The begining of Sabby

This story was writted...by me and a friend of mine..When my
curiosity first got the better of me...I have been looking
for a place to share it with people that share the same interests..
I really hope that anyone who reads this ...enjoys it like I
did when it was written..enjoy..

I have been knowing you for some time now, slave Sabby.

And your behaviour has greatly improved.

Your work has been observed as well as you leisure activities. It has been
observed for some time now and has been judged optimal given your
capacities.

It is therefore my duty, as your master, to congratulate you.

It is also my duty, as your master to inform you about how you got to this
level of obedience.You must know now, slave Sabby that I was allowed by
authorities you have no business trying to fathom or understand, that you were
not always so docile.

You will now know how bad you were, how you were tamed, and why it was
necessary to make you forget about your shameful past.

You were discovered a year ago. A rich heiress and owner of a dancing club in
an undisclosed city, you used to wear balck shiny latex tops and leather mini
skirts that were so tight, people used to say it was as though your body had
been dipped in black ink.

Many men were at your feet, waiting in the darkness of your dancing club to
get a glimpse of your sculptural beauty, and then going back to their
loneliness, fantasysing in masturbatory extremes about the memory of your
leather-clad sexual aura.

That had to stop.

It was decided that resourceful men were wasting their lives waiting
hopelessly for your disdainful glances, and that you needed to be trained to the
rightful place of your kind, trained to the acceptable and modest behaviour of a
slave.

This is how it was done.

We ordered trained men whose function it was to brake your spirit by the
power of physical pain.

They captured you as you were closing your dancing club well after the
streets were deserted.

You defended yourself bravely but hopelessly, you got away and ran but they
ran after you in the middle of the streets. Your knee-high boots were making you
a slower prey and the echoes of your steps died down in the deserted alley where
you were catched by five men with whips and a net.

You were tied up. Your feet were first tied together with your hands, and you
were then attached to a pole so that it would be easy to carry you. The men
laughed at you and were letting your back hit the ground on purpose. You were
throwed in the back of a powerful pick up truck and made to fear for your life
as the men were driving with their lights out at neck braking speed on the empty
highway. Drinking heavily and laughing at you, dosing you with beer that dried
on your face.

You passed out, exhausted.

When you woke up, you were wearing a leather dog collar around your neck and
were chained to the wall.

Barefoot and totally naked, as a circus animal, you were covered with dirt
and axel grease. It had been decided that your behavioral training into
submission would be done in a Harley-Davidson motorcycle repair shop.

By the time you read this, a signal will have been sent to the microchip in
your brain that controls your memory of these events. And you will be allowed to
relive you training into slavery, as it happened.

Can you see the vast repair shop? Can you smell the heavy exhaust fumes?

Good girl. The microchip in your brain is now activating your memory of these
events.

A leather clad, hairy man is undoing the lock that ties your heavy neck chain
to the wall.

He is the Master Torturer. And comes from a great tradition of torturers that
go back to the middle ages.

This is when you discover that your ankles and hands are wearing
leather belts with big metal rings that hit the pavement as you walk. The floor
is slippery with motor grease and you step into a cold pond of the compound that
slides between your toes. The leather clad man yanks your chain so hard that you
fear your neck is going to snap as you lose your balance and fall on the cold
black engine grease that covers the cement floor. You are not being allowed to
stand up and you are dragged by the man on the floor as you try hopelessly
to get back on your feet. You scream on top of your lungs but only a
distant laughter echoes your pleas for mercy. As you are dragged inside a
special room, you see the five men that captured you sitting everywhere,
drinking beer and smoking, waiting for the spectacle to commence.

The spectacle of your torture into submission.

Your hands and ankles bracelets are solidly locked to a cold and large
metal table. Your skin hits the cold surface and you fight as hard as you can to
deliver yourself from the leather bracelets.

There is some grease on your fingers that you picked up when you fell, and
you try to slide some of that grease between your wrists and the bracelets. The
five men and the torturer laugh heartily.

You are totally naked, you cannot move, you hands are locked high above your
head and the bracelets are touching. Your feet are also locked to the metal
table and you are expecting the worse. They fortunatly do not have access
to your genital area since your legs are close together. And this is the only
aspect of this experience you can be thankful for.

As you breathe heavily, your breasts move with your chest. And the men become
silent.

Then the Master Torturer moves towards a control pannel with switches,
buttons and lights. He looks at you, a large smile breaks his bearded face, and
he presses a button on the control panel. An electric motor located under the
metal table starts running loudly. The sound is high pitched and pierces your
eardrums. Suddenly you feel something happening to the table under you.

The table is separating in the middle! You feel the two halves moving slowly
apart and away from each other...

One half of the table is locked to your left wrist and left ankle, and the
other half is locked to your right wrist and right ankle. That table is in fact
two pieces of metal spreading your legs and your arms apart.

And the men are no longer silent! They cheer and drink and laugh because they
know something you don't know yet.

They know what is going to happen to you, and it IS going to happen to
you!

You now feel the cold air between your legs and your genital flower is
uncontrolably spreading its two humid petals, letting the cold air a little bit
more inside you with every centimeter the two pieces of metal spread your ankle
braclets apart.

And that deafening noise! You tell yourself with so much greases
and lubricants around they could have at least done something to that huge
electric motor rotating furiously under you, sending waves of vibrating air
between your buttocks and on your constricted anus.

Your body is now totally exposed. All those men position themselves to get a
good hard look at your genitals, at your breasts and your armpits as you
vigourously fight in vain against being offered in such a way in spectacle. One
of them gets close to you and locks your dog collar to a metal bar slided under
your neck. Another one is fastening a large metal chain around your waist, and
you can feel the weight of each cold link on your belly. Any little movement is
now restrained and you are totally vulnerable to any cut or burn these madmen
decide to inflict upon your flesh.

Not only are you incapable of any movement whatsoever, they decide to wrap
your legs with more chains and you can feel their weight as they surround the
skin of your calves and tighs.

Then the master torturer looks at your naked torso with a smirk....

He fetches a huge bag under you...filled with hardware.

And you can feel his breath on you as he pulls out a metallic device from the
bag.

It is some sort of an ajustable tiny vise. And he adjusts it on one of
your nipples. Then he proceeds to tighten it and you can feel the small metal
jaws slowly biting you more and more. Your nipple is at the threshold of pain as
he lets the little vise rest heavily on your breast. Holding your nipple
as a metal insect. For your other nipple, an other little vise is adjusted,
pinching you even tighter than the previous one....

Then you notice the rings...each little vise that bites your nipples has a
metal ring attached to it...

The Master Torturer looks at you, and then pulls out of his bag a long and
thin metal chain...then he proceeds to make the little chain go through the
rings of the vises...the links of the little chain go through the ring of your
left breast with a metallic sound, then through the ring of your right
breast... and finally to another chain, much bigger this one, hanging from
above.

The triangle that the chain makes above your breasts is another way their
sick minds found to totally bound you into immobilty. Because you know that if
you move your torso, the chain will pull on the vises that pinch your nipples.
Then the Master Torturer starts laughing as he runs towards the control panel
and flips a switch. Another huge corroded motor starts rotating above you and
sends pieces of rust on your chest.

The function of this motor is to slowly but powerfully pull the big chain
above you unpwards...and the little chains attached to your breasts with
it...

Your nipples are gradually lifted by the vises and your breasts are now
pulled towards the ceiling. Taking the shape of grotesque cones. Just as you
start feeling the pain of this horrible procedure done unto you...

the chain stops it's ascension. The motor is left running and the gear
is on neutral position. But with the rust flying off you realise that this is a
very dangerous situation as the gear might fall out of the neutral position and
into first gear again...pulling your breasts higher into unbearable pain....

You were so totally focused on your breasts that you forgot about the other
men.

They are now adjusting the same appartus on your small genital lips that the
master torturer installed on your breasts. Except for the fact that these vises
are not pulling upwards...they are pulling your small lips unmercifully, and
opening you to uncivilised invasion..

With all the motors running, threatening to tear your body apart at any
moment, you start thinking that this is the worse that could be done onto you.

The men effectively start leaving the room....Except for the Master
Torturer...

He is no longer smiling...and you start seeing the evil in his eyes as he
looks at you...

He goes behind the control panel again and this time begins a complex
programming of some still hidden contraption... A gasoline smell fills the
room....A deafening engine starts to roar mightily...No longer electric...You
recognise that sound right away...It makes the air and your whole body
vibrate...There was a Harley -Davidson motorcycle hanging above you in the
dark... It is hung by a precision crane...you soon find out why as it is lowered
closer to you....

The huge pistons are beating the metal carcass and a grey cloud comes out of
the chrome exhaust pipes...

The pre programmed precision crane is moving the huge motorcycle closer to
your legs so indecently spread apart...and you star feeling the footstand...the
thick rubber coated footstand being slowly inserted inside your vagina as the
double cycle engine is imposing enormous vibrations inside you, through the
footstand.

And as the chromed metal chassis starts resting on your clitoris still
heavily vibrating with the Harley-Davidson now at full throttle...The Master
Torturer leaves the room. Leaving you alone to face your doom.

I do not know, slave Sabby, how long you were in the hands of these men.

I know it was necessary to insert a microchip inside you to make you forget
the pain.

It was my duty to inform you, and I did.

Now you can keep on improving while knowing that any behavioral disgression
will be delt with swiftly and unmercifully.

Carry on, girl.

Your Master.