Chapter 4

Peter had gone through quite a few mental changes during the week he had been held captive in the farmhouse. When he was in the presence of Julia, or the other girls for that matter, all of whom were now putting him under their dominance, he was enthralled, completely captive to the situation. But when he was locked away in his room for the night, strapped to his bed with leather harnesses, he had time to contemplate his situation and began to wonder if he was losing his mind as a result of this captivity.

For the first time in his life, he was feeling guilt, yes guilt. The steady indoctrination that Julia was putting him through had led him to believe that he was at fault for having lived a life of depravity and shamelessness to date, and the feeling had begun to set in that he had brought the kidnapping upon himself, rather than his being a victim of blind fate.

Intellectually, he hadn't quite submitted to this doctrine, however, and the long nights, strapped naked to the twin bed in the sparsely furnished, locked bedroom, found him tossing about as much as his fetters would allow, wondering just what was happening to him. The thing that bothered him most, he had come to find, had little to do with his final outcome, as to whether or not he would be rescued from this plight.

While this was his ultimate thought, the mental pressure brought about by the constant enslavement at the hands of the four females (Anita having returned from Chicago after mailing the note) left his mind a complete jumble of emotions. From the astounding moment that he discovered his latent attraction to domination, his entire life underwent a radical change and all his life up until he was snatched from the streets of New York was rendered practically meaningless. It was as if his entire life drama were being played out in this remote farmhouse, suggesting to him that his life had no meaning until Julia and her companions endowed it with such.

What little snatches of news he caught from time to time from the radio sent a slapping recognition through him, welding him momentarily, at least, to his past. He had heard his mother's voice coming from the radio a few days back, imploring someone to give her news of her son. It sounded hypocritical to Peter that she who had exhibited so little concern for his feelings when he was at home now pleading for his return.

Julia had snapped the radio off angrily when she heard him listening and rewarded him with a couple of stinging cuts with a riding crop for his efforts, but not before he had ascertained that she hadn't heard of the kidnapping as of yet.

But when the headlines were splashed with the release of the kidnap note to the news media, Julia really saw red, slamming things about in her wrath.

"That old skinflint is fucking the whole thing up!" she fumed.

Indeed, he had gone against the warnings in the note. It seemed that a contact from some agency of the police had been able to persuade the man to release the information, despite the warnings to the contrary. The stories didn't exactly come out and say that the billionaire was cooperating with the police, but Julia was convinced that no matter what the media had to say about it, the authorities would be lurking somewhere in the background.

"The old bastard really cares for you, kid," she told Peter sarcastically. "With family like that, who needs any enemies?"

Most disturbing to Peter was the implication that his grandfather thought the whole thing might be a hoax. The old man had only said it in passing, but the news media had jumped upon it and had begun openly speculating on this possible twist of Peter's having arranged his own kidnapping, citing his bizarre behavior over the past few years. The implication left him seething, and whatever feelings he may have once had for the old geezer disappeared.

But after Julia had vented her anger upon him, having him kneel on a pile of hard beans for several hours until he thought he'd pass out, her former air of self-control returned as she speculated on the possibilities.

"At least he didn't say anything about the key part," Laura offered, scanning the paper as they sat around the kitchen table.

"I just hope he didn't tip the cops to that part," Julia offered, swigging down her coffee.

What Peter didn't know about the 'key' part was overlooked during the strain he was undergoing when affixing his own statement to the note, was that whenever his mother had the money, which was to be paid to her account from the Le Grande Lawyers she was to tip the kidnappers off in a statement to the press. He listened from the corner where he had been told to stand, facing the wall like a child, and ascertained that his mother was to make arrangements for delivering the money once she had it. The tip-off was the word 'Betty', that she was to slip into a statement to the press in an illusion to his old nanny, supposedly harking back to happier times when they were together. Once Julia heard this, she was to deliver him to some prearranged sight and make an exchange for the money, although the women didn't mention just how this transaction was to take place. If the police were watching his mother, Peter feared, they might bungle the whole thing, exactly the senti-ments of the kidnappers.

"I still don't like it," Julia mused. "Especially if the old fucker doesn't come across. A joke... shit, that's the same thing the kid thought when we first nabbed him. You must have some bunch of jokers in your family, Peter," she shot to his corner. "But if he doesn't get the money to her in a week... six days, it'll be a big joke on you."

Peter shuddered at the thought of this, the reality of the situation breaking into the fantasy enslavement he'd been undergoing. There could be no illusions about Julia's statement though-in spite of the games they'd been playing, this was a kidnapping for ransom after all.

When the conversation resumed, he was able to gather that they didn't really have an inside girl in Madison's estate, a fact that had been alluded to in their note.

"Too bad we don't," Yolanda put it, painting her long nails a blood red, "'cause then we could find out what the fuck's really going on."

"I'm sure the fucking police are checking out everybody over there," Julia surmised. "Even if we did have someone over there, they'd find her out and then they might blow the whistle on us. It's better this way, although I would like to know what's with that old bastard."

Once this was done with, Julia commanded Peter to come over and lick her toes. He'd been introduced to increasingly harder forms of punishment with each passing day, and to his astonishment, he found a strange force inside him caused him to enjoy these various forms of humiliation. No matter how he might question them when he was alone at night, the actuality of them never failed to turn him on, no matter how bizarre the treatments might be.

After licking the lint from between all the women's toes, he was taken to his room on the se-cond floor and strapped in for the night. Apparently the disheartening news had squelched their sexual appetites. Peter reflected on the fact that he had only been allowed to have one orgasm since that first night, and pondered over the puzzling reason that he found such a form of bondage so attractive, as he had every night. No matter how aroused he might become during a session of whipping or other humiliation, Julia would not allow him to relieve his own lusts, with the exception of one time. That was about the fourth night of his captivity when the woman allowed him to jerk off in his hand after undergoing a spanking, then forced him to eat his own come from his hand.

There was no possibility of his tossing himself off at night as his hands were strapped firmly to his sides. It was very difficult for him to try and sleep, much less jerk off, as he was accustomed to sleeping on his side. The fact that he couldn't move from the position on his back gave him a helpless feeling that bordered on total insecurity, especially when he realized that he couldn't have brushed a fly from his lip if one had landed on him. But there had only been a fly in the room one night, and it had only landed on his legs. Nevertheless, the torture was maddening as he lay awake half the night in anticipation of the fly's next move, its fearful buzzing growing so loud he felt his eardrums would burst when it flew around in the darkness.

Yet, for reasons that defied his imagination, he felt as if a great weight had been taken off him since he'd come under Julia's control. Somehow it was so much easier to accept the fact that he'd have to do no thinking when he awoke in the morning. It was as if he existed to serve and please only his captors.

The only real problem was the night. Locked and strapped away in omnipotent silence, the room grew loud with his own breathing. All this was a part of the plan, he realized feebly, so that he would look forward to the morning to the point that any form of attention would feel good, even if it came from Julia's springy riding crop.

The day after hearing about his grandfather's press release, Julia tested him to see just how far her training had gone. After lunch, she had the girls pretend to leave for a walk, allowing Peter to believe that he was alone in the house with just Julia. Puttering in the kitchen for a moment, she made sure the lad was watching her, then made to go upstairs, apparently forgetting him.

Peter felt his heart leap in his chest at this his first opportunity to be alone and unshackled in a week. While he was becoming more and more enslaved to the women's domination, this first glimpse at possible escape made him realize that the real game had to do with his survival, his very life. Cautiously, he crept to the open front door and stepped into daylight, he caught a glimpse of the open fields and prepared to run.

"Just as I thought!" Yolanda grabbed him by the arm, having appeared from behind a shrub, joined by the other two girls.

The shock of being trapped like this sent a quick - chill up his spine that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The girls grabbed him and hustled him inside, where an angry-looking Julia was waiting.

"You've let me down, Peter," she hissed coldly. "I suppose we'll just have to take sterner measures. Girls, take him down to the basement, I'm going to change my clothes."

He was hustled down to the cellar, the first time he'd ever been down there. He put up little resistance as they pulled him down the old wooden stairs and forced him inside a dark, damp room that presented itself behind a heavy wooden door at the foot of the stairs.

Anita flipped on a light, and Peter was confronted with a sight that seemed to be straight out of the Spanish Inquisition. The one window of the cellar had been boarded up heavily, so the only light came from a strong naked bulb that hung in the center of the room, casting sharp, exaggerated shadows along the floor and walls.

The floor was bare concrete, the walls large gray stones that looked cold. There was a steel table with leather straps across it in the center of the room, looking very much like an operating table. But the object that really caught his eye was a pulley contraption against the far wall. The pulley was suspended from the ceiling, and over its double runners were heavy chains. One end of the chains ran to a cranking mechanism on the wall, several feet to one side of the pulley. The other ends hung down against the wall, and were secured to two metal cuffs. Against the background of cool gray stones, the device looked like it belonged in a dungeon. To complete the furnishings, a rack hung from the adjoining wall and was well stocked with whips that made the leather paddle and riding crop he'd tasted over the past week seem like toys-long blacksnake whips, cat-of-nine's-tails, buggy whips with pointed tips of metal, an array, in short, that would have made the Marquis de Sade envious.

Anita and Yolanda dragged the frightened young man over to the wall, and Laura fastened the heavy metal cuffs to his wrists. And then, the striking blonde, went over and began turning the crank, the slack end of the chains becoming taut, forcing Peter to extend his arms well over his head. The metal chains made an ominous clanking sound as they tightened, and then Peter felt a tug at his shoulders. As the chains went higher, he was left with nowhere to go, his shoulders feeling as though they were pulled out of their sockets. He pushed himself up on his tiptoes to try and relieve the pain, but Laura continued to pull the creaking device until his toes left the ground, finally securing the crank when his toes were a couple of inches off the ground.

Then Anita and Yolanda wasted little time in stripping his clothing from him, which wasn't hard as he'd been wearing only his T-shirt and slacks and undershorts, the same outfit he'd been wearing when captured, his shoes having been taken away from him the first night, probably to discourage an effort on his part to escape on foot as he'd just so futilely tried to accomplish.

"Mon," Anita started in her Jamaican accent, having spent the first ten years of her life there, "I'd sure hate to be in your place."

'Too bad we won't get to see this," Laura laughed, "but we've got to go get groceries girls. I'll bet there'll be hair on those walls when we get back."

With that, the girls departed, leaving the nude boy suspended by the pulley. The cellar was cold, making his blood run cold, but he realized he'd be in for the hottest experience yet when Julia came down. His shoulders ached from the weight of his body, and he tried to swing himself up to the cold bricks of the wall for support, but his effort proved useless as the wall was several inches away.

The wait seemed intolerable, but it was actually only a few minutes until he heard Julia's heels clicking down the stairs, then echoing across the floor behind him.

"Now you'll learn what happens when you try to think for yourself," she told him, drawing a long cat-of-nine's-tails from the rack and swishing it menacingly through the air to test its weight. "I'd go ahead and kill you if I didn't still need you," she said, walking over behind him to take her position.

Peter tried to crane his neck around to see what was about to befall him, but it was impossible. Her threats, along with the cool dampness of the cellar made large goosepimples break out along his flesh, as he shivered in anticipation of the first blow.

The leather-clad dominatress measured the distance, then brought the whip lashing across his buttocks, making Peter yelp and strain against the chains, his feet now brushing against the wall as his body recoiled in pain. The leather whip left several red welts across his flesh.

WHOOSH-THUCK-this time the leather thongs cracked across his back sharply, feeling like tiny knives to the jerking boy.

"Remember this the next time you think of running off," Julia shouted, bringing the whip down across his squirming ass again, a tiny trickle of blood coming from one of the stripes it inflicted.

"And this!"

The whips curled around his legs, the tips catching the insides of his tender thighs, causing him to lunge towards the wall, swinging from his human swing as he was flailed.

The pain was unbelievable, and Peter cried out in utter agony. There was nothing erotic about this type of pain, only punishment. He could feel his back growing sticky, his head swirling as the whip landed again and again on his naked body. Finally, when he thought he'd die from the pain, he felt his eyes going dim, then merciful darkness.