Our Only Hope - S01 E02

Story 10 months ago

Our Only Hope - S01 E02

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 2

My first step was pretty obvious. I would contact the other members of the Inner Circle and inquire about Mistress Aleana. I sent nine priority messages to the members of the Inner Circle. After four hours, none of them had been answered or acknowledged. That was impossible. At least one of them should have answered within that time. Something was very wrong. It was time to call “the number.”

The Society operates within the law, for the most part, but the legal world of BDSM and consensual slavery often overlaps with the criminal world of trafficking unwilling slaves– sexual or otherwise. And there is always the danger that either law enforcement will confuse The Society with some cartel or other criminal organization, or perhaps that one of the cartels, themselves, will act against portions of The Society. So every member of The Society knows “the number.” It is a regular phone number that is staffed 24/7/365. If arrested, you call the number. If you are in legal trouble, you call the number. If your Master or Mistress is mistreating you, you call the number. When the shit hits the fan and there may be legal or other consequences for you or The Society, you call the number.

I called the number. Actually, I used a burner cell phone to call another burner cell phone that was secreted in the battery box of a railroad signal in Avon, Montana. That phone automatically called another phone, also in a railroad battery box, in Rochester, New York. It was that second burner phone which called the number. Many people think you can call undetected using internet phones of one sort or another, but Boris showed me how fast he could trace back even the most secure systems. The cell phone relay with burner phones, on the other hand, took a lot more time to trace. Using two of them doubled the time. I was pretty confident that no matter how fast or sophisticated a tap might be, there was no way to trace the call back to me. Besides, the huge battery box of a railroad signal has more than enough power to reduce a cellphone to a mass of molten plastic long before the authorities can figure out where the call actually came from.

I waited as the first beep and then the second told me that my relay system was working and for the third time I could hear the sound of a phone ringing. After the fourth ring, I began to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. If the number wasn’t being answered, things were much worse than I had feared. Then a recorded message began speaking. “Thank you for calling the number,” it said. “If this is W, hang up and do not attempt further contact. All others please wait and your call will be answered.”

“Shit!” I said loudly to myself as I broke the connection. As I set down the burner phone, my regular cell phone vibrated and made a noise like someone knocking loudly on a door – my signal for an incoming text.

I went over to my computer where I have a program that allows me to send and receive texts without betraying my location in any way. The text was from Boris. In unbelievably clear language for Boris, it said, “You’ve got to see this,” and gave a link to a video on one of the free porn sites.

The video stood out for several reasons. One, it was better done than ninety percent of what was on the site. Two, it had several thousand awards from the site regulars. And three, there was a caption which remained at the bottom of the entire video that said, “W, you are our only hope.”

I watched the video. A woman was seated on what looked like a black leather saddle that was mounted on a pole near the bottom of two circles of steel or aluminum. One circle was in the same plane as the saddle. The woman’s legs were stretched out tightly and attached to that circle. Her arms were also stretched tightly above her head and attached to the circle. The purpose of the second circle became obvious when they both started rotating.

If there had been just one circle, the woman would have been spinning like she was stuck in a clothes dryer. But with the second circle also spinning, she was tumbling in all directions as if she were an astronaut in space.

Unlike an astronaut, she was naked. And also unlike an astronaut, she was being forced to orgasm after orgasm. Her entire body was quivering as the twin dildos which were embedded in the saddle thrust and spun and vibrated. Actually the entire saddle could vibrate in cycles totally separate from the two dildos.

The spinning, alone, is enough to totally disorient you. A few hours in the complex tumbling of the machine would break most normal people. When you add the forced sexual stimulation this woman was experiencing, anything could happen.

The woman began screaming “Columbus! Columbus! Oh God! Columbus!”

That was obviously a safeword, but the machine did not stop. Instead there was low laughter from the background and a voice said, “That will not save you, ines.”

In response she began screaming, “Fresno! Fresno! Fresno!”

That brought more laughter, so she switched to “Baltimore! Baltimore! Baltimore!”

This time the voice said, “Maybe this will teach you to stop trying safewords.”

The woman now began screaming in pain rather than passion as high voltage spikes started coursing through her body from the didlos and the saddle. That current could be adjusted from barely noticeable to pleasurable to painful. I know, because I also designed and built this machine. It was a special order for Master Randolph and his was the only one ever built. His painslut wife had taunted him that he could never break her. At a dinner one night when I was present, she said that even I could not create something that would cause her to call out her safeword.

That might have been discarded as an idle boast, but at the time she was hanging in the center of the room in the Lambda position. Her feet were spread wide and bound to the floor. Her hands were bound together palm to palm and pulled high above her head. Her body thus formed an upside down Y– or if you know the Greek alphabet, a Lambda.

Two slaves were flogging her with multi-strand whips. One was standing slightly off to her side and flogging her ass in a regular pattern. The other was standing directly in front of her swinging the whip upward between her legs. He was not following a regular pattern. Sometimes he would strike twice in quick succession and then wait for several minutes to strike again.

Meanwhile, slave ines was screaming in that mixture of pain and passion that only a true painslut can ever feel. “She can go on like this for hours,” Master Randolph said calmly. Then he added, “But I would never allow that because it would cause true physical harm.” He paused and then said, “I need something that would somehow overwhelm her body– no, her mind... causing pain without causing physical harm.” He smiled broadly, “If you could come up with something that would overwhelm her mind so that she can’t go into the pain properly...”

He let it drop at that. Between the swings of the floggers, his wife called out her boast that I could not make such a machine.

I waited a few moments as if thinking and then said, “It would be expensive.”

“Cost is no barrier,” he replied.

It was expensive– very expensive– but it did what he wanted. After just seventeen minutes on the vibrating, tumbling, shocking saddle, slave ines screamed out, “Micky Mouse! Micky Mouse! Micky Mouse!” That was her true safeword.

I went back to the video. Slave ines was still screaming, but now it sounded almost musical. It was musical. It was a song that I had heard... somewhere. Maybe a long time ago... maybe as background music in a commercial, but I had heard it somewhere.

I texted Boris. “Slave ines is singing something. What is it?”

Again Boris answered immediately. “Caught that. Wasn’t sure important. ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane.’ John Denver / Peter Paul & Mary from the 1960's.”

“Thank you,” I replied. I didn’t expect anything further, and was surprised when another text came in from Boris. “Cabo Frio Airport! Columbus, Fresno, Baltimore - CFB. That’s the airport symbol for Cabo Frio Airport.”

I texted back, “There’s a reason that ines is the slave representative to the Inner Circle.”

There were no further texts from Boris, so I sat swirling my bourbon and wondering how I could get to Rio de Janeiro without anyone knowing I was there.

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