Why?

Part 2

Round and round. Step, step, step. Round and round. Knee-high, thigh parallel to the floor. Step, step, step. On and on. A couple of hours into this eternal torture and his feet were beginning to hurt now as well,  adding to the aches and the general misery of his hopeless existence. Every dozen or so revolutions he would cast a malevolent glance towards the control panel situated by the little blonde bitches desk. What tell-tale notes was its rotten uncaring electronic brain busily recording and sending to her he wondered. Fucking digital snitch! The bitch had already shocked him twice more. How many painful jolts would he get before she upped it again?

The little madam had even manoeuvred the big mirror into position before she left to give him a constant reminder of his horrible predicament. It wasn’t always within his limited view and never on those rare occasions when they added some other poor sod to the endless treadmill—oh no, watching some other poor soul suffer like him might be classed as ‘entertainment’ for him. Something to break the mind-numbing monotony, something different. Something out of the ordinary! Was that how these crazy sadistic bitches thought? To deny him even the slightest contact with a fellow sufferer. Not only physical but also psychological torture!

There was another low warning buzz a slightly different one. He started, jolted out of his thoughts for he knew what it meant. Shit, shit and double shit! He immediately straightened up, stretching his spine. ‘Walk tall, walk proud, walk gracefully! Don’t you dare slouch for me, boy!’ The latter command almost always accompanied by a stroke of fire across his back or bottom from her cane.  That damn beep. Another little reminder from that electronic sneak straight to her cell phone that his posture had slipped by a millimetre or whatever the nasty little blonde perfectionist wanted!

He forced himself to take another peek in the mirror as he marched past. An image of helpless captive misery that he had seen a thousand times before and yet somehow never accept nor could fully comprehend within his mind that the pitiful figure was actually his reflected mirror twin!

A marching majorette a near-naked middle-aged male perversion of one, harnessed and booted as he marched that ridiculous march going nowhere at a pace set by his heartless task-mistress. Heeled knee boots on his legs, a collar around his neck, a corset confining his midriff, his head gagged and bridled. Nor was there a baton for him to twirl. How could there be with his arms bound and folded in a punishing leather and metal pouch behind his back that was never removed?

Yes, his feet recently crammed into a new pair of boots were hurting now not that it would make one iota of difference to them. Not to that, those two evil witches. He’d once heard them quite seriously discussing castrating some poor bastard. Jesus fucking Christ and he could believe that they would do that! Do it! How could he not after all these days of pointless, brutal captivity. It wasn’t even the horrible inhuman act that had scared him but more the casual matter of fact way they had discussed it sitting on that garden seat swigging wine! Hell, people agonised far more about getting their new puppies neutered than had that cold-hearted pair weighing the pros and cons of ‘snipping’ some other poor guy they’d got their claws upon!

No, they hadn’t actually ‘snipped’ him, but they’d damn well done the next nearest thing hadn’t they! His penis was bent and locked into a steel cage, tight metal rings dividing and separating his testicles.  Not only was he a captive but the bitches had virtually demasculinised him as well, his waist and upper body permanently clad in the grip of a horrible leather and steel corset that the little bitch had fastened about him. How the hell did she expect him to breath with that cruel garment garrotting his midriff, nor was it ever eased, not even by the smallest fraction. Foolish perhaps to even expect such a small mercy; instead, the little sadist regularly did the very opposite if she detected the slightest amount of give in the horrible garment.

He would stand there dumb, helpless, humiliated as she smiled up at him, wiggling the forefinger of her right hand in his face—a small dainty finger with a long-painted nail. Hers or a false one, he didn’t know, but almost every time the paint and design were different.  Then still smiling that cruel smile, a pink tongue would emerge from between pink glossed lips to sensuously lick the digit, her glorious sparkling blue eyes holding his, mocking him, revelling in her absolute authority. Then the dainty hand would drop, and the finger would probe, wriggling wetly between the unyielding leather band that encircled him and his bare skin. Sometimes it slid in easily, and at other it required a little more effort.

Not one word would she say, he might as well not be there, but unfortunately, he was and time and time again she had produced that little steel hexagonal key and gone behind his back, grasped him  with a firm hand and then he heard and felt her turn some fastenings that made a ratchet clicking noise. One notch, two? That awful noose strangling his belly tightening to add yet one more brick to his wall of misery! It would get worse, as well. He knew that, but why?

They seemed to forget that he had ears and a brain. They might have stifled his voice with the gags that muffled everything bar his muted animal-like screams, but he could still hear, still think although perhaps that was more curse than a blessing! The older bitch sometimes measured his waist with a tape measure. The little bitch never did. If the older one mentioned it she’d just laugh and say something like ‘no point bothering with that yet; fat boy here has` got a long way to go before I am satisfied’.

Fat! He’d never been overweight! Grotesque that was the word that now came into his mind when he saw that reflected image. A pale white-skinned emancipated figure devoid of all hair. Not a single one had she left him save his eyelashes, and even those she might have taken had not she taken such pleasure in watching him pitifully blinking away his ‘so cute tears’ when she made him cry for her. Even his nose and ears had received brutal attention from a pair of tweezers!

He’d never been to a gym in his life nor had the slightest inclination to visit one, neither he felt needing to lose weight or gain muscle.  Average he thought himself, ok maybe a shade on the lighter side of average but unlikely to be the recipient wimp who gets sand kicked in his face at the beach by some muscled bound oaf!  Fat, no way before and not now after this starvation diet they fed him. God, what did that little witch intend him to look like, a long-term concentration camp inmate? Christ that little fucker would have felt right at home in the SS for she certainly treated him like one!

Another dozen circuits then he looked at his image again. Gollum, Gollum from the movie that’s what the mirror reflected. Yet even that pathetic creature had a few hairs left on its head, hadn’t it? Gaunt, haggard,  emancipated were the terms that came to his mind. How could they not fed as he was on an inadequate diet of liquid muck that he rarely even got to taste? When on occasions they fucked up, and he got a mouthful, it was awful, smooth, greasy, bland, lacking both substance and flavour. They only fed him the foul muck once a day, his evening highlight! Evening? Fuck, it was the highlight of the entire bloody day!

A snap of the fingers then ‘Kneel for your supper Tiptoe!’ the little bitch would command in that sickly sweet yet oh so authoritarian tone. “Kneel for your supper boy, head back, back boy”. Then she’d lift a flap on his gag so’s to insert the feeder tube and thread it down his throat. Highlight, a fucking rubber tube rammed down his throat so the bastards could feed him directly.

The only positive was that the command ‘feedy time now Tiptoe’ usually heralded a blessed release from the damn walker and a return to his bare basement cell, walked back on the end of a leash like a fucking dog, like the pet he was! The sadistic teenager didn’t even bother to carry a cane or crop any more, just a snap of her fingers and he followed on behind his knees still raised sky-high with every step because he dare not do otherwise.

Thank god he didn’t have to sleep curled up in a basket and could rest on his bed. Bed! A two-foot-wide wooden platform with one of those wafer-thin blue plastic things people carried rolled up on their backpacks to insulate themselves from the ground or whatever? Comfort he’d long since concluded wasn’t a reason as to why people used them.

At least he could rest, rest and be free from that hideous circular treadmill for a bit. Despite the restraints upon him, rest, sleep and dream of freedom or merely doze amidst memories of happier times. That was assuming it was quiet and they weren’t torturing some other poor soul nearby as seemed happened all too often. He hated and feared those nights for they brought even darker terrors to torment his overactive imagination.

Male or female, he’d heard both sexes and different voices over the endless months or so he thought. Angry, frightened, shouting, begging, pleading, screaming. Listened to the crack of the whip, swish of cane and splat of the paddle. Heard giggles, laughter and shrieks of glee from that little blonde demon, heard her taunting the poor devils she was hurting. He had no doubts whatsoever as to which of his captors was wielding the whip or whatever hideous implement of torture. The older one, he rarely heard her voice, she was so quietly spoken and if he did hear her voice raised he instinctively knew it would bode evil for someone.

His ears heard the tip tap of approaching footsteps; hell, it was the older bitch he saw as he instantly snapped his head round in the obligatory salute. Shit, she looked pissed off about something and a bit dishevelled. He felt that stomach-churning moment of fear. This one wasn’t the one who dished out the daily pain and misery, but she was the one responsible for his suffering. He hated and feared them both equally but somehow this one although she rarely laid a hand on him was the real scary one he sensed! He walked on, maintaining that ridiculous marching posture his young owner demanded and wondered for the millionth time, why?

*****

Hetty might also have asked the same question, indeed had months back. Still, she ignored the high stepping figure of Tiptoe; he’d almost become part of the furniture, as much a regular fixture as the big glass windowpanes or the various ceramic pots of greenery, hardly worth her attention. The fiendish machine tethering him monitored his every lapse and if Candi had set it so, would also apply the appropriate electric punishment to him. Not that she set it up that way very often, it wasn’t in the sadistic teens' selfish nature to allow anyone else to apply chastisement to him for laxity even if in this case it was just a machine.

 Its ‘auto-pilot’ function as Candi called it was useful though if the pair of them were both busy or out and about somewhere where it might be impractical for Candi to keep monitoring her phone and reacting as she deemed appropriate. She crossed over to the control box by the girls' untidy, cluttered computer station then changed her mind and retraced her steps. No need to give him a breather longer than necessary, get set up first then pause it so that she could provide Animal with a chance to stretch his legs.

That thought creased her face in a wry smile. Stretch its legs? No, she had no intention of letting the aggressive creature have that much freedom, the existing hobble chain between his legs would have to suffice, he could manage that fast shuffle that Candi thought so funny. His ‘gay fem boy’ walk’ she called the short mincing steps he was forced to take to avoid being shocked or whipped. Her smile broadened as she recalled Candi giggling and teasing the seething impotent brute as to just how cute he would look when she got him doing it in six-inch stiletto heels and wiggling his tight well-whipped bootie for her delight! No guessing who would be doing the whipping either!

Outright ridiculous or voyeuristically sexy for such creatures?  She could never make her mind up, but either way it was so deliciously humiliating not to mention excruciatingly uncomfortable, even painful for those Candi condemned to her ‘shoe torture’. Tiptoe was walking much better she noted and wondered if Candi had noticed. Probably, virtually nothing escaped her eagle eye. The little madam should have been employed in quality control; she epitomised the definition of perfection when it came to those unlucky enough to have to match her required standards. Pity, the untidy little slattern, couldn’t apply the same principles to certain aspects of her domestic life!

Better, or was he limping a little again or was it her imagination?  How long had Candi had him in those four-inch stiletto heels, a week, not long anyway since she’d upped him again? Maybe she shouldn’t keep cramming his feet into boots at least a size too small, start thinking of him in the longer rather than the short term. Given the regime, the girl had him on she was quite surprised he was still going and hadn’t as yet broken down once. Hadn’t missed a single day had he. Dusk till dawn, well not quite that but not far off! She’d mention it at supper tonight, suggest that if she upped him to five-inch, might she ensure the fit wasn’t quite so draconian, cut him a little leeway.  Then again….he was Candi’s creature one hundred per cent wasn’t he to do with as she wished?

No doubt the little blonde beauty would find the idea amusing, show even the tiniest amount of mercy for her creature, unthinkable! It wasn’t all that long since that night of confessions in that hotel room, was it? Yet, her young protegee's sadistic progress had moved forward with the acceleration of a rocket. What would she be like in a couple of years Hetty sometimes wondered?

Her attention switched elsewhere as a sharp twinge of pain caught her. Damn, her shoulder was acting up now, had she pulled a muscle or sprained something? Foolish to think that tethering Animal to the walker for a few hours would relieve her of any necessity to expend effort given the lethargy she’d felt earlier. A damn silly idea, considering it was only the second time the colossal brute had been dragged upstairs and fastened to the machine. Last time it was Candi who had done the dragging while she followed on behind assisting his shuffling forward momentum via a powerful cattle prod.

She moved the mirror back to its place ruefully reminding herself that she could probably even have left him well alone and enjoyed a more indolent day. Doing something on a whim was rarely a good idea. It wasn’t as if that creatures elderly owners would be back soon, or there was any particular urgency in ‘socialising’ the brute.  The old sisters were only what, ten days into their global cruise so where would that put them, the Canary Islands, Madera perhaps or voyaging down the coast of Africa? Habit most likely she told herself to ensure that those in her charge rarely enjoyed a break from their suffering.

Her thought lingered on that as she absent-mindedly watched the high stepping Tiptoe complete several more circles.  Then changing her mind crossed to the control unit, judging the right moment to flick the switch to halt the machine in the best place to prevent him seeing anything that would be happening behind him. That stiff posture collar about his neck restricted his neck movement quite severely. Even to perform Candi’s ‘eye’s right or left requirement when one of them was present meant his having to part twist his torso to supplement his limited neck movement.

Those blinkers Candi had added a few weeks ago to his head harness also limited his field of view considerably. However, his lack of curiosity and apparent earnest interest in some unspecified spot to his front probably owed more to the lessons Candi’s bamboo cane had taught. He was here at her pleasure not for his enlightenment or entertainment!

Hetty had initially thought her lovers' insistence on keeping Tiptoe isolated from the other subjects who might pass through her establishment was a little unnecessary. Still, she had to admit; the girl had an instinct for applying psychological torment that was almost as good as her ability to apply the physical variety. Plus of course, the effect lasted far longer and required less effort!

Mirror out of the way she nudged a few other objects around the big space,  pausing briefly to slap Tiptoe hard across one buttock in passing maliciously.  Cruel, because that pale white cheek was the same one that had taken the brunt of Candi’s three-morning cane strokes. It was way too tempting as she prepared a tether just behind him.  Hopefully, the little Madam would have been too busy on her laptop to have noticed!

Too low she thought casting a critical eye upwards, the new brute was a giant and so raised it six, then another three inches before returning to where she’d left their most recent unwilling guest tethered. Three times more, she had to use the cattle prod to persuade Animal to shuffle his fucking bulk into the conservatory.  Not wanting to add to her sore arm dragging the huge recalcitrant brute she’d upped the cattle prod by two settings. Even that short distance seemed to take an eternity, mostly because of him collapsing in writhing agony to the floor and then once he’d recovered sufficiently, assisting the heavily shackled brute back to his feet.

Not only was her shoulder aching now but her back had joined it! Getting that brute upstairs on her own had not been a good idea. Animal was right. That’s what  Candi had named him and fucking primitive beast he was too.  A bloody elephant would have been easier to drag along, and the damn cattle prod hadn’t helped much. Well, maybe if she hadn’t got frustrated and upped the shock a bit too much!

Mental note to self, she thought. Time to change some of his heavy restraints from those his elderly captors used to more lightweight but equally strong practical set, make life a bit easier for both of us. The thought caused her to giggle at the very notion that life would be ‘easy’ for him, then prodded the stubborn creature to where she wanted him. The severe shocks from her prod had perhaps been of benefit, after all, he was weak-kneed and barely able to walk and that combined with being zapped unconscious three times in succession had left his dumb animal brain somewhat addled and confused.

What was it she had told her lover a while back? Patience, you needed patience when it came to training these creatures. ‘Three steps forward and two and a half backwards at first honey.’ Shit, moving this stubborn lump this was doing that very thing literally! Where was Candi and her merciless cane when you needed her?

“Here, stand there you fucking wobbly heap of dumb dog shite” Hetty snapped as she fastened the dangling cable to his collar. A second trip over to Candi’s desk produced a smaller bundle of wire and clips and a momentary whirr as she raised the tether another couple of inches. A rumbling sound from his gagged mouth and a change of expression in his eyes alerted her to the fact that he was rapidly regaining his full mental faculties.

Too late, no way he could escape, and it wouldn’t do him any harm to get a bit of exercise on the walker until Candi released Tiptoe for the night.  ‘No harm’, another silly thought girl she muttered silently as she rummaged in an untidy drawer to find the right bundle of wires. The very thing she’d just selected would make a mockery of that! One end plugged into a socket on the tether the four leads clipped to nipples, penis cage and steel butt plug.

Two minutes later and a final check, yes, everything ready, Hetty restarted the walker. The first dozen or so circuits were a bit jerky and frequently interrupted by brief halts as the efficient machine delivered a shock to Animal, ignored his pathetic muted animal roars and then resumed its indifferent electronic supervision.

Hetty watched for a few more minutes before crossing to the workstation and picking up the discarded bamboo cane in case the machine required a little extra ‘persuasive’ assistance. The contrast between the smooth hirsute more accomplished and visually pleasing Tiptoe as he meticulously high stepped in his heels and that gross hairy barefooted ape behind him was very noticeable. That would change; they had five months after all to improve Animal. Five months was ample time to apply a surfeit of  ‘attitude correction’ therapy, more than long enough. Round and round the pair went as they walked or shuffled on that unending miserable road to nowhere!

*****

Hetty was out of luck by a mere second.  Her eagle-eyed younger girlfriend had caught that one single casual slap. Just that very moment when she’d finished reading the final appendix to the report open on her laptop. Finished reading with an angry expletive bursting from her lips. That fucking useless P.A. upstairs had reduced all her suggested additions down to a mere summarised paragraph. A  summary that blatantly omitted half the salient points she’d raised. 

Catching that casual slap on her phone, the next expletive died on her lips to be replaced by a cold smile. So, you want to play with my toy, do you Mama H. That little act was going to cost big time! That one solitary slap breaks our little agreement in my eyes and about time she thought to herself. Good luck on her part but lousy luck on Hetty’s that she’d chosen that very moment to take a brief break from reading. Anger had momentarily drawn her eyes from the laptop screen to the phone, and she wondered what her lover was up to in the conservatory?

“Got you bitch, got you on camera, bang to rights” she chuckled quietly. That big soft white butt of yours Big Mama is going to glow bright red for me again tonight.”

Candi might be the smaller and lighter one, but she was also the strongest and fittest on account of several exclusive gym memberships.  Hetty was too lazy to work out and kept her figure mainly by keeping to a masochistic diet and swimming in their outdoor pool during the warmer months. Hetty had found out very quickly, and to her cost that her young lover was no submissive fly for the spider!

On a couple of occasions, she had settled the dispute by wrestling her taller but less skilful lover over her lap, pinioned her wrists and spanked her into submission, nor did she accept the first ‘cry of uncle’. This had happened early in their burgeoning relationship before she’d even discovered her paramour’s exciting occupation and promptly moved in with her.

Hetty wasn’t over enthusiastic about having her botty spanked at all let alone hard so she’d laughingly imposed a condition when handing over her birthday present. Big Mama would keep her hands off Tiptoe unless she were given permission and Candi would keep her palm well away from Hetty’s bottom. Pity because she rather enjoyed giving that a good walloping from time to time and then watching her tearful older lover crawl between her legs afterwards to pay the appropriate homage.

Hetty might be the resident house dominant, but in bed or the bedroom, that was another matter! It didn’t do her any harm did it, well correction, maybe a smidgen of harm but it served to remind the old bitch just which of them was the true Queen Bee round their little hive! One day perhaps that might even become a reality. A permanent change at the top, perhaps?

Hetty was a good-looking piece of flesh for her years and still would be a few years hence. There was always that rival of hers, that old French hag, Monique something or other, yup that wrinkled harridan would surely pay a premium price one day for the delivery of a unique personal toy!

Back to the present, her lips twitched into an anticipatory smirk. Well well, so now, one of them had foolishly broken the pact hadn’t she and the one rule to rule them all in Hetty’s house was that there were no such things as rules and indeed no such inconvenient things such as ‘safe words’. Especially not for naughty pact breakers with spankable bottoms!

Candi returned to her laptop to type out a blistering email comment to her boss’s private inbox, regrading that truncated report, but keeping half an eye on her cell phone. That’s what she was up to then, giving Animal another taste of the walker. That was naughty in itself, playing with that mega’normous fucker without her help. That creature was supposed to be primarily her project. Another demerit Mama H! It wasn’t as if they had any sort of a tight schedule; those crazy old sisters wouldn’t be back to collect him for months. Kind of a cute pair yep but in a crazy creepy way! She briefly pondered on what the two old biddies might have in store for their over-sized unplanned acquisition before returning to more mundane work matters.

Her laptop beeped softly, new email in the inbox. She noted who it was from, she’d been expecting it and knew what it would be about plus it was marked urgent. Her eyes flickered back to the moving figures on her phone screen. The sound was off, but she saw the quick movement of Hetty’s arm followed by Animal jumping and struggling in response to the savage stoke her lover had just laid on him.

Fucking bitch, that brutes backside is my canvass! She shifted on her chair and stiffened, caught by a sudden familiar yet unexpected sadistic, sensual thrill that stirred deep within her crotch. However, burying one's fingers in one's pussy was not proper office etiquette no matter how randy you suddenly felt!  She scowled down as the two hapless ‘walkers’ revolved endlessly on the small screen of her cell phone. Inside she was still smarting from that useless PA’s stupid bloody editing, bitch, then spitefully her index finger moved to an icon button and tapped, once, twice making the smaller figure jump and writhe. Someone needed to suffer for her anger.

 “Later tosspot, later” she murmured.” I'm in just the mood to warm you up good and proper, that will get my juices all fired up ready for Mamma H  in the bedroom,” then moodily transferred her full attention back to the waiting emails.

Her attention was briefly distracted by a hand, a quick sad smile and an envelope was tossed into her in-tray: Karen, little Kylie’s mum. A hand her sharp eyes had noted now minus wedding ring. Poor kid, moving back to grandmas while all the divorce business was sorted out and the house up for sale and everything. It wasn’t as if Karen could even take the fucker to cleaners as she’d been the one silly enough to get caught with her knickers down with the wrong guy between her legs.  There was even office gossip about sweet little Kylie and DNA paternity tests, bastard!

A thought struck her following on from a previous one, a very wicked thought, a positively evil thought. Karen, poor lamb could undoubtedly benefit from a pay rise, given her circumstances, and she was pretty well thought of in the office, well regarded and with previous experience.  It was generally known that she was only there until something more in keeping with her abilities arose elsewhere.

What if, what if….her eyes swivelled thoughtfully upwards. How old was fucking miss Moneypenny that over-enthusiastic editor of other people’s perceptive suggestions then?  Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, not bad looking either, fit, leggy, works out four times a week. Marathon runner too. Well, well, well. Would there be much fuss if the office suffered another mystifying personnel loss? Plain faced, sad virginal Mary now getting dicked by that elderly matron's monster dildo twice nightly in Florida. That that hadn’t caused much hassle had it. Her eyes swivelled upwards again to an unseen desk on the floor above.  Fit, leggy, runner and what had Hetty said only the other night in bed?  Decent ponygirls were so hard to come by and so much in demand!

Now there was something to think about as she rode the overcrowded tube back home!

******