Theresas punishment, p.1
Theresa's Punishment, page 1
Table of Contents
SLAVES OF THE THEOCRACY Part 2: Theresaùs Punishment By Bruce McLachlan
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
About the Author
SLAVES OF THE THEOCRACY
Part 2: Theresaùs Punishment
By
Bruce McLachlan
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Theresa’s Punishment
Slaves of the Theocracy: Part 2 Copyright © 2007 Bruce McLachlan ISBN: 1-55410-766-0
Cover art and design by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books Look for us online at: www.extasybooks.com
To my beloved Erin for her support, education, commitment, and exemplary contribution to my work.
Chapter One
T
heresa was drawn through the main doors and into the early morning light. Her body was starting to gather its strength while the effects of
her last session of internal discipline faded.
Pelakh’s covert use of the implanted control
device had made her spill a drink on the master of
the house and her supreme owner. Lord Eldral
Thaine, Warmaster of Earth had ordered her
condemned to the stables, to be trained as a
human steed. The groom who was dragging her
inert form to this fate was called Setchak. She had
been caught staring lecherously at the handsome
male and he had promised to train her most
sternly for this supposed insult. A mere human
possession could not sully a member of the cruel
and powerful Phed Dregakk race with their
desires.
Theresa was also still somewhat rattled by the
fact that what she had thought was a product of
her slave gland, was actually something innate.
The artificial gland genetically engineered somewhere within her body was releasing an agent that she had assumed was responsible for her budding masochistic nature, however, she now knew that the gland elevated fear and was not responsible for the creation of submission, unless such tendencies were present in the first place. The agent was massively magnifying her own hidden leanings, and she was powerless against her own lust and yearning desire for control, bondage, and ruthless discipline.
Setchak entered the large stables that ran beside the main courtyard of the estate. The groom marched down the central corridor and Theresa saw the stalls that lined each wall. Each one was a haven for an individual human captive. Forsaking these small dwellings, he deposited her in the small chamber at the very end.
A single overhead light filled the dark room with a sinister amber glow. The weak illumination cast contorted shadows across the many instruments of restraint and punishment and added vastly to their fearsome appearance. In addition to the standard tools of torture, there was an arsenal of technological apparatus whose purpose was as of yet, and hopefully ever would be, a mystery to her. The flowing elegance of the tools was offset by sombre colours and jagged appendages on their semi-organic style. However, in just those few seconds, her fear snatched her depravity and she quivered with licentious relish at the prospect of being strapped down and having the celestial male sate his sadistic desires with her helpless body.
Theresa closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. She had to stop this process before it devoured her. Perhaps it was best that she be trapped within a pony uniform, her body taken away from her, her will commanded by reigns and crop. She had no control over her reactions anymore and this was sure to lead to a darker fate if she did not regain some measure of command.
The centre of the room held a large metallic chair that seemed to grow from the flagstone floor. The nebulous surfaces were encrusted with numerous thick shackles and all of them were open and ready to grasp at every portion of a wretched captive’s physique.
The items that were used to mark a female mount were present in great quantities and varied sizes. There were the wide belts with incorporated manacles at the waists, the bondage bras, the myriad twin dildos mounted on studded straps, the cloven-hoofed footwear, and worst of all, the nipple rings.
The groom leaned down and tapped the front of her gag. An eyebrow rose in thought and his silken voice poured into her ears. The race was as elegant and beautiful as they were savage and merciless. He took hold of the gag and pulled up her head while pondering aloud the merits of leaving it in place. Theresa closed her eyes and grimaced beneath the thick plate, her spine smarting from being bent backward against his merciless grasp.
“Shall I remove this? The throbbing of its presence suits me well, and teaches you silence, but I wish to hear you scream as I train you,” he said and having decided, he began to remove the punishing implement.
The baleful underwear fled and the bulb left her dry lips with a moist sucking pop. Long lines of saliva stretched between the two and Setchak cast it aside.
Slipping forth to lie prostrate, she yawned to battle the kindled pulse in her stretched maw, but still found the lingering scent of the thong about her nose. She snorted but the gathered aromatic curse refused to be so easily dismissed.
Without word, the groom pulled Theresa up onto her knees and then hitched up her skirt. The sudden exposure made her shy back from her kneeling position and reach to restore her covering sheath. Setchak slapped aside her hands with an irritated snarl and shoved her fully onto her back. The male stood up straight and towered over her before he put the sole of his tall leather boot onto her belly. The groom smiled and reached across so he might take down a short crop from the wall.
“Beasts are not troubled by nakedness, slave. So stop wriggling!” he warned, and then slashed into her revealed hips.
The sudden lambasting caused her to squirm under his pinning foot. He applied half a dozen blows and when she tried to shield a targeted region or grab his boot, the wandering hands received some discouraging strokes before he continued to assail her abdomen.
Barely half had been applied when the severity of the assault and the image of the brutal male looming over her made her find hesitant delight in the abuse. As the last of them were being thrown into her hips, her hands were groping at his boots and savouring the dense shell of protecting leather rather than trying to get him off.
“What a libidinous wretch you are. No wonder that you were dismissed from maid service. Were you rubbing yourself against your master’s leg? Offending him with your wanton urges?” Theresa was about to speak and refute the allegation when he leaned down, grabbed her hips, and flipped her with ease. She landed on her front and gave a soft bark of dismay from the landing. Before she could fathom what was going on, he grabbed her pelvis and hoisted her hindquarters into the air.
“Don’t you dare move, or speak, slave!” he hissed.
The asperity of his statement made Theresa freeze instantly despite the awkwardness of her pose. Her face was pressed to the ground and her arms were folded beneath her as her spine sloped up, her knees were kept wide, and her loins were brazenly offered to him.
Theresa gave a stifled gasp as a finger traced her rear and then followed the line of her pussy. The tip tantalised her clit and she had to fight to stop herself from groaning and swaying her hips with delight. The fight became even harder to win when the crop darted in and applied a fulgent kiss to each inner thigh. The finger returned and dabbled with her clit before he again offered her some stinging thwacks. A tear dropped to the floor as her body remained rigid from the stress of pleasure and pain.
His hand cupped her sex and massaged it with calm force. Theresa purred softly when she heard him unfastening his trousers.
“Still, you aren’t a beast yet, and it’d be a shame not to sample you one last time before you say goodbye to such treats for good.”
The words had barely registered before his cock thundered into her. Theresa forced her face even harder to the ground and bit her lip in endurance. His hands grabbed her hips and caressed her buttocks as he thrust back and forth. The urge to holler was almost irresistible.
“This is the last cock you’ll feel, slave. After this, the only reward you will gain is a respite from punishment.”
Theresa’s eyes welled with tears at the prospect. Surely they would not deprive her of orgasm ever more, surely the implant, or use by some of the stallions she had seen would be permitted? It was a dr
“Ah, that was splendid. Such a pity it won’t be sampled again. Still, the master of the house has spoken, and his will shall be enforced on you.” He withdrew suddenly. Theresa’s eyes bulged and her throat gurgled from the effort of not flinging her limbs out and screeching from the flight of his manhood from her sensitised and quivering sex. As one final, spiteful test of her obedience, the crop flew on an underarm trajectory and laid its leather tip to her rosy pussy. The burning influence embraced her belly and it took long moments to start to fade and let her relax her brutalised frame.
“Kiss,” he ordered.
Theresa opened her bleary eyes and saw the tip of the baleful weapon before her eyes. There was a vague sparkle on the leather and whether the moisture was a lingering mark of her arousal or from Setchak’s passion, she puckered her lips forward and placed a kiss to it. The taste of his seed was distinct and had been captured from the final stroke to her ravenous sex. She ran her tongue over her lips to capture more of the tang and her body quaked from its influence.
Setchak set his weapon aside upon completion of this last lesson and proceeded with the rest of her devolution from maid into pony. Continuing with his work, he took the sealed hem of her stockings and used a translucent dissolving aerosol to strip away the glue. With the molecular bond between her skin and the rubber gone, she was finally able to let her imprisoned legs find freedom. Setchak grabbed the top and pulled them down before dragging them off her legs and feet altogether. Clearly the latex had some other property that she was unaware of because her skin was unaffected by its long smothering imprisonment. The eternal embrace of the constrictive hose vanished and with coarse treatment, he rolled her over onto her front. Setchak put his boot into her back, unlocked the collar of her dress, and tugged down the zip before removing it with an equal absence of gentleness.
He cast the shed attire aside and employed her hair as a reign so he might hoist her to her feet and guide her onto the awaiting chair. She was resistant, but the groom overcame the trepidation with a few licks of the crop across her naked rear. The weapon was back in his hand in an instant and blows made her dance in his grasp.
“Bad pony! Stop struggling! Be still!” he snapped and suddenly her bared body was within the engine of containment and perverse processing.
Setchak buckled down her frame, trapping her so she could not interfere with her preparation for captivity.
He held up a short rod and the head hummed softly when a soft green glow haloed the tip. Snatching her hair, he held her head firmly in a tight grasp to make her scowl as her roots lit up with pitiless riots of discomfort.
Smooth, practised strokes ran along the sides of her head, stripping away the follicles en masse. Upon feeling these great tufts of hair falling free, and then seeing them cascade down before her eyes, Theresa shrieked. She was aghast at this corruption of her visage.
The groom chuckled with amused glee, mocking her outrage while he sheared the sides away to leave a single mane rolling down her skull. Theresa had been shaved before, and though this experience was nothing like the agony of the plucking and electrolysis of her legs and hindquarters, it was a far more disturbing affair because it was a grievous psychological savaging as opposed to the usual physical trauma that the race so loved to inflict and to which she was gradually becoming hardened.
With her head prepared, the restraint destined for her brow was applied and tightened to drag her into the headrest. Fully confined, the demeaning ritual continued.
Setchak took up a coarse cloth and sprinkled potent cosmetic remover across the surfaces. He began to wipe away her shades with barbarous motions, chafing her skin as the last vestige of her maid status was taken away. The caustic fluid stung her skin, made her nose burn from inhaling its vapours and her eyes water profusely as they ached with a throbbing pound.
One of the wide belts was selected while she screwed up her face and tried to endure the mayhem wrought by the remover. The rigid tube was sealed about her waist and drawn in like a corset to form and enforce an hourglass figure. The final wrench of its tightening forced the air from her lungs and made her hips ache as the skin was held prisoner.
Taking down one of the stud-speckled straps, the groom opened a concealed hatch beneath her rump. The hidden trapdoor left her completely defenceless to this next stage. Without the need for additional lubrication and with a complete lack of tenderness, the two perpetually slick and oversized lengths were crammed into her. The forceful invasion made her squeal and fight against her bonds as he forced them all the way in, whereupon both ends of the straps were locked to the waiting belt to deny her stretched orifices the ability to eject the trespassers.
The restraints of the chair groaned against her struggles and she clawed at the unforgiving surfaces while her tracts resonated with a vivid ache. Leaving her to grow accustomed to her phallic invaders, the trapdoor was closed against her penetrated abdomen. This pushed the rods deeper and to the limits of her tracts. She could feel them nudging her depths and the process of acclimating to them was made even more difficult. A bondage bra was brought to her torso. Theresa tried to evade the chastising clothing but the chair was too effective a captor to allow even a chance to hamper the application. She yelped as the groom roughly forced her breasts through the open holes but refused to beg for mercy, lest he be even more vindictive.
The tight squeeze of the elasticised rings at the base caused her assets to swell outward with engorged pride and to well with internal havoc. Flushed with feeling, the nipples stood up erect and readied to accept their decoration.
Setchak lifted a pistol-like device and examined it with amused intensity. His glower took in her face as she regarded the weapon and he beamed with venomous delectation.
Theresa could see the ring winking within the jaws of the mechanism. The barbed arrow emerging from one of the sides testified that once the circle was closed, it could not be opened again. Setchak cupped a swollen breast in one hand and the teat was strained further outward by the scissor pinch of his fingers and thumb. The groom put the instrument to the willing nipple. Theresa whimpered her pleas as she braced for the pain. “Please, master, pleeeease, don’t do this to me!” “So, the maid speaks, even as she continues to become a pony,” he crooned.
“I’ll do anything you want, just don’t ring my nipples.”
“But they’ll look prettier, and be infinitely more sensitive.”
“You’ll punish them though!”
“Sometimes.”
“No! Please! I’m begging you.”
“Not for much longer. Anyway, I don’t have a big enough target just yet. So, just how can I remedy that, seeing as I still have a very vocal maid here, and not a lowly animal?”
Theresa’s continued protestations became a mewing moan as his lips embraced her nipple and a flitting tongue danced against the tip. Her chest arched and the straps groaned with strain before she sank and shivered from the glorious tease. Setchak moved to the other teat and offered it equal attention. While he alternated between the two, Theresa’s breasts reverberated with powerful ecstasy.
Half-mumbled words of imploring dribbled over her slack lips as he offered small nips and long laps. She knew that her body was betraying her and offering itself for alteration, but the pleasure was just too much to resist. Would having her nipples pierced be all that bad? The pain of their implementation would be compensated for by those times when they were played with and to have the bliss of this current treatment made even more potent was too tempting to resist. Once again, her masochistic fires burned away her fear and resentment and spoke without her conscious mind knowing. “Pierce me, master. Ring my nipples and make me your pony,” she hissed with half closed eyes and delirious fervour.
