The Apartment - Part 2

[Ferd]

A Short one, I'm still deciding whether to combine it with part 1 or part 3.

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Jane sat, her knees pulled up to her chest, looking around the room.

She had just had an atom-bomb-level orgasm, followed by a series of lesser explosions, that left her breathless, sweating, trembling, and a little too unsteady to walk around just yet.

The room was a typical bedroom in a typical 2/1 apartment that had been modified untypically into a DIY slave training facility. A tall wooden frame bisected the room, eyelets and hooks dotting its perimeter; an eye bolt was screwed into the wall over her right shoulder, serving as the anchor for a dog chain with a large padlock on the other end; a closet door to her left that opened to reveal a cage (a slave kennel, Jane thought it was called); and at the far end, above a pile of random objects including several books on slavery, was a full-length mirror mounted to the wall.

Looking into the mirror, Jane regarded herself: a curvy woman with pale skin, large breasts and shapely legs, completely nude (her clothes were scattered in a trail from where she had started shedding them after locking the front door) except for a pair of grey work socks, her dark hair - styled in bangs - messy from the shedding (and subsequent events), her skin glistening.

So many questions, she thought.

Jane got on all fours and crawled across the room to the pile of books. As she did so, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her hips swaying and her ample bottom bobbing as she crawled. Stopping, she knelt in front of the mirror and thought a moment, then continued on to the books. She pulled one out of the stack, a thin book not much thicker than a magazine titled So Now You’re a Slave! (Texas Edition). She flipped through it and found the part she wanted: a series of grainy black-and-white photos in the “Slave Positions” chapter.

She was not a woman who thought about her body in a “profane” way, as her Catholic school nuns would put it. Your body was the vessel for your soul and you used it to honor God, not tempt boys or pursue your own pleasure - that path led to the seven deadly sins, and you know where those led. But like most Catholic schoolgirls, she mostly ignored the dusty old nuns and did, on occasion, pleasure herself. She also liked the effect her body had on boys, even if she rarely dated and had never had a steady boyfriend (not that she didn’t want one, she was just far too busy).

(For the record Jane was not a virgin — but just barely; in her senior year, and only then because Tommy Nuñez didn’t stop even after the gymnasium bleachers above them started to fill with parents and basketball fans. Things didn’t work out with Tommy, but she still relished that crazy night.)

But being a full-fledged sexual woman? Comfortable with her body and able to realize her sexual needs and desires? To use her “womanly wiles” to get what she wanted? No, not really. Jane considered herself a workhorse, not a show pony.

Which is probably why this is so exciting, Jane thought.

First, the idea that good-looking (although crooked and unsavory) men not only desired her, appreciated her sexually, but wanted to use her like one of the slave girls in her romance novels? That had never even occurred to her.

(Honestly, it kinda had, in the same way that she knew from school and church that men liked taking advantage of enslaved women, but the priest had made it sound horrible and degrading. But if being caught alone in a cage by Sal Sandoval was degrading, maybe there was something to be said for being degraded?)

Second, her fantasies were ~so~ strong and ~so~ real in this place that without even stopping to think she had stripped off her clothing and masturbated herself almost into unconsciousness. That had certainly ~never~ happened either. Good God that felt amazing.

Third, she was alone, and not likely to be disturbed, inside the closest thing to a house of slave training that she was ~ever~ likely to see, with a gym bag full of equipment and a pile of instruction manuals.

How could she not be excited? How could she not take this opportunity to explore, even just a little?

Jane read through the instructions for the various poses and studied the photos, her stomach tightening a little: many of them were borderline pornographic, even if you didn’t do them in the nude, and according to the book there were mantras you had to repeat as you did them that struck her as fairly degrading.

Which, she suddenly realized, is the point.

Then the first page of the next chapter caught her eye: “Service,” and featured a photo of a woman standing at a sink washing dishes. Totally normal, except that the woman was completely naked - down to her bare feet - other than a collar, a set of shackles around her ankles, and a gag strapped around her head.

Jane’s stomach tightened, and she felt a little tickle (a nice tickle) below her belly.

She went into the closet and fetched the gym bag.

Dropping it in front of the mirror, she went through the contents until she found what she needed. It was clear to her now that the oversized handcuffs she’d found were actually for ankles. She started to fasten one around her ankle then stopped.

Don’t be an idiot, she thought, find the keys first.

She finally found a ring of keys in a zippered pocket on the side of the bag. Trial and error showed that a tube-shaped one opened the leg shackles.

Placing one cuff around her left ankle, she felt how smooth the metal was and - against her warm skin - how cool it was, almost cold to the touch. She had the key in her possession but even so, when she ratcheted the cuff closed she felt a thrill run through her body.

Closing the other cuff around her right ankle, she stood and looked at herself in the mirror. Shifting her feet, the chain connecting her ankles made a rattling sound. She took a few steps; it was difficult, because the length of her stride was limited to about eighteen or twenty inches.

What if Sal and Joaquin found me like this?, Jane wondered. She wouldn’t be able to run from them or use her legs to fight them off. She briefly pictured Sal dragging her into the bedroom by her ankle chain as she scrabbled at the carpet and the doorway trying to get a grip on something, only to look up and see a grinning Joaquin following them, unzipping his fly…

Jane couldn’t help it: she faced the mirror and rubbed herself right up to the edge of another orgasm; then she dug through the gym bag until she found a collar.

She actually found two collars: a thick black leather collar with a chrome leash ring and buckle that could accommodate a padlock, and a brushed stainless steel one with an integrated lock.

The metal one scared her. It was like the ones the real, actual slaves wore, it had some seams in it that she guessed hid other components she knew nothing about (like perhaps a tracking system or an alarm), not to mention the two prongs that stuck out of the inside rear of the collar — it didn’t take a genius to know that those were for delivering electric shocks.

But the leather one? It was sturdy and thick and smelled great and had no hidden surprises.

Jane buckled it on around her neck, her fingers fumbling a little with the buckle — she realized that her hands were shaking. She finished buckling it, turned it so that the buckle was in back and the leash ring in front, and looked at herself in the mirror again.

It was still her, but at the same time not her: after her large breasts, the first thing one noticed was the collar. That changed how the viewer thought of her, immediately — from a curvy girl with big tits to a curvy slave girl with big tits that you could walk over and touch whenever you wanted.
Her nipples were as stiff and hard as pencil erasers, and the skin of her aureolas was pebbly, like goosebumps.

She crossed her wrists behind her and arched her back, making her breasts even more prominent, like she was offering them to the observer.
“Please, sir,” she said out loud, quoting one of her slave romances, “Won’t you take my breasts in your hands? They’re firm and ripe and I am sure they would please you.”

She shook her head, making the leash ring jingle.

In her mind’s eye she once again saw herself in the apartment with the Sandoval brothers, Sal forcing her to her knees while Joaquin clipped a leash to the ring on her collar. She could feel the cuffs on her ankles — and on her wrists, too! — as she looked up at the two men, completely at their mercy.
“I say we walk her out to the van, in front of the whole complex,” said Joaquin, an evil grin on his face. “Then take her home and start breaking her in.”
“Sure,” Sal replied, “but first, how about one for the road?” He unzipped his fly and pulled out his thick, dark cock, already growing at the sight of her kneeling in front of him—

Jane knelt down in front of the mirror, opened her mouth wide, and started rubbing herself again. She ran her tongue over her lips, and went over the precipice into orgasmed canyon; not as Earth-shattering as the first, but utterly delicious nonetheless.

Holy shit, she thought, I can’t keep doing this. I’ve gotta get some work done.

Jane fell forward onto her hands, preparing to stand up, but caught sight of herself in the mirror again. On a whim, she turned around so that her broad, plump bottom faced the glass. She looked at herself over her shoulder for moment, then reached back with both hands and spread her cheeks wide, displaying her womanhood and her, um, butthole, which she had never seen before.

It was pink, just like Domino Carminia’s.

“Seriously,” she said out loud, “You’ve gotta stop this. Get some work done, and then you can play some more.”

She sat up and looked at herself over her shoulder, at the dimples on her lower back (“Venus marks” her grandmother had called them, “thumb rests” according to Tommy Nuñez), and then saw the still-open book, turned to the image of the chained dishwasher.

You know, she thought, no reason I couldn’t work just like I am…

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Later that afternoon (early evening, really), Jane - now fully dressed - sat in her car between Öber rides and made a phone call.

“McMillan Plumbing,” a woman’s voice answered. “How can I help you?”

“Wanda?” Jane said.

“Oh hey, Janey! What’s up?”

“You got a few minutes to talk?” Jane sighed. “I need a favor.”

“Sure,” Wanda said, sounding concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, more or less. Um,” Jane paused for a moment, steeling herself. “On second thought, could you come over to Sunrise Heights in the morning? I need you to see something.”

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After midnight.

Jane collapsed into bed, worn out from the day. But for once, her exhaustion was only physical: emotionally, she felt better. Relaxed. Even rested, if that’s the word she was looking for.

She’d arrived in time to experience her mother’s latest tirade about something the new pope said, or something like that - she honestly didn’t care, she just knew that Ma’s mental state seemed to be getting worse - so she helped Irene calm thier mother down and get her into bed, making a mental note to ask their neighbor, Mrs. Rodriguez, to look in on Ma tomorrow.

Irene had made chamomile tea for her and her sister. They drank and talked about their mother, how they were going to pay the next installment on Teresa’s tuition, and whether Irene might get promoted to shift lead at the bakery, before deciding to go to bed.

Now she was both exhausted and wide awake. The tea will probably help her drift off, but what she really wanted to do was continue reading her Domino Carminia book: you see, Domino was scouting around the the circus when she encountered some guards. Looking around for a place to hide, she lifted the corner of a nearby tarp to discover that it concealed a small cage. Domino quickly opened it and slipped inside just before the guards walked past her… then one of them stopped to light a cigarette, and sat on top of the covered cage while he smoked—

Screw it, Jane thought, I’m gonna do it.

[Carl Bradford]

One of the things that GentlemanMariner shares with other great writers (like Joe Doe) in this genre is the ability to create a sense of foreboding, a feeling that the protagonist is headed for irreversible enslavement and disaster. You have posted 3 segments at once, but I have to read them slowly, over time, because my heart pounds so much. Well done!

[Mr. Smith]

Thanks Carl! Especially coming from a great writer such as yourself, high praise indeed

This one's going to be a long, slow boil - I hope everyone's okay with that...

[reddbunnz]

Great start to the story. Left many open ended possibilities. Can't wait to read more.

[Jim927]

The first two chapters show that you are off to another great story that I can’t wait to read. I can’t wait to see how it developers. Well done. I’m so happy that you are writing again.
Jim