Part 12: Breaking Through Pain

Jane knew she should stay still. She knew that even the most cautions of movements could send a jolt of agony through the stretched tendons in her shoulders, grind her already inflamed pussy into the merciless wedge between her legs, or rake her tits across her harness from hell. She knew squirming would only make the pain worse, but when the overwhelming storm of electricity stabbed directly into her nipples and clit, she couldn't help it. Screaming wasn't enough; the irrepressible desire to do something about the pain she was clamoring to endure demanded action, even if it just increased her pain. In a base desire to flee from the compounding jolts, the poor woman shuffled her body back as much as the chains around her ankles would allow. Every wriggle and jiggle rubbed her crotch into the metal edge beneath her. In a wasted effort to satiate her percieved need for relief, Jane leaned back too and suffered new strain in her twisted shoulder joints from it.

When the vicious shocks finally stopped, Jane was left drained and weak, barely sustaining herself with haggard breaths. The knowledge that collapsing would just make things hurt more was the only reason she remained upright. You're a soldier; you can fight this, she told herself, while trying to sever the string of drool dangling from her lower lip. You just have to irritate him, play games until he makes a mistake.

"So?" prodded her interrogator, "is this the worst situation you've gotten yourself into?"

To Jane's surprise, her ring-gag retracted into her collar. She shifted her jaw just now realizing how sore it was. After a moments pause she mustered up the courage to stammer out, "Well, there was this one time I enlisted the help of a thief named Erika, andAAAAAIIIII." Jane's attempted quip was immediately cut off when the impossibly painful shocks began anew. This time she threw her head back, squealing at the top of her lungs while twisting her chest, causing a feedback loop. More pain meant more shaking. More shaking meant more pain. The squirming **** was only partially aware of the automated ring-gag re-inserting itself into her open mouth, mostly because her mouth was already open as far as possible in an agonized scream. When the bout of **** eventually ended, Jane was left with her head bowed in silent defeat.

"I think it might be time to start your training now," the man said with sickening smugness. Why was his voice so familiar? "But we can keep going with your punishment. Would you like that?"

Jane wanted to nod, to spit in his face, scream something brave through her gag, but couldn't bring herself to. The prospect of an end to her suffering dangled in front of her nose like a carrot; she had to be compliant, obedient. She weakly shook her head in defeat.

"Good ****, we'll start with posture. Your tits should always be presented even when you're being punished." Jane felt the unrelenting clamps tug her nipples forward. She obediently leaned with them. Her left breast grazed one of her harness's needles and received an electric shock, causing her to sharply suck air in. It was only a warning, but Jane heeded it and followed her nipple clamps with trembling caution.

The quivering **** was able to avoid further pain in her breasts, but shifting forward exposed her pussy to new agony against the wedge she was riding. Her tender clit suffered the worst. The large ring that had only recently been pierced into her hood was pushed at an odd angle by the cruel horse beneath her. But far worse, the freshly applied clamp and her poor clit it gripped were left pressed into the metal edge beneath her with all her body weight resting on top of. The wedge, piercing and clamp seemed to be consorting together to provide a twisting hell for her tenderest body part.

In an instant that agony was replaced by white hot electricity tearing through her most sensitive extremities. Once again, Jane tried to restrain herself as the **** blossomed over her breasts and pussy, and once again, she quickly gave in to the primal thrashing, further increasing her pain. Whispering wails tumbled from Jane's mouth as she struggled to breathe through her screams. Eventually, the shocks subsided, but even after Jane stopped writhing, agony dominated her thoughts. Her strained joints ached, the pitiless clamps maintained their feral grip, and the knowledge that the slightest twitch could unleash fresh pain gripped her mind and soul like a vice of cold iron. And then it began anew.

That was the cycle. Jane didn't know how long the shocks to her clamped tender areas lasted, but each time it was an eternity. Staying still was unbearable, and moving just made things worse. The brief moments when the shocks subsided offered no respite, it simply provided a lull for the rest of her strained nerves to scream and for the memory of what was to come echo through her body. Enduring strappado on a metal horse would have been **** enough without the constant dread of the lightning pain jabbing into the corners of her mind. The struggle was making the foundations of her will erode away.

The commander wanted to stay strong, to grin menacingly in her interrogators' faces when they asked her questions or told her to humiliate herself, but fear restrained her defiance like barbed wire. Could they make her punishments worse? Would it really be so bad to **** her body and avoid further pain? What if she focused on helping herself instead of trying to rescue the councilwoman? Jane knew she was the Amare's only chance, but the thought of abandoning her mission kept returning.

Gods dammit! the crumbling soldier screamed internally as the hellish electricity stuck her like a brick wall. Cramps shot through her muscles as she tried to control her twitching. Dr. Ocelot had lied! About so much, but the betrayal that hurt the most was her assertion that Jane had an inner strength that would get her through this. Jane hated the false hope that traitorous whore had tossed her like spoiled meat to a dog. Surrendering to rage to ease her pain, the tortured officer thrashed violently. Jane wanted to wrap her hand around the bitch's throat, to jam a shock prod up her perfect cunt, to... to... A defeated sob wracked through Jane's body; then she froze despite the continuing shocks. All she wanted was to grovel at her mistress's boots and hear some sort of spiteful comment, but the doctor was so far away.

"If you think this is bad, try working with squawking Adrene for 18 hours a day," Bre said before slamming down another shot. In her den of pain and isolation, the memory felt viscerally vivid. It was from one of those token clubbing nights that the officer had gone on to placate her overworked weapons specialist, as if that was anywhere near a reasonable repayment for how often Bre had pulled her ass out of the fire. Guilt wracked, Jane started to realise the meaning of Dr. Ocelot's words. As promised, the doctor had done nothing to make the crew lose respect for Jane. She had done that herself by asking the impossible from them and turning into a sniveling bitch the moment things got tough for herself.

Bre's visage returned this time blowing hot smoke from her cigar into Jane's face. "It'd be forgivable if you weren't in denial about it, you nasty cumwhore." The electricity tormenting her nipples and clit stopped, but for once Jane wasn't worried about when they would start again. There was something oddly pleasant about her last night with the crew, despite the pain and humiliation. It wasn't arousal (but that was part of it) more a feeling of release. She had been freed from the burdens of command to be tossed about by the whims of her crew like a petal in a hurricane. Jane desperately wanted to be back there, to be free from the responsibility of her ever more daunting mission.

Though her situation was hopeless, Jane allowed herself a moment of weakness and comfort. The submissive imagined her crew spitting on and belittling her like they had on that night. Except this time they were self pleasuring or entwined in lustful acts. And Wynn, sweet, innocent, quite-possibly-virgin Wynn, Jane imagined her with one hand on the **** controls the other lustfully fidgeting between her own spread legs. Jane chuckled to herself mischievously; with naughty thoughts like these, she ought to be punished.

Arousal tingled through her body as she indulged these perverted fantasies. Jane imagined they were watching her like vultures ready to **** her with shook prods should she move. She still didn't like the pain; dread even crept into her mind on occasion, but pretending it was a part of another degrading exhibition made it possible to bear. And when she worked up the courage to explore her deepest desires, Jane fantasized that it was not a vicious wedge jamming into her inflamed pussy but instead those fetish boots Dr. Ocelot had worn so perfectly. Doing her best to emulate the grace and discipline that made the mistress so alluring, the sex **** slowly rubbed her wet slit against the hard surface. Her mistress's order echoed through her mind, "a **** must mix pain with pleasure."

It was a difficult climb to her orgasm, requiring patience that was almost as painful as the electricity. She couldn't wildly grind her womanhood on the cruel structure between her legs because the discomfort would overshadow the bliss she craved. Instead the mewling slut made calculated and persistent movements towards her goal savoring each scrap of pleasure like it was a crumb she licked off the floor. Despite the overwhelming pain Jane knew rash actions would cause, the pull to abandon her careful precision was madding during the eon she spent a hair's breath away from her climax, but her beautiful half-asian mistress would have ordered she show restraint, patience, and discipline; the same traits she needed as an officer. Jane's orgasm eventually arrived; although, there was little sign of it from the outside save for a few ragged gasps, a quivering in her breasts, and a slight trickle from her puffy vulva. Inside however, a wave of euphoria blossomed through her body and soothed her aching muscles like warm milk. A contented smile tugged at Jane's mouth even as her nipples and clit were shocked. This **** had been a brick wall for the slavers to bash her psyche against until she was theirs to mold, but using her own deviant desires and the love of her crew as tools she'd chipped away at it. They'd thrown their worst at her, and little by little, she was breaking through their prison.