Caged College Girls

Caged College Girls:
BDSM Stories
She was a normal young woman sitting in her sofa watching television,
adn then, suddenly, she was something else: property.

Cheyenne woke. Her head hurt. Her eyes hurt. She moaned weakly and
blinked her sore eyes. She felt utterly confused, for long, long seconds
not even remembering who she was. Then she remembered, and began to
tremble uncontrollably. She looked around, blinking her eyes. She was in
a very brightly lit room. It was a small room, perhaps no larger than a
walk-in closet, with no windows, and four stone walls.

She was laying on a mat on the floor. There was a tiled square place in
one corner, with a slit in the floor she vaguely recognized as the kind
of toilets they had in many third world countries. In another corner was
a small television and VCR. In a third corner was a small shelf.

All of the walls were painted with erotic images of sadomasochistic
bondage. Impossibly beautiful women lay reclined dramatically across
wheels as they were stretched, hung from their wrists as they were
whipped, knelt bound, performing oral sex. In one scene a lovely blonde
was being ravished by a demon. In another she was the centre of dozens
of naked men all grabbing at her, pulling her, spreading her legs,
mounting her.

Cheyenne looked dully around, not understanding. She was out of the
hole, however, and anything – anything at all – was better than that.
She groaned weakly as she sat up, and then examined herself. She was
still naked. Her leather restraints and collar had been replaced by
shining, gleaming metal shackles and collar. Her wrists were bound in
front of her, however, by a very short length of chain.

She was ravenous. And more thirsty than she could ever remember being in
her life. So that was the first thing she sought out. And there, on the
floor, were a pair of bowls. One held water. She didn’t know, but the
other looked like – food!

She groaned as she forced herself forward, half stumbling on her knees
beside the mat, crawling forward weakly to bend and grasp at the bowl.
It was locked in place. She had to bend and push her mouth into the
bowl, slurping greedily, moaning in pleasure as the water slid down her
throat. And if it tasted a little – mediciny – she didn’t notice.

And then the food. She sniffed at it, blinking her eyes repeatedly to
clear them. Her stomach rumbled and she picked up a small chunk of what
looked like some kind of food. Whatever it was, she would eat it, and
did. It didn’t taste very good, but it satisfied the urgent needs of her

She crawled back to the mat and lay down, panting.

After a time she sat up again, her mind a little clearer now. She looked
around her, then down as her instinctive effort to straighten her legs
failed. She saw that the metal shackles around her ankles were fastened
to a leather strap which was locked around her upper thighs, held in
place by a tiny padlock. Her legs felt cramped and sore, and she
supposed they had been bent back like that since – well, for some time.
Yet she could do nothing about that.

She again examined the metal shackles on her wrists, and felt the metal
collar around her throat. They all seemed somehow more – permanent than
the leather ones had been, and she shuddered in confusion and anxiety.

Where was she? Why was she there? What were they going to do to her? She
examined her shackles, then noted, startled, shocked, that her nipples
had been pierced by small silver rings. She fingered them, noting how
sore her nipples were, and tried to find the catch to pull them off.
There were none. She stared down past her nipples and gasped as she
noted she had been denuded of pubic hair. She looked so – so naked now!
She was also pierced down there. She had dismissed the throbbing pain as
the results of her rape. But no, a thick ring pierced both her lower
pubic lips, and a thinner, smaller one pierced her clitoris.

She stared at them in astonishment, spending quite some time feeling
them, wincing at the pain, exploring her wounded body.

She looked around again, then awkwardly got to her knees and made her
way to the door. It had no knob. It was thick, and made no noise when
she slapped at it, and appeared to open inward. She moved back to the
mat and sat down.

She spent the next hour working at her shackles and rings, trying to get
them off.

Energy began to flow into her as she worked, and she began to feel –
hyper, too hyper to stay on the mat. She wanted to jumped up and run,
but of course, could not. She explored her little room, however, like a
panther exploring its cage. She crawled awkwardly, her wrists being
chained together before her. She examined the contents of the shelf.
Mostly it was books, masturbation material focussed on bondage and
masochism. There were also a number of vibrators and dildos of varying

She moved to the TV and turned it on. Nothing happened. She spent some
time playing with it, but it had no signal. Only when turning on the VCR
would anything appear. The tapes were all sexual, and all focussed on
eroticising bondage and masochism. She moved to the door again, laying
on her back and kicking at it, yelling at it, pacing, pacing. She needed
to do something, needed to get the energy out of her system.

She returned to the mat, flinging herself onto it, panting. Her skin
felt as if it were quivering with electricity. She rolled and twisted,
turned and twisted again, panting. Her heart raced and slowed, and she
jerked her knees up, then slammed her feet down against the mat repeatedly.

Her fingers found her sex almost by accident. Yes, it hurt, but there
was something more there, some quivering, throbbing sense of – of
relief, or the possibility of relief. She lay back and began to
masturbate, gasping in pain all the while, needing the relief, needing
the explosion of sensations, certain somehow in her mind that if she
came the terrible hyperactive need would go away.

She moaned weakly, her legs splayed wide, her hips rolling from side to
side as her right hand moved rapidly, frantically at her sex. Her left
moved at her breasts, kneading and squeezing them, trying to avoid the
nipples, which stung, but then, even that stinging, that sensation,
seemed to detract from that terrible driving need within her.

She came, crying out, arching her back, her hips jerking up violently
again and again. The orgasm sent a rush of sensations through her body,
and pushed the need away. When it ended she went limp, gasping, feeling
at peace at last.

But it didn’t last.

And she was thirsty again, very thirsty. She rolled off the mat,
gasping, crawling over to the bowl, licking and slurping at it.

Both bowls were next to the wall, and there were pipes leading to both,
one of which held water, the other the food chunks. She instantly
grasped that it resembled the feeding system her hamster had had when
she was a child, but she paid that little heed.

She drank and returned to the mat. Her blood still burned. She needed to
move, to jump, to run. She got to her feet, driven, twisting, gasping,
whirling around until she was dizzy, and falling onto the mat, gasping,

Her fingers went to her groin again, and once more she began to masturbate.

There were a number of cameras watching the girl, and Rand looked at the
monitors in fascination. He watched the girl frantically masturbate,
seeking the rush of sensory overload which would temporarily stop the
heat in her blood. The drug would see to it that desperate hyperactive
need to move, to work her body and muscles stayed there, of course.
There was not a lot of the special drug in the water and food, a careful
mixture of amphetamines and caffeine, but she was consuming more every
time she drank, and then exhausting herself and needing more water.

Rand chuckled as he watched.

Two hours later he stopped it. She would be pulling her hair out soon
and damaging herself. He replaced the drug in the water with a
tranquillizer, and the girl fell asleep in the corner, her legs spread,
the dildo buried in her pussy, the vibrator still purring as it rolled
out of her hand.

Cheyenne woke again. She felt more alert now, having rested. She sat up
in bed and looked down at herself, then plucked the dildo out of her
pussy with a blush. Had they come in while she was like that? Had they
seen? She desperately hoped not.

There was nothing to cover herself with, nothing to hide her nudity. She
examined her shackles again, and the rings, then felt the urge to
urinate. She gazed at the corner she had investigated only slightly
before, then crawled over to it. It was clear how it worked. There was
even a little lever to flush water down into the hole.

Looking around nervously, yet with a full bladder forcing any choices
from her, she knelt over it, spread her knees wide apart to lower her
pussy to just above the hole, and urinated, looking warily around. She
was looking for cameras now, but could not see any. She flushed and
crawled away, feeling another wave of misery and confusion.

What was happening?!

She had heard many stories of girls being raped, of girls being held
prisoner, and nothing matched this. Nothing even came close.

She went to the door and slapped at it, and yelled at it, then returned
to the mat.

Hours passed. She examined the TV and finally turned on the VCR. It was,
at least, something to look at.

The tape was both fascinating and frightening. She did not find it
particularly erotic, though the girl was beautiful and the positions her
body were placed in accentuated her fine breasts and lovely bottom. It
was frightening, however, because in concert with the books and the
paintings on the wall it demonstrated to he what her captors had planned
for her.

Was she to be hung from her wrists and whipped? Like the girl in the
movie? Of course, she was only play whipped, and moaned and cried out
dramatically, writhing in pleasure. But Cheyenne was under no illusions
of the pain a real whipping would bring her.

She sped through the movie, then the next, then the next, then the next.
One beautiful girl followed another in dramatic sexual, sensual
punishment, all of them exploding in climax, of course.

She went back to the mat in disgust and lay down, letting the quiet wash
over her.

Hours passed. There was nothing to do but worry and fear. She went to
the books. They were the same sort of thing. The girl didn’t always
enjoy being punished at first, but always came to love it, even if
forced against her will, always coming powerfully – eventually.

Some of the scenes were kind of hot, though. Not all of the books were
nasty. Some were willing bondage, and the bondage was not too bad, not
too cruel, the punishments little more than spankings.

Boredom was a powerful motivator. The longer she remained bored, the
more she wanted something to distract her.

She rubbed at her bare pussy as she read, noting again how bare and soft
and vulnerable her sex lips were, how nice they felt to the touch now
without any hair. She wondered how they had shaved her, for she felt not
the slightest hint of stubble. She winced as she eased back the hood
over her pierced clit and rubbed at herself lightly, then looked up at
the shelf.

She crawled over and got one of the dildos, and then one of the
vibrators. She’d never actually tried a vibrator. She turned it and
stared at it doubtfully, then tested the tingling, buzzing head against
her nipples. At first it merely felt uncomfortable, but as she continued
to run the head of the vibrator back and forth and round and round she
felt her nipples tingling with more and more power, until they seemed to
be vibrating as strongly as the machine. She could not stop herself form
kneading her swollen, heat filled breasts, from pinching and twisting
and rubbing at her tingling nipples.

Her breathing growing faster, she slid the vibrator down between her
legs, and touched it lightly, almost accidentally, to the ring piercing
her clitoris. A jolt of sensory overload swept through her, and she
gasped aloud and jerked her hands back. She hesitated, then pushed it
forward again, and again that powerful jolt of sensory overload made her
gasp and jerk. Yet she held the vibrator in place, rubbing it lightly
from side to side.

It took much less time than with her nipples, and her pussy was
throbbing and bubbling and tingling so that she had to grind her pelvis,
and felt a desperate need to be penetrated. She put down the vibrator
and picked up the dildo, then slowly pushed it up into her pussy,
groaning in pleasure as it sank deeper and deeper.

With all but the last inch buried in her sopping pussy she picked up the
vibrator again, and touched it to her clit ring, and grunted, her hips
jerking sharply forward and then back again.

She rolled onto her back, forgetting the book, spreading her knees wide,
gasping for breath, chest heaving now as she ran the vibrator over her
clitoris and felt the orgasm rise up around her.

Rand watched the girl as one day followed another. She masturbated
frequently, often to scenes in the books. She used only the vibrator at
first, but then began using it in tandem with the dildo, plunging the
latter deep into her pussy, using energetic motions as she writhed and
moaned in pleasure. After a while she began experimenting with anal
penetration, using a second dildo to pump her rectum hard.

Days passed and she was left entirely alone in the little room with
nothing to distract her, nothing to catch her attention, nothing to do,
no one to talk with. The food she was given was very carefully designed.
It had calories for energy, but precious little protein. Another drug
was introduced into her water, just enough to dull the mind a little.

Let her not think about why she was doing what she was doing. Let her
simply get used to doing it.

The books and movies and masturbation passed the time. There was nothing
else, not one scrap of mental or sensory stimulation: no sight, no
sound, no input.

Ten days passed, with the girl crawling about, masturbating, exposed to
nothing but sexual imagery, and then another drug was introduced into
her water. She fell unconscious, and the men moved in, gathered her up,
and took her down the hall.

Rand let them rape her unconscious body. It would satisfy them and do
her or his experiment no harm. Then she was settled on her knees, her
ankles strapped and locked to her thighs, and to rings set in the floor,
keeping them wide apart. Her metal shackles were replaced by leather,
and her wrists lifted above her and fastened to a chain. She was
positioned over a large, thick dildo which was screwed to the floor, and
settled down upon it so it went deep into her belly.

The room was in utter darkness. By a large plasma screen television
basically filled the wall three feet in front of her.

She was starting to waken as the men left. Cameras watched as she did
waken, as she looked around herself blearily.

Cheyenne moaned and let her head fall back, staring up towards her
wrists in the darkness. When she’d first wakened she’d been terrified,
remembering her time upside down in the hole. But there was soft, warm
rug beneath her flesh.

And then bright light made her blink, her eyes slitting. Swirling grew
mists moved in front of her. She stared at them in confusion, but as
they failed to resolve into anything interesting she used their light to
look around her. She noted she was chained down, and that she was
impaled on something fat and long which made her gut ache a little.

She was able to pull her legs a little closer together, and rise up a
bit, sitting on her heels. This took away the ache inside her. It also
eased the pressure on her wrists and shoulders.

The room was empty, much like the other one, but more rounded than
square. The walls and roof were painted some dark colour.

And then the TV came to life, rich and crystal clear, nearly life sized,
filling her vision. There were more erotically filmed scenes of
beautiful women writhing in pain, chained, tied, whipped, cropped,
spanked, strapped, raped, and – . She stared, not understanding at
first, and then flushing hotly.

The editing was done skilfully. One scene would fade into another quite
softly. Sometimes both scenes were on the big screen at once.

It was her, masturbating. And she could hear her voice groaning in
pleasure, gasping and whining and grunting as she plunged the dildos
into herself in slow, artistic, sensual, need. Often her masturbation
was slowed down to look more erotic, and it was always interspaced with
the other women being whipped, being raped, being spanked and cropped.

There had been cameras in the other room, many of them from the looks of
the scenes. Some had been taken overhead, others from all sides and all
angles. She was mortified at first, and angry, but both emotions faded
over time into resignation. She continued to wince and bite her lip at
her soft, shuddering groans of pleasure, at the slow arching of her
back, the rolling of her hips, the plunging of dildos into her pussy and

On the left side a woman was bound, her wrists behind her back, wrapped
in rope, She lay on her belly as a man sodomized her. And on the other
side, her own image faded slowly into view, on her belly, her hips
rolling a dildo stuffed halfway up her rectum.

The video on the right faded slowly out of sight and was replaced by
another, of a woman hanging by her wrists, being whipped in slow motion.
Cheyenne licked her lips appreciatively as the woman’s body, sheened in
sweat, arched dramatically at the blow to her back, and she could not
help but appreciate how erotic the woman looked.

It was all – play, after all, just acting, just kinky sex, sort of. The
image on the other side of the screen faded into view, herself, looking
pitiful, wrists shackled, ringed nipples visible just above her wrists,
below her gleaming collar. And for the first time, having had no mirror,
she saw the large word engraved into the front of the collar - Slave.

She looked – hot – too, Cheyenne thought, though a little ruefully.

Yes, she looked like just the kind of girl who would be hung by her
wrists and whipped by big, hulking, evil men. And she imagined her body
hanging so dramatically, stretched out, her ribs visible, her breasts
stretched tautly, legs kicking feebly. Yes, she would look – hot.

And she could not help but be aware of the thick, hard dildo deep within
her groin, for every slight movement of hers jarred her insides against
the unmoving hardness, and her sex lips were spread wide around it, her
clitoris feeling – pressured.

She squirmed a little more, and felt the sensual excitement of having
something big and hard inside herself, even as the images on the screen
changed again, a new girl being bent backwards, stretched out, two
grinning men running their hands over her squirming body. And on the
other side of the screen Cheyenne appeared, squirming, her hips rolling,
her breath ragged as she pumped a dildo into herself and held a vibrator
next to her clitoris.

"You’re a filthy slut, aren’t you?" one of the men in the other video

"Yes, master, I’m a filthy slut," the actress moaned, rubbing her
breasts against him in feigned pleasure.

"You need to be well raped," he growled.

"Rape me, master!" she groaned.

The man thrust himself into her, but it was Cheyenne’s voice which
groaned in pleasure as she thrust the dildo deep into her own pussy.

She gazed down at herself, moaning softly, her body heating now. She
stared at her ringed nipples. They did look so - erotic now. And past
them her shaven sex with her lips split around the tube of rubber inside
her. It was easy to imagine it was a cock.

She looked up the length of her joined arms to the shackles overhead,
and gripped the chains, drawing herself up just a little, shuddering at
the sensory storm as her sex lips slid up the shaft of the dildo inside
her, then dropped back down.

She began to pull herself slowly up and down, just a little, just an
inch or so, working the muscles of her arms as she stared at the
changing images, at the writhing bodies, as moans and gasps and grunts
and cries of pleasure filled her ears.

She rolled her hips a little, feeling the pressure of the immoveable
dildo against the different sides of her sex wall. She felt her
breathing becoming more ragged as she worked her muscles, beads of sweat
beginning to stand out on her body as the heat mounted within her as well.

On the screen, a dozen men surrounded a writhing woman, pawing at her,
growing with lust, their cocks all hard. She sucked one, turned her
head, sucked another, turned back. Her legs were spread, and she was
riding someone, her pussy sliding up and down his shaft. Another man was
behind her, thrusting into her anus. Cocks jammed against the back of
her head, and against her ears. She had one in each hand, and still the
men crowded closer.

Cheyenne rode the dildo slowly, grunting, panting, eyes glued to the
screen as the scene changed again. Now a man was in it, naked from the
waist down, clutching her hips, thrusting into the pussy of a woman,
obviously on all fours.

And next to them, her own image faded in, her on her knees, a dildo
jammed into her pussy as her shackled fingers reached back between her
legs and pumped it in and out. Her groans of pleasure were the only
sound coming from the screen even as the camera zoomed slowly out on the
other video, showing more of the woman, and still more, her breasts
wobbling in and out in time to the man’s thrusting and then – she halted
her grinding motions, stunned.

It was her. She stared at the fist in her hair, forcing her head back,
stared at the cock being pumped into her mouth, at the hand reaching
down to roughly squeeze, knead and slap her breasts.

The men moved their hips, thrusting into her from both sides, and on the
other side of the screen, her other image thrust the dildo into herself,
gasping and moaning, about to climax.

Fear, alarm, shock, shame, wonder, and a dozen other conflicting
thoughts and emotions rolled through Cheyenne’s mind. She felt as though
she were in a fog as she stared at herself being raped, as she watched
the man’s cock thrusting into her pussy again and again, his hips
slapping against her bottom.

The video played in slow motion, and her body seemed pale and so very
helpless, so small between the two large, black clad men. How – how
piteous she looked being abused, being brutalized, being ridden so
roughly, so cruelly. The men were so cruel as they dug their fingers
into her breasts, as they pulled her hair.

And her own gasps and moans of pleasure filled the room as on the other
side of the big screen, she jammed a dildo into her pussy, another
sticking out of her anus, her hips rolling and bucking and grinding.

And then, despite the turmoil spilling through her mind, she realized
she was still powerfully aroused, and almost negligently, she resumed
her movements, her pussy sliding up and down on the stiff dildo, the
muscles of her arms bunching again and again as they lifted her up a
little, then let her sink back down.

She began riding it harder and harder, an orgasm approaching, and then
the picture abruptly froze, then went out. A single light went on
directly overhead, a narrow focussed beam of light which left much of
the room dim, but made her blink her eyes against its brightness.

The door opened, and she gasped as a shadowy figure came inside, closing
it behind him. He walked closer, and she could see, in the light, that
he wore a black robe over black pants and shirt. His face was covered in
a black mask, and he stopped before her.

She stared up at him in fear, and he reached out to her, not speaking,
gently brushing his fingers through her hair, then caressing her cheek,
and tracing the line of her jaw.

"Pretty young thing," he said in almost a whisper, "sweet, beautiful,
sexy young girl."

His finger traced the line of her lips, and a single finger pushed
against her mouth, slid through before she could close her lips.

"You’ve been watching yourself. You see how beautiful you are, how sexy
and sensual and seductive you are."

His finger pushed deeper, rubbing along her tongue, then twisted and
pulled back, but not all the way. He pushed it back in, pumping it
slowly in and out of her mouth.

"Nod your head if you will be a good, obedient little girl," the soft
voice said.

Cheyenne anxiously nodded her head, knowing it was what he wanted.

"You are far from home, very far, and no one really misses you. No one
is really looking for you. You are alone in the world, deep underground
here in this place," he said as he pumped is finger in and out of her mouth.

"Suck on my finger, pretty little slut. Lick at it. Show me what you can

She obeyed, sucking and licking at his finger, then the second finger he

"We are a very large, very powerful organization," he said. "We’ve been
around for years, for generations. We’re a sort of – club – made up of
the most powerful and wealthiest men in the world. And you belong to us

Her eyes blinked.

"Oh yes, little slut. Like many who have gone before you, you are now
our little plaything, our slave girl. You know what a slave girl is,
don’t you? Nod your head."

Cheyenne, somewhat in a daze, nodded her head, still sucking on his fingers.

"You will have no more worries, no more fears. No need to go to that
boring job, or pay the rent, or worry what to wear. You are a slave now,
a sex slave, and your only job is to obey and service men sexually with
your body, with our body, for we have purchased you from the men who
captured you."

She moaned around his fingers, trying to twist her head around, to speak.

He caught at her chin with his thumb, holding them in place.

"Don’t speak. Don’t protest. You surely are smart enough to know we
aren’t going to let you go now, not after all the work and time and
money we’ve put into you. Why should we? Why? Because it’s cruel to hold
you? But many of us are cruel. We enjoy having a lovely, naked young
girl at our mercy, to torment and ravish again and again."

He slipped his fingers out and stroked them along her lips.

"And don’t ask where you are, for it won’t be answered. Nowhere is as
good an answer as any, for you are gone from the world you knew. In this
world you are a sexual animal, a pet, not a human being. You have no
rights, no will, no privileges. Even eating and drinking is done at our
mercy. And you will be beaten for the slightest impertinence, for any
disobedience, for showing a lack of effort."

He squatted, and his fingers dropped to her sex, rubbing lightly at her

"Do you want to be beaten, to be whipped?" his soft voice almost whispered.

Cheyenne shook her head jerkily.

"You will be. You will be beaten and whipped, if only for our pleasure.
But how often and how badly depends on your obedience. Will you obey?"

Frightened, Cheyenne jerked her head up and down.

"Good girl, good little slut," he said, his voice pleased and soft.

He moved to the side, and the videos continued to play on the big TV.

"Do you see what a lovely whore you are? How beautiful your body looks,
how soft and well formed your flesh is?" he asked, all but whispering
into her ear. "You are a beautiful young female at the pinnacle of her
sexual attractiveness. And what have you been doing to take advantage of
that? Nothing. In the old world you knew, good girls didn’t spread their
legs for just anyone. But that was the old world," he said, his fingers
tracing the line of the dildo stuffed into her pussy. "In this world,
good girls spread their legs for anyone who wants them, any time."

He cupped and kneaded her breast, his saliva slickened fingers still
rubbing at her clitoris.

"You’re in a new world now, little slut. That’s why I call you slut.
Because in this world a slut is what you are, a slut who will bend and
spread her legs instantly for anyone who wants her. Because that is the
way this new world works. And if you hesitate – you will regret it. For
you are a slave girl now."

It was insane! He was insane! Yet she knew he was right. She could not
possibly escape, not like this. And she had to obey them, had to do as
they wanted, had to fuck them if they wanted her to, for she surely
could not hope to stop them.

She was their prisoner, their sex slave.

A sex slave!

From the book: Caged College Girls, by Argus
Argus erotic books have been published by Virgin Nexus, Silver Moon,
Star, Olympia, Chimera, and Beeline. His ebooks are available at

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