Primal

Author's note: New short story, Privileged Prey, now available!

Want to find out how to tame an arrogant, spoiled rich girl, her busty sister and her proud country club mother with the rough hands of blue-collar worker? Something like that would surely require a miracle... right?

Nearly 11k words and 10 pictures!

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Daphne moved first.

She uncoiled the bullwhip behind her, taking three measured steps back to give herself room.

Her eyes were locked on Ulla with the cold, professional focus of a woman who seemed to be a career psychopath.

The whip cracked.

The braided leather tip screamed through the air and connected with Ulla's exposed thigh with a sound like a gunshot.

Ulla screamed.

A raw, genuine, full-throated scream that bounced off the dungeon walls and came back at us from every direction.

It was quite… disturbing.

An angry red welt erupted across her pale skin almost instantly, a vivid slash of crimson against white.

"There we go," Daphne murmured, rolling her shoulder, preparing the next strike. "The first slash of paint on a brand new painting. Always gets me going."

Ulla gritted her teeth so hard I could hear them grinding.

But she didn't speak.

Not only because she didn’t want to betray me… but because right now I could see she hated this woman even more than she did me.

Daphne cracked the whip again.

This time across Ulla's stomach, just below her navel.

Ulla's body swung backward in the chains, her head thrown back, another raw shriek tearing from her throat.

Her toes scrambled for the floor, finding nothing.

She was completely exposed and completely helpless, dangling there like a beautiful, furious, broken ornament.

But she didn't say a word.

Daphne sent the whip singing through the air a third time, this strike landing diagonally across both breasts simultaneously.

The leather tip caught Ulla's left nipple directly.

The scream she let out was higher this time, desperate, the sound of someone approaching their absolute threshold of pain.

She was shaking violently, her whole body trembling in the chains.

But her jaw remained clamped.

She looked at me through her tears.

There was a ferocious, burning defiance in her wet blue eyes.

I nodded at her.

Just once.

She swallowed hard and looked away.

Alright. If I just kept watching this hardcore lezdom show I’d lose faster than my uncle at the races.

I turned to Samantha.

aka Six.

The bald woman hung silently beside Ulla, looking down with hollow, vacant eyes.

Like she didn’t even notice or care about the whipping happening right next to her.

Not even the sound of Ulla's screaming seemed to register on her blank face.

Fuck it.

Time to get to work.

I quickly stepped to the implement rack and ran my eyes over the arsenal.

The heavy leather flogger with its knotted tails caught my eye first.

I lifted it off the hook, testing the weight in my hand.

It was dense and solid, the kind of tool designed for maximum surface area and deep, thudding pain rather than sharp, precise cuts.

Another sharp hit from the bullwhip and another cry from Ulla.

Fuck it, I didn’t have time to think about what worked the best.

I just had to get started.

I stepped behind Samantha.

I pulled back and swung.

The knotted tails erupted across her back with a deep, meaty THWACK, the multiple tails covering her entire shoulder blade in a single, heavy blow.

Samantha's eyes closed.

…And that was it.

No cry. No flinch. No gasp.

Just the slow, mechanical closing of her eyes, like someone mildly disturbed by a passing sound.

I swung again, harder this time, putting my whole shoulder into it.

THWACK!!

The flogger cracked across the small of her back, the knotted tips leaving a spray of small, deep red marks across her pale skin.

Eyes closed again.

Opened again.

That was literally the extent of her reaction.

From across the room, Daphne laughed between cracks of her bullwhip.

"Good luck with that one, Jack!" she called out, her British accent ringing with genuine amusement. "I spent a lot of time training every single reaction out of her. Screams, tears, gasps, flinches. Burned them all out one by one. She knows better than to do that anymore."

Fuck.

She literally had the perfect specimen for this fucking challenge.

I swapped the flogger for the riding crop.

The thin, stiff leather delivered a far sharper, more precise sting.

SCHWAPP!!

I brought it down hard across the swell of Samantha's massive breast, the tip catching the heavy underside with a vicious snap.

Her soft titflesh rippled from the impact like a stone thrown into still water.

Eyes. Closed.

Opened.

Nothing.

I moved to the Samantha's front, brought the crop down on her inner thigh, leaving a precise, stinging red line across the soft, sensitive flesh.

Her eyes closed.

Opened.

Another slash of the bullwhip, another painful scream from Ulla.

Another sadistic laugh from Daphne.

A scared voice at the back of my head told me I was going to lose this unless I got more hardcore.

I stepped back and grabbed the cattle prod from the steel table.

It hummed faintly when I switched it on, the metal tip carrying a low, buzzing charge.

I hadn’t used something like this before.

Well, except for the stun gun on Janice.

Would it be the same?

I pressed it against the soft, squishy flesh of Samantha's outer hip and triggered it.

The sharp, electric crack was loud in the dungeon.

Samantha's body seized, a violent, full-body spasm jolting through her.

Her massive breasts swung from the force.

Her eyes squeezed shut.

Then reopened.

Blank.

Empty.

Same as before.

I looked at my hands, at the cattle prod, at the wall of implements still waiting, and felt a cold wave of desperation washing over me.

Nothing was working.

Daphne had engineered this woman into something inhuman.

A vessel without input or output.

Across the room, Ulla was clearly reaching her limits.

Daphne had abandoned the bullwhip in favor of the weighted nipple clamps.

As the clamps bit into her nipples, and then pulled them down with all of their weight, I could see that Ulla was on the verge of speaking.

Pleading for mercy? Cursing her out? …or…

“I can wait, darling. I’m happy you’re holding out so long. I get to have more fun with this,” she said, giving the swede’s tits a weighty, nasty slap.

SLAP!

This time Ulla didn’t scream. She just groaned.

Soon the weighted pair connected by a thin, cruel chain.

Then she hooked additional clothespins all the way down the chain like a grotesque decorative string.

The weight pulling on Ulla's stretched nipples was significant, and Daphne had started using the riding crop to bat the chain from side to side, making it swing and drag.

The smile on Daphne’s face was… terrifying.

She was loving every single second of causing Ulla pain.

Ulla was biting her lip so hard I was surprised she hadn't drawn blood.

Her face was a sheet of white except for two high, feverish spots of crimson on her cheeks.

She was running out of wall to put between herself and the phrase.

I could feel it.

I set the cattle prod down and stood in front of Samantha.

I needed to crack this puzzle.

Sheer force wouldn’t do it.

I stared at her blank, bald face.

Maybe something psychological?

"Samantha," I said quietly.

Nothing.

"Samantha," I said again, louder.

The vacant eyes moved to my face.

There was nothing in them. Just a flat, dark surface, like a pond that had frozen solid.

I stepped closer.

"It's okay," I said, keeping my voice low, almost gentle. "Whatever she's done to you. Whatever she made you into. You can talk to me. I'm not her. I'm not Daphne."

Six stared at me.

"I just want to hear your voice," I said. "That's all. Just your voice. It's okay."

Silence.

The only sound was the crack of Daphne's crop against the swinging chain of Ulla's clamps, and Ulla's muffled, desperate groaning.

And Daphne’s vicious laughter.

Samantha said nothing.

Fuck. Therapy wasn’t working.

And pain wasn’t getting through to her.

That left me without any possible-

No, wait.

There might be something.

Something… primal.

Something Daphne had probably denied from her.

I reached out and pressed my palm flat against the soft, smooth skin of her lower stomach, just above the shaved, bare mound of her pubis.

I slid my hand lower.

My fingers found the warm, soft flesh of her outer labia.

Samantha's eyes moved down to watch my hand.

That was a reaction.

It wasn't much. But it was more than the cattle prod had gotten.

I pressed my middle finger slowly between her folds, finding the soft, slick seam of her entrance.

She was dry as a bone.

Expected.

Daphne had clearly not allowed this woman any pleasure in a very long time.

But as I began to work my finger in slow, deliberate circles against the hood of her clit, the slickness began to build.

Gradually.

A biological response that no amount of psychological conditioning could fully suppress.

Samantha's breathing changed.

Not dramatically.

Not obviously.

But I was watching closely, and I caught it.

A slight deepening. A barely perceptible slowing of her previously mechanical inhale-exhale rhythm.

Her lips parted a fraction of an inch.

That was all.

But it was enough to know the lights were on inside.

Someone was home in there after all.

"HEY!"

Daphne's voice cracked through the dungeon like a thunderclap.

She had abandoned Ulla entirely, spinning around to face me, her crop raised, her face suddenly flushed with fury.

"Back off!" she snapped, her accent thickening. "No pleasure! That is strictly against the spirit of the challenge! You're supposed to be getting the phrase out of her with these instruments, not—"

"’Any instrument in the room’. I’m one, aren’t I?," I cut her off pleasantly.

Daphne stared at me.

I met her gaze calmly, continuing the slow, deliberate circles against Samantha's clit.

Daphne's jaw worked furiously.

I smiled at her and turned back to Samantha.

“She hasn’t allowed you these feelings for a long time, has she?”

Samantha avoided my gaze.

Daphne, for once, kept being quiet, clearly fuming inside her little head.

I withdrew my finger from her clit.

Yes.

This was the correct path.

I just needed to commit to it harder.

So I unzipped my pants…

And pulled out my cock.

It was already hard just from the dungeon atmosphere, from Ulla's struggling naked body and the sharp smell of leather and sweat.

And, naturally, the huge fuckbags in front of my face.

I wrapped my hand around little Jack slowly, giving it two long, deliberate strokes.

"You want this, don’t you?" I asked her, my voice low and direct.

Samantha's blank eyes stared at my cock.

And for the first time since I had entered this room, something genuinely happened inside those dark, empty pupils.

It was infinitesimally small.

A single, barely perceptible dilation.

A tiny spark of something buried so deep under layers of conditioning and erasure that even Daphne's systematic destruction hadn't been able to reach it.

Want.

Basic, primal, human want.

"JACK!" Daphne roared.

She brought the riding crop down on Ulla's suspended body with a savage, vicious crack.

Ulla screamed.

A high, ragged sound that scraped the ceiling.

"I will beat your pathetic little bitch into the floor!" Daphne snarled, raining two more rapid, brutal strokes across Ulla's hips and thighs. "Back off Six right now!"

I ignored her completely.

I stepped forward, pressing my cock against the soft warmth of Samantha's inner thigh.

“DON’T YOU DARE ENTER MY SLAVE!!”, Daphne screeched in an ugly way.

Her skin was impossibly smooth. Warm.

Alive in a way her face wasn't.

I reached between us, lined myself up against her entrance…

and pushed inside.

The moment I breached her, a shudder rippled through Samantha's entire body.

Not a flinch. Not a mechanical eye-close.

A real, full-body tremor that started at her hips and radiated outward to the tips of her fingers and her curling toes.

She hadn't been touched in a long time.

Probably longer than I could imagine.

The tightness of her was incredible, her body clenching around me with desperate, involuntary need.

I grabbed her wide hips and drove forward, burying myself to the root.

Samantha's head dropped back.

And she moaned.

It was soft at first.

A barely audible sound, low and shaking, like something escaping from a very deep, sealed place.

But it was a moan.

From a woman who supposedly no longer made sounds.

Daphne's head snapped around.

Her face went through several expressions in rapid succession.

Shock.

Disbelief.

Then a pure, volcanic, incandescent fury.

"NO!" she screamed. "SIX! Do NOT make a sound! NOT A SOUND!"

She turned on Ulla with renewed, manic brutality, grabbing the weighted chain between the nipple clamps and yanking it straight down.

Ulla let out a broken, desperate shriek, the clamps pulling her nipples into pointed, agonized peaks.

But I was already moving.

I pulled back and drove into Samantha again, harder.

Her massive, heavy breasts swung forward from the impact, swaying and bouncing in long, slow arcs.

The chains holding her wrists rattled.

Another moan.

Louder this time.

Unmistakable.

Daphne grabbed the violet wand from the table, flicked it on with trembling hands, and jammed the crackling tip against Ulla's hip.

The electric snap was followed immediately by Ulla's raw shriek.

But Daphne was losing focus.

She kept glancing over her shoulder.

Watching Six.

Watching me.

I established a rhythm.

Deep. Slow. Deliberate.

I wanted to feel every centimeter of her, and I wanted her to feel every centimeter of me.

Her body, so long deprived of any sensation beyond pain, was responding like a starved animal given food.

Doing this gently wasn’t really my style… but at this point, I was willing to do anything to win.

Every thrust pulled another sound from her.

Soft whimpers now, building in frequency and volume.

Her thighs were trying to wrap around me.

She was completely open.

Completely vulnerable.

"SHUT UP!" Daphne screamed at her, abandoning Ulla entirely now and storming toward us. "I said SHUT UP, SIX! I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOUR DISGUSTING MOANS! I will put you back in the box! I will—"

I drove into Samantha with a particularly savage thrust.

Samantha let out a loud, shaking, full-throated moan that echoed off every wall of the dungeon.

Daphne stopped dead in her tracks.

Her riding crop fell to her side.

She was staring at her slave.

At the woman she had spent months reducing to an empty, silent shell.

The woman was moaning.

Like a person.

Like a human being who felt things and needed things and wanted things.

Like a sex doll that was suddenly coming to life.

The look on Daphne's face was extraordinary.

It wasn't just fury.

It was something almost like grief.

She had unmade this person, meticulously and completely.

And I was putting her back together with my cock in the space of four minutes.

I fucked her harder.

The chains were really rattling now, the sound of metal and leather filling the dungeon.

Samantha was panting, the moans becoming continuous, rolling into each other without pause.

Her bald head was thrown back.

Her massive breasts were bouncing violently, swinging in wide, heavy arcs with each thrust.

Her eyes were squeezed shut.

Not blank.

Not mechanical.

Ecstatic.

I could feel her tightening around me.

Her walls clenching and fluttering in the unmistakable, desperate rhythm of an approaching climax.

A real one.

Her first one in God knows how long.

Daphne came back to life with a shriek.

"SIX! I SWEAR! DO YOU REALLY THINK I CAN’T MAKE YOU INTO SOMETHING EVEN LESS? I CAN TURN YOU INTO AN INSECT! I WILL—"

The woman's thighs were straining, her whole lower body trembling, her hips trying to rock against my thrusts to meet them, to drive herself over the edge.

She was right there.

Right on the precipice.

Teetering.

And I pulled out.

The sudden, brutal absence made Samantha's body convulse.

Her hips rolled forward, desperately searching, finding nothing but cold air.

A sound came out of her mouth that I had not heard yet.

A whimper of loss so pure and raw and desperate it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

She was humping the air.

Actually humping the air, her wide, bare hips rolling forward and back in frantic, needy gyrations, chasing my cock, chasing the orgasm that had been stolen from her.

"Look at that," I said calmly, stepping back, my cock glistening.

I looked directly at Samantha's face.

Her blank mask was completely and utterly gone.

Her expression was naked want.

Desperate, humiliated, completely stripped-bare need.

"I'll make you finish," I told her quietly, holding her gaze.

Her hips were still rolling.

"But I need to hear something from you first."

"DON'T!" Daphne screamed. "I’LL DESTROY YOU! I’LL NEVER LET YOU OUT! I’LL—"

"Just a few words," I told her softly, ignoring Daphne completely. "That's all. Just say the phrase they gave you. And I'll give you what you need."

Her jaw tightened.

The struggle was visible.

So much conditioning warring against the biological, unignorable demand of her own body.

Daphne let out a screech of fury and charged toward Ulla, grabbing the paddle from the table, swinging it with both hands.

The crack of wood against her ass was enormous.

She screamed at Ulla to speak the phrase.

Ulla only howled.

But she wouldn’t last long now.

I kept my eyes on Samantha.

Her hips were still rolling.

Her massive breasts heaving.

Her eyes locked on mine.

The phrase was right there behind her teeth.

"Jack—" she whispered.

"SAMANTHA!" Daphne shrieked, finally forced to use her slave’s real name.

"Jack Dingle…"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH YOU FUCKING BULLY BITCH!! I HATE YOU!!!!"

"…is my master."

The words fell out of her in a broken, husky, shaking whisper.

But they fell.

They were real.

They were said.

The AI voice boomed through the dungeon like the voice of God.

"The subject has spoken the designated phrase. The victor of the third bout is Jack Dingle. The current score is two to one in favor of Jack Dingle."

Daphne let out a scream of pure, unhinged, absolute rage.

She smacked the paddle down on the floor. It broke in half.

But I had a promise to fill.

I stepped forward and slipped myself back into Samantha wet, warm hole in one hard, merciless thrust.

She let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream, her whole body seizing.

I grabbed her hips and fucked her hard.

No more teasing.

No more denial.

Just hard, fast, brutal thrusts that drove her massive body swinging in the chains.

Her breasts swung wildly, her moans filling every corner of the dungeon, getting louder with each pump until she was screaming.

A real, genuine scream.

Not of pain.

I drove into Samantha one final time, grinding myself against her, and felt her detonate.

The absolute tightness of her pulled me along, and we came together as I sprayed my cum inside her womb as well.

Her whole body went rigid, then convulsed, her cunt clenching around me in tight, rhythmic spasms that seemed to go on and on and on.

She was wailing.

A long, continuous, shameless wail that I suspected was the loudest sound that had come out of this woman in months.

I held myself deep inside her and let her ride it out, her body shaking and shuddering around me.

When it finally subsided, she went limp in the chains, her head hanging, her massive, flushed breasts rising and falling rapidly.

A thin string of tears was running down her smooth, bald cheek.

Not from pain.

From something far more complicated than pain.

I stepped back, pulling out slowly.

My cum dripped almost majestically out of her sweet pussy.

I turned around.

Daphne just stared at me, speechless.

I walked past her, reaching Ulla.

She looked rough.

So many red welts over her body, the nippleclamps still on, whining in continuous pain.

I decided to gently remove the clamps, while I held her head.

She finally looked at me.

I didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

I just held her head.

“Good job. Slave.”

Something silent flashed in her eyes.

She didn’t smile. Quite the opposite.

But she didn’t curse me either… even though she could.

Or had her SP number returned back to normal after the bout ended?

Before I had time to check, I turned around.

Daphne was standing right behind me.

Her chest was heaving.

Her face was something extraordinary.

The arrogant, menacing, effortlessly dominant Daphne Redford looked, for the first time since I had met her, well and truly rattled.

“You… broke her. You broke my toy. You destroyed all my work, Jack Dingle. I will. Never. Forget this.”

She said the words with such malice that I felt it in my bones.

And it was clear to me.

She was already preparing my personalized Hell if I lost.

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