The Adult Story Hub

This work Copyright (C) 2000, by Caitlain McCarren. I reserve all rights of distribution not otherwise expressly granted herein. Should you like my works and wish to add my story to your collection, you are at liberty to do so for personal use as proscribed by the Berne Convention and U. S. Copyright law pertaining to fair use. In addition, electronic distribution is allowed through BBS or the Internet as long as the text retains my by-line, copyright data, and signature, and no fee for this transmission is charged or required by the transmitter. Transmission or distribution by all other modes; print, duplication to optical or magnetic media, and such other modes as may be currently or ultimately provided, are expressly forbidden. I, Caitlain McCarren, retain all rights to such transmission. In addition, this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to or association with persons living or dead is coincidental. I describe situations, which without proper care could cause bodily harm or injury. Fiction is best left as such. Don't attempt any of what is described herein without providing utmost care and consideration before the fact. To close, this story, while work of fiction, describes adult situations. If you are not yet of the age of majority, or if accessing, reading, possessing, or distributing material of this nature is illegal in your community; or if such material offends you, I invite you to leave now, before you begin.

I'm strapped to this chair again, as I am everyday at this time. I can't even muster the mental energy to struggle against my bonds. I don't have anywhere to escape to anyway, and I need the energy to endure the humiliation that surely comes each and everyday at this time.
It's an ingenious system Mistress devised motivating me to be the good girl I now know I want to be. Miss Lynn has taken it upon herself to mend my evil ways. My teenage life is fraught with disasters and setbacks and, I admit it, I was bitter. I was a handful all right. I broke my mothers heart again and again. Schoolwork? That was a joke.
All of that has changed now thanks to Miss Lynn. I'm chained to my bed each night at 8:30 PM. No more nightlife for me. I'm unchained from my bed each morning at 4:00 AM. I'm allowed an hour to rise, shower, groom, and dress. Then I make my way to the kitchen where I chain myself to the bakery station. There I don an apron, then mix and knead dough for 25 loaves of bread. Miss Lynn has a weakness for fresh baked hot buttered bread and at 8:00 AM sharp each day she invariably cuts open one of the last loaves to come from the oven.
The rest of the loaves are packaged and gathered for distribution to houses around the neighborhood and to the soup kitchen a block away. Two of Mistress's other girls do that chore. For the most part I'm not allowed to leave this house, accept on rare occasions for doctors visits or yard work. I dare say that if Mistress had her way I would never see light of day.
I remove the last loaves from the oven and set them out on the racks to cool, remove my apron and hang it on the peg, then reach under the bakery counter and retrieve the foot stocks. I move to the bay window overlooking the garden, center the stocks between, and remove the manacles from within. Then, as the good little scullery slave I am, I step in, close, latch, and lock the foot stocks. I pull up the manacles attached to the stocks by a chain, clasp, latch and lock them. I stand, due to the length of chain, in a slight squat with my knees unlocked, a position Mistress finds better for my posture than hunched over and head down. After a few minutes, it seems an eternity to me, the other girls tumble down the stairs in dress and discipline collars and quietly snigger at me, the new girl in the bay window, as they gather the bread and go. Mistress released them for their deliveries.
A few moments latter, Mistress steps down the stairs. She is always impeccably dressed. Her ability to create something new each day amazes me. Her ability to keep clean and fresh is in a strange way unnatural, perhaps supernatural, or so it seems to me. She calls that poise. She says she has hope of cultivating some of it within me. I now try, but still, I have my doubts.
Mistress enters the room and moves straight to the bread on the butcherblock table, cutting it with the knife retrieved from the slot in the side. She opens the tub of sweet cream butter brought from the dairy in exchange for some of the bread I make each day. With a spreader retrieved from the same slot in the butcher block she liberally coats two pieces of bread and rolls her eyes at the first taste of bread and butter. "Darling, I love you for this bread alone, but tell me, what good things have you done over the last day." At this she comes to me and releases the discipline collar around my neck, a signal that I'm to speak freely to the questions she asks.
I am given, and except, the opportunity to tell her of all the ways I tried to please her and to conduct myself in a way she finds acceptable and appropriate. I tell her of the difficult social situations I experienced, what I did to handle them, and note any special advances I made attempting to comply with goals she set for me. She takes the time to congratulate me when I handled myself well, discusses how I might handle myself better in some situations, and tells me when I'm wrong handling other situations I had counted in my plus column, letting me know how others handle it much more successfully.
"Now dear, tell me what went badly over the last day." Here, I'm required to recite all the instances where my interpersonal relations ended less than optimally. We discuss where I went wrong and how to handle it better next time. Based on this information she fills out a Pleasure or Pain Card gauging my demeanor over the last day. Upon it is scribed a rating of her sense of the progress I've made over the last day toward becoming a proper young lady. The report encompasses my demeanor, poise and deportment. The higher the rating the better for me. This is sealed in an envelope.
Mistress makes one a day but everyone of authority in the house, though it is not required, is allowed to make one daily too.
These reports, Pleasure or Pain Cards, are deposited in a container with others that have accumulated. My container is a plastic bucket stored within a locked drawer at the bakery station. Two locks prevent tampering. The key for one is on her key ring. The key for the other rides on a chain around my neck, a chain I never remove except when she opens the drawer. Should a lot of reports be submitted and the bucket fill unduly, she embargoes submissions until I work through a enough to require additional submissions.
Everyday, after inserting the new submissions, Mistress requires that I make a random selection from a random population of these reports and puts the bucket away in the drawer locking it with both keys and returning mine to my neck. I'm further required to carry that card until I can submit it to her 5 hours latter. After our discussion she replaces the discipline collar and I go mute until the next discussion. The collar zaps me should I attempt to speak.
She then releases me to the classroom. There I'm distracted by the card, but must pay attention to my lessons lest I receive another bad report. Then through lunch where I'm thinking of my diet. I must lose 2 pounds a week, according to the nurse, until I weigh what the old actuarial table says is the low limit for women of my height. I received a good report for losing two or three pounds a week. I'd have received a bad report for losing more or less than that.
I received a good report for cleaning my room and keeping it orderly. I received a good report for applying my make-up correctly each morning. I received a good report for wearing high-heels during the day instead of the standard low heels. The instructor gave me a good report for the A+ I earned on my Composition test. I received a good report for paying attention in class.
I'd had a good day, but at 1:00 PM it ended and the tutor released us to our rooms. I lay the card on my bed, undressed, hung or folded my clothes, removed and hung my shoes on the tree. I stepped into the six inch heels, locked them on with the small padlocks and walked to the middle of the room, taking the report with me, where I shackled myself to the eye-bolt in the floor. I waited for Miss Lynn. She didn't make me wait long.
"Well dear, I hear you had a good day?" she asked. I nodded my acknowledgment. I had hope she would ignore the report I had in hand and reward me. While she can do this in extraordinary circumstances, she doesn't always. "I appreciate your efforts to please me and get along with your peers. Do you have your report?" I held it out to her, my hope dashed. She took it and set it aside. She retrieved the chair in which I now sit. She pushed me down over it's back. She inserted my anal plug and applied the butterfly stimulator. She wrapped my chastity belt about me and locked it all in place.
She tugged back on my shoulders to right me and I stood. She turned the chair toward me and invited me to sit. She strapped me in then opened the letter, hiding it from my sight. She looked to me and without giving away a thing said, "While I could just rewarded you it contravenes this system we devised to motivate you to do well at all times, and not just to please us when you need release. Let this assure you that we are looking after your long-term submission and will not be swayed by temporary submissive behavior." She left to prepare, leaving me wondering which way it goes.
The deal is this. The duration of what comes is decided by the number of reports you have had in a row. If today is a good report and yesterdays was a bad report, two hours of pain. If today's is bad as was yesterday's then four hours of pain is proscribed. If this is the third day in a row of bad reports then six hours duration is required of you. Four days in a row means eight hours. Bedtime is postponed until your have served your full duration. At one time Mistress had to postpone my release to my chores in the morning.
Though marginally more bearable than pain, pleasures are no less humiliating. I can't imagine sixteen hours of multi- orgasmic bliss but at this rate of change of behavior it is entirely possible I could know what it's like, and soon.
So, here I am waiting, wondering, remembering. When I first arrived I made it obvious I didn't want to be here. I fought my bonds and refused to obey the rules. I thought that if I made enough trouble they would simply be rid of me. Not so, as I was told repeatedly. Miss Lynn said there was nowhere to go, none would have me, and I was too young to be by myself, but too old for juvenile detentions. The reason I was here was because my mother had given me over to her care and mother didn't want me back unless I learned to behave properly. I didn't believe her. I didn't believe her until I heard the words from mother's mouth. I felt betrayed and for a short time I fought all that much harder. However, Miss Lynn was relentless. She gave no quarter. She personally punished every slur and insult, every instance of insubmission, disobedience, or non-compliance. She wore me out, culminating in that eighteen hour punishment.
After that I began actually trying to be good. It took a while. I'd forgotten how. Though I'd try, at first I'd always do something to mess up. Miss Lynn, while acknowledging my efforts to do better, none the less punished, through pain, ignominy, and humiliations, each of the despicable acts that brought shame to me.
Eventually, as I became better, more pliable, more willing to do good, Miss Lynn started listening to me and she heard me complain that all she did was punish me for doing bad. When I asked what was the reward for doing good, she had no answer. It took a month but she tried this system on the other girls. They liked it. It was effective so she liked it. When they tried it on me I was hooked with the first orgasm. After that I wanted to be good all the time.
The collar was designed specifically with me in mind. It senses when you speak. It shocks you when you do. The louder the voice the nastier the shock. It doesn't prevent you from speaking, but it puts a high cost to it. After it was locked on at full power I instantly stopped back talking my superiors. It has been turned down quite a bit now, but the first time I slip it is set back to full power, as has been done on two occasions now.
Because I won't back talk my superiors there is nothing left but to decide I'll do or not what has been assigned. If I refuse, then they work on me until I comply. It has streamlined the process of assuring submission, obedience, and immediate compliance on my part.
"Darling, are you leaving a wet spot on your chair?" asked Miss Lynn, shaking me out of my daydream. I nodded. "What has you so hot?"
Quietly, I whisper, "My memories, Mistress."
"I see," was her reply. She brought the chains up from the dungeon, sign of a pain punishment, though not always. I've no say as she claps them on and locks them. She releases the straps and motions at me to stand. I do and she finishes binding the chains around my waist. Grabbing the ring at the front she guides me down the stairs to the dungeon. Upon arriving she passes a bar behind my back and between the crooks of my elbows drawing them back and drawing my hands and wrists to my stomach. A bungy-cord is attached to the bar from the ceiling pulling the bar up and my arms too.
"The butterfly at your hips is set to operate for about two, two and a half minutes every fifteen. Where in that fifteen minutes is randomly selected. It is possible that it may chose to pick up at the beginning of a period that just ended resulting in as much as five minutes of stimulation. In addition, the collar is set to activate and provide a low voltage forty second shock every fifteen minutes. The two periods do not necessarily coincide. The girls behind you will look after you. Enjoy."

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