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  Title Page

  TRAPPED AND TAMED

  The Institute of Submission III

  By

  Jordan Church

  Publisher Information

  Published in 2011 by

  Cambridge House Publishing LLP

  Digital Edition Converted and Distributed in 2011 by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Copyright 2007

  This edition published2011

  The right of Jordan Church to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyright and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

  All characters and events depicted are entirely fictitious; any resemblance to anyone living or dead is entirely coincidental

  THIS IS FICTION. IN REAL LIFE ALWAYS PRACTISE SAFE SEX

  Chapter 1

  Fishy, the young woman formerly known as Jacqueline Thorpe, swam beautifully back and forth in the huge indoor swimming pool. Just as she had every day for what seemed like an endless time but which she guessed to be several months, she swam off and on all day long. Occasional rests, even naps, and a random number of feedings per day but, otherwise, she advertised all day long every day. She flipped, twisted, swirled, and swam to and fro giving an unknown number of unknown watchers a good show of her body in order to “wet” their appetites.

  The cameras suspended all around the pool area watched her through dark emotionless lenses twenty-four hours a day. The only exception was when she used the pool’s ladies restroom. There were no cameras in there. Not that Fishy knew about. She was otherwise always watched and she felt always watched. It was creepy but also, somehow, reassuring.

  All the physical activity was exhausting at first, especially with all the sex, but Fishy’s body pulled off the adjustment. She was sleek and toned with a tight but feminine musculature now, her breast still larger than appropriate for her body size, and her skin even milkier from all her time indoors. She slid through the water like a fish and felt at least as at home in the water as out of it. She sometimes wondered fancifully if she wouldn’t one day be able to breathe water, perhaps through gills she might grow in reaction to her environment. Most of the time her blonde hair was plastered wetly to her head.

  During pauses in swimming or while turning to swim back to the far end Fishy liked to look around the pool as if she was seeing her environment -- the Fishy ecosystem -- for the first time all over again just to taste an echo of that sick arousal. When Fishy first saw her new environment weeks ago, watched it set up like a stage scene prepared for a High School play, Wilrey fucked her from behind in the pool. She was horrified.

  Nowadays the room’s decorations were a source of contentment. The brightly colored corals painted on the walls. Steams of painted seaweed stretching from the floor to just inches below the ceiling sometimes made it feel as if the entire massive room was underwater. Various species of fish, painted in painstaking detail, kept Fishy from ever getting lonely.

  Fishy’s attention was fastened for most of the time on the painted sunken ship. Specifically, on the huge black hole in its side -- obviously the reason the ship sank -- and on the gigantic octopus peering aggressively outward, eight tentacles flowing and gripping jagged broken boards at the edge of the hole, just about to launch it outward in hungry attack. Even though it was a well-painted and realistic octopus and its eyes were not at all human, the cold calculation locked in them always reminded her of Wayne Jones. He had those same eyes even if they were a different size, shape, and color.

  No matter where she went in the pool it still always seemed like those eyes were watching her. It was intimidating. When she was particularly exhausted, which wasn’t at all rare, she sometimes thought the octopus version of Wayne Jones was going to encircle her with all eight tentacles and consume her starting with her brain. She wouldn’t want to die but it would be some consolation if she could provide a nutritious meal for Master Jones.

  She shivered in the warm waters. That watchful hungry octopus was scary… but she liked him.

  She wondered if Master Jones ever watched her on the camera views. It kept her motivated to do her best. If she swam hard enough, worked hard enough, was totally obedient, and as sexy as possible, perhaps Master Jones would return and finally have sex with her. She often fantasized about him while others used her body. She felt disloyal to Master Wilrey when she did that as he fucked her. Master Jones was rather plain-looking and balding but he was still much more attractive than fat Wilrey who seemed to be getting fatter by the day. Wilrey actually insisted nowadays that she call him Master Whale.

  Fishy’s main inspiration was the faint hope of Master Jones viewing her performances and being pleased but she had other powerful sources feeding her appetite for submission.

  She didn’t respect Master Whale but she did want to please him. He was her Master and owner so it was only logical to do everything and anything to make him happy. He adored food, and sex, and power over her but there might be one thing he valued even more. Money. The better she advertised her body the higher the Internet bids for her services. The better she performed with energetic compliance to every twisted request by each unseen Internet Master, the higher in turn the bids for her services on following nights. Fishy wasn’t sure how much they paid to put her through her laps and to heap abuse on her but Master Whale often chortled with glee when he talked about his new bank account. Fishy never had a night off. Slavery was seven days a week.

  After a particularly sadistic session someone suggested to Master Whale she be given a day or two off to recover. Master Whale had just laughed and correctly pointed out they would actually pay more to abuse her welted and bruised body further. He’d added, “Fishes don’t take days off. Wouldn’t be natural. ”

  Fishy also wanted to please all her “fans”. She knew it was improper for a lowly slave like her to have such an ego but it was a thrill to picture dozens, maybe hundreds, of Internet Masters across the globe logging on and making bids. The winner got to issue her commands during a four hour time period each evening. They had the option to double the time to eight hours at the cost of triple the payment. That system was meant to take advantage of prospective Masters who got carried away in the moment. It was incredible how much pain and how many orgasms could be dished out in a four hour time period - let alone eight!

  The losers of each night’s bidding -- for a fee -- had the option of watching all the action on streaming video as Fishy was put through her paces.

  All the funds went directly to her Master. That is, Master Whale. She still felt like Master Jones was also her Master, was, in fact, her true Master. After all, he had suckered her into his conspiracy to escape confinement, used and manipulated her, forced her to free him, enslaved her, made her sign her own endless incarceration agreement, made her what she was now. He was beyond Master. He was her creator.

  It really did bother her that he hadn’t even fucked her.

  She wanted to please Master Whale and the unseen Masters for its own sake but she also had physical motivation to perform at her highest level. She wore black rubber bikini bottoms but nothing else. The black contrasted nicely with her pale skin. Her skin was becoming ever paler because she spent all her time indoors. She knew the double doors to the pool room were unlocked but she couldn’t go through them because she didn’t have permission.

  Inside the rubber bikini bottoms was a hard plastic dildo attached to the crotch strap and pointed inward, currently fully inserted up her vagina. She had that fake cock warmed to body temperature, cradled by her most tender fles
h, usually nearly twenty hours a day. She was only allowed to take it out and the bikini bottoms off for cleanings -- of it and her -- bathroom visits, battery replacement, and sex. It was a gently vibrating plastic cock and a source of near endless teasing not-quite-enough pleasure. She’d hated and cursed it the first week, all the time desperately wanting orgasm, rarely getting satisfaction. The second week it evolved into a love-hate relationship. Nowadays it was all love. She loved being tormented with teasing pleasures, reveled in being kept on edge. It put her into some kind of alternate state for hours at a time.

  Keep swimming sexy, keep entertaining, keep advertising effectively and she could wear these magic rubber bikini bottoms lots. Fail and she’d risk losing them. Whenever Master Whale showed up or he sent a buddy to enjoy her sooner or later they had her slide them down, her sense of loss rapidly replaced with a pulsing thrusting, live cock that made her see blurry fireworks as if she was watching them burst in the air from an underwater position.

  Afterwards she’d slide them back up, insert that hard plastic cock as they watched, pulling the bikini bottoms up tight as can be, the dildo pushing sperm up higher into her and keeping the warm pool of come in place locked deep inside her. Every time she did that she shivered warmly.

  While she swam back and forth and twisted and twirled to show off her body she often thought fondly about what she’d had to do so far or about what new forced pleasures would be enacted on her. Those buzzing thoughts matched the humming deep in her pelvis from the vibrator.

  She sometimes thought about her past life but did so less and less every day and some days not at all. Thoughts of her past life in contrast to her current one caused her greater angst than all the whipping and abuse combined. And, unlike them, it was bad pain, not good pain. There was a difference. So she avoided those thoughts as much as possible.

  Mostly though, she did not think at all. She ran on instinct driven by an intoxicating mixture of physical sensation and intensely submissive thoughts. It was an ecstatic lifestyle.

  Fishy heard a ping, a sound like a sonar finding a U-boat in the movies, and surfaced from her swimming and vibration reverie. Was it six o’clock already?Each night’s sessions began at six o’clock. They usually lasted until ten o’clock but, when extended, could last until two in the morning.

  Fishy looked at the big light-up electric sign. Words streamed across it. Yes, it must be the time. Another whole day had passed and it felt like half that. Fishy swore her days were getting so much shorter. Were just flying by. At this rate, she’d be an old lady in a year.

  She read the electric words.

  [Your Master tonight, IanHaremkeeper]

  He’d won bids in the past. He was fairly creative and had unreasonable expectations in pain tolerance. She liked those qualities in a Master. The one whose call moniker was Argo_the_cuntivated -- apparently a play on “cultivated” -- had once managed to win bids for her services on six consecutive (“cunt-secutive”?) nights but hadn’t been heard from in a week. Just as well, he’d been brutal. Even so, Fishy had grown to respect him and wondered if she’d done anything inadequately to alienate him. Silly. For all she knew he was bidding like mad but just hadn’t won since then. Master Whale must be making a mint off her!

  Another sonar ping and she looked back at the light up sign.

  [FLOP ON TILES NEX 2 POOL LIKE FISH OUT OF WATER]

  Fishy hurried to comply purposely keeping her arms against her sides as she jumped from the water and belly flopped on the tiny humid pool tiles. She flipped and flopped and rolled about like a fish suffocating in air. The contortions were bruising the hell out of her but that was fine and expected. The vibrating dildo buzzed at a higher rate. In addition to remotely controlling Fishy through commands, the bid-winning Masters also had electronic control over various devices in the pool room including the bikini bottom vibrating dildo, literally the most central of the devices.

  Another sonar ping.

  [OK NICE ENTER HOT TUB]

  Fishy hated and dreaded the hot tub but also viewed it with almost mystical reverence. She rushed to get up, go, and step down into the hot waters. She hurried to the place she wanted to avoid. It was haunted with so much of her pain and so many forced orgasms.

  Before her figurative death and rebirth at the instigation of Wayne Jones she never had experienced dread and eagerness, fear and gratitude, simultaneously. Now such blended feelings were a daily occurrence.

  The hot tub’s water was still, apart from heat vapor rising from it. There was a timer dial on the wall that turned on the jets. However, that dial also turned on another function and it was all controlled remotely by the Internet Masters. She knew whenever she was sent into the hot tub it was just a matter of time before both the water jets and the other function were activated.

  Fishy stepped down the steps into the hot tub water from the main pool still dripping from the overly large silver rings dangling prettily from the tips of her bare breasts. She often thought of what the Internet Masters must see when they watched her perform and felt a vicarious thrill. Lucky them!

  She slid gently to a floating sit, breasts bobbing on the surface of the water. She felt the vibrations in the dildo cycle higher and was happy. She dreaded the fate awaiting her but enjoyed the trip getting there. She closed her eyes and her mind vacated as pure sensation ruled her. Ten minutes passed but, for Fishy, it was timeless. She gasped and wiggled from time to time.

  Another sonar ping.

  [SUK 2ND COCK 2 MAKE IT CUM IN 5 OR ELSE]

  Fishy opened her eyes and looked around the pool. They often liked to see her suck and lick a dildo so various shapes and sizes were all over the pool room. She saw several within reach right next to the hot tub and thought she showed excellent initiative locating and pulling over one of the longest. It was covered in knobs to increase the surface area. It reminded her of the monstrosity she’d found in the Wayne Jones evidence box a lifetime ago, the one that proved so useful to Little Johnson in forcing unspeakable pleasures and submission into her. The thought of that mythical beast of a dildo made her feel… sentimental. Or… horny… yes, that was the feeling.

  This plastic cock wasn’t a vibrator or anything other than huge but it was pleasingly challenging to cram the head of it into her mouth. She suctioned it, then pulled it out licking it all over up and down, turning her face at various angles she hoped would look good on the camera views. The dildo up her pussy continued to buzz merrily at a high rate. It made it hard to think. Thinking was no longer her forte anyway.

  Five minutes to make it come?That hardly seemed fair. Even a live cock might need ten. Who knows, a live one this big might take half an hour, depending. There was so much surface area and her little mouth could only deliver sensation to a small portion at a time, could only barely fit the head itself all at once. It wasn’t fair. She thought she’d bitten off more than she could chew and didn’t even realize the humor of that phrase.

  It was silly to take fairness into consideration. There was no justice for slaves. More than that, the damn vibrator felt damn good. More than that, if she did have ten minutes -- or even half an hour -- she would never be able to make it come. It was a plastic cock!It wasn’t real!She did wish it was real….

  No matter what she knew how this would end. Only a couple minutes left now.

  Real or not she maniacally wanted that plastic cock to shoot a load all over her. She even pulled it out of her mouth to work the saliva slick, knobbed rod up and down the soft valley made by her soft breasts pressed together around it. She realized her mouth could probably deliver more pleasure to it so she went back to work with her lips and tongue desperate to make the plastic thing shoot plastic sperm before it was too late.

  Too late.

  The hot tub water began to churn as the jets were turned on remotely by her remote Master of the night. That meant five more seconds
…!

  The vibrator went into hyper mode vibrating so fast she knew if it was held outside her it would appear motionless because the vibrations would be too fast for the human eye to perceive. Her pussy, though, perceived it in every exquisite detail of motion. Overbearing physical sensation and panicky fear combined to swing her into an orgasm.

  At that moment, just as the orgasm started, the electric current was channeled into the hot tub. Pain suffused every particle of her body and her slim form rose up unconsciously, arching stiffly like a dolphin begging for food.

  At the same time her orgasm rose to a death-defying pinnacle and she tore loose a scream of nirvana agony.

  The shock current lasted ten seconds, the orgasm much much longer.

  She was allowed a couple minutes of spasming rest to reconstitute herself.

  A sonar ping. She peered wearily at the sign.

  [Good 1]

  That was about as much positive feedback as she’d ever get. Masters weren’t much for positive feedback. They were more negative feedback types. Still, even in her state of pleasure/pain exhaustion, she felt some pride to have performed so well.

  A sonar ping.

  [AGAIN SLAVE]

  It was going to be a long night.

  One minute before ten o’clock and with the night’s abuse, pleasures, and servitude to another temporary Internet Master winding down whoever IanHaremKeeper was gave her a final order. It was something of a tradition among the Internet Masters to order her to do this and she really liked it.

  Sonar ping.

  [KISS THE OCTOPUS]

  Fishy stumbled her weary body out of the main pool. She’d just finished floating on her back while masturbating to climax -- not easy -- and no longer wore even the rubber bikini bottoms. She was pretty sure she’d set a new personal best in number of climaxes this session. Certainly had in power and duration. She knew was becoming ever more sexually sensitized. It was like half her body was clitoris. A ninety percent majority when it came to voting on what to do or allow.