“You know what you’re getting into here, don’t you? You know what this place is?” Sara nodded, afraid to speak. She stood still before the strange man, hands clasped behind her back, eyes averted. Her knees trembled slightly.

“Good.” The man made no move toward her, but rather signaled the woman in the shadows to come forward.

Sara started at the sight before her. The woman was shorter than Sara, about 5’3” tall, young, slender, and bald. Totally, completely bald. Her head was shaved, as was her groin, without a hint of hair on her arms or legs. Only her light brown eyebrows told what her hair color might have been been. She was also totally naked, except for the yellow ballgag strapped into her mouth. That, and the shackles she wore without self-consciousness.

Sara stared at the hobble the girl wore. It consisted of a wide band at each ankle connected by a short cable. She also wore bands around each arm just above the elbow, linked by steel bands both in back and in front of her body, leaving her hands free but pinning her elbows tightly to her side.

“This is Kisha,” the man said. “She will be your first guide today. She’s not usually gagged, I did that to remind you that you are to engage in no conversation with your guides during this initiation period. Kisha will take you to another room, where you will be outfitted for the first part of this initiation. Do you understand?”

Sara nodded.

“I need to hear you say it out loud this one time.”

“I understand that I am to remain silent, and that I am to go with Kisha.”

“Good. I’ll give you one more chance to change your mind, Sara. You know a little about The Farm, but what you will experience here will be vastly more intense than you can imagine. I know you’ve played before, and that you’re already fairly well trained; but this is an entirely different sort of place. And once you go through that door you’ll be committed to at least the six week initiation period. Tell me that you understand what I’ve just said.”

“I understand that what I will experience here will be unlike anything I’ve experienced before, and that I must remain here for the entire initiation.” Sara’s voice betrayed little of the emotion she felt at these words. But it was not fear she felt—it was a wildly exciting anticipation. She’d heard of The Farm, of its rigors and delights, but now she was about to enter it for herself. She shuddered.

The man took a plastic bag from his pocket and handed it to Sara. “Open it.” She looked inside, and saw what looked like large oval shaped cloth band aids. Sara took the strange objects from the bag and turned them over in her hands. ‘

“Stand still,” the man said, as he brought out a white cloth. “Close your eyes, tightly, but don’t squint,” he ordered. Sara felt a cool liquid washing the area around her eyes, followed by the soft touch of the cloth, drying them. “The liquid is a wash to remove any trace of makeup or skin oils from the area around your eyes before I apply the patches,” he told her. “Now you may open your eyes again.”

As she did so, she looked again at the strange objects in her hands—they weren’t band aids, they were eyepatches—an adhesive blindfold! She looked up in surprise, and was rewarded with a grin. “That’s right,” he said, “just peel off the backing and stick them on. Of course, you’ll want your eyes shut when you do.”

Sara complied, gasping as first her right and then her left eye were made useless to her. She felt the man’s fingers lightly smoothing down the blinders. He then took her arm and led her forward. She felt another hand, a different, female, hand take hers. Kisha. The gagged girl tugged, and Sara allowed herself to be led away.

The thick carpet muffled the sound of their footsteps, and, sightless, Sara could not tell that she’d gone into another room. Kisha turned her, then tugged her hand downward. Sara sat, finding herself on a wood bench. The girl’s fingers pulled at her clothes, awkwardly, as Kisha could use only one hand. Sara reached out and quickly loosened her clothes. She stood then, and removed everything; then she sat again. She was entranced by Kisha’s difficulty in removing her clothing. Because of her elbow shackles, the girl’s arm didn’t move right. Sara began to appreciate just how elaborate things could be at The Farm.

She reached out and Kisha took her hand. She then pulled away from Sara, who now could feel her wrists being pulled together behind her back. A snug band went on each wrist, holding them loosely together. Sara was surprised at this—she’d expected everything to be very tight, and Kisha’s elbow bondage added to this expectation. But she need not have worried. More straps went around her waist pulling her wrists past one another to the limit of the cuffs, pinning her wrists to her back. As Sara sat, savoring the tightness of her bonds, she felt more bands at her elbows. Another strap went across her body below her breasts, spreading her elbows a little. Then she felt those elbows pulled the other way, as though Kisha was trying to pull them together behind her back. The effect was to pin her arms much as Kisha’s arms were pinned. With the wrist bondage already in place, Sara’s arms were completely lost to her. Sara moaned in contentment. This is what she’d come to The Farm to experience—the total helplessness of tight bondage.

Sara was left alone for some time. She sensed, rather than heard, Kisha leave the room. Finally, she felt a new set of fingers on her body. Another woman, she realized, toying with her left breast. “I see Kisha did a nice job getting you into your initiation harness,” the woman said at last. “Good. Now, I’d like you to stand and come with me.”

Sara allowed herself to be led on another sightless journey, this one longer than the first. At last the woman took her by the shoulders, turned her around, and pushed her gently downward. “Just lie back in the seat and relax, Sara,” the woman said. “I’ll have you ready in no time.” Sara leaned back, and was surprised that her bound arms fitted neatly into the back of the seat. “Yes,” said the woman, noting Sara’s surprise. “It’s specially designed for girls in that harness.” As she spoke she brought a broad strap around Sara’s waist, pinning her to the seat. Another strap went just above her breasts.

“Bring your legs up to your chest, Sara,” the woman ordered. Sara complied, and felt her left leg being pulled back and to the side. Another set of hands did the same to her right leg—there were two women with her, not just one! Her legs were fastened wide apart at the level of her torso, spread in what must be a terribly obscene fashion; Sara was strangely glad she could not see herself in this position. Straps held each leg at the ankle and above the knee; except for her head and her feet, she was completely immobilized.

She was again left alone with her thoughts and her bondage. Sara recalled a few of her previous bondage experiences. Some of which involved positions far more grueling than this one. Once her girlfriend Andrea had bound her arms together from the elbow to the wrist then tied her feet to a three-foot spreader bar. She then fastened Sara’s wrist bonds to the middle of the bar, leaving her bowed and helpless on the floor of the bedroom they shared. Andrea then hooked the spreader bar to the ceiling hoist and suspended Sara a foot above the floor. Sara spent most of the morning in that position, and by the time Andrea returned she was begging for release. Instead her friend just smiled and gagged her with a ballgag.

Sara had a bad feeling about what was to come next; Andrea rarely used the ballgag unless there would be whips involved. She was right—her friend started with a mild flogger on Sara’s back, limited only by the position of her arms. She then came around front and used the flogger on Sara’s thighs and belly. The flogger wasn’t all that painful, but Andrea was pretty strong and whipped her for a long time. Then she put the flogger away.

“Time for the main course, my dear,” she said. Sara shook her head and looked up just in time to see Andrea swing the long braided lash at her breasts. The leather struck directly under her nipples with a sharp crack. Sara tried to back away from the pain, but her bondage was too restrictive. She would just have to take it. Yet this was a game they both enjoyed—from both sides of the whip. And tomorrow Sara would be able to take her revenge on Andrea.

But for now, she would simply have to endure. Andrea gave her breasts five hard strokes before moving on to her belly and thighs. Sara was then blindfolded and the gag was removed. She hung there for a long while, sometimes Andrea would play with her stretched and marked body, but mostly she was left alone with her bondage and her pain. At last, Andrea pressed her naked body to Sara’s, presenting herself to Sara’s tongue while at the same time tonguing Sara’s wide-open crotch.

Sara returned to the present when she felt a soft hand running through her short hair. She used to wear her hair long, but when she had started playing bondage games seriously she trimmed it. Long hair could be a nuisance when she was hanging by the wrists and being whipped. It also kept getting caught in the straps of her blindfolds and gags.

She felt the headrest being removed. “Hold your head up. This will take a few minutes, and you don’t want to injure yourself,” she heard.

Then she heard a buzzing sound, followed by a strange sensation on her head. She was being shaved! She opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it; she knew the cost of speaking out of turn. During her two week stay with Mistress Marion, she’d once said “Please, no more” during a whipping. Marion had her hogtied all night for a week.

The buzzing stopped, the sensation ended. Then she felt the warmth of lather on her scalp, followed by a scraping sound. “Keep especially still for this part,” the voice warned her. Finally, she felt a damp towel clean her now-naked head. Belatedly, she recalled Kisha’s naked scalp—and that reminded her that the girl was naked elsewhere as well. She felt the shaver at her cunt, then the lather and razor (“Very still, now!”) and finally the towel. At last, a salve of some kind was rubbed into her scalp and pubic area. “This is a special formula that will inhibit any hair growth for a couple of months or so,” she was told. “We’ll use it on the rest of your body later, when we take you for cleaning.”

Then she was alone again. She wondered whether they had more in mind to do to her, or would they just leave her here, spread obscenely, until they took her to a new place. Either way, she reflected, it was nothing new to her. Andrea had often tied her in a strenuous and exposed position, then left her for the day. And Harold, who had given her the training that led her to The Farm, tied her in a strict suspended spread-eagle every night for the week she spent with him, and had left her tied that way for the final day and a half of her sojourn with him.

Sara was smiling to herself, recalling those days, when she felt a terrible pain in her right breast. A whip! She screamed, both in surprise and in pain. “Hush, Sara. Hold the pain inside you as long as possible,” a man’s voice told her. And another burst of pain from the whip, this time on the inside of her right thigh. The man went on with the whipping, missing no exposed part of Sara’s bound and naked body. Her breasts received special attention, as did the inside of each thigh; but the whip sought her belly too, and the front of her legs. Through the pain Sara realized the one area still untouched was her pussy—surely they would not whip her there!

They whipped her there. She was unable to contain the screams after the third strike, and continued through the remaining blows. Throughout it all, the man made no sound, preferring to let the whip speak for him. And what did the whip tell Sara? That she was bound, subject to the whims of these people, and that she had asked to be in this condition. That she was in more pain than she’d ever known, and at the same time she was wet below—a strange mix of agony and desire while she was helplessly now marked with the whip while she was tied to the seat, shaved, blind, and now very thoroughly whipped.

The whip returned to her breasts, striking first the left one then the right in a long series of blows. Sara thought it might not be the same lethal lash she’d felt the first time. After a few more blows, not enough to make her scream again, the whipping ceased. “Is it over?” she said without thinking.

“Yes, for now;” a woman’s voice told her. “But it will resume. There will also be a penalty for that infraction.” Then there was the silence she was becoming accustomed to in this place. She lay back in the seat (the headrest had been returned so she could rest more comfortably—strange that they would think of that and still whip her body as they’d done) and waited to see what they’d do to her next. Through all the pain of the whipping, through the humiliation of the shaving, she remained excited—no, not excited, almost frenzied. She wanted her hands, anyone’s hands, on her sex, to give her the orgasm her treatment prepared her for. But there was nothing, there were no hands on her body, there was no sound in the chamber at all now. Sara sighed and waited. Bound and blind as she was, she had no alternative.

At last she sensed a presence beside her. She turned her blind face toward the person, and felt a hand on her breast. A woman again. And then another on her other breast, and a third hand on her labia. Two women? Three? She would never be sure, but it was at least two of them, and she quite liked the way they were fondling her private areas. She felt lips on her left nipple, sucking and nipping gently at the bud, making it tight and hard. The lips left her, replaced again by fingers; then a sharp pain, more severe than anything she’d ever felt from the whip, a stabbing pain at the base of the nipple. The pain changed shape, but didn’t let up. Sara moaned, her head thrashing. One of the women put her hand to Sara’s cheek, murmuring reassuringly that it would be over in a moment.

And it was; Sara felt a cool burst on the offended nipple, then nothing there at all. But her relief was short-lived; the same process was done to the right nipple. The sharp pain, the stabbing, the caress of her cheek, the cooling, numbing spray. Suddenly Sara understood what had just happened—her nipples had just been pierced and ringed. She could not feel the rings, the cooling spray still numbed her. And of course, bound and blind as she was she could neither touch nor see them.

And then the whipping began anew. This time it seemed to be a heavy flogger, with many strands of stiff leather, rather than the harsher lash of the first whipping. They whipped her from just below the neck all the way to her feet, never saying a word. Sara was surprised that her breasts were still a target, but her abused nipples remained partly numb so the pain there was less than it could have been for her. Then it stopped, and she was alone again.

This time Sara could not find anything in her past experiences to compare with what was happening to her. She’d been whipped before—Harold was very fond of making her scream—and she’d been tied for long periods before. But nothing of this intensity. What else, she wondered. What else?

She must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing she knew there were hands on her body again. Were they familiar hands, the ones who’d pierced her nipples, the ones who’d bound her to this seat and whipped her? Were they the ones that had caressed her? She could not tell, but they did seem familiar. So she was not too surprised when a voice she’d heard before told her this part of the Initiation was now complete, that she would soon be released from the seat, taken to a shower stall to be cleaned, and then prepared for her next session.

And so she was. The water was cool, but not cold (Harold liked to wash her with a harsh stream of icy water as she stood bound to a post in the barn), and she found it comforting, especially on her whipmarks and her sore breasts. The woman helped scrub Sara, then, when the washing was over, dried her thoroughly with a soft towel. She rubbed her body with a soothing salve, then led Sara away.

They walked a short distance, and then the woman told Sara to sit down again. She found herself on a smooth and padded bench. More importantly, it now seemed that her isolation was over, at least for a while, since the woman finally spoke to her beyond merely giving her instructions. She said her name was Tina, that she’d been at The Farm for a long time. No one really knows how long they’re here, she continued; every girl is sightless throughout her initiation and you lose track of time pretty easily in that condition. Tina had not left The Farm at all, had scarcely gone outside, and only then while blindfolded, until recently, when she’d been assigned to shepherd new girls through the first parts of their initiation.

“You may speak now, Sara. Do you have any questions?”

“My breasts—they’re pierced now?”

“Yes,” Tina told her. And it was not unusual to have ringed nipples, she continued. She brought her own breast to Sara’s lips. “See?” Tina’s nipple was ringed, the ring heavy and solid-seeming. Sara caressed the ring and the captive nipple with her tongue. “You’ve done this before,” Tina laughed, but Sara declined to remove the nipple from her mouth long enough to respond.

Tina took hold of Sara’s shoulders and pushed her back on the bench. She then lay beside her, and played her tongue upon the girl’s newly ringed nipples. It was the first time Sara would feel those rings on her breasts, and she liked what she felt there, liked Tina’s lips on her new rings, her tender nipples. But right now those piercings still hurt her terribly.

After a little tongue and nipple play, Tina moved her mouth lower on Sara. She licked and kissed her way from the breasts down toward Sara’s aching pussy. “You’re very wet, Sara. It would seem that you like the sort of things we’ve been doing with you so far.”

“Not everything,” Sara replied. “But I’m not inexperienced, and I did know what I was in for here. I just didn’t expect this kind of intensity, is all, at least not so soon, all at once.”

The girls explored each other after that, the unbound Tina with more freedom than Sara, who remained sightless and harnessed throughout everything. But finally—before she could work to her desperately needed orgasm, Sara realized—Tina stood up. “Time for you to move to the next stage, dear one.”

That next stage was another bench. This time Sara was bound on it face-down, with her legs again spread wide. Once again, she could not move at all within her bonds. Tina told her to relax, the others would be here in a little while. Sara then heard Tina walk away. A door closed, and she was alone again, in a new position, exploring her helplessness. There was little for her to explore. Her eyes were useless to her, her hands and arms were strapped tight to her back, there was a heavy strap at the back of her neck, holding her head still, another strap over her bound hands, holding her lower body tight to the bench she lay upon. And her legs were bound at ankle and knee to a structure designed to hold them bent slightly at the knee but very far apart, even more so than the last time she was bound. Sara felt very vulnerable, though she laughed at herself when the thought came, since she’d been at least this vulnerable ever since her sight had been taken from her. The other thought that came to her was that she was enjoying all of this.There was a sound behind her, something she could not identify. It was a heavy strap, wielded by a strong man’s hand, striking her across the shoulders. Sara screamed in shock—the blow was the heaviest she had ever felt. The man’s voice told her to remain still, that she was not to speak and this included screaming. He resumed his whip work, striking her a dozen times in quick succession across her exposed shoulders and upper back. He moved down to strike her bound arms with the flogger, something Sara had not expected. The pain was remarkable—she wondered whether she’d be able to use her arms at all when they finally freed her. If they ever freed her, that is.

The flogger continued its steady assault on Sara’s bound body, moving to her unmarked ass with an unwelcome enthusiasm. She lost count after the first twenty blows, but was sure there had been at least twice that many on her backside. The backs of her thighs came next, the strap coming without pause, bringing Sara to a pain threshold she never knew before. And when the whipping stopped, Sara found herself drenched with sweat, moaning incoherently. But she had not screamed. The man told her he was proud of her, and that he guessed she’d been well prepared for life at The Farm.