Chapter 7 - Mumsie
It was not a very large house, nowhere near as grand or spacious as the one she had recently been confined in for several long months with all its faded elegance. She was grateful for that as she crawled awkwardly along on all fours behind her temporary mistress, struggling to keep up, her eyes fixed forward focused on nothing but her own defused reflection in the glossy heels of the stiletto boots strutting step by step front of her. She dared not lag, not even for a fraction of a second, dare not let the leash that linked her to the awful woman in front tighten one tiny jot!
The stairs were always the worst part; going up was not easy but descending was decidedly worse. Her balance was all wrong, and body weight tended to naturally propel you forward and once started, it would be difficult to stop. She dreaded to think what might happen if she lost control and slid to the foot of the staircase, taking her Mistress down with her in the process. At least they were carpeted unlike most of the ground floor rooms. Her knees had begun to hurt with all the crawling constantly. Hurt almost as much as the angry red and purple weals that marked her buttocks and thighs.
They reached the turning point and began to descend. Fortunately, the house, although not very big by the number of rooms was old and had quite high ceilings and the rooms were large. One consequence of this meant the staircase slanted at a shallower angle than in smaller more cramped modern dwellings. It was easier for her to control her movement by partially bracing her arms and shoulders as she scurried downwards in obedient response to a slight tug on her leash.
Every morning bar one which she assumed must be a Sunday was always the same. There was a brief pause while her temporary owner casually looped the leash over the bottom balustrade post, crossed to the entrance porch and opened the door to retrieve any mail or circulars lying on the porch doormat visible through the dappled glass panes of the inner door. The mat even had welcome on it in big yellow letters vividly bright against a green background. 'Welcome', she could read the upside down lettering. Ironically, there was even a yellow 'smiley' beaming benevolently in the top right-hand corner. "Welcome", she mouthed silently as the slim figure in front bent to pick up the mail. "Welcome to yet another version of hell!"
She glanced longingly toward the front door. The white PVC door had a semi-opaque pane of glass in the upper half. Almost every day, she caught a brief blurred glimpse of another world. Greenery was blowing in the wind and some way beyond, perhaps the other side of a suburban street, the orange-red hued vague shapes of houses. Beyond that door lay freedom, the ordinary world, a world denied to her incarcerated as she was in a private prison that to an outsider would be like any another house along the quiet road — a place to deliver letters, the local free paper, circulars, charity envelopes and the like.
Initially, she'd thought of screaming or shouting for help, but no, not after the cellar. In any case, the ball gag or similar was never far away and took but seconds to quiet her and what would follow such an attempt she dared not contemplate. That short dog whip was never far away either. Despite everything she still had hopes every time she caught a tantalising glimpse of the outside world, but alas, if the cavalry were out there they never came, and she now suspected that they probably never would.
Her temporary 'owner' turned, shuffling several letters in black-gloved hands as she scanned the envelopes, closed the door, then looking up and bounded forward with an angry expression on her face. A leather palm flashed and made painful contact with the woman's left check making her yelp at the painful blow and recoil sharply until brought up hard by the leash attached to her collar.
"Keep your eyes on the floor bitch!" she snarled, "if I have told you once I've told you a dozen times" She bent down, wrenching on the leather leash at the same time to pull her victims face towards hers. "My sister told me you were almost fully trained," she hissed. "Just a few raw edges to grind down, I think she lied. Do you want to go down to the cellar again and join Creature for a few hours? Do you? It does not get many opportunities to watch others dance and sing for me. Do you want that bitch?" Her voice had dropped to an ominous hissing whisper.
She shook her head frantically from side to side, not caring that in doing so, she jerked her leash so hard that her owners' hand automatically danced with it. No, no way, no she did not want to go down to the horrible windowless cellar to the two basement rooms that were just a few feet beneath her crouching trembling body.
Her head half turned with an involuntary shudder as she looked towards the narrow brown varnished door that stood out against the rest of the pristine gloss white staircase, the one that led to the cupboard beneath the stairs. Outwardly it looked so innocent, no different to a million or more similar storage spaces in homes throughout the country. In common with all its cousins, it also contained the electric meter, fuse box and the almost obligatory vacuum cleaner. However, unlike others, it lacked the usual clutter, the dusty corpses of long deceased electrical appliances, the bag of remnants saved for the local charity shop, old wellington boots and forgotten offcuts from carpets, kept to come in useful for patching worn areas but never to be utilised.
This cupboard under the stairs differed in one other and much more terrible respect. It camouflaged a sinister dark secret. Unbeknown to the man with the clipboard who came once or twice a year to read the electric meter, below it under a faded tatty scrap of carpet secured with concealed Velcro, lay the trapdoor that covered a hidden staircase. The narrow stairway of cold stone steps that led down to a sturdy thick padded black wooden door at the bottom, and beyond that, the large soundproof room with all its wicked furniture and painful punishment implements. On the opposite side of the private dungeon from that forbidding black entrance door was the second room, the dank straw-lined, foul-smelling brick cell with the heavy iron bars and low crawl gate at the front, the smaller room that was Creatures eternal stinking prison.
She shivered at even the mention of it. The evil bitch had dragged her down there three times already. On the first occasion, it was not long after her arrival. Naked, bound and shivering she had been hauled out from the boot of a large car and dumped carelessly onto the rough, dusty, cold concrete floor of a garage. She'd lain there in there in confusion, still dizzy and sick from the journey while some of her 'travel' bindings were either loosened or removed, and her new Mistress had addressed her for the first time.
The words preceded by a casual kick in her ribs by a booted foot. "Listen to me bitch and listen very carefully. I am not in the business of repeating myself, certainly not to worthless trash such as you". The woman had told her in a slow, quiet and chilling tone. "I have borrowed you from my sister for a few weeks for my entertainment and amusement. By now you should know exactly what that will entail! "The booted foot was raised slightly and casually, the toe pressed down against her shaven vulva for a few seconds.
"My sister informed me that you are rebellious but adequate, barely adequate. That is unfortunate for both of us. I shall demand and receive a much higher standard of service from you. Fail me, and you cannot even imagine what the consequences will be." She had paused for a moment looking down at the mature terrified woman, then smiled cruelly, licked her lips slowly and continued. "Then again, after the last few months, perhaps you can imagine what the consequences would be? In a moment I will take you down to see my little playroom and of course, Creature, my permanent pet". She had paused for a moment thoughtfully then smirked, "Maybe I will even let it have a rare treat before I return you. I would not recommend any rebellion here, bitch; I am, nothing like as kind as my little sister and her brood!". She turned back to rummage around in the boot of her car.
'Kind... Kind!', had she not been silenced by that wretched hard red rubber ball in her mouth she would have screamed the simple word aloud in flabbergasted protest as she gazed up at the cruel lustful expression on the face above her before it turned away. 'Kind!' Her mind virtually boggled for a brief few seconds then it fast forwarded a string of short, horrible cameos each more sickening and degrading than its predecessor.
Coffee, coffee and some dainty chocolate biscuits they had been served in the large lounge by their smiling, charming hosts, talk of getting a couple of guest rooms ready, apologies that there would be not enough beds, would a couple of spare mattresses on the floor be alright? That odd oily taste in the mouth......
Feeling faint, dizzy, falling, falling, darkness and then a horrible muzzy awakening to this never-ending nightmare. Bound and slowly stripped naked by that hellion, helpless, her clothing slowly cut off and peeled away item by item as though the evil gloating bitch were unwrapping a birthday present. Her body violated, squeezed, fondled, stroked, pinched and caressed but not by any tender loving touch. The hands that mauled her were possessive, determined, ruthless as they examined and probed her most private, intimate areas gleefully ignoring her screams and protests.
Then the awful waist corset the evil bitch had fastened around her. The 'tummy nipper', as they all so casually referred to it as if it were some harmless childish garment! The snapping of her fingers that heralded some vile and demeaning order to be carried out instantly without hesitation! "Tummy time". How often had she heard the snap of fingers and those simple words, words that masked so cruel a meaning? She quickly learnt the routine; it was always painful not to learn things rapidly in that hell house.
They meant standing to attention, feet together, back straight, head up, 'tits out' (their term not hers), hands clasped together behind her neck. That dreaded little bent key would be produced, sometimes waved in front of her eyes and sometimes not. "I think we can go down one more notch today Mumsie" that chilling malicious voice would say and then it would tighten and pinch a bit more, gripping her yet tighter in its unyielding smooth steel boned leather grip.
Then the hand or hands coming around from behind her to rub over and over her belly. Those cruel possessive hands, stroking, feeling, smoothing, patting, enjoying. The sound of breathing behind her getting louder, quickening and hot against her ear. A musky female scent and the odour of lust. The hands wandering further, one on her buttocks, kneading squeezing, roughly caressing, the other moving upwards to her breasts, fondling, grasping, hefting. Then the whispered words, you know what happens now Mumzie, you understand how randy I get every time we have another click to trim that fat belly of yours? Then the fingers would snap again, and she would obediently follow her vile mistress to the bedroom.
The wretched garment never ever came off. Not ever, not even in the shower. "Don't worry" her owner had once breathed in one damp ear, "Once it gets too smelly or falls to pieces the next one is even snugger, won't you look so extra sexy in that for me?"
That was another thing she hated. Not once had she been able to enjoy the privacy of a solo shower or bath. The routine never varied, she had to undress her mistress carefully and then remove whatever few garments she might have been allowed to wear. Most of the time that totalled zero bar the mandatory pair of uncomfortable stiletto heels to make her legs look 'oh so sexy'. Then she would enter the shower and adjust the water temperature to one that was comfortable, no matter if it initially spurted out far too hot or cold she was the one who suffered. There was a suspicion in her mind that her Mistress deliberately altered the controls between sessions so she would either squeal with cold or heat!
Her Mistress and owner would then step into the flow and join her. They would soap and lather each other, one being tender and oh so gentle, the other rougher, possessive, rubbing, squeezing, probing. Then she would have to gently dry her Mistress and attend to any of her cosmetic wishes before being permitted to pick up and use the damp discarded towels on herself. Just one facet of the daily humiliations she faced after she'd been trained of course.
She recalled that initial period, screaming and more screaming, the beatings, the pain, the humiliations followed all too often by deceitful soft sugared words of comfort. The hands on her breasts, her nipples, the parting of her lips with a long-forced kiss, tongue sliding into her mouth, probing, penetrating, exploring. The kissing had been horrible, horrible, oral rape that had made her want to vomit but far worse things would soon follow as more intimate violations were heaped upon her.
She'd broken halfway through that second terrible day, body and mind shattered by fear, relentless pain, humiliation and degradation not to mention the worry about her family. That plus a long night spent kneeling in a puddle of her own urine while uncomfortably crammed into a tiny iron cage down in the terrible cellar. The lights had been deliberately left on so that she had had ample time to examine her horrible surroundings, to contemplate the various pieces of 'specialised' furniture and the rows and racks of cruel implements, restraints and obscene sex toys, some of which she had by then experienced.
It had been while she was in the cage that they had brought her poor husband down for his first visit to that awful place. The door had clanged open, her 'tormentor ' and her youngest daughter had appeared half dragging, half pushing a nearly naked man into the room. He was weakly struggling, but the restraints upon his ankles and wrists effectively rendered him helpless. The young girl was cruelly pulling him along at the end of a stout pink leash attached to a tall, heavy pink collar around his neck. Her mother was propelling him along; one hand hooked into the waistband of the only clothing he wore a pair of bulky white towel like underpants.
With mounting horror, she had suddenly recognised him, grabbed with both hands at the barred gate to her cage and screamed hysterically as best she could through the large hard red rubber ball that filled her mouth. "Tom, Tom," she attempted to shout, but her efforts were in vain, likewise the effort expended by her cuffed hands that shook desperately once, twice, thrice at the steel bars to her cage before she slumped again in hopeless exhaustion.
The man did not hear her. He was far too engrossed in his struggles as his captors dragged him to a waist-high leather padded 'table' in the centre of the room. She watched in horror as they pushed him down face first and the young girl swiftly secured a broad leather strap across his back. Her mother, equally adept, bent and quickly secured an ankle to one wooden leg, released the chain between his fetters allowing her to yank the other ankle across to the opposite leg and fasten it with another leather strap affixed there.
"Mmmfff!" She had tried to communicate again. She was terrified. She shook vainly at the iron bars in front of her knowing what was going to happen. Just a short while before she too had been secured over that same whipping bench. That's what it was. 'A flogging bench'. Something out of the Middle Ages, the Spanish Inquisition, the London Dungeon and other similar horrors!
Tom had finally turned his head in her direction at the muted sounds and rattling noise. His eyes widened. "Mmmfff", his effort no more intelligible than hers had been, gagged as he was. His struggles intensified even as the two bitches released the cuffs that locked his hands behind his back. It was no use; they were in a stronger position, his arms were dragged forward and down to be secured tightly against the front legs of the dreadful bench. He was as helpless as she was.
"There, that's nice, Baby and Mumsie want to say hello to each other", the older woman had laughed.
"Cute", her daughter had replied indifferently. She had patted her husband on his head. "I know my big baby girl is going to be so very brave while little wifey is watching her get bum bums blistered for the first time!" she had added with a wicked giggle.
"We will see," said her mother thoughtfully. "It might persuade my new toy to become a little more cooperative. She had turned and walked over to the low cage. "Normally, there is no such thing as a 'safe' word in my house. However, just for today, a one-off safe word will be 'lick', Bitch!" she announced. "I am shortly going to give Eva's new baby girl over there a lesson she will never forget. She will not like it, and neither will you. After about thirty minutes, or let's say, hmmm a hundred or so swats, you may use the safe word. I may or may not stop depending on how I feel, how my daughter feels, and how much we both feel baby's bad attitude has changed. However, I will if my mood is right, then end this session earlier than I intended so that you can show me how appreciative you are of my kindness".
One finger had gestured toward a large king-sized bed with a thick, gleaming black leather covered mattress in the far corner of the room. "You can show me over there". She snapped her fingers and tapped her crotch with a long forefinger. "As I said, the safe word will be lick. I am sure you can guess what my reward will be for being so nice! We discussed it earlier in case you had forgotten when my cane gave you those pretty stripes on your bottom! I get so very horny when I must give these little obedience lessons". She smiled sweetly and bent down low. "I shall expect a lot of enthusiasm from you; otherwise you and baby over there will get another chance to dance and sing on the bench for us......and NO safe word this time!"
She had bent down to look thoughtfully into her victims' eyes. "Maybe safe word is not quite right" she laughed and tapped on the red ball gag with one long finger. "A little bit beyond your verbal capability at the moment. When you feel 'baby' over there has had a bit too much 'initiation' you can start rubbing your face up and down against these bars, bang and rub that sexy red gag hard and fast. Show me how enthusiastic you will be when you are allowed the privilege of lapping at your owner's sexy cunt for the first time".
She stood up "Not too soon though, or I will be cross, let your new Mistress, mummy Eva and her big bad baby girl have some nice fun first. Don't go and lose count, will you?"
Eva meanwhile had pulled on a pair of blue disposable gloves and been busily unwrapping what she had thought were a pair of pants from her helpless husband. "Oh, naughty baby," the young blonde girl had gleefully exclaimed holding up what she now realised was a nappy, a huge oversized nappy! What in the name of hell was going on!
"Wet?"
"Sodden, totally sodden you naughty naughty girl" Eva announced casually slapping one of her husbands' buttocks. "But mummy will forgive you, mummy knows the nasty's got to come out sometime and when you start wearing your pretty plastic panties it won't matter so much".
Husband and wife had stared incredulously at each other in wide-eyed horror. What was this place? Who were these crazies? How long would this nightmare last? Then the next lesson had started.....
A sharp pain in her side had immediately shattered the chain of brief flashbacks to return her to the reality of the present on the cold garage floor. "Are you listening to me, bitch?" the pointed toe of a boot had lashed out and caught her in the rib cage again forcefully and painfully terminating her brief reveries. "I just said keep your daydreams till you're in your basket Bitch, not when I want you! I haven't borrowed you so that you can spend your time woolgathering!" The car boot was slammed down with a loud clang.
"My sister is relatively easy to please, but then she always was a wet sloppy orgasmic slut. I am not, you will need all your wits about you and a very vigorous tongue to keep me well satisfied and that fat saggy sow of a body free from my whip!"
A leash was promptly snapped onto the collar around her neck. "Follow me, bitch". She had made to rise to her feet, but again a polished black stiletto heeled boot shot out in another savage kick. "No, bitch, hands and knees only. In the past I have often borrowed one of my sisters' dogs, I see no reason though why a clit licking worthless old bitch like you should be treated any differently, heel, follow!" she had jerked hard on the leash looped around her hand and led the way through a door at the end of the garage. That had been over a fortnight ago, and she had been crawling on her hands and knees ever since.
Never in her wildest imagination could she have envisaged that life could get even worse. Despite all the vile treatment, she had maintained a tiny spark of hope continuously, but now even that was being diminished day by day, replaced by an ever-growing dark shadow of fear. Fear for herself, her family, her poor family what was to become of them, all of them, surely there must be some hope, some chance that this living hell would end?
The horror of it was that she had already seen something of what had become of her family, glimpsed the degrading, vile and perverse rolls to which the various members of this evil family had consigned them. The clicking of steel tipped stiletto high heels on expensive floor tiles sounded loud in her ears. There was another savage tug on the leash. Mumsie stifled a sob as she obediently trailed to heel behind her temporary owners' boots.