Willow Chapter 8 The Wall
It was called the Rose House for a good reason. There were extensive rose gardens all around the house. Each had a theme and a purpose. The front was a cheerful series of terraced beds that welcomed and comforted those arriving. It was, as it were, the public face of Rose house. The two along the sides of the house were exotic in variety of plants and how they were presented. They were outdoor, long-term experiments in design and presentation.
The back courtyard and garden of the house was different. This was where the master of the house spent most of his time and this garden was much larger. Roses dominated, but other
Varieties of plants were also present. However the garden did have a theme. Almost every plant had thorns.
The back garden had a number of fountains, alcoves and structures that were almost secret places unto themselves. They were decorated in different styles and nicely landscaped. But unlike most gardens where such places were quiet retreats to think or read, these were retreats into darkness.
Willow was kneeling on a marble bench. She was not bound but was wearing a head harness with a penis gag. Page had given her very specific instructions about how she was to comport herself. Willow was not to get off the bench or make a sound unless she felt Page was in physical danger of harm or death. She was to watch and to learn. Willow was not sure what she was supposed to learn, but she would try.
She had been kneeling for more than an hour and her knees were hurting. She might have thought to complain, but the gag prevented her from speaking. Also her sore knees were nothing compared to what she was witnessing.
Lord Blackmon had made billions in the high-tech industry. He was a genius with a “Double E,” (a degree in electrical engineering). However that was not his only talent or interest. He also loved things mechanical, especially primitive machines. He could stare at a windmill or waterwheel for hours thinking about how it had been made or what the earlier versions of those machines must have looked like.
When he was given Carol and Page, he had turned his whimsy in a much darker direction. He set out to devise a series of devices that would allow him to confine, stimulate, or torture his slaves without one wire, motor or battery. Much of what was found in the back garden was devoted to those activities.
Page had opened the first envelope in the box Lord Blackmon had sent from New Zealand. It had specified that Page was to ride The Wall until released. It specified that Willow would be her safety but that she was not to interfere unless necessary to protect Page’s life. The Wall was painful, but not deadly. Page was not surprised. Lord Blackmon was very proud of The Wall.
Willow watched as Page began to be stretched upwards again. Willow could see that Page was covered in sweat and that her beautiful ass clenched and unclenched with exertion. She could hear Page moan and then yelp with pain. In the background Willow could hear the deep rumble of water falling into the metal tub.
The Wall was just a brick wall about twelve feet high and framed by heavy, rough sawn beams. The bricks had been recovered and reused from an old schoolhouse in the goldmine area of Northern California. They were weathered, rough, and not uniform in size and had been laid with a very slight curve outward from bottom to top.
Page’s hands were cuffed with leather cuffs connected together by a chain twelve inches long. Her feet were cuffed to a spreader bar eighteen inches wide. She was, of course, naked except for long leather opera gloves and a leather hood. She was standing against and facing the brick wall. The chain between her hands was connected to a rope that went up the wall to a pulley.
Blackmon had been inspired by a device used to wash camera film. The device was a tank that was slowly filled from a faucet. When the water reached near the top, a syphon pipe would empty the tank, flushing the tank clean and allowing the cycle to begin again.
In Blackmon’s version the tank was much bigger. Water from a copper pipe slowly filled a beautiful copper tub. The tub was suspended by a rope and pulleys, the same rope that was attached to Page’s hands. A cubic meter of water weighs about a ton, more than enough force to pull a person off the ground. A metal ring and stop prevent them from coming off the ground more than two feet.
As the water filled the copper tub, Page’s hands were slowly pulled upwards. As more water collected in the tub, Page was slowly pulled up off the ground and up the brick wall. The point of most frequent contact was her breasts and nipples, but it also touched her stomach, hips and knees. The brick scrapped and scratched her sensitive skin. Page screamed and rocked back and forth, trying to “walk” her tits up the wall. She also tried to get some purchase with her feet. As the rope hit the stop ring, all of Pages weight was on her hands. Now any movement added to her discomfort.
Page hung there whimpering. This was the ninth trip up the wall in the hour she had been there. The pressure on her joints was like being on a rack that was tightened then loosened repeatedly. Her head, covered in the leather hood to protect her face from scratches, hung back with exhaustion.
Her skin was not torn, the lube she had covered herself with before beginning had prevented serious damage. But The Wall made her skin feel like she was getting a very slow and severe case of road rash in some very delicate places. The pressure on her raw nipples as she hung there was agony.
After a few minutes the water in the copper tub got to the top of the syphon. The water began rushing out twice as fast as it was going in. Soon Page started her journey back down the wall. This was just a painful as going up as her skin was being scrapped in the opposite direction. When her feet reached the ground, she could finally get some relief by pushing off the wall with her elbows, which were protected by the calf skin opera gloves. But despite being no longer under tension, her body was still forced against the wall. The “ground” was really a board twelve inches wide sloped inward.
She looked up to examine the timer. It, like everything else about this torture device, did not rely upon electronics. The rope connected to her hands was connected in turn to a rope frozen in a large chunk of ice held in a metal shell. When the ice melted, the rope would release and Page could retrieve the keys to the locks on her cuffs, (they were hanging on a brass hook at the end of The Wall) and free herself. In the meantime the dripping water provided both a few drops to drink and an annoying dripping on her hood, back and shoulders. Once before when she was riding The Wall, the rope had released while she was suspended. That had been very bad.
The timer served a number of purposes. One was that The Wall and other forms of restraint could be used without another person being there to release the slave. It also kept the slaves from influencing how long a punishment or torture would last. No amount of begging or screaming could make the ice melt faster. There was also the uncertainty of the time. How long the ice took to melt depended on the surrounding temperature and how the rope had frozen in the device.
When Lord Blackmon built The Wall, he had done a number of test runs. That was how they learned that the lube, hood and gloves were good ideas. After the first long test run, Carol’s skinned up tits and elbows took three weeks to heal. He had asked her what is was like and Carol had described it as being very slowly whipped by a sandpaper flogger. Page once had ridden The Wall right after being flogged and caned. She had ridden it facing out with her whipped back and ass against the brick. It had been a long journey of pain.
Just as Page felt the tension begin lifting her hands again, the timer rope pulled free. It was over. She rested for a minute with her head against the brick.
Page had to shuffle over to the end of The Wall, scrapping her breasts sideways as she went, to retrieve the key. After a few moments of awkward struggle she managed to free her hands and feet. She stepped away from wall, took off the hood and gloves, then walked slowly over to where Willow was kneeling. Page then lowered herself and knelt, face to the ground and arms extended.
Willow did not know what to do. She watched as Page remained like that for some minutes. The whole scene had been shocking. Watching Page dragged up and down the wall, screaming at times, had been horrible. But what now?
After a several minutes, Page sat back on her heals and looked Willow in the eye. Willow could see that Page had been sobbing, tears still running down her face. She could also see Page’s breasts, normally flawless and beautiful, were now red and angry from the abuse. Vertical red lines were scored into the skin and one small trickle of blood wept from a deep scratch on her left nipple. Her stomach, hips and knees were also scrapped raw.
But as Willow watched, Page composed her face and posture. She then said something that shocked Willow more than the recent scene of torture.
“Thank you my lord for giving this slave a chance to serve again.”
Willow had no doubt about Page’s deep sincerity.
Page unfastened Willow’s harness gag and removed it. Willow worked her jaw and swallowed as she adjusted to not having the rubber dick in her mouth. She then opened her mouth to ask Page a question, but Page put her finger to her lips indicating that it was not yet time to talk.
Page then spoke, her voice rough from the screaming just a few moments before.
“Slave, there is one more task to complete. Follow me, do exactly what I tell you and don’t speak.”
Page took Willow’s hand and led her over to the area near the French doors that led into the house. Willow had noticed before the heavy post about eight feet tall. There was a smooth curved channel at the top where a rope ran from the back to the front. In the back was a hand cranked winch and in the front the rope ended with manacles.
Page stepped back to the post and secured the manacles on her own wrists.
“Slave, go behind the post and crank the wench until my arms are high over my head, but no further.”
Willow stepped around and did as she was instructed. When she stepped back to the front, she could see Page standing tall with her arms up, but she was not in a strain.
“Look over on the table. You will find a bucket, a brush and a bottle of soap. Bring everything over here and fill the bucket half way with water. Pour about half the bottle of the disinfecting soap in the bucket. .”
Willow moved quickly to comply with her.
“Slave, there is a chance that I could get an infection from the marks you see. There may even be very small pieces of brick, mortar or dirt in the scratches. That would almost guarantee infection. Your job is to scrub my wounds with the soap and brush. The brush is stiff because the objective is to make any open scratch bleed. That will carry away any infection. You must scrub me for no less than ten minutes. The soap has iodine in it to help kill any germs. It does not matter how it feels to me, make sure I am clean. It does not matter how much a scream, make sure to do a thorough job. The time does not start until I am covered in the soap. Watch the clock through the window to make sure you scrub for at least ten minutes. Do not fail me. Begin.”
It took more than thirty minutes to soap, scrub and rinse Page. Willow wept the whole time.
That evening Page wore cotton pajama pants and top and Willow could smell the odor of a first aid cream. That did not mean Willow had the evening off from training.
Willow spent three hours walking, sitting, standing, and turning around the great room under Page’s keen eye and very keen switch. Any mistake and Willow got a stripe across her back, ass, stomach or tits. Page wanted each move to flow into the next. She demanded that Willow pay attention to her presentation no matter the movement. The simple action of rising from a chair, lifting an arm or smiling was repeated over and over again until it was right. Then a series of movements was given and each had to be right or the whole sequence was repeated, sometimes with painful encouragements.
Finally Page sat down in her chair and pulled out the kneeling pad that would allow Willow to talk more freely. Willow moved into position and waited.
“Slave, you did well today. You have done very well for one new to this way of life. You have worked hard at your exercises and lessons. You followed my instructions today even if it was hard for you. I have a mind to reward you, but want to talk before we get to that. Have you any questions?”
Willow could feel a tension in Page’s posture and voice. There was danger her but she did not know what. She was on the kneeling pad, didn’t that protect her? She decided to be careful.
“Ma’am, are you ok?”
Page smiled. “Yes, I am all right.”
“Ma’am, did you know what was going to happen?”
“Yes, I have ridden The Wall before, six times in fact. I have seen others ride it too. Some were not as bad as today, others much worse. There is a master in the area near here that is very cruel. Lord Blackmon had told him of The Wall and the other master wanted to see it work. We, myself and the other slave that was here, had been for a ride recently and Lord Blackmon was reluctant to further,…damage us. The other master brought his own slave. But instead of using cuffs and tying the rope to her hands, he tied her hands behind her back and used a very loose noose around her neck. The water was turned on high so there was less time between cycles. When the ice timer released, she collapsed unconscious and bloody. I was told later that she did survive that day. She was killed just a few months later, but that is another story.”
“Ma’am, I am sorry I hurt you when I used the brush and stuff.”
“Slave, you are wrong.”
“Ma’am, you screamed when I put the soap on you! And you were crying the whole time I was scrubbing your scraps!”
“Yes, that disinfecting soap does burn, and the brushing is painful. That is not what I mean about you being wrong. We, you and me, are slaves. Our world is one of discomfort, humiliation and pain. It is not constant. There are other things, good things some times, and there are also stretches of dull boredom. But know this; pain will happen again, maybe not as bad, maybe much worse. It is hurt that we try to avoid.”
“Ma’am, I don’t understand. Pain is hurt.”
“Slave, you did not hurt me. You helped me. You kept me from infection and illness and maybe even death. You did not hurt me when you caused me pain. Pain passes. Hurt abides, sometimes forever.”
“What else did you learn Slave?”
Willow was startled to remember Page’s instructions about staying quiet and learning. For the most part she had watched horrified. What could she learn from that?
“Ma’am, I…I am not sure. Why did our lord want you to do that? Was he punishing you?”
“No, he was not punishing me. As to why he wanted me to…do that, I am not sure you can yet understand. That lesson is not yet complete. You will understand later, but not yet.
“Instead, I would like for you to rephrase your last question.”
Page just looked at her. Willow realized that this was the place of danger. Page had made her watch because she wanted Willow to learn something. She did not want to fail. Failure would mean a punishment. But even more, she did not want to let Page down. She wanted her suffering to mean something!
What did her trainer want from her?
She closed her eyes and began to replay the whole conversation, and then the rest of the day. She remembered the moans of pain and the sight of her scraping up that wall. What did all of that mean? What purpose…
Then Willow’s eyes popped open.
She muttered “what is the purpose…”
“What was that you said Slave?”
“Ma’am, I meant to ask how did your trial today serve the purpose?”
Page smiled. “That is the proper question. Everything is to serve the purpose.
“Now, follow me.”
Page rose from the chair and walked towards the master’s side of the house, an area that Willow had not been in before. They entered the first door to the right. Willow saw she was in a library. There were leather-covered chairs and a leather couch as well as a beautiful rug in the center of the room. The walls were covered with bookshelves filled with books. There was also a very expensive sound system on a side table opposite the door. The rooms had a warm, almost male smell of leather, books and expensive cigars.
“You have earned a reward. I will leave you to yourself for two hours. You can read if that is what you want or listen to music. There is a television in the cabinet in the corner if that is what you prefer. It is up to you. You must report back to me in two hours or else.
“Relax and enjoy.”
After Page left and closed the door, she moved around the unfamiliar room. In this place she was more aware of her nakedness. The feeling of the leather chair on her ass was very sensual. She brushed her nipples past the books and got a jolt of sensation from that. It was very quiet. Her cuffs and collar made a soft metallic sounds and her high heel shoes made a slight brushing noise on the carpet. It was almost like the room was built for intimate, erotic thoughts and feelings. She had inkling that she would be spending a lot of time in this room in the future.
I completed the first task of the game today. It was as I remembered. The Wall is not only a painful ordeal but a terrifying one. The pauses between lifts allowed the terror and anticipation of pain to grow in my mind. Not knowing how long it will last or how many cycles will happen makes it that much worse.
As I write this, I am running a finger down the marks on my right breast. I remember you touching me like that when I completed my first time on your Wall. You poured lotion on me that soothed the pain and gently rubbing it into my sore skin. Then you tit-fucked me. Carol pushed my sore and torn breasts together and you drove your hard cock between them over and over again. When you came, Carol licked my face and chest clean.
I will go to bed tonight thinking that my task was not completed. You did not see me and did not hear me. You did not touch me and you did not fuck me. It was only half done. I feel like I failed you.
Please come home soon. At your command I will ride The Wall again. But next time, we will do it all.
Willow watched a show she had been following before her enslavement, but now found it completely silly. She read small bits of three books, but then just went to the sound system and played music for the rest of her time. She danced a little and was surprised at how she moved. She was stronger and more graceful that she had ever been. She ran her hands down her body and realized how toned she had already become. The flab she had used as social armor was disappearing, replaced by sleek muscle. There was still more to shed but she could tell she was different already. For the first time in her life, she had a waist! She ran her hands over her head and could feel the beginning of stubble coming out. She wondered if she needed to shave her head when she was grooming. She would ask Page.
How was she feeling about this new life? She was still very frightened. So much was new and unknown. Today had been terrifying, she thought. She was just glad it had been Page and not…
All at once, the reality hit her like a striking snake. It would be her. Someday soon she would be ordered to ride The Wall just like Page.
As the time to finish drew near she got more and more nervous about being late. A few minutes before the time was up she walked out of the room and went looking for Page.
She found her in the bedroom they shared, closing a laptop she had been typing on. Willow went to the closet and got her bed and laid it out on the floor,
“Have you come up with an answer to my question?”
“Ma’am, I am not sure but part of the answer is a good slave is one that can endure great pain.”
“For giving a partial answer, you will only get three swats with the paddle.”
Somehow they did not sting Willow as much that night. She now had something to compare them to.