This will make more sense if you have read the previous parts.
Chained at the gate, naked
“Charly boy has delivered the goods again, looks like.”
“Time will tell— tasty body, sure enough; but then again, you get a bit spoiled here, for those. I’ll tell you what I reckon in a month or so, once we see who she really is; how eagerly she gives her throat, offers herself for an ass-rape; that’s the real test, mate.”
“Well, M. La-di-da Connoisseur, right now here’s a chained up cunt, all fresh and terrified, and we get to welcome it to the Castle. Do you think you might condescend to stuff your cock into it? Or do you prefer to wait a month? Huh?”
“I think I might give it the joy of my cock, but it’ll need cleaning out, first.”
The men laugh together; the point of their back-and forth is to be cruel to her, she dimly realises, through the cold and pain and shame and exhaustion; she barely cares, as they release her neck from the gate (though leaving the heavy iron collar in place) and uncuff her wrists, only to attach them to the gate, above her, wide apart; her ankles too, are pulled apart and fixed so, off the ground, so that her weight is on her stiff, near frozen shoulders. This new pain is awful, but at the same time just another pain to add to the litany, and she can do no more than wail weakly in protest, sob a little as she gasps for breath.
They are gone then, for a little, and she bleats in pathetic need— whatever atrocities they might inflict upon her, they are human, and warm, and are supposed to do something with her; anything is preferable to being abandoned again, fixed to this terrible gate, naked in the cold.
Until she discovers (as she will discover again and again and again) that there is always something worse, when they turn the hose on her, blasting freezing water at her; no domestic hose this, but some agricultural jet, physically battering her, feeling as if it must drown her when they direct the powerful stream at her face from only a few metres away, and when they shove it close in— aiming directly between her legs— her throat discovers that she still has energy to scream, to yell, to beg, to express the urgency, the visceral requirement that this hosing must stop, stop immediately, because her whole being demands it, because it must kill her for sure if it persists.
It is these screams which Anne-Marie hears as she appreciates the beauty of the formal gardens, touched by hoar-frost, in the weak, low rays of the dawn sun; it is the screams, though, rather than the white-touched leaves, which bring a small, acknowledging grin to her lips. Charles has delivered the girl, earlier than expected, and she seems promising. It is good to have a candidate for the new method, and Charles has specifically asked that it be implemented without restraint, even if it destroys the girl.
“I’ve already hooked a new one, a young pretty blonde, sweet and giggly, so please, do this one anyway you like. It’ll be an honour to have supplied the subject for a new approach, and frankly, I’d quite like to see the slut wrecked if she can’t be completely remade; her neediness is beginning to get on my nerves.”
What is in truth less than a minute is an experiential eternity for Jennifer, as she wrenches uselessly at her chains, squealing and begging without restraint, all dignity lost. When the hose is shut off, she dissolves into helpless, hopeless sobbing, sagging in her chains.
She presents no resistance at all, numbed by the force and chill of the water, shivering helplessly, her mind all but shut down as they manipulate her then, manhandle her.
First her legs are released, one man at each side of her, lifting her knees right up, pulling her body out from the gate, golding her ankles in under her, until she is dimly aware that she is kneeling on something, her thighs parted, her shins in some rut or groove, trapped by her weight, which bears down more fully as her wrists are released— the small relief from which is counterbalanced by new pains as circulation returns to her hands (her poor wrists are heavily bruised, the skin rubbed through in several places, which would be bleeding more freely if the cold were not so extreme).
As soon as she is free, they force her (in truth, no effort is required— she is like a rag doll in their hands) to lie back, her feet either side of her hips, pain at her knees, hips and ankles which would ordinarily have had her crying out simply accepted as everything is pain, and has been for as long as she can remember. There is a support between her shoulder blades, hard and cold; the heavy iron collar at her neck is yanked back and down, fixed, but there is no support for her head, which she cannot find the strength to maintain in any lifted position, so that it hangs down, her eyes dully recognising that everything she can see is upside-down, that she is being turned, somehow, on her back in some contraption. Next, shocking to her even in her traumatised and frozen state, the smell and sight of as semi-stiff cock presents itself, which shock is soon overtaken by the reality of a hand at her split sex, slathered in some cold oily substance, quickly replaced by a vigorously probing cock, the warmth of it inside her sex almost like burning.
Her cry of dismay and shame is cut short as something hard— rubber and metal in different parts, is shoved into her mouth, jammed between her teeth at the back, her jaw wrenched painfully wide, deliberate violence used, terrifying her, unable to close her mouth, which is immediately stuffed with a second cock, and she is being double raped, struggling to breathe, yelping when the one at her crotch decides to try her rear passage for tightness, and discovers it to his liking, ramming himself home without finesse or care for the jerking of her hips as her body tries to repel him.
Neither is the man whose cock is being rammed into her throat even slightly deterred from his use of her by her retching spasms, her increasingly desperate attempt to catch even a gasp of air between his vigorous and deeply penetrating thrusts, his hands, powerfully grabbing, using her breasts as handles, pulled himself into her.
The shame and ignominy of being used so by total stangers, of having allowed herself to be brought to such a pass, laps like a dull fire at her half-conscious mind, and she wonders if she could perhaps die, asphyxiated by one cock, the other— from the sharpness of the pain— ripping her anus with the violence of his thrusting, the thickness of his cock; but all is distant; it is happening, but to some frozen thing, some failed person, some pathetic tragedy, and she cannot but recognise the truth of Anne-Marie’s words, that there is in her body a deep welcome for the warmth her violators are providing as they defile her.
None of it matters, in any case, for she is powerless, meaningless, trussed, incapable even of moving her hands, which have been left free in their haste to rape her.
This failing is rectified shortly afterward, they having finished in her, one after the other, befouling her again— the come in her mouth, thick, sticky, sour, gouts of it lodged in her nose, choking her, bitter tears of shame and fear and despair flowing, loathing herself, disgusted, defeated, degraded, terrible but vague thoughts of death and torture filling what is left of her mind as they fix the strange trolley to the back of the buggy.
A trolley it is that she has been strapped to— a practical, unpretty framework of steel, with hard leather channels as carriers for a girl’s shins, a wooden disc to support the upper back, chains for collar and wrist cuffs fixed to its underside, three struts forming a tripod, each with a fat-tyred wheel, the whole linked by a coupler to the towing bar of the buggy— so that a girl— or several girls arranged as a short train— can be transported about the grounds, oriented sideways to the direction of travel, all holes conveniently available for immediate use upon delivery [crotch and breasts also presented for cruel treatment if desired], or can safely be ignored, immobilised, until required.
Jounced and shaken as the buggy is driven fast over varied ground, she is sure that her unsupported neck must have broken if it were not for the tightness of the chain at her collar. Being transported so, like a dead animal draped by hunters over the back of a truck, is shocking enough to penetrate her foggy mind, and adds to the miasma of horror in which she feels she is losing her mind.
The Castle had loomed in her mind as a place primarily about sex, about sexual usage, about being fucked (not entirely unwelcome thoughts for a girl who had been sex starved until she had been seduced by Charles) — albeit with a heavy side-order of cruelty— but this relentless, grinding denial of all dignity, of all decency, of the slightest human consideration, goes far beyond, far deeper than sex.
They are going to destroy me.
The thought was not new; what was new was this bodily experience, the depth of cruelty the regime practiced, the emotional impact of it, the permanent, recurring existential terror it imposed upon her. Anne-Marie’s cruel and pointed lesson— that she, Jennifer, formerly a person with a justifiable expectation of ‘human rights’ was of no more significance than a simple mechanical aspect of the estate— the gate— which must either ‘open’ smoothly, as and when required, or be forced, remade or disposed of, was sinking deeper and deeper into Jennifer’s mind with each minute; she was being engulfed by a terrible, all-consuming dread, within which the awfulness of the previous evening, of her night chained to the gate, were as details).
At last the trolley was towed onto smoother paving, into a courtyard surrounded by wooden doors. The buggy stopped, the trolley unhitched and then unceremoniously dragged into a dim barn, the temperature only a little less frigid than outside. She was abandoned, her dangling head facing a wall (her neck screaming for relief), while various noises, banter, and at last water sounds suggested some preparations, utterly opaque to Jennifer’s disordered, despairing mind.
It was only a little clearer when she had been installed into a glass tank in the centre of the room. The top of the trolley, it transpired, could be separated from the wheeled tripod. They had moved her bodily, still chained in, and placed her in the tank, then affixed first her collar, then her wrists, and lastly her ankles to new restraints (she screamed when they unfolded her legs— the position had been so extreme, the cold had dulled the pain, but when her legs had been straightened the intensity of sensation which the relaxing joint and the returning blood-flow produced together was like nothing she had ever felt before, and it took some vicious slaps to the face— delivered with grinning malice— to shut her up each time).
In the end, she is on her back, arms drawn up behind her, each wrist fixed to a chain running to the corner of the tank behind her head but on the opposite side, so that her arms are crossed under her back. Her ankles, meanwhile were chained to the corners, and drawn up, so that it is as close as she is capable of getting to a ‘splits’ position, so that she is painfully stretched.
All vestiges of clothing had been removed, apart from her shoes.
Not a minute of the next six months would Jenifer not be strapped into shoes or some equivalent device which made her point her toes; her Achilles tendons, relaxed for such a long period, shrank by an inch, so that it became impossible to walk, even without heels, without being on tip-toes.
They began to fill the tank with water. Not cold, not hot— but body temperature. She screamed as it lapped at her, immediately because it felt as if it were scalding to her chilled nerves, but equally because it came to her that they planned to drown her, chained into the bottom of this tank, that they had hidden cameras and were simply going to film her dying like this, degraded, demeand, debauched. This time they let her scream, laughing at her to each other, making cruel jokes, ignoring her entreaties, her pleading, her begging, speaking only to each other.
As the water deepens, it becomes clear that there is a small cushion behind her her neck with air in it— that she is not to drown after all— not immediately at least— and she manages to calm herself. The chains are tightened too, as the water rises— from their fixing points at the top corners of the tank— and soon enough she is all but floating, and the terror returns, for she feels the collar held tight by its chain— which she guesses must be fixed to the base of the tank. As the water level rises, lapping at her cheeks, washing into her eyes and mouth as she thrashes in fear, she discovers the water to be powerfully salty, stinging her. Hysteria mounts, and nearly takes her; would have taken her, but for part of her realising that to writhe around blindly is the most certain way to end up drowning.
The water is turned off, then, and they watch for a while, enjoying themselves, making crude observations about her breasts, about how frightened she is, laughing at her out loud, with no shred of empathy.
Eventually, though, one of them, in long white waders, climbs into the tank and (not without taking his chance to play with her breasts, push fingers into her mouth and sex, to make it clear that he can do as he wishes with her), fits a mask over her face, carefully adjusting it, making sure the seals are tight. Tubes from the mask deliver blessed air, but the section over her eyes is all but opaque, so that she was at once calmed and made fearful again. The tank is filled deeper then, until she is entirely covered by water, and then more still. She was held, underwater, her body still feeling fiery as it warms through, her legs spread wide, her hands crossed up behind her back, her face masked, so that she is blind, air provided her through the mask.
They tighten the chains then, a little, spreading her legs just a little wider, pulling her wrists painfully up behind her, setting the chain to her collar so that her neck is perfectly horizontal.
And then, for all Jennifer could tell, they had left.
Left her there, immobilised, chained underwater— water which always felt just cooler than she would like, but was never cold, in a deserted shed, blindfolded, all sound muffled by the water.
