Competition Breeds Excellence in Captivity

I was only gone a couple of days. I flew to a nearby developing country where, thanks to the marvel of modern logistics systems, international express delivery services could still get packages around the world by the next day. I had leased a small building on a parcel of land in a deserted neighborhood, in cash. The necessary records led to a shell company set up by local lawyers, who were only contacted by other English-speaking lawyers, who themselves were never given any information about me. It had again been a simple business traction, and merely one of many that day for them. 

The thing about targeting girls who at least benefitted from repressive regimes or criminal and terrorist activities was that I made powerful enemies. Maybe I would be paranoid for the rest of my life. But from my previous military career, I knew of too many examples where a state security service or non-state actor was able to hunt someone down, even though they had taken supposedly the highest possible precautions. I knew because I had been the one to hunt those people down. If someone higher up is motivated enough and willing to devote enough time and resources to finding you, they will get you.

So the best I could do was to hide in plain sight. My security plan was to keep a pattern of life that was consistent with my past lifestyle and others in my socioeconomic strata. I made reservations at famous restaurants and met with some old contacts who happened to be in the capital. But then I left my hotel in the middle of the night and drove to switch cars in a private garage with a rental that someone else had picked up and left there. 

I was really just there on a mail run and to stock up on supplies. Based on my research, none of the makeup or personal care products Zarina had me order included ingredients she could use it to harm herself or me. I loaded up pet food for her and future girls, real food that I liked, household supplies, and then of course more sex and torture equipment based on what worked best, or worst from her perspective. 

When I returned, I was very aware that my sexual appetite and sadism had gotten used to having a sex slave 24 hours a day. But I slowed myself down outside the door to the living quarters and checked the video feed first to scan through the footage from the past couple of days. Zarina was presently curled up on her side in bed, as best she could in her restraints. Zarina had been startled and sat up when she must have heard the plane taxi into the hangar above, but then lay back down and squeezed her eyes shut. She had spent the past two days cleaning herself after every trip to the bathroom, reapplying makeup, and massaging muscles all over her body with her free hand. I was glad to see that she made no attempt to escape, though she often tried to shift her restraints to what she probably hoped was a more comfortable position.

Zarina had tried to carry out the stretches and exercises I forced her to, as best she could within the limits of her bondage. I noted a couple of deep breaths and her closed eyes as she started. While none of the movements were all that difficult, I am guessing they would be forever associated with the most painful memories. But she did them twice a day instead of the usual once when I was there, and she even added some new ones afterwards. That showed me that she understood my intent and was not just going through the motions, literally. 

Zarina could also have very well been motivated by self-preservation, as I recalled her expression when I mentioned “future stress positions” and a test of her flexibility. But we shared the same goal for her body, so I didn’t care about and would never know her true motivations. She only took two ice baths while I was gone, but that was all I asked of her. Before climbing in, she hesitated and shivered longer that I would have let her, walking around the edge of the tubs. 

Unsurprisingly, she avoided touching herself the whole time. The constant sex we had may have raised her libido too, but I have never believe the tales that a few days of sexual torture turn any girl into a dripping wet and desperate slut. Moreover, she certainly hurt too much in those sensitive places.