Heavy, f, M, Real Life, Bondage, Domination, Humiliation, Pain, Rape, Sadism, Sex Toys, Non-Consensual
*** Wearing Lena Down
*** By Ioug
*** Inspired by discussions with a real-life Lena, and dedicated to her.
*** 2020-05-14


Lena had slept fitfully again. It was not really getting
better. Sleeping restrained was hard of course, the floor of her cell
was uneven and cold, but this did not bother her as much as in the
early days. It was not the only thing, however. As soon as she woke
up, the pit of fear in her stomach came back and she could not
suppress a shudder of anticipation. What was He going to do with her
today?

She had tried counting how many days or nights it had been but she was
not really sure. She could not write down anything, in her
predicament, but she had found one hard pebble on the floor, during
one of the early nights when sleep was almost impossible. Shifting
herself, she had started engraving little lines near the base of the
strong ring her chain was attached to: the heavy chain that connected
her collar to the wall. For several days she engraved a little line as
soon as she woke up. It was all by touch of course. She could not see
behind her back, and anyway the heavy hood she wore nearly constantly
would have deprived her of any sight.

It has been a long time now. She had lost count. At least three
months, maybe more. The last line she had been able to engrave was
number 27. She used to feel the lines and count them every time before
trying to sleep. Strangely, it had been a comfort to her. She thought
the number of these lines would eventually end. Unfortunately, one
morning she had been found out when her Warden had taken a better look
at her confinement. It had earned her an extra beating that day. In
the evening, when she was brought back to her little cell, the pebble,
her only, pitiful possession was gone and all the lines had been
smoothed away.

Trying to maintain a mental count had been possible for a while, but
as things were becoming harder for her, she was no longer sure of her
total. It was at least ninety now, probably more. She wondered again
what torments were in store for her.

She had to pee, but she had to orient herself first. She put herself
prone, on her stomach and rotated herself on her left side. The
five-point chain in her back did not allow her a lot of leeway, so she
pushed on her elbow while drawing her legs under her. With a practiced
motion and only the faintest jiggling of her chain, she was on her
knees. Pushing on her legs, she could raise herself. Well, not all the
way of course. Her chain was too short. She had a choice: she could
squat and walk small little duck steps, or she could kneel up and
shuffle slowly on her lower legs. Either way her motion was
constrained by the very short length of chain between her ankles.

Her feet had nearly healed from her latest bastinado, so she sat on
her heels and started shuffling. She had to find the bucket. Her
Warden moved it every day. She could not pee on the floor, He would
make her lap it up. It had happened twice. The first time she didn't
know about the bucket. The second time was an accident. She had been
so tired after this whipping. She still remembered the horrible taste.

Soon she found the end of her neck chain. An abrupt tug that strangled
her a little. Then she shuffled left. She found the wall by bumping
into it. She wasn't very sure how long the neck chain was, but she had
tried to measure plenty of times over the last few months. A complete
half circle shuffle from wall to wall with her neck chain taut was a
bit over 30 shuffles. The length of chain between her ankles was
slightly wider the distance between the tips of her pinky and her
thumb. A bit more less the length of her foot. She though it might be
about 20cm. If she remembered her high-school geometry, it meant her
neck chain was 2m long. It felt about right. It was pointless to know
this but it was helping her that she had a measure of, if not control,
at least knowledge over her universe.

Shifting slowly she finally found the bucket, almost beyond her
reach. She was breathing hard. She knelt in front of it and tried to
bring it closer. It was a nasty little game her Warden was playing
with her. She could feel it with her head. Often she could drop her
head in the bucket and pull it that way, but today it was too far.
She could not bite on the rim. Her ring-gag prevented that. She tried
pulling on the handle by wedging it on her gag with her tongue. It
was hard work and she really needed to pee. She had been awake for a
while and she knew she was being monitored. She knew she had to pee
before the Warden arrived, otherwise, if she peed anywhere else during
the day, she'd be punished. She didn't know how long the Warden would
wait before coming, there was no clear pattern. Almost panicking, and
after several attempts, she managed to bring the bucket close
enough. She dunked her head in the bucket and shifted back toward the
ring in the wall. Sometimes the Warden would put heavy stones in the
bucket to make it hard. During one week he had left her previous pee
and shit in it without emptying it. The smell was awful and dragging
the bucket without tipping it was almost impossible. She had somehow
managed until it was more than half-full, and then the Warden,
thankfully, had gotten tired of his little game. Maybe her
urine-and-shit tainted hair had made the game less appealing? Maybe He
had been reprimanded? Who knew? She only ever saw Him and never
anybody else. He didn't seem happy to take the bucket away and empty
it, but maybe she was imagining things. Or hallucinating perhaps.

She could hear steps. Quickly, she sat on the bucket. She emptied her
bladder as fast as she could. She could not get used to the sound of
herself peeing in the bucket. It seemed such a small thing, but it was
a powerful reminder of her helplessness. It was terribly
humiliating. She nearly panicked at the jingle of keys at the lock. He
was unlocking her door! Quick! She mus get into position! She left
the bucket and knelt on the floor, knees widely spread, head and chest
on the floor. A position of abject submission. She had been taught
that on the first day. Every time she was not in position by the time
he had opened the cell, she would receive ten whip strokes. Yesterday
she had overslept. Her back was still smarting from the beating.

"So, the little inmate is up, so to speak…" Her jailer had a gruff,
raspy voice and a sadistic chuckle. He was burly, in his late forties
or early fifties. A military man usually in uniform. Fit and strong,
if a bit heavyset. Of course she could not see Him now, but it was
always Him. She must not say anything, she mentally reminded
herself. She must respond only when asked a direct, unambiguous
question. With a stronger voice He said "Did you get a good night
sleep, 1308?". That was a direct question. "Eeesh Shir!" she said
through the gag. She could not articulate of course. That did not seem
to matter to him. "Where did you learn to speak, 1308? Louder!" He
gave her a quick stroke on her back with a small, nasty implement,
probably his favorite quirt, judging by the sting. "IEESSH SHIR!" she
repeated. "Good. I see you have done your ablutions. Excellent.". He
picked up the bucket and abruptly tipped its content over her back. It
made her fresh whip marks burn. It was not the first time He'd done
that. She tried to contain a small scream, but did not quite succeed.
"The little inmate is unhappy. Well, she sure smells. Let's get this
one off to the shower." She almost sighed. It had been at least a
week, she thought. She was filthy. It probably did not bode well for
the rest of her day, but it wasn't like she had a choice. At least a
shower was good.

He disconnected the chain from the wall, keeping the chain in his fist
like a leash, he pulled on Lena's collar. Almost choking, she rose to
her knees. He disconnected the 5-point chain from her wrist and ankle
shackles. He drew Lena's hands in front, rotated the collar on her
neck and reconnected the chain. He pulled again on the collar chain.
She could now stand up somewhat, but her upper body was at an
angle. At 1m65, She was small but the chain was still too short to
allow her to stand up. He grabbed her by the collar, pulling her head
to the level of his waist. That was how he always led her out of her
cell.

She could not see any of this of course, but she knew the drill. She
could only make pitiful little steps, but she knew she had better keep
up. The chain was making small rattling sounds and her ankles hurt,
as they did everytime he was hurrying her along.

The shower stall was in the room that contained her cell. Only a short
distance. 60 shuffles or so, had she counted. He make her climb into
it. He knelt her down, and kicked her legs open. As always. She was
breathing hard from the pain and the effort. He opened her hood and
removed it. For the first time in days, she could see something.

The familiar room was tiled white from floor to ceiling, like a huge
bathroom. The artificial lighting was harsh and soulless. There was no
window. Various chains and pulleys descended from the ceiling. Many
objects hung on the wall and were placed on shelves. Several
strange-looking, menacing tables with leather straps could also be
seen. There were several cameras. She never saw the inside of her
cell, but she was sure there was a camera there too. She shuddered at
the thought that she had seen the use of most of these items on her
body. There were three cells like hers in the room, but in all her
time here, no one else had ever occupied the others.

He gave her a small bar of soap and turned on the water. It was always
freezing cold but she had learned not to say anything. She lathered
and cleaned herself as well as her chains allowed. He gave her some
shampoo, and after that, a toothbrush. This was not every
time. Cleaning her teeth through the gag was a challenge, but she had
done it before. A toothbrush but no toothpaste. He told her to use
soap. The soap tasted horrible but she did it without
complaining. Finally he gave her a razor. She shaved her armpits, her
legs and of course her bush. It had grown a bit in a week. She could
soon see her tattoed number on her sex. It was an eight-digit number:
4595-1308. He always called her "inmate" or "1308". He was always
"Sir".

Soon she was done. He turned the water back on to remove the soap.
She was not allowed to drink any of the water, but avoiding the cold
jet was hard and with her open jaw, it was impossible not to get any
water in her mouth. She had to spit it out as best she could. At last
he was finished. She was shivering on her knees, in the stall. Never
any towel for her.

He told her to step out of the shower and gave her breakfast. The
usual grey gruel. It was nourishing somehow, but had an unpleasant,
bitter taste. She was always hungry. There was never enough. She knew
she had lost weight. She had to eat it directly from the floor on her
knees. No bowl, no plate. She was forbidden to use her hands. She had
to eat it all. Fortunately the floor was mostly clean, but it had a
detergent and javel taste when she licked it. She was used to it by
now.

During the whole time he said nothing, watching her go through the
motions. At the end he asked, "Does the inmate need to shit?". She
replied quickly. "NOO TSHIR!". "Ok then, time for the questions of
the day". He pushed her head down and put his knee on her back. Her
upper body was on the floor. He was heavy, that was painful. He fished
something from his pocket. Took something from the table. Lena could
not tell what was happening. Something cold came in contact with her
anus. She was startled and started to struggle. He pushed slowly and
relentlessly, working something solid into her ass. A butt plug? She
was used to them but this one was metallic and larger than the others
he'd used before. When it was in, he started turning something. The
butt plug was expanding! Soon it was unbearably painful. She cried and
screamed. The first torture of the day.

Lena was a nobody. She had been hired as a junior clerk in the
Resistance in her country of origin in the 2022 uprising after the
invasion in the east. The 2020 epidemic had caused massive riots
there. She had been kidnapped alone in her apartment in the capital
one night. She was posing as a Law student, but had only just starting
in her position with the Resistance. She only knew a few
names. Quickly she told the interrogation team all she knew. She was
scared, it did not take long. She was fully expecting to go to
prison, surely they would not execute her for what she had done? But
somehow, she ended up here, in this white room. In her cell. With this
Warden.

She was interrogated and many times over again. Sleep deprivation;
food deprivation; sensory deprivation; beatings; waterboarding;
suspensions; whippings; electo-torture. It was a never-ending
torturous nightmare. Strangely her warden had never raped her pussy,
only her mouth and sometimes her ass, but that was just about the only
thing he had not done. She could not touch herself, ever, and He was
clearly not interested in giving her any pleasure.

Every day she told the same story. What else could she do? The same
story over and over and over again. The same few names. Surely they
had checked everything. She was pretty confident that she had been
consistent, but there was no way to be absolutely certain. Surely this
would end? At first she had tried to ask questions, and then he had
fitted her with this gag. It had been on her for months now. What was
he going to do today?

He grabbed her by the collar and frog-marched her to a corner of the
white room. He disconnected her 5-point chain from her shackles again,
and connected the collar to her ankles in the back, but not her
wrists. He handcuffed her wrists together, then pushed her back
against the wall and made her kneel. Unthinkingly, she spread her
legs. There was a ring 30cm above her head. He padlocked her wrist
shackles to it. He produced another object from his pocket. It was a
blue, plastic thing. Like an elongated, thin egg, with a tail. It was
very strange. Lena had never seen this before.

He put her back in the hood. Again, she was in the black. Was He going
to whip her breasts again? The Warden loved doing that. He whispered
to her ear. "A bit of fun today, 1308. You've been with us one hundred
days. Enjoy". He started rubbing her pussy. Shortly, she felt
something she had not felt in months. It was nice. He was doing that
very well. Soon she was wet and was suppressing her moans. She felt
his fingers entering her vagina. "Noo" she said. It was embarrassing.
He ignored her protests and continued to shove the plastic thing in
her pussy. It was cold, but the sensation was weird. Was it vibrating?
She heard a rattling sound. Her Warden wrapped a chain tightly around
her waist, and then drew it between her legs, padlocking it near her
belly button. The egg thing was definitely vibrating in her pussy. She
sensed her Warden taking a step back.

Suddenly the egg was vibrating a lot more. She was barely able to
silence her squeal of surprise. Soon she was trembling. She was
sweating. Her pulse was quickening. She fought as much as she could,
for as long as she could, but she could not hold it. The wave of her
orgasm made her cry with delight. This was the first pleasurable
feeling she had had in, in... What had he said? A hundred days? It
rose and rose and lasted minutes and minutes. Soon she was panting,
hanging from her wrists. She had forgotten how good it felt. This was
so nice. Oh yes.

But the egg was still vibrating. She felt another wave coming up. She
could not believe it. Oh yes yes, yes. And soon another orgasm wracked
her body. And yet another came after just that. And another. She was
trembling uncontrollably from head to toe. It was beginning to be too
much. "Sooop lease" she tried to say through the gag. It earned her a
quick cut from the quirt on her tits. She was not supposed to
talk. That sensation, plus the egg, made her come instantly
again. This time she felt a gush of fluid coming out of her sex and
heard it splash on the tiles. She cried and moaned violently. She
received another strike from the quirt. "So, Inmate 1308 is a
squirter, yes? Interesting!". Lena hung her head in shame. She was
feeling the next orgasm coming. Her vaginal muscles were starting to
cramp. Oh no…

~*~*~
The Warden was smiling. Of course he was recording all this. The
videos had earned his unit quite a bit of money via streaming fees,
but now the war was over, and Lena had disappeared. She was MIA,
presumed KIA. His unit had disbanded. She was His for as long as he
wanted. In a few years, she might make a good profit selling her to a
gang. He was in no hurry.

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