself, depended entirely on their whims. I made myself what they wanted me to be so that they would give me a little of what I wanted too. Life had to be about pleasure as well as pain and in my shrunken world, sexual pleasure was the only one that was left to me. At first, I had never thought to find pleasure here. I expected a world of unremitting pain and degradation. This, indeed, was what I'd found. But as I'd grown used to my reduced circumstances, as I'd become accustomed to the humiliations to which I was subjected, I'd also learnt how I could turn some of these things to my own devices.

The first time I'd cum I'd almost died with shame. At once my mind had returned to me, accusing me, the physical pleasure ebbing from my treacherous body and the hot tide of blood flushing my cheeks with self-loathing. My shame was if anything reinforced by the attitude of my captors. They found my total loss of control amusing and my humiliation was complete. As they casually raped me, tears rolled down my face. I wept not for their treatment of me but for my body's betrayal of my inner self. After that occasion, I was left in the box longer than usual, or so it seemed. I wondered, at length, if they had abandoned me - if my orgasm had somehow made me unfit for their service. Yet they had seemed to enjoy it and taken it as a joke at my expense.

By the time they came for me again, I had passed into a state of total submission. My body really was theirs - it no longer obeyed me but them. They handed out pain and I now accepted that pleasure was theirs to hand out equally if they wished. If pleasure was to be had, it was infinitely to be preferred to pain... The device of theirs that had caused me to cum was a bench, from the top of which protruded a massive wooden dildo, polished with use. This time they unlocked my leg irons and guided me towards the bench straight away and I was grateful... It had ceased to bother me that I was naked and they were dressed, that they used me as a toy rather than as a person. Poised above the dildo, much thicker and longer than a man's cock, nevertheless I was nervous as the man I knew stood before me and pressed his hands down on my shoulders. Although I had grown to love the bench, the moment of penetration was painful still, every time. My cunt had been stretched by them, stretched repeatedly, yet always it hurt and I felt I might rip, particularly when, as now, the man grasped me forcefully and with all his strength pressed me down onto the thick wooden cock in one hard movement.

I moaned as I felt my cunt lips part to admit the invading monstrosity. Even though I was beginning to lubricate in anticipation, the pain was undeniable. But down the cock I slid, and when I was well and truly impaled, the man clasped my ankle irons back together beneath me and for good measure, bent me back in a bow so that he could chain my wrists to my ankles. All my weight was now pushing my cunt onto the wooden cock, as my ankles were now suspended in mid-air. I couldn't help myself as my body, of its own volition, began to work itself to and fro on the dildo, maximising the sensation. I was only half-aware of the men standing around, some of them stroking their cocks, others pinching my nipples, or closely examining my cunt, splayed out around the hugely-swollen artificial member. As I moved faster and faster, fucking myself into bliss, one of them started cropping my tits. The sudden pain simply spurred me on - the pleasure spreading from my cunt, and particularly my G-spot, which the wooden monster stimulated like nothing else I'd known, acting as a wonderful counterpoint to the stripes of pain radiating from my breasts. Soon, all too soon, I felt my pleasure ramping up to orgasm and panting and sobbing, straining against my bonds, I came...

Of course, this was only the beginning of the proceedings. Had it been up to me, someone would now have unchained me, bathed me tenderly, wrapped me in soft blankets and put me to sleep in a proper bed. Instead, left to squirm on the cock which was now slick with my juices, I now found my mouth being demanded for service by first one man and then another. There were no niceties here and no technique was necessary - each man in turn grabbed my head either by the hair or the ears and forced his cock as far into my mouth as he could, proceeding to fuck my face as if it was just some piece of meat. My gasping and gagging meant nothing to them, or possibly spurred them on to greater efforts. My body was beginning to scream in protest at the way it was arched back so uncomfortably and it was a relief when I was unchained once more and unceremoniously pulled off my wooden lover. There was an audible squelch and a soft popping sound as my cunt was pulled clear.

The next man to use me bent me forwards over another bench, slicked my anus with a little lubricant and thrust into me. My mind went blank again. This sort of thing would probably go on for a few hours, different men in different combinations, most of them essaying two of my orifices, and some of them having the stamina to try all three. The fucking never did much for me. Perhaps it was perverse of me but I preferred the bench to any of the men who used me. Perhaps it was that the bench did not will me any harm, was an unwitting ally even; maybe it was just that it was so much better-endowed... As the hours wore on, I truly became the thing they made me be. I didn't think, I didn't react much, I certainly didn't fight back. I hardly noticed the indignities to which I was put. Several of them finished by pissing on me, just to show me my place in the scheme of things, and because it evidently afforded them pleasure to treat the woman they'd spent the last hours fucking as if she was nothing but the gutter in which they paddled, dipped their wicks and voided their bladders. The piss felt rather pleasant on the whole, although it did sting the weals on my arse from the whipping one of them had given me at some point.

Sometimes they'd wash me down afterwards, although washing me consisted merely of standing me in one bucket while the (cold) contents of another were tipped over my head. Tonight they couldn't be bothered even with that and when they'd finished with me, my wristlets were chained to a loop on my collar, my ankles joined together, the catheter replaced and, still wet with their piss, covered in cum and with the odd streak of blood on me too, I was replaced in my box, the lid fastened, and silence and darkness prevailed once more. I had lost a lot of liquid through sweating; piss and cum were not really enough and my throat was parched. I longed, as I had longed when first taken, for a drink of cool water....

From freedom my wants and needs, my inmost desires had shrunk to this, a simple but over-riding need for water. They never gave me enough... I think the shortness of water was designed to keep me weak and also to give me a focus which was more basic and more important than liberty. They kept me short in order to control me more completely. I had no idea when next my thirst would be satisfied. I mustn't think about it. I must think about something else. Time to turn the key and re-enter the paradise garden kept safely locked in my mind's eye. That perfect place where all my wants were met and I was free. Time...