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>> Another story by Amanda Serve
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BEWITCHED: THE DIRECTORS CUT
by Amada Serve
SIX
I was not immediately let out of the truck, but hearing the engine stop I
uncurled my head and ventured a look around, half hoping the police had
stopped us for indecent exposure and that I was going to be arrested and
could back out of this fate. If it were not for my concerns about the people
around me, I would have ran screaming from the Truck long before we got
here.
Just as fate seemed to deal me a bad turn at each and every new twist in my
misadventure, this was no exception. We were at a Freemason temple, and it
was within a few miles of my house, probably walking distance. It was two
stories and the kind of place that seems non-descript, you might pass it on
your way to work or shopping a hundred times and never notice it. It looks
like a church, public facility, or community center. I would imagine that if
you take a drive in any major city you would see a Freemason building if you
look hard enough. I do not know if all freemason buildings get used this
way, and I would imagine that on other days they probably have what seems
like regular activities going on, playing cards or bingo or meetings and
what have you.
It was broad daylight and the sun was shining, I had lost track of time, but
if I had to guess it must be 3 PM by the time we arrived. A cool October
wind reminded me of my bareness, and I kept my knees pulled up to my chest
and my face towards the back of the truck bed, but I could not help but look
at the back of the Freemason Temple.
I was told later that I had handled things like an "experienced slave",
because of the flat expression on my face. Let me be the first to say that
this day had begun with a knot in my stomach before Noceo arrived and my
children had gone off safely with Ed. The flat expression had to be my total
overwhelming abject terror, I suppose the mind and body can only take so
much information and so much fear, and this is its way of dealing with
information overload.
The building was surrounded by a privacy wall, but on the other side could
be clearly seen a few apartment buildings. On the paved back part of the
Freemason complex were a Dumpster and a deliveries door. There stood two
women stark naked, with what looked like their bondage gear or chastity
belts setting next to them in a small pile on the sandy gravel. I had to
wonder if girls were expected to go outside only naked and only got to wear
clothes inside.
For slaves or "Bitches" as I was finding was the word for all women in or
out of the coven, they seemed relaxed and reminded me of the way waitresses
take a break behind a restaurant. Leaning on one hip, and both taking drags
from cigarettes I could just over hear their conversation.
They seemed to be talking about the weather and other pleasant talk that you
might come to expect at a tea party or social function. There was no trace
of fear or apprehension in their voice, and no modesty about their nudity.
As I was studying them, trying to figure out how these other women coped
with being used as sexual slaves, Noceo slapped me on the back of the head
and said "Here, ass up in the air, while I leash you…"
Goosebumps ran up and down my spine, as the callous voice informed me how he
wanted me to stand on "weight on my hind legs". I did as I was told, and he
roughly began attaching a small leather harness to me, that covered nothing
important on my body and fit tight.
It was basically six straps of thick, worn, red leather with buckles all
over them, that were connected sort of like suspenders. I would find out
later that they had a utilitarian purpose in that they could be used to bind
feet and legs in a hog tie, or to suspend you in a harness fashion, but
today I was to wear it "leash" style. Leash style runs up and down the
length of my body and fastens around the waist and neck. It binds your legs
and arms so you cannot stand up. If you have ever tried to walk on all fours
its really easy if you can use your shoulders as your primary means of
pushing yourself, with your elbows bowed out normally. Imagine though if
they were twisted around a bit so you had to push yourself with your legs
and your arms were only for balance.
"Good little girl, your ass is nice and clean" he commented, like it was
some kind of pleasant compliment.
The two women addressed him casually and in a friendly way, something I
could not understand. "Greetings, Noceo, do you have fresh meat in the
truck?" they asked in a sort of bemused and jaded way.
"Yeppers, she is a real piece of work, should be worth a laugh or too…you
been out here long?" Noceo replied in a polite, almost business like tone.
They seem contented to go back and forth in this exchange for a few moments
while he ensured that I could simply not stand on my two legs with this
truss thing on, and that the leather straps dug in all the places that hurt
or chafed between my legs without covering. I was not held wide open by it,
but my nipples nearly dragged the ground as I tried to walk on all fours
just like a dog or a crab.
"No no" said one of the women who was apparently named ~Houstan~ based on
the tattoo on her leg, "You've got to arch your back, think of it like
prancing or nipping, and bounce and spring..bounce and spring". Her advice
sounded like a soccer mom telling her daughter how to best kick the ball…it
just did not sound right to me.
I struggled and they laughed and kept up their banter about nothing in
particular. The two women's nudity and mine was different as well. They
reminded me of the women I had met at the nudist colony comfortable in their
nudity, so much that you did not even see the genitals or think that it
seemed inappropriate for them to be outside with all their goods hanging out
to the world. I would say they both looked a bit like effete Soccer moms
above the neck: Their hair was perfectly done and their make up applied a
little heavy, but by no means slutty. I would say they were in their mid to
late thirties. Below the neck they were shaved bare, and their boobs were a
little too perky not to be breast implants, but not "Stripper sized" boobs.
They had small bruises and welts and a few tattoos that would be hidden
under her "every day" clothes.
~Houstan~ was sort of a blonde, if I had to compare her to anyone, I would
say a Doris Day type with an added aura of naughtiness to her. Her friend
"Calida" wore her hair straight and dyed Jet Black, but she reminded me of
Fran Drescher, although she did not have that annoying accent. The two of
them sort of stood there and talked to Noceo without any concern for being
spotted by strangers. I was thinking that they reminded me of the gals who
chat on MSN explorer rooms all day in those coffee klatch chat rooms. Their
casual banter seemed so out of character, but they had this oblivious manner
that made me believe they really would not care for my observation.
They carried themselves with the sort of self-assurance of the 1-900 phone
sex models on the backs of the porno magazines I had been given to read. The
kind of glossier ads had a different quality than the REAL models featured
inside the dirty magazines, I can't quite explain it, but their nudity
almost seemed natural and camouflaged so that you simply did not notice it.
It seemed a little plastic and artificial. If you ever read a dirty magazine
other than Playboy take a look at some of the ads on the back with the
models and then compare them to what's inside the covers. Either that or
compare a Playboy centerfolds nudity to one in "Tail Ends" or "Nugget"
(those are two they gave me to read). Granted the Playboy models will be
more attractive and show less of their private areas, but even the posing
and the looks on their faces is different. This is the difference I mean.
These women were not playboy model quality, but they did have that glossy
nude quality.
I did not have too much time to think about this difference as I winced in
pain as my knees hit the gravel. The sight of which brought a little
mocking applause from the three of them, who were wrapping up their
conversations. Noceo was fond of calling them "little one" and it almost
seemed like some soft of sappy pidgin Shakespeare-talk, the way I heard at
Renaissance faires in years past or even the Apocrypha…hating to remember
that carnival that started this whole thing.
I was hustled by my leash as I tried to use the leather straps of my harness
to shield my palms and knees from the tiny gravel cuts on the trip from the
truck, up the back door delivery ramp and into the dark and cool Freemason
complex. It smelled the way that restaurant kitchen back alleys do..that
sort of sour smell from old mildewed table linens as we entered the back
hall and I was able to glide along the smoother, colder surface of the
temple floors.
Noceo laughed "Gosh, you sure are worried about stuff….a few little nicks on
the palms of your hands are going to seem like nothing after the rite…I just
hope for your sake, they are not too mad about you being late". I wanted to
look up and say something, but I realized that my instinct of complaining
that he made us late in the first place might have been received well by my
ex-husband Ed, but in this situation it might be better to just nod, grin
and bear it.
I had half expected that the temple would be like some sort of Indiana Jones
set, with fire pits, and chained up slave girls in cages and women impaled
on giant dildos. Yet, it reminded me of a hospital or county court house in
its clean and spartan back office.
I guess this is the part they show visitors so it cannot be too strange.
I was hustled off passed three hallways until he came to a room with no
door. I later learned that women that worked in a Coven building were not
allowed to have privacy unless specifically granted, and that included
shutting doors or stall doors. Since this was an office of some kind of the
"Bitch Librarian" her door had simply been removed.
She was a heavy, dumpy woman, whose turned up face was the sort of prudish
look a school teacher or real librarian might have. My guess was they took
her from a real job such as that at one point. I was not sure if she worked
here full time or just on weekends like me. She almost reminded me of Large
Marge from Pee Wee's big adventure trapped in the body and manner of Aunt
Bea from Mayberry with the face of a heavy-set version of Sally Jesse
Raphael. Nearly naked in some black leather bondage gear, the rolls of her
stomach and her stretch marks were plainly visible, and caused me to avoid
direct eye contact with her face or body.
She was smoking a cigarette, and by the look of her ashtray and the rest of
the building, my guess was this was one of the few places smoking was
tolerated in the Temple and that she chain smoked. Her desk was cluttered
with odd papers, dildos, Diet Coke cans, old bags of pork rinds and other
assorted litter like leaves that cover a forest floor in this cramped little
office.
She sat staring at her computer, clicking on the mouse and typing as if in a
chat room or interacting with a database, too preoccupied to acknowledge our
arrival.
I looked around, their were photograph album type books on shelves and
filing cabinets covering every inch of all the walls in the room, and an
ever-present video surveillance staring down at the three of us.
Noceo jerked my leash and it caused me to squeal a bit, I guess that is the
Coven equivalent of clearing your throat.
She turned to face us abruptly, slapping her hands on her knees with a sigh
and all I could see was her hairy bush staring back at me. It seemed to open
and close like a mouth as her belly shook and her breasts heaved as she
spoke in a meticulous and measured tone to Noceo about me.
He was giving her my journal that I had been asked to write on disk from out
of my purse. She kept mumbling as she read it with incredible speed, never
pausing, and probably just skimming it. Talking about spelling and grammar
errors and the misuse of the English language and the constant use of
multiple periods to sort of show that I was pausing. I do not know why I
write that way, I just picked it up some how.
In a few moments she pronounced that the journal I had made all week was
garbage and that no one would want to read it, it was far too long and did
not focus on the details the "reader" wants to see. I really did not
understand what she was talking about, but what I gathered was there was
some sort of formula to writing your journal and even if you had to make up
stuff that could not happen, it was supposed to be in the story. It was
supposed to pretty much be about sex or not waste too much time before
getting to the sex.
I wondered why she could be so flippant with Noceo, but I later learned as a
bitch of the second order, and basically Noceo being fairly new, her
behavior was tolerated, especially in matters dealing with journals and
records of people.
She told me that I should rewrite the journal so that "men want to read it".
I told her that I could not understand how to do that, that I was really
only going to be able to tell the truth. I was about to get a kick in the
face from her fat stubby foot, as I knelt down, far too close to the aroma
of her sex, when Noceo said
"I will work with her, and actually I kind of like her journal, I am tired
of reading the journals that are like everyone else's, some honesty will do
us good…on my authority, keep her journal as it is and fix some of her poor
grammar."
He rubbed the back of my head in a patronizing way, and I felt more
humiliated that I had just taken satisfaction in avoid writing a stupid
fiction story that was not about my life instead of the true horror that my
life was becoming as I saw it. I wondered why I was willing to stand up to
them about telling the truth and NOT about participating? Maybe, it was just
that I was naïve about the life, maybe it was just that the knee-jerk
liberal in me makes me freak out automatically in cases of censorship…but it
was certainly not that I desired what was to become of me.
Satisfied for the moment, that I would be coached on my journals the bitch
librarian took out a photo album and began thumbing through it. I was sure
it was of me. Then she set down an open page on the floor, and there were
photos of my children.
Not in sex acts, but getting in or out of the shower in the nude.
My jaw fell open.
"Hah….god, you really are a hypertight little bitch, aren't you?" she
laughed. "We have senators in these books, whose wives are fucking dogs in
the next room……you are a real small fry….."
I whispered "child porn…" half to myself, in disgust and horror.
She reached down and swiped at my face, her pudgy fingers half slapping,
half scraping as she made contact. "You do not get it do you? You do not
speak until you are told to speak…not even a whisper…next time your toungue
wiggles around me without an order, I'll pull it out and make you lap my
salty asshole for an hour!!!"
My eyes widened, I was really scared.
"As for the idea that we are simple pornographers, we've seen every kind of
ass, cock,or titty and in some cases things that outside the coven aren't
even known, in and out of here…your morals need an adjustment. I am so tired
of reading your resistance and whininess, you are like a chipper little
naïve bunny rabbit, and I've had seven chapters so far in your journal of
nothing but mush and FEELINGS…I can't wait until the big bad bunny eater
reaches his jaws down around you and -SNAP- her thighs closed together like
two bulbous white ham hocks and then she let out a breath and continued in a
more polite tone of voice…I read that you went to a nudist colony, and they
let kids in those…mature minds can handle a photograph like this. The Coven
does surveillance on its members, and primarily newbies like little suzi
homemakers like you….and these pictures can be doctored later…make it look
like anything or anything we want….you molesting them, sex with each other,
whatever…..it is just a little added insurance that you will perform as
expected of you…just quit worrying, serve the coven and do what is expected
of you and make it easier on everyone else…or don't, I can't wait to read
your journal when I say "I told you so" and your ass is over a skewer!"
She looked up at her wall clock and said "Oh god, she is going to be late
for the Drapier….get up late this morning? Well we can continue next
week…and I'll be watching the rite tonight, think I will enjoy this…get her
out of here Noceo."
Noceo said nothing, except led me out of the room. I was trying to do the
prance and skip thing I had been told about, but felt so silly, and nothing
like a chipper little puppy dog that I'd have to be to carry out these
steps. I knew that my butthole was puckered and in plain view as I left the
room, and for the first time I was actually in a strange way pleased that it
was pointing directly at her. A mute sort of way of showing defiance.
The Freemason complex seems much bigger inside, and perhaps that's due to
the small hallways and twisting turns that it makes. We passed people
dressed in normal clothes: Golf shirts and slacks, and there was sort of a
formal if not casual way that these people greet each other In passing.
References were never made to the coven, but to the "lifestyle", and I was
told to simply keep my head pointing to the white floor while Noceo made
pleasant chat. All the while wondering how bad this "late fine" or whatever
it was going to cost me for being late, was going to be!
After the third person, he opened a key-card door and revealed a stair case
going down. It was dark and poorly lit and I had no idea how I would get
down the stairs without a concussion on my hands and knees, with no way to
push my hands out in front of me to stop a fall. I swallowed and Noceo said
"The rules down here are a little more wild than upstairs, so prepare
yourself little one." In the condescending way that he seemed to speak in
when talking to me.
My nipples dragged the edge of each step, I think I counted thirty seven.
Smashing my nose the first couple of times, he corrected me by kicking my
legs so far apart that the hood of my clit poked out of the leather harness
and dragged the cold, hard, dirty floor as I glided down on the steps at my
mid section. It did have the effect of widening my stance and I sort of
slinked down like a snake. It was tenuous crawling and I am sure he was
getting a thrill from my shaking and nearly falling at each step.
As we reached the bottom, what looked like a very handsome dark-haired man,
with a solid chest and one of those "rock-hard ab" bodies that you see on
male models was pulling another girl on a leash. This was an older woman,
probably in her fifties.
Her eyes were wide and she seemed to not only prance and strut on all fours,
but violently rock back and forth with each step as if half fucking the air
and then with her breath huff and puff and snort at the air the way an old
dog might when it smells a bone. The mad parade of her gait made me realize
just how ridiculous I must look.
She was bruised, her eyes looked like they had been held open for days and
the bags under her eyes seemed to tell a story all their own. Her nipples
were purple, and I would imagine they had once been pink and much smaller,
the nubs being at least three or four inches in length.
Her skin was pulled tight, and the few tattoos and body piercings she had,
gave her a slightly younger appearance, but as you got closer you could see
she was, what she was. I wondered how long they had used this poor woman and
how much abuse it had taken to reduce her to this animal I saw before me.
Noceo let out a laugh and his traditional pidgin Shakespeare "Greetings" to
the young, powerfully built man. "I like what you've done with her since the
last time I seen her…"
The dog-woman seemed insistent on smelling my ass, and I stood there on all
fours foolishly wondering if I would be expected to do the same and what she
might hope to learn from it.
Noceo spoke, but the younger man did not say a word. It soon became apparent
that this sad beast was at one time his wife "nice touch with the wedding
band through her nose…Well dear, you said you wanted some spice added to our
marriage, and I warned you that I am an all or nothing kind of guy, so good
luck fart face. Haha haha"
As she began to breath heavily in a disturbed fashion into the crack of my
ass, I kept my nerve, not flinching and then felt what must have been a kick
to her side from Noceo that jerked her off of me and we continued on down
the corridor into the deep bowels of the Freemason complex.
He told me that her bitch name (fart face) had been chosen when the coven
learned that her pet name had been funny face from the movie they had
watched on their honey moon. He laughed as he told me that he had been her
Fred Astaire and she had been his Audrey Hepburn. "I sure would like to see
Audrey Hepburn fuck thirty niggers in one night like she did..hahah…..God,
that must have been 1958 or 1957, before you were even born…"
"Ah the Drapier" he had walked me past several halls which now had a much
more gothic and horrific carved look to them. An ancient rune on the side of
the room must mean "Drapier" and he brought me in to
see three women in various bondage devices, one in a cage, one in a pillory
(stock), and the last chained up with clamps all over her body, cum all on
her face and several dildos in her ass, pussy and mouth. The three women had
been beaten, and the acrid smell of urine and cum was overwhelming here.
Only a muffled cry or whimper could be heard from the women through their
gags.
I could hear this music that seemed to be on continuos play coming from down
the hall. It was something familiar, like from a 1970's game show. I tried
to focus my mind on the peppy jazz music and think of who the artist was,
anything to keep my mind off my slow descent into what was surely the pits
of hell on earth.
I shuddered, that this was the "dressing room" part of the process for the
rite that was going to feature me as the star attraction. It was too late to
try escape.
The Drapier turned and looked at me, he was naked from the waist down, with
a leather cape and a renaissance style mask on his face. His voice sounded
very familiar and he seemed to be well aware of who I was, but so was
everyone so far.
"Ahh miss Samantha, finally getting here?" He said and I simply nodded,
still on all fours to afraid to speak.
"Well, I hope the trip was unpleasent…thank you Sir Noceo, can you stay?
I've just blown my load on this pathetic whelp and I might need your help
punishing her for her tardiness…."
Noceo grinned and said "Actually, there is some one else I want to see.
They were heading for the cow pens and I think I can catch a glimpse…I think
today is or was our wedding anniversary so its kind of ironic…"
"As you wish, Noceo" the Drapier spoke with that Shakespearean flair and in
a moment Noceo peeled off the harness that had kept me hobbled with a sharp
tug, causing my tits to pop out, and my legs to give under me and me to
collapse on the hard floor below.
"Sorry bitch, gotta get this thing back, don't want to lose it….hey, it
doesn't even stink too bad…I figured you would be all sweaty" he said in
this polite tone, like a person getting a book back from a friend after a
lone. I was now flat on my tummy, naked and face down on the dirty floor.
I bit my lip, I had remembered who did that song, it was Herb Alpert and the
Tijuana Brass, god I think I even know the name of it, "Spanish Flea". I had
no idea why they wanted to play that song over and over, but even after
having heard it continuously for five minutes it seemed to have a maddening
affect. Perhaps it was to help people lose their inhibitions, perhaps as
some form of sensory torture. I was wondering where I had heard that song
before, as I sensed the Drapier's boot inches away from my face, perched to
perhaps kick me in the nose as I looked up…wondering why they did not just
kill me, instead of making me go through all of this degradation so slowly.
Left alone, the Drapiers attention on me. "Well, you are in luck…Shame here"
he slapped Shame on her tight white belly hard, "Had to absorb most of what
I had planned for you..I had a hard week, and was prepared to take it out on
the new girl…now that I've cum, I do not really feel like dealing with your
wretched ass….So Shame….here is your chance to vindicate yourself..get up
and give Samantha your new sister,…..
Fifty swats…if I like what you've done and it seems hard enough to get my
cock up again, then you may stop..otherwise I'll let two of these other
girls out of their cages and have them spank you until I say stop…
Don't wait, get up"
She started to remove the clips from her tits and stomach, that were pulling
at her skin as she stood up, obviously knowing better than to try to wipe
the jism from her face, she let that drip.
"No dipshit! Leave those on…"
Shame seemed new and some what apprehensive, she had probably never
administered punishment yet. She naively took up the wooden paddle, and then
came over to me and gently put me in position, this time standing with my
leg muscles already screaming in pain from having been cramped as they
had…bent forward with my hands on my thighs just above the knee, naked and
my eyes shut I steeled myself
WHAPP!!!
ARRRRRRRRRRRR….
After Three or four on my butt cheeks, without pause or consideration to
allow the stinging to set in, perhaps I should be grateful she was going so
fast that I would not have to fully appreciate the pain of each one
individually, it felt like my butt was going to start bleeding!
"I do not want to see that bitches cottage cheese shake the whole time,
Shame..lets see some real spanking.."
I did not understand and I had no idea I even HAD a flabby butt, especially
after this week of toning!, but after the momentary pause I soon did
understand what he meant about changing the way she did the spanking. The
next strike was to my back, I had not expected it. My hands flew up in the
air involuntarily and then the next strike was to my shoulder blade.
She hit me in the ribs, and then in turning me, WHAPP across my breasts….it
felt like she was pushing my nipples back into my tits with the next three
strikes. She hit me in the waist and across the knee, until I feel down and
I was so shocked and surprised I could not even fight back if I had felt I
had the option of doing so.
The next few strikes landed against my pelvic bone, and then I felt a kick
to the head against my temples and mercifully I was knocked unconscious.
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