Sharon: Ruthlessly Tortured, Relentlessly Trained, Brutally Broken

Once they were finished with the torture her trainer dragged her into another room. He told her that he wanted to make sure she had no mistake, at all, as to what her only purpose was. Sharon was more than ready to tell him that she’d do whatever he wanted if only she’d never be tortured as she had just been again.

Her pussy and clit were throbbing in pain and she wished her hands weren’t bound behind her back as she really wanted to touch her cunt just to make sure it wasn’t as mutilated as it felt like it was.

Her trainer had assured her that the heat, and pain would leave no lasting damage, after all, he didn’t want to damage the merchandise, but still, she so wished she could check.

Unfortunately, it didn’t matter what a slave wanted, and she was forced to simply take his word for it.

Then, there was no more time to worry about it as the trainer began to fold and then bind her into a small metal frame, hanging from the ceiling.

Her arms were strapped behind her and her legs were folded up with her knees near to her chest and pulled to the side of the frame by thick leather straps. Other straps held her ankles to her thighs, leaving her unable to kick out at anyone, not that she would, at this point.

The entire set up left her exposed and vulnerable to anything, anyone wanted to do.


 A large ring gag strapped into her mouth made it clear what was going to happen. A small whimper escaped her throat as the last thing her now raw cunt wanted was a cock in it, but once again, no one was asking what the slave wanted, and once again it was driven home for Sharon that a slave was exactly what she was.

Her existence became a seemingly never-ending supply of cocks for her to fuck and suck. Any time the fancy struck any of the trainers, they would come in and violate any one of her three holes. Sometimes, violating more than one, or even all three.


Through it all, she did her best to satisfy them in the limited way she was able. Whether it was dutifully and eagerly bobbing her head back and forth when she a cock was forced down her throat or squeezing her cunt or ass when one of their cocks as violating her with their animalistic lust.

The longer it went on the more and more the humiliation piled on top of her. She could hear that quiet voice inside her, screaming in rage at her weak compliance but the pain in her cunt as she was fucked reminded her of the all to recent torture, she had endured and she knew she simply could not endure it again.

She would do anything, no matter how humiliating it was to avoid that.

In fact, the men were so pleased with her new attitude that within a few hours they were comfortable enough with her performance that they actually removed the ring gag so she could suck more thoroughly, and they could instruct, and critique her on her cock sucking technique.

She did so, with all the energy and eagerness she could muster.

Anything, anything to avoid what she’d been through. She would fuck them, she would suck their cocks and squeeze them with her cunt and ass all day, every day, as long as they didn’t use that dreaded paste and electricity on her once again.

There was almost nothing she could think of that she would refuse them at this point.

Of course, that resolve was tested when one of the men was fucking her ass, then turned her around so she could clean him with her mouth.

She hesitated, only for a moment, and from somewhere deep inside her, a snort escaped. It was a small glimmer of the proud woman she was. A proud woman that completely balked at the very idea of sucking a cock in that condition.

The man simply rubbed her face with his cock as he wondered, aloud, if she had so soon forgotten how, persuasive, they could be when necessary.

The threat was said with deadly ice in his voice and was as clear as anything she’d ever heard. Instantly, her whole body shuddered, and her cunt reflexively clenched with the fear. A heartbeat later and her mouth was open wide as she desperately sucked his cock into her mouth and began sucking and cleaning it with the same panicked a desperate enthusiasm, she’d been demonstrating these last few hours.

The man grunted his approval and took great enjoyment and pleasure in fucking her ass for a few moments, then turning her to use her mouth, before once again going back to her well used and sore ass.


This was what she was now, he told her, and she’d better learn that little breaks in her discipline like that would not be tolerated for much longer. Her only goal was to obey, and that obedience had to be more instinctive in her than breathing.

He pulled her off his cock and forced her to look in his eye as he told her that her training would continue, using all means necessary, until that benchmark was achieved.

She could only nod her head, remaining silent, however, as some instinct told her that to speak now, without permission, would not go well for her.

Instead, she simply lowered her eyes, in a clear act of submission, hoping the message was clear.

The trainer seemed satisfied and left.

A few hours later Sharon was finally returned to her cell. Back in the bondage gear, she’d started this day in she knew that things had drastically changed.

Again, she could almost hear two voices in her head, both sounded like her, but their arguments, and intentions were very opposite.

The first sounded like her old self. It was the one that seemed to grow dimmer throughout the day, but now, as she rested, seemed to be getting stronger. It told her that she had survived, and that meant she could beat them, she just had to keep fighting.

She almost balked at that, the feeling of her raw cunt, ‘PUSSY!!’ the voice screamed in her head, ‘cunt is what they told you to call it. A way to demean you, but you don’t have to comply.’

Sharon shook her head, unsure.

The other voice did nothing to help her confidence. It also sounded like her, but there was no fire in the voice, it was exactly as she imagined she would sound like if these men accomplished their goals. Broken, defeated, and compliant.

It reminded her that she was, in fact, a piece of property. It reminded her that she, herself, had acknowledged that fact. It was obvious that these men were good at what they did and that they had done it all before.

It was illogical to think that she would succeed and escape, when others, just like her, had not. She was not special, she was no better than every woman that had come through this place before her. Fighting would get her nothing. Or rather it would get her something, just nothing she wanted.

The torture she had endured had lasted a few short hours. What if they did it for a whole day or a whole week? How long could she really endure? How much suffering was she willing to endure before she accepted what she had already acknowledged.

She was a slave. An ‘it’ as one of them had told her.

She had a clear purpose here. To please, to obey, and to serve. Why would she try to fight that with pointless resistance?

Especially when she knew they had every means at their disposal to accomplish their goals.

As the lights went out and she lay upon the small, uncomfortable mattress in her cell, a mattress that was surprisingly comfortable this time, the two voices continued to argue amongst themselves.

As sleep came to claim her, Sharon couldn’t help but notice that the longer the argument went on, her voice of resistance offered less and less to inspire her fight.

That troublesome thought chased her into the oblivion of sleep.


What Sharon didn’t know, what she couldn’t possibly know, is it these men were experts in what they did, in ways that she could not imagine. They were experts in the psychological makeup of women, and anyone of them would’ve had  practical knowledge equal to any Ph.D. in any hospital in the world.

Their knowledge had come from the training and breaking of dozens and dozens of women from independent women, just like her, into pathetically obedient and utterly submissive pain toys, and sex slaves. Through each woman they broke, they had learned what it worked, and what didn’t.

The women that had come before Sharon had been just as willful, resistant, and willing to fight against what was being done to them as she was. Invent some even more so.

Each of those women had known, to the very depths of their soul that they would win, and these men would lose. These men could not possibly accomplish their stated goals.

And, as with Sharon, each one of these women soon learned that these men had an unwavering determination and would not stop until they had succeeded.

The women fought, of course, they did. They resisted with all of their might, but in every case, it had been pointless.

The bitter reality they were all forced to face was that there was only so much physical and psychological stress that a person could endure, before even the strongest will, the strongest resistance began to crumble.

That crumbling, while slow, at first, soon became exponential.

Where one crack formed, many more soon followed, and soon the woman was spending more time and trying to shore up her resistance, then actually being able to resist. In every case, they learned it was a losing battle and all too soon, far sooner than they could’ve ever imagined, their will, their resistance, their very soul seemed to crumble, almost before their very eyes, under the weight of relentless training.

Training, that, in and of itself, was a diabolical tool that served only to hasten their defeat, and they hadn’t even realized it. At least, not at first.

At first, they had been forced to comply with the trainers, forced to perform some act or another, under the weight of brutal pain and punishment if they failed or refused.

As time passes, that unwilling compliance, became just a little less unwilling, as they internally reasoned and bartered with themselves that just a little compliance here or there would save them some pain and they could conserve their strength for the bigger fights.

They soon fell into the trap, where those “small” compliances became instinctive larger and more frequent and the resistance became less and less, and soon, it became impossible.

Through the weeks, and months, of the monotonous, and relentless and unrelenting training, repeated over, and over, and over each woman soon found herself unable to do anything but comply with the monsters that had somehow along the way, become their masters.

In the end, each woman would have wept if she had been able to summon that much internal pride, at what they become, and what they had lost. But by that time, they were nothing more than the product they had always been told they were to be.

The final nail in the coffin of their self-respect, and dignity, was the interview each was forced to go through. This was where the trainers asked them for detailed feedback on their training, and what had work, and, more important, what had not.

These interviews allowed the trainers to make their program even more efficient, and better at breaking women in the future.

The newly trained slaves knew this, and they each realized that through their cooperation that they were helping to doom future women, future victims to their fate.

Even knowing this, their training and breaking had been so thorough and successful that not even one of them could even contemplate not cooperating fully. Each answered every question willingly if not eagerly knowing their answers would virtually ensure that future victims would be even more thoroughly and quickly broken than they had been.

This was the fate that Sharon had fallen into and in the relatively short time that she had been a prisoner, she still had not yet realized just how thorough and expert these men were at what they did.

Even the incredible suffering she had been through, was nothing compared to what her future held.


As her trainer watched her fall asleep, through the video screen, he smiled as he could almost imagine the internal struggle that was going through her mind right now.

A struggle that he had learned about from past victims and seemed to be universal. Two sides of her psyche, fighting for dominance.

In the end, he knew which one would prevail, and he looked at his training schedule and made the small adjustments needed to, ensure her progress.

With that done, he left the monitoring room and went to get some sleep. He had a long training day ahead for her, and he wanted to be as well-rested, as he knew she would not be. It was going to be fun.


The following days soon turned to weeks and she was still no closer to rescue or escape than she had been when she first got here, just as the little voice of surrender had told her.

She hated herself for accepting that it was telling the truth. Hated more that some part of her seemed so eager to simply give up and be done with it, but it seemed like the only path she had.

Those thoughts raced through her head constantly as a new level of training was thrust upon her.

The leather hood was pulled over her head, buckled in place and locked. She was told, as she tried to overcome the overwhelming sense of claustrophobia that there would probably not be a time for the rest of her life that she would be awake, and not have her face covered in some way.


This thought terrified her; the idea of being reduced to a faceless thing was more terrifying than she could imagine. At the same time, it made perfect sense. Who cared what she looked like if she served correctly?

This thought ran through her mind as she was forced onto what felt like a bed and was spread-eagled so she could be sexually tortured yet again. Forced orgasm as she had been during that horrifying torture. Each orgasm a blow to her will, her endurance, and her resistance. She just wanted to give up, she just wanted it to be over.



Sadly, for her, the trainers were not nearly done, and some of them even had a sense of gamesmanship. A sad horror she learned about, one morning as she was dragged from her cell.

Her hood was removed, but instead, a heavy metal cage was fastened around her head. It made standing difficult as it threw off her center of gravity. Apparently, that was the intent as the trainer fastened her ankles to the legs of a chair, a very special chair.

The seat and back, she saw were covered with wooden spikes. There would be no way of achieving any comfort while sitting in this chair and, with her ankles bound as they were, the only direction she could go was down into the seat.

Once she was secure the trainer tweaked one of her nipples and then simply walked away. A heavy metal cage locked around her head, just added to the weight. And there she was left to stand for minutes and then hours. Her muscles of her legs slowly giving way and she knew what was coming, even though she fought it with all her might.


She even used her arms, to try to get the leg muscles some relief, but eventually, it didn’t matter, and completely against her will, she slowly lowered herself onto the chair and the suffering.

She quickly stood back up but eventually, the time spent in the chair exceeded the time she could hold herself up and she lowered herself one final time, in defeat, onto the chair and its torturous spikes.

That was, for the trainer, where the real fun would begin. He told her this with a smile on his face as he passed a chain over her waist to lock her in place into the chair.


Once that was done and she was shifting and twisting, trying desperately to find a more comfortable position that didn’t exist he told her about the game they were going to play.

He pulled out a vibrator and told her if she could resist cumming for 20 minutes, he would release her and instead simply fuck her. If she couldn’t she would be punished by facing additional orgasms in the chair until he was satisfied.

Sharon shuddered in fear. She was now trying desperately to remain still, having learned that even a small amount of squirming made the chair worse. She didn’t imagine she’d be able to do that with a vibrator on her cunt.

She looked at the trainer, a pleading look in her eyes, but she knew, ultimately that it was pointless.

She was proven right as he ignored that look and the soft pleading grunts that accompanied it as she slowly lowered the vibrator onto her helpless and exposed body.


Again, and again that evil piece of machinery, one that she was now convinced was created by the devil himself yanked the orgasm from her body far sooner than the 20-minute limit she was given.

She couldn’t help it, by this time her body had been conditioned to respond and it seemed the more she tried to resist the faster it responded.

It was just another demonstration of the total and absolute power they now wielded over her body. The chair was simply another way to teach her that her body did not belong to her and that that there was absolutely no part of her that she owned anymore.

She was an object of valuable commodity once trained so she could be sold for profit for those who did own her.

As the weeks turned into months and she was all but broken, her trainer decided it was time to give her one final bit of training. Still hooded as she had told she would be she was lifted into what she eventually realized was a barrel.

In the past, she had heard the men talking, amongst themselves, that sometimes slaves simply wouldn’t respond, and they had ways of getting rid of them.

That thought came to the fore and she was terrified; thinking that perhaps, in some way, she had failed, and they were going to get rid of her. She fought like mad to try to get away, but between the belt that held her training dildos in place, the mittens over her hands making useless, and the chain around her ankles she could do nothing.

She was told to kneel down and when she shook her head and tried to beg them to stop she was shocked again and again by the cattle prod until the pain overwhelmed this last burst of resistance and she squatted down into the barrel as she was told.


She was crying for all she was worth as she felt, the top of the barrel locked in place. She pushed against it madly with her head, desperate to show them that she could be good. That she could be a good slave.

What she didn’t know, what she could not possibly have known was that she had performed above their expectations. They were not angry or frustrated at her progress, quite the opposite.

The barrel was the final piece of training, as it was the nominal way that they used to ship their slaves to their new owners. Of course, that required a slave to be totally silent and so barrel training was begun before the final auction.

Hooked up to an electric shock device that monitored for noise, any noise she made was translated into devastating electrical shocks and subsequent horrible pain and to the most sensitive areas of her cunt and ass.

In addition to the shocks, any time she made noise the headphones in the hood came to life bombarding her with white noise that was impossible to ignore and had become just one more torture that pounded on her devastated mind.

Once hooked up, she was left in the barrel, for hours, no explanation, and left to figure out on her own that the only way to avoid suffering was to be completely and utterly silent.


For days she was left in there, only taken out long enough to open the mouth zipper and shove some form of nutrition down her gullet and pull her out to walk around for 20 minutes before she was sealed back up to continue her training.

One week, turned to two, and they noted that the last week she had only been shocked less than a half a dozen times; most likely, waking from nightmares.

Even that, they realized, had been early in the second week and for the last 72 hours, she had been completely silent and almost totally motionless.

Satisfied that she had learned, her trainer yanked the barrel open and tipped it over to gently slide her from its depths.

He knew, her muscles would be stiff and sore, and that the twice-daily feedings and walks were not near enough to counteract the cramping and pain of that confinement.

She was carried, almost gently, to a nearby bathtub, that was filled with warm water.

None of this was done as a kindness, of course. It was simply to accomplish a goal. They needed to clean her up, and get her muscles working again, and warm water accomplished that more quickly and effectively.

They needed to get her cleaned up and refreshed because it was finally time for her sale.

The woman, no, the slave that had been Sharon knew none of this.

All she knew now was darkness, silence, and her own thoughts racing inside of her head be good, be silent, it is a slave. Those thoughts became all consuming due to the subliminal messaging that she had not even known accompanied the noise while she was in the barrel.

She was it now, a slave, a piece of property, a toy. A toy that would obey and suffer for its master, as that was the only reason it existed.

Again, and again these thoughts ran through her mind, and she could do nothing but admit to herself, (itself?) that she had been totally broken. The very foundation of who she had been as a woman and a human being had finally been shattered into a million pieces and those pieces rebuilt, and reformed into a hopelessly obedient and utterly submissive sex slave and pain toy, just as she had been told would happen.

She would bring a fine price at her auction and her Masters knew it.

And to the depths of her very soul, IT knew it as well.