Gemma

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

Gemma stood motionless in the pose of a slave girl’s submission she had been taught so well, her back slightly arched and legs spread to display her breasts and belly, wrists tightly clasped at the small of her back and her head lowered.

She was neither bound nor gagged, but dared not break her position or make a sound, for she was in the presence of her trainers and was acutely conscious that the smallest breach of discipline on her part would bring forth instant retribution in the form of stinging lashes from the Devil’s Palms hanging from the belts of her three watchers.

Her downcast eyes focused on the rapid rise and fall of her own naked breasts, but Gemma had been held prisoner long enough to no longer feel embarrassment at her enforced nudity and was only relieved that she had managed to get through a whole training session without incurring the displeasure of her captors and the punishment that invariably accompanied their displeasure.

The taller of her two female captors walked behind her, a broad shiny strap in her fist and Gemma winced as the leather was buckled tightly around her wrists, confining her hands behind her.

“Look up, slave girl. See the nice new present we have for you.”

Obeying the order, Gemma bit back a gasp of dismay as her eyes fastened on the “present” laid out across her male trainer’s arm. Polished black leather and shining steel glittered in the lights and she gulped nervously at what appeared to be a long, tapering tube of leather, wide at one end, but narrowing to a small bag at the other, with a heavy steel ring inset at the very tip. A line of much smaller steel rings ran up each edge of the V-shaped opening and through these, black leather lacing criss-crossed from top to bottom, while at the top edge, two long buckled straps were firmly stitched.

Gemma had never seen anything like it in her life, but knew instinctively that, whatever it was, she was not going to enjoy it. Not that her enjoyment, or otherwise, would make the slightest difference to her trainers.

So it proved, for, as the shorter woman took unconcealed delight in explaining to Gemma that the tube was called a singe glove and was designed to clamp Gemma’s arms rigidly behind her, the other two trainers took the device behind the brunette’s back and began to work the bag end over Gemma’s clasped fingers.

Knowing that any resistance would be both futile and punished, Gemma allowed her wrists to be lifted away from her spine and felt the leather smoothed over her hands and it was only as the bag tightened that Gemma realized that she could no longer unclasp her fingers. Her puzzlement and anxiety grew as the single glove was worked up her forearms and over her elbows to a point near her shoulder blades, but she still failed to comprehend the true nature of the device, even when the long attached straps were drawn over her shoulders, crossed between her breasts, then down and under her arms to be clipped back to the rear of the awful thing.

The truth only began to dawn on Gemma when she felt the laces begin to tighten but by then it was far too late. Inch by inch, ring by ring, the remorseless tightening began to clamp Gemma’s wrists, then her forearms together and as the tension increased, so did her horror, until she could keep silent no longer.

“Ooooh! Oh, stop, Masters! Please stop! It’s too tight!”

“It’s meant to be. Now shut up, girl, or you’ll be gagged and punished.”

Gemma gaped at the woman who she had always thought of as the softest and most sympathetic of her captors and her belly quivered with a sudden fear as she drew her Devil’s Palm and flicked it delicately across Gemma’s defenseless breasts. The warning was crystal clear and Gemma shuddered in despair as she realized that her hopes were groundless. None of her trainers were in the least bit sympathetic to her situation and she could expect no mercy whatsoever if she disobeyed.

Clenching her teeth together to prevent the smallest sound escaping, Gemma strained her shoulders back as the laces continued their inexorable tightening. Her elbows squeezed closer and closer and her brain reeled as they touched and were then welded together when her arms formed a single, pained column. Behind, the man checked the tension of each lacing and tied the final knot, sealing Gemma’s arms into their leather sheath. With his companion, he walked around to stand in front of Gemma and watched as the woman pulled each of the buckled straps cruelly tight, holding the single glove securely in place and eliminating even the faintest hope of Gemma somehow being able to slip the leather down her arms.

“Excellent. It looks good on her.”

“Yes. Let’s see you get out of that, slave girl.”

“Does good things for her breasts, too. Just look at the way they jut out.”

“That should add to her appeal. Make them more sensitive too.”

As her captors smiled and discussed their uncomfortable bondage of her, Gemma stared wide eyed from one to the other, her misery deepening as she saw no signs of compassion in their cruel faces. The mention of her breasts sent her eyes downwards and she gave a soft whimper as she saw that they were quite correct. The tension of the single glove forced her shoulders back and combined with the tightness of the straps beneath, her breasts were lifted to project their twin mounds into shameful prominence ... so much so that her n*****s stood out like acorns and she found to her horror that even when she wriggled her shoulder her tautened breasts barely quivered.

“Stand still, slave girl!”

The waspish command froze Gemma into immobility.

“Don’t move. We’ll be back for you shortly.” and the door banged shut behind the trio.

Alone with her thoughts, and her bondage, Gemma stood as she had been placed, the unremitting tension in her arms uncomfortable but bearable and serving to remind her at every moment of her lowly place in her captors’ scheme of things. Escape was completely out of the question, her tightly clasped leather sheathed fingers could not possibly operate a door handle, even if it was not locked. In any case, she was in an underground complex, beneath, she assumed, Roxwell’s house and had no idea where she was or which way to run even if she did manage, by some miracle to get to the surface.

Her chances were one in a million and if she tried to escape and failed ... well, the consequences of that didn’t bear thinking about. Time passed and Gemma’s arms grew stiffer and stiffer as she tried to decide whether to risk her trainer’s displeasure by disobeying their order. Very slowly and very carefully, listening intently for the first sound of their return, she began to wriggle her shoulders and tense her arms in their sheath. Gradually she became less cautious and began to pant as her efforts grew more forceful, then sank to her knees, her torso writhing as she exerted her full strength against the heavy leather cocooning her limbs. The leather gave not a fraction of an inch and Gemma shrugged her shoulders angrily as she gave up in frustration and resumed her position exactly as before.

By the time her trainers reappeared, a chastened and depressed Gemma waited resignedly for their commands knowing full well that there was no way she could free herself without help and that there was no help to be had. Tied up as she was, there was no alternative for her but to do exactly as she was bid and hope that, sometime, somewhere, she would get the chance to get away. Before her resistance was broken entirely and she became a permanent and, Heaven forbid, willing slave.

Without a word, Gemma’s trainers walked over to where she stood and their fingers captured her n*****s and stroked her labia, sending irresistible arousal crashing through her body before she had a chance to prepare herself. The breath burst from her lungs in a great gasp of helpless desire and her body writhed against their hands as their arrogant plundering of her nudity reinforced her sense of submission with a burning desire to be made to climax as the bound captive she was.

Gemma’s wishes, however, were not to be granted, for all too soon for the gasping, madly responding brunette their hands were taken from her body, to leave her moaning in loss and furiously aroused. Strong hands seized her bound elbows.

“Forward, slave girl!”

Gemma was propelled from her cell, along a corridor and into a lift and as it purred upwards, she broke her imposed silence, daring to risk punishment as a thousand questions tumbled through her brain.

“Masters, where are you taking me? What’s happening?”

“Be silent, slave girl, or it will be the worse for you. You would be well advised to obey the rules you have been taught. Masters are not always as lenient as we have been.”

Her curiosity unsatisfied, Gemma was smart enough to recognize that any further speech on her part would be most unwise and subsided into a sulky silence. The lift door sighed open to reveal another corridor, but carpeted this time, and Gemma walked forward as the grip on her single glove tightened. The small procession went past two plain wooden doors on each side, then through a third on the left. The room they entered was about twenty feet square and completely bare except for a thick carpet into which Gemma’s bare feet sank luxuriously.

There was no one there and Gemma’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

“On your knees, slave girl. Ankles crossed,” the order came from the man and as soon as Gemma obeyed a buckled strap drew taut, preventing her from rising and arching her slightly backwards when it was clipped to the ring at the finger end of her single glove. A sound from above made her arch her head to stare upwards, but as she did so, three brilliant spotlights clicked on, dazzling her and starkly illuminating her bound nudity.

Gemma was dazzled but not before she had seen a sort of minstrel’s gallery projecting from the far wall about fifteen feet above the floor where she knelt ... a gallery where shadowy figures sat, staring down at her.

Gemma screamed wildly, her eyes vainly trying to penetrate the brilliant glare of the lights, her mind stunned by the realization that there were people up there. People watching her. People who could see every naked curve of her helpless body. Her bondage. She wrenched madly at her bound limbs as she fought to cover herself from the eyes she knew were there, then froze in stunned disbelief as a disembodied voice spoke from above her dark head.

“Thank you all for attending this slave auction, ladies and gentlemen. As you can see, we offer a fine young female on this occasion. She is, of course, not yet fully trained, but I am quite sure that all of you are perfectly capable of supplying the necessary instruction.”

A ripple of appreciative laughter from the watching audience broke the spell which held Gemma paralyzed in its thrall.

“No,” she screamed, “no. NNNOOOO.”

From behind Gemma’s agonized, up-tilted head, a hand holding a massive leather gag appeared and Gemma’s protests died in a gurgling splutter as it was forced cruelly between her jaws and deep into her mouth, then buckled tightly behind her neck. Silenced, she could only whimper in horror as the calm voice of the auctioneer resumed.

“A fine pair of lungs, too,” he quipped, “as you might expect from such a lovely chest. Now then, ladies and gentlemen, to the business of the evening. What am I bid for this slave-to-be? She has never felt the whip, as yet, and as you have seen, has much to learn. This is a rare opportunity, my friends. A brand new, untrained slave girl. One who will only know the discipline which you choose to impose upon her as you bend her to your will. Shall we begin the bidding with fifteen thousand? Thank you, madam. Thank you, sir. Seventeen thousand. Twenty thousand. Twenty-five thousand. Thank you, ma’am. Thirty thousand. Only thirty? Come, my friends, think of it. Think of the pleasure to be had. She will make a superb slave. Look at those breasts. That bottom, just begging for the touch of a whip. You could be the first to lay your whip there. And responsive, too. You down there, show the ladies and gentlemen how she reacts.”