Unintended Consequences

 

***

 

Women can be trained in art of being naked gracefully.  Some are initially uncomfortable being naked.  Caught suddenly without a stitch of clothing, these women couldn’t seem to find a pose that felt natural.  They didn't know what to do with their hands, or the best way to balance their weight.  On one leg?  Both?  Hip thrust out?  Not?  Cover this?  Cover that?  Rebecca wasn't one of those women.  Even naked, she moved with the confidence of those who knew that their good looks had always smoothed all of life's difficulties---uncomfortable as she was without support for her breasts, she still quickly took to nakedness.  As uncomfortable as I was with not being in control?  That's how comfortable she was with being naked now. 

 

The next morning was Sunday, and it was early as I slowly moved my hands over her body.  This woman was far more clever than any of the others I'd previously taken.  Even though the back of her thighs and her buttocks were still a mass of bruises, we talked while my hands explored her beautiful body.  In a soft voice Rebecca claimed that she'd made a mistake; that she had learned her lesson and would never misbehave again.  This wasn’t enough and Rebecca knew it.  I finally released her last bond to the bed. 

 

“What do you want from me?” she asked in fear of further beatings.

 

“I want to believe you are sorry.  Make me believe.  Make me believe you have learned.”

 

Rebecca stood up with a soft sob and watched me, frozen, as I slowly walked over to the wall and picked up the same two-inch wide leather belt to which she’d already been introduced several times.  She sobbed again as I folded it in half, but didn’t say a word as I walked towards her.  I nodded my head towards the foot of the bed.  She hesitated for a second, then without a sound, she bent over her bed and rested her forehead on her elbows.  Given what I had arranged for her yesterday, I was surprised that she didn't need to be handcuffed.  Rebecca stared at the wall in front of her and never looked at me as I walked behind her. 

 

I told myself that I went easy on her this time and if I said it enough, I sort of believed it after awhile.  In any case, it was over in a couple of minutes.  Her ass and back were striped with welts, purple upon purple, and bruises upon healing bruises.  “Enough,” I told her at the end.  I was breathing a little hard from the exertion and she turned her tear-streaked face to me.  “Enough for now.”

 

She would soon learn that submitting and cooperating always made life easier.  I put the belt away and made her begin straightening the room even though it didn't need it.  During this time, I laid a plastic liner in the box she inhabited while I was at work.  After a twenty minutes I asked “How’s your fannie?”

 

“A little better, Sir,” she replied softly.  Tears still streaked her face, but she was very quiet, looking at the floor.

 

“You’ve got a whole new set of rules to live by---but that’s how it is with you and me.  We’re joined at the hip now.”  I looked at her, “Say it, say it now.”

 

“Joined at the hip,” she said in a dead voice.

 

“Look at me when you talk to me,” I demanded.  “Say it again.”

 

“Joined at the hip,” she repeated, but now with a soft sob in her voice.

 

“What do you call me?”

 

“Master,” she replied.

 

“And?” I asked.  “Say it all.”

 

“Joined at the hip, Master.  I….I…I belong to you, Master.”

 

“Now you’re a good girl, but you still go into the box.  You’ve been a bad girl.”

 

She didn't fight me as I began to settle her back into her wooden prison.  I told Rebecca, “I made a mistake with you.  I allowed you a little too much freedom, a little too quickly.  But now we correct that.”

 

“Please, Master,” she looked up at me with a pleading look on her face.  “Please don’t put me in here again.”

 

“Too late.”  I closed the box and slid her under the bed.  She would spend at least two full days in there this time, lying in her own filth, drinking tepid water and eating a few stale crumbs of bread. 

 

***

 

With each passing moment, I felt my very reason trickling away.  I didn't know how much time passed at first, but it felt like I spent months in there.  I lay on the wooden floor where he'd thrown me.  As long as I remained absolutely motionless, I didn't hurt.  But if I even twitched, the pain was agonizing, all-consuming, subsuming every other sense.  Finally, however, the pain went away and the anger began to return, continuing to smolder deep inside me.  At the end, I knew I had a view of reality that was different from anything I'd ever experienced before.  I felt like I was in a sort of dreamtime; a place where everything existed all at once, instead of as a series of events happening one after the other.  It seemed like a place with no beginning and no end.  There was no beginning, at least none that I feel.  And that made it less likely that there would be an end.  Here, everything simply was. 

 

I thought about Sunday School so many years ago as a child.  The fires of hell that awaited the sinner.  That terror was sometimes still with me.  No one knew how sin was measured.  And no one knew when the punishment would be dealt out.  I'd never been able to talk about this terror with my mother.  Now, I'm sure, it was too late. 

 

After a day, I lay in a ghastly sludge of feces and urine, hungry, thirsty, tired but still unable to sleep.  The air grew heavier and more stifling.  It felt like my skin was rotting off my bones even as I continued breathing the foul air.  It grew more and more claustrophobic.  The air was dwindling and breathing seemed just short of impossible.  It seemed as though I'd bidden farewell to the real world and entered a niche in the blackest, most isolated cave in Tibet, then a blizzard had descended upon my heart and soul, hiding everything of worth from my vision.  Time stood still and there was no apparent end to my misery.  At one point, I was seized by a panic attack.  I couldn't breathe, I was choking.  I needed to get out of the black box he'd buried me in; I had to leave this hole and get back to light and air.

 

After what seemed weeks, he let me out.  But I think it was actually only late afternoon of the second day.  The light from the setting sun streamed in through the glass bricks and penetrated my brain, blinding and dazing me.  In the artificial environment of the box, my senses got so turned around that I couldn't tell night from day.  This was not the first occasion that the light of day had taken me by surprise.  Still blinking, I looked distractedly at him.  I fixed my eyes on on him and suddenly, I could expand my lungs again.  He let me catch my breath for a second then he dragged me outside and hosed me down.  I could barely move at this point and had no opportunity to attempt another escape should I have even wanted to.  He led me back inside and after I'd cleaned my wooden box, he finally let me take a shower.  It was wonderful. 

 

As a female used to cleanliness being a part of your culturally norm, you cannot imagine how powerful a punishment it is to lay on your back with your own filth filling the crease between your buttocks and lining your thighs; lying in it, feeling it, smelling it hour after hour.  I never want to have to go through that again.  Finally, wonderfully, he allowed me to sleep in my bed.

 

 

Chapter 24: There's something compelling about someone who's comfortable with his sensuality, which is all in how he goes for the woman and looks at her: Sandra Bullock

 

My “training” continued in earnest the day after he let me out.  I constantly wore leather ankle and wrist bracelets that allowed him to confine me in different ways.  He began to groom me for my new life, always using certain small brutalities perhaps as punishment for my attempted escape....or perhaps just because I was too slow to learn.  I should have been more prepared; I should have been more ready.  The routine seldom varied, but sometimes it did.  A couple of mornings later, I woke up to the small alarm clock that he allowed me, my right wrist still cuffed to the wall at the head of my bed.  He freed me and I exercised and then showered, but he allowed me to eat next instead of fixing my hair and makeup as was normally scheduled. 

 

He dropped off the food and left.  Always hungry now, I immediately began to eat.  After a moment, I raised the glass of juice to my lips.  The first sip tasted slightly like ink, just a little off, but it was still so refreshing I quickly finished it anyway.  I went back to the sandwich and took a small bite, but after a few moments something rapidly seemed to come to life within me.  I could feel tendrils spreading throughout my chest, like fingers of fire coiling around my heart; and on my tongue was a taste like honey and anise and cream, like mother’s milk and what I imagined my Master’s seed would taste, like red meat and hot blood and molten gold.  I picked up the glass and unexpectedly all the tastes I’d ever known, and none of them, were on my tongue…..and the glass was still empty. 

 

All of a sudden, I felt woozy and put the glass down.  I must have cried out because suddenly he was there.  I would have fallen but for him.  He led me to my bed and lay me down.  Then began one of the most wondrous---and one of the most terrible experiences I have ever known.  I had the odd feeling of being a marionette and puppeteer at the same time.  I tried to move my leg and it felt instead like something moved it for me.  I tried to sit up, but could not.  Instead, I slumped back and stared at what I could see of the ceiling.  Suddenly, I was cold, but could barely move.  My mind and my senses worked, but I felt lethargic and had no energy.  The worst part was that I had no sense of free will, it was like my spirit had been taken from within my body; I wanted to please everyone, going along with whatever anyone said.  I didn’t feel like arguing or fighting, I just wanted to cooperate.  I was as placid as a cow and had just as much willpower.

 

I had no idea what he now planned and wouldn’t have cared even if I had.  Because of this, it was easy for him to gag and handcuff me, and then lead me to what he called his ‘horse.’  After he had put a harness around my chest and tied it to a rope that led to a pulley in the ceiling, I spread my legs as he ordered and he put a board between my legs.  I looked at him with drugged, trusting eyes as he said, “Woman, you’ll learn to love this.” 

 

I had no idea what he meant and stood there motionless, patiently waiting for him to continue and for it all to finally make sense.  I had my back to the wall and faced him as he suddenly lifted the polished board between my legs high enough that my toes were almost six inches off the ground.  Then he laid the board into a V-like device that supported it and stepped back.

 

I'd felt passive up to that point, looking only for an opportunity to please him---or at least not annoy him.  But with this one move, I suddenly felt a terrible pressure that my mind told me must be a crushing agony between my legs.  Where before I was listless, I knew that he was hurting me now and I was positively filled with both the energy and desire to escape his terrible wooden device.  But even as I struggled in my drugged state against the horrific apparatus, I nonetheless didn't associate him with the pain I felt.  But still, I fought the horse.  And the more I fought, the more pain it caused. 

 

Soon, I couldn’t help myself; I sat motionless on his wooden ride, my chest heaving for oxygen, tears streaming from my eyes.  The crushing pain had finally beaten its way through the drug induced fog and now I felt a terrible throbbing, paralyzing ache between my legs.  At the same time, I felt totally connected inside.  Everything was coupled---but nothing was united.  The pain ran through me in rivers of molten force.  And while the foundation of this awful energy crushed my clitoris and smashed my labia, the flow continued on through my thighs and belly and from there into my breasts and face and neck.  Everything was linked and everything hurt.  But I was helpless; I had no strength, nor the will left to scream or fight against him.

 

It was then that he began whispering into my ear, crooning softly in a compelling monotone, “Accept it; accept every price, every throb and rip and tear.  Face it and when you have, feel the strength it brings.  Learn from this.  Take it in and see how it awakens something deep in you.  Feel it, absorb it…learn to love it.  Taste it.  Take in to your mind the pleasure you get with each small gift from your body.  It’s there, if you just allow yourself to believe.  It’s easy if you just believe.”

 

Thankfully, as the minutes passed, I began to go ‘pins and needles’ numb between my legs; the drugs causing me to lose most of the association between body and mind.  The pain had slightly dulled now, but I was foolish and made a small adjustment with my hips, bringing it screaming back to life again.  God how could one such small, insignificant move on my part have caused so much pain?  I lost my breath with my next scream and could only take quick, shallow pants for air through my nose after that---I needed more AIR! 

 

God, it hurt so much.  Soon, I lost track of time.  I don’t know how long I was there, or what state of crisis my body entered----maybe I fainted or went into a fugue state---I don’t know.  But as I rode my Master’s horse that first time, I know that as I sat there shaking at the end, I had only the insistent life-beat of my own heart for company, beating so loud that it sounded several hundred times its size, as big as the house itself.  Suddenly, something picked up my consciousness and siphoned it down a long silent tunnel, until I was nothing, nothing except a thudding, hollow pulse with no geography, no boundaries and bound by no physical laws.  Even as I ground my vagina into the wood again, but this time on purpose, there was no real pain or pleasure.  Instead, I floated in a vacuum with no awareness of time or existence, bobbing lazily along like an astronaut in eternity. 

 

I must have ridden his horse for more than half an hour---or infinity---when suddenly, I was drawn back into my body as it felt like I might be having a heart attack.  An empty feeling in my lungs led to an inability to breathe.  Finally, I began to faint.  I tasted brass and a red haze closed everything out, then it deepened to the brown of a river clay, then loam and I passed out, thinking “this isn't so bad…..”

 

And then it was over and he saved me.  My legs dangled weakly from his wooden beast; I had no strength left in them as he lifted me and carried me to my bed. 

 

Even though it was early in the afternoon, he allowed me to lie in bed for the rest of the day.  I felt like I was in a haze of smoke or fog; or perhaps I was the fog.  I had no strength to move and no desire to do so.  That afternoon, as the drugs began to wane I faced the wall and wept softly, even as I kept my left hand pinned between my aching thighs, unconsciously caressing and comforting my aching femininity.

 

Suddenly, the drugs began to be cleansed from my system and even though I had never lost consciousness, it seemed as if I somehow awoke to an intense, cold white light that was shining in my eyes.  As the day wore on, I eventually began to feel more human, aside from a sore vagina and an aching lower back that I suddenly discovered. 

 

I returned to life slowly, like a bubble rising in a sea of oil.  I felt as if my essence were all that existed, and that I had no past, no memories, not even a name.  I wrinkled my forehead and noticed how rigid my facial muscles were.  My mouth was so dry that I couldn't unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth or separate my jaws.  There was a glass of water by my bed and I drank it all greedily. 

 

It was then that he took me anally.

 

***

 

I was on all fours, knees wide spread.  His big hands were busy, squeezing my breasts as if they were fruit at a produce stand and he was testing them for ripeness. There was nothing I could do but try to hold on to my composure and not give into fear. Suddenly, any composure I might pretended to have fled as he pushed my cheeks apart, his urgency to take me obvious to anyone with eyes.  I was about to be sodomized, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  I was so afraid.  I wanted to turn and look at him.  But somehow, with an iron will I lowered my head and resisted an urge to cry.  I was so tired of my childish emotions, but still, it hurt so much. 

 

"Please, please don't hurt me," I begged my Master for the third or fourth time.  I was on the verge of desperation, of uncontrollable hysteria.

 

My Master replied, "Just relax.  Like I've told you from the beginning, when you feel your rectum start to open, clench hard with your muscles, like you're trying to push me out." He laughed in a dirty sort of way, "The quicker I'm in your ass, the quicker we're done.  You promise to fuck me back and I'll be cumming real quick.  You'll only be helping yourself if you do.”  He snickered one more time.

 

I nodded my head unsurely, then braced for my next ass-fucking.  I heard my rapist's grunt at the same time that this horrible pain spread out from the tough muscle guarding my rectum.  It pinched and it ripped, it just hurt too much and I couldn't keep quiet as he started pushing inside me.  “Please, I'm begging you, Master.  Slower, slower please.  Stop.  I can't take any more.” 

 

The pain became too much and I screamed, earning a vicious cuff to my head.  "I will make you bleed, you little bitch, if you move any more.  You belong to me.  I promise you'll be hurting like hell and I'll ruin your perfect little shit-chute forever, if you make one more move that I don't like." The threat sent me into a mad panic and I struggled and wriggled mightily to get his cock out of my asshole, which felt as if someone had just set it on fire.

 

But this just made him enjoy what he was doing to me even more.

 

His voice became softer.  "Come on, baby.  Push back, you sweet little bitch.  Try to push me out of your ass.  That's the only thing that'll make this go faster," he kept telling me.  I knew this would never stop, that he'd never leave me alone until he'd satisfied himself with my body.  I felt him begin pushing one more time and I somehow strained even harder; suddenly I felt my sphincter pop open all the way for his perverse pleasure.  I braced myself against what always came next, him ramming himself up my ass in one huge thrust. 

 

"Ohh, ohh, wait, please WAIT," I heard myself beg, but he didn't slow down.  He never slowed down when he had me like this.  He was breathing harder and harder, groaning with pleasure as he dominated me.  I could feel my rectum spreading for him as he penetrated me like a runaway locomotive, and it felt like he was pushing my intestines to the side, rupturing me in his haste and need.

 

I tried to rise and he grabbed my breasts, pulling me back down onto my forearms with my nipple rings alone.  I somehow forced myself to stay down this time.  Overcome by one of the worst agony's I could imagine for a woman, I made no sound.....some pains are too great to permit a scream.  I heard him laugh and the pain grew as he wedged his thick length of meat deeper into my tight tunnel and the burning agony inflamed the entire path taken by his erection.  I continued begging and he finally stopped pushing, but he stayed inside me, keeping my anus pried partially open to accept his rigid meat.

 

Suddenly, he startled me out of my world of pain as he began to manipulate my clit.  The man was insane if thought that would give me pleasure!  But I put my head down onto my folded arms and tried to spread my thighs a little wider---anything to please him and make him cum faster.  He kept drilling me, thrusting deeper and harder and faster.  His hands were on my hips again, guiding me and keeping his target of flesh perfectly still. 

 

"Just crouch there and learn enjoy this, you sweet little bitch!  You've got a nice tight little shitter, and I'm gonna open it up all the way for you.  You can always thank me later." He hit me in the ribs several times because I was responding to the pain and not to the pleasure of his anal rape.  Each blow emptied my lungs of air, and soon I felt like I was on the verge of passing out. Then the vicious pummeling stopped and since he'd never left my body, it was easy for the anal rape to begin again.  He battered me with brutal thrusts that felt like a red hot poker was tearing through me.  I gave up struggling and just prayed that this beast would quickly finish torturing my sore rectum.  But it was not to be.  He knew his body too well, and always managed to stop himself before cumming.

 

Finally, the pain let up just a little, just enough for me to think about something other than the fact that I was being raped.  It was then that he groaned and I felt him cum inside me.  It was over for this time.

 

God, he always hurt me so much.

 

***

 

Even though I had always been a strong, independent woman, my first ride on the wooden horse left me at first emotionally numb.  But a few days after my fever broke I suddenly knew that what he did to me and what he planned for me was intolerable.  Suddenly, as if awakening from a dream, I felt a fury growing inside me that knew no bounds.  This feeling then slid smoothly into a cold rage that almost became madness.  My fingers turned into claws, my nails into talons.  I hadn't chosen this life.  I was just like everybody else.  I had....goals like everybody else, things I wanted to......achieve.  I had friends and a family.  They'd been taken from me.  He'd made me an orphan; everyone I'd ever cared about, and everyone I'd ever loved was gone. 

 

All I could think of was how unfair it was; I had too much that I still wanted to do with my life.  I knew, I just KNEW that I was too young to give up complete control of my life to another, a stranger and a sociopath no less.  But this was a careful man too; too careful to allow me any opportunity to physically retaliate against him or gain my freedom at this point.  I needed to fight my bonds, keep my sanity and bide my time….time was what I needed to beat him at this, at his own game of power and domination. 

 

As I had been warned by my readings, I now could confirm that Stage two was that of Anger.  The anger washed through me and like a lava flow, it left me burned clean of any sense of ambivalence.  It left me filled with an unyielding hot energy that made me capable of fighting this monster.  But as before, he continued to be careful to never allow me another opportunity to unleash this rage.   And soon, as the hours turned into days, I regretfully found that my mind was too rational to accept for long this near insanity that bordered on psychosis.  Leaving behind only the tiniest feelings of remorse, my driving anger too finally fled quickly into the night.  I realized that nothing worthwhile, nothing I truly needed ever lasted with this man.  Like every other emotion he provoked, it only worked to his advantage.

 

As odd as it sounds, I raged in an attempt to regain that enervating rage, but mine now was the false emotion that was only a shadow of what I needed.  I felt betrayed by my own emotions, by my character at this point.  I needed fire to fight him and all I had was ashes.  Without it, I could continue to rebel, but my acts would be the minor annoyances of a cause that had been abandoned from the beginning.  If your cause was lost, why would you ever consider fighting on, unless you were irrational?  Everything seemed fated to go his way; this was so unfair.

 

***

 

My days had quickly acquired shape.  He went back to work; each weekday I would rise early each morning and exercise; after a light breakfast I went in the box for the day---as I was in it now.  The incandescent fury had departed and left only a calm determination to never give in to him.  Once I was imprisoned, he would turn a radio or television on very softly.  Then he left; to work or to shop or something.  My captor only let me out when he came back hours later---and sometimes not even then.  I stretched my body as far as I could.  Lying in the dark in an almost fetal position, I never straightened anything but my back.  It always became excruciating after a few hours. 

 

***

 

I slept in the bed at night when he was home.  Sometimes he removed the box from under the bed early in the morning and took me with little preparation.  It was a toss-up whether he desired vaginal or anal sex.  I had little to smile about and certainly did not wear a smile at the moment of his penetration, for at night I lay in the darkness that contained my bed, breathing hard and loud through clenched teeth as he pumped on my stomach or my back.

 

He possessed me and I could feel nothing but him.  I could not move.  His heat and the total darkness drained my energy.  He ensured that there was no place for me to go and I was always exhausted when he was done with me.  Fatigue held me pinned to my bed, and it grew more every time he finished with my body.  When he would end, I was always panting like a locomotive and it took awhile to gain control over my body.  But I would finally catch my breath, then I would sigh in relief and hope to lie there unmolested by him for a little while longer, perfectly still in the dark. 

 

I was alone, far from anyone that had ever cared about me.  And the endless questions I asked myself changed none of this.  But still, they seemed to rise from within, from a deep and secret place inside me.  I knew the questions would end only when I could give answers.  But that was impossible.  For the answers were always stuck, tearing at the delicate fabric of my mind.  And then I was back in my body; and I could not help myself as I groaned with each of his moves.

 

***

 

He was doing his best to turn me from a woman with pride into a woman who degraded herself and confirmed every poor opinion a man could ever have.  I fought him, but now found myself sometimes unconsciously doing my best to formally serve him…it…it just made everything easier.  At the same time, I'd learned how to anger him with just small mistakes in the routines he demanded....such tiny little errors that only a madman would punish me for making them. 

 

I hated everything about learning how to serve him, how to think about making him happy.  I had to learn how to crawl correctly to show my subservience, how to kneel to give him his meal or drink, and how to rise to my feet again without spilling anything should I be holding a tray....I had also learned that that these things offered many opportunity for mistakes.  I'd learned that there are certain positions that he preferred I assume when he was with me.  That there were certain things I was allowed to say, and certain ways to say them.  Other ways were forbidden upon penalty of being spanked again, or worse.  In a way, it had become a game between us; how far could I go before he had to retaliate?  I'd always looked upon spankings as a type of punishment used to shape a young child’s behavior.  God, how I feared them now. 

 

It was on this day that he taught me the command “Tiptoes.”  Anytime he said this word, I was to immediately stop whatever I was doing and go up on my toes and smile at him.  Even though I resented everything about him, this by itself seemed stupid and harmless enough at first, so I did what he asked.  But soon, even though I had begun to accept other parts of his training program, for some reason “Tiptoes” seemed different, less harmless; it somehow forced me realize just how much I was cooperating.  This absolutely filled me with the need to rebel, even if in just small things, and led to several more punishment encounters.

 

***

 

I secretly kept track of the days and it had been well over two weeks now.  Where were the police?  Where was my husband?  Who would save me from this man---from this fate?  The man I had been forced to accept as my Master still put me in the wooden container every day, perhaps to teach me a lesson in discipline, or perhaps to give me time to learn about myself.  He never told me why he kept me in it and obviously didn’t care if I suffered.  I ached everywhere.  Much of was because of his beatings, but much of it had to be psychological too, and was based upon the numerous rapes and sodomy's that I experienced.

 

While I was suspicious of his food now, I ate a little just keep up my strength, if only to keep in shape to beat him in the end.  I ate sparingly of the light meals he offered, but I still had to eat.  Days after my first ride of the horse, when he first freed me from the box, the meal was on schedule and it looked harmless enough.  And even though I knew the danger, I rolled the dice and lost.  With this meal he drugged me a second time and again I rode his horse. 

 

This time I fully knew what to expect, but just couldn’t bring about the emotions to be concerned.  And as before, even though I was weak and unable to move, the drug allowed him my forced cooperation again.  Even in this drugged stupor I was hesitant, but still I wanted nothing more than to please him and by doing so, avoid conflict; and so, for a second time I found myself collaborating with him in every way that he considered important.  This time, as blinding as the pain was, a part of me seemed able to stand separately off to the side.  It watched and listened more closely this time as he whispered, “Accept it, want it, desire it.  Use it to make a wall inside.  The more you take from this, the stronger the wall.  It's the wall that makes you so unique, so strong.  Move with the sensations, bring the feelings in and when they die down or you go numb, move and bring them back to life again.” 

 

And I did.  And it still hurt terribly; I knew he must be insane.

 

He had gone along with me for both rides, but only as a guide, a less than casual observer of my agonies.  When he finally released me that evening, I wept for several hours afterwards in my bed.

 

***

 

The box fit snugly under the bed; my space in it was not much more than five feet long and perhaps slightly more than a foot high, but much wider.  A bottle was always taped to the top and I could get water by sucking on a plastic tube.  I generally lay on my back and there was no padding on the bottom.  That might not be so bad, except that my wrists were always bound in front when he put me in.  The box significantly constrained my body’s movements.  It cut-off all light and almost all sound from the White Room.  It greatly restricted the flow of air and the temperature varied only little in the box, tending to rise a little at the end of the day.  But odd as it sounds, as much as I hated the box---and I hated it with a depth of passion that would be hard for you the reader to imagine---the box had somehow become more comforting too.  I had begun to look at it as the safest place I could be; it was almost womb-like to me now.  As long as I was boxed, he couldn't get at me.  In the box, there was nothing to do but think, and I tended to think a lot while there.

 

My mind had flipped and it was all I could think of.  There were worse things than the box.  For example, I don’t know if anyone can imagine the loneliness of a bad marriage.  It was so---unexpected.  For me, marriage had turned into an absolute prison.  And at the time, I thought it was my husband that had put me there.  But finally, I realized that I had done it to myself because I had been too weak to change or leave him.  It was in this state of shame and complete lack of grace that Master had acquired me and begun his work.  He'd grabbed me by the hand and told me I had to walk with him towards what he saw as my future and away from my past.  And even when I tarried, he refused to leave me behind. 

 

God, as much as I hated him, I had to ask---had we had been placed in each other’s path for a reason?

 

I learned a lot about myself during those hours alone.  I thought critically about what I’d done with my life and felt despair  Not because I’d necessarily harmed anyone, but because I hadn't accomplished anything with it.  I was weak---I’d given in to my weaknesses---and to him.  On a spiritual level, I realized that weaknesses like mine brought everyone down at one time or another.  On an emotional level, I learned that I needed to hear real voices during this time.  Or more to the point, voices that I knew were real.  Television and radio just didn’t qualify.  Perhaps the difference was subtle, one for philosophers.  But I’d seen more than one computer programmer done in by that difference at school.  Hearing things was a bad sign and seeing things was even worse. 

 

Too, I re-learned an old and familiar lesson, one that I'd learned long ago as a child.  I was different from everyone else in this way.  People complained of discomfort, but not me.  In one way discomfort was good in that it kept you sharp.  Most people didn’t understand this, but a few did.  And a rare few like me accepted the mind-focusing ability of pain---not only accepted it, but almost gloried in it. 

 

***

 

I stopped eating anything he prepared and vowed to starve unless he gave me only unopened food packaged elsewhere.  There seemed to be a pattern, about every three days he seemed to want me to experience his horse.  He always gave me the drugs just before that.  I swore to myself I would never willingly ride his horse again.  But a day later, two days before my next scheduled journey on the horse, he drugged the water bottle in the box---and he kept me that way until I rode for him a third time.

 

It was the sixteenth day---or was it the eighteenth day?---of my captivity and my next experience with the horse was by far the worst.  Undrugged, I knew that I must fight him; drugged, I couldn’t arouse either energy or will.  And this ride was the longest of all, both physically and emotionally.  It was at this time that I finally began to understand what he was whispering in my ear---and I hated the fact that I did.  I hated myself for feeling what I did and I hated him even more for making me recognize this thing in me.  The pain no longer frightened me, but even worse, the idea of enjoying the pain no longer frightened me.  I had somehow begun to take pleasure in the pain; I was a circus freak and it was his fault.

 

I know that something vital happened that day.  With each round of drugs, I found that I recovered emotionally more quickly from my ride.  And at the end of that third ride, I remember sitting motionless on the edge of the bed and even though I ached terribly between my legs, I was staring at nothing on the far white wall when he leaned into my ear and in a whisper, asked what I saw.

 

“What am I looking at?” I answered his question with one of my own like a brain dead parrot.  I felt clean and clear of his drugs, but I was still puzzled by the question.

 

“What am I looking at?” I repeated several more times, both hands cradled comfortingly between my aching thighs, still staring at the wall.  I can still see myself, sitting, staring at the wall, finally realizing that I would probably never be free again.  In my memory, I saw myself from the outside and it’s as if I was suspended in nothing, my silhouette bright and blurred, my expressionless white face obscured every few minutes by shadows that no one else could see, no one suspecting the thoughts that flitted crazily across my mind.  He had begun to succeed and I felt I was becoming some sort of creepy parody of myself, or rather, of what I now wanted because of him---I was a shadow of a shadow and it was that which fulfilled his needs.

 

He'd slapped my face earlier as he disciplined me, and my nose still bled a little.  I looked down and saw a drop of blood splash onto my bare thigh, exploding like fireworks in the sky on Guy Fawkes night.  I wiped my nose with my hand one more time, and since no one could see me, I licked the red smear from my fingers. 

 

As much as one can be “only a little” when talking about something so important, I think I might have been a little insane at that moment.

 

The first time he touched me that night, at his slightest touch the unsupported fabric of my pride finally fell to the ground.  My expiring desire for freedom displayed a sudden luster, flaring to life and blazing for a moment as I felt my old self try to come back, and then it was extinguished, perhaps forever.  This man would win and I knew that he would be my Master.  I had fought him as best I could and would continue to do so for a little more while, but I knew that it was hopeless.  In my despair, I gave way to feelings of doom before the night was over.

 

I was so depressed, just tired of it all; of being drugged and tortured and raped.  I thought of suicide---even though he restrained me, I knew I was smart enough to figure a way to beat him.  I would win even if it was only in this awful way.  And although it was not my style, I found myself on the edge of that last abyss, ready to throw myself over.  In my mind, I walked to the edge a dozen times and looked down the sheer rocky face of my existence.  I sat on the edge of insanity and dangled my feet over the edge, thinking of nothing.  Twice I mentally shifted as if to jump.  When I finally decided I could not kill myself, it was not for fear of pain or loss.  The pain would only be a bright spark and the loss would only be to the man who had enslaved me.  But in the end I found I could not do it, for it would be his ultimate victory over me.  I just could not let him win like that.

 

***

 

Dig down deep into the blood depths of hormonal bedrock, then look where violence and sex and power grow fibrously intertwined.  It was a dark, murky, terribly complicated place down there for a man like him.  Although he ensured that the sex between us was common-place, Master didn’t force as much upon me as I had feared at the beginning of my captivity.  But what we did have was not erotic; it was painful and demeaning, and often brutal.  As promised, he often entered the White Room to take his sex with me, but it could have been so much worse too.  Eventually, I came to understand that this was his way of achieving pure physical liberation. 

 

Emotional release he achieved in other ways.  This was not attained by the occasional rape, but the two times a week, each week from the very beginning, that he regularly entered my room filled with lust, but not my body; at least not for the purposes of sex as I knew it then.  I think it was my soul that he wanted.  These visits always alternated between my rides on his horse.  He would first pick up the leather wrist restraints and look at me.  Numb, I had learned to obey at least in some things and would hold out my hands to him as he bound my wrists behind my back without a word.  The gag always came next; this too I learned to accept without complaint.  At this point, I was now at his mercy and it would begin all over again.

 

Never blindfolded, he made sure that I was always aware of what he planned before he did it to me.  Emotionally anesthetized, I numbly accepted whatever he chose to do.  My Master experimented with exquisite attention to detail; wooden horse and wooden cross, whip and rope and cane, steel and leather.  Why was he doing this to me?  Even as he led me to his toys, I attempted to measure the weight of his needs; the power in his toys and endurance of my body.  And always the question; why me?

 

I endured multiple rides on the wooden horse and was crushed each time.  I finally came to dread the horse, not for the agony it caused me, but later when I realized my revulsion towards this pain was somehow tempered with bizarre anticipation.  I am embarrassed to admit that I had by now learned to almost willingly climb aboard that damned beast.  And when I was in those moods, I rode for my pleasure, not his, just to see where it took me.  The horse became for me during these times a thing of beauty; a perfect fusion of wood, metal and leather.  It fit between my legs like another leg.  At those times, it was the perfect punishment, but more than that, the perfect friend. 

 

I also willingly stood fastened to his wooden cross, immobilized and prepared for the shock of the whips and canes and belts that he used upon my breasts and belly, or my buttocks, back and thighs.  These too I came see in a different light once he had taken me far enough.  He kept me tied naked to his horizontal bars for hours on end.  Tightly bound at every joint, my arms and legs intricately interwoven among the bars.  Ordered to remain motionless, I could move only subtle fractions of an inch as I tried to bring life back into numbed muscles and aching joints.  He told me my skin was like smooth, satin alabaster, and it perfectly fitted the room that was my prison.  I finally wore his discipline collars and gags, dildos, nipple clamps and various rope and leather bonds almost with coarse anticipation; always dreading them at first, but later accommodating them with a conscious fear of what it meant to my soul if I allowed him to continue.  And I did.

 

Docile as the stupidest cow, I eventually cooperated with him in every way; but even as I hated everything he did to me, my revulsion still rang false for it was the conscious attempt of one who knew she should hate it, not desire it. 

 

But even as I screamed for his pleasure into my gag, many times he did not seem to react with pleasure to what he was doing to me.  He would whisper in my ear, ”Use this as your opportunity.  Become one with the pain and understanding will begin.  Feel your pain.  Make friends with the pain.”  Then when we finished, he would slowly release me from my bonds and look down upon me without expression. 

 

My body bent double with pain; slick with sweat and oftentimes covered with superficial welts and bruises, he would then free me from my bonds.  In the sudden and complete silence of the room, we would stand close, as if physically connected.  It always took me a moment to separate from him, to actually realize that I could.  Finally freed, he would usually allow me crawl to the bed, and then into it.  If he'd bound or whipped me, he would lay me down and sometimes massage soothing lotion onto the welts and marks he had left on my skin or begin to work out the knots from cramps his ropes had caused in my muscles.  Most nights when he did this, I fought the feelings of gratitude that welled up inside me.

 

On other nights following these attentions, I cried myself to sleep with my left hand either gripped between my aching thighs, stroking and nursing my bruised genitals or cradling my tortured breasts.  During the day these parts of my body were often out of his reach while I was in the box.  But the worst part for me was that even while I knew I should still be filled with rage, I recognized that there was a part of me that had begun to accept as normal what he did.  What he presented me during these times left me dizzy in my anguish, yet clearly I recognized that it somehow brought a new sensitivity with it.  He demanded so much from me during these times, and I just didn’t know if I had the strength to visit the boundaries that he continued to re-define for me. 

 

And if I willingly traveled to them, would I ever find my way back?

 

***

 

In return for my promise of shelter from the storm that first night, Rebecca had numbly accepted the collar which she would never remove again on her own.  Almost three weeks had passed and during this time there had been many milestones: her attempt to escape, her time in the box and her initial experiences with my toys.  At the end of that first night in the rain, I knew that any sane person would have begun to lose all hope of a normal life again.  Imprisoned in the box, released and drugged, riding the lumber; imprisoned again, but released only to feel the whips and belts and canes.  Feelings of hopelessness and despair could only accelerate in their intensity as she continued her training.  It was no wonder that she had begun to care less and less what happened to her anymore. 

 

Whether exercising or lying on her bed or cleaning the White Room, cuffs and belts and chains were all that I allowed her to wear beneath a flimsy robe.  That first day, Rebecca seemed to acknowledge her status by setting about to quickly learn the schedule I demanded she maintain.  She did not speak more than ten or fifteen times during the whole early period, uttering only a soft “yes, Master” or “no, Master” as was necessary.  It was then that I boxed her and kept her imprisoned for the rest of the day.  But she'd tried to escape and I'd punished her severely, as was only appropriate.

 

I watched her closely for the next few days and it was then that I began to offer her the enlightenment of the horse.  Rebecca’s daily routine was not initially difficult to learn; it had been planned with the idea of keeping both her mind busy and her body healthy.  As a result, her schedule easily accommodated any punishments she might have earned.

 

***

 

When she was not performing some menial routine in the White Room, I often found her lying quietly on her bed with her face to the wall.  She generally assumed a fetal position and twice I saw that she was crying.  When I asked her why she cried, she told me she was in pain---which I knew was true, and that she thought she was pregnant---which I didn't believe for a minute.  She was a tough bitch, but I thought the emotional hammering was finally taking its toll.

 

In truth, I had no idea whether or not she was carrying my child.  Most of the time, I was pretty sure it was a scam on her part; surely she was capable of it if she thought it would somehow help her to be free again.  But what if it wasn't?  What on earth was I going to do with a pregnant woman?  I wanted a woman to dominate; one I could restrain and who respected my power.  The last thing I wanted was female with a big belly, aching legs and hemorrhoids in my face for twenty-four hours a day.  

 

I had to face facts.  I was clearly capable of doing bad things to innocent people; but I also compartmentalized my beliefs pretty well too.  I would fuck a man up in a heart beat, and most women deserved what they got from me.  But I drew the line at hurting kids.  I was hard---I admit all of that, but I did have ethics---rules to which I adhered.  God gave Rebecca incredible gifts; a strong mind, a beautiful face and perfect body.  Instead of doing her best to make men's lives better, she'd squandered her gifts playing power games with the males that happened to wander into her web of deceit.  Then he gave her to me.  And the opportunity to teach Rebecca her place in life---how to best satisfy men.  I wanted to fuck her, not baby-sit while she had a kid. 

 

This clearly needed thought.

 

***

 

I was pretty sure that her attempt to escape had been spur of the moment, unplanned and rather stupid---but I had been careless too and who was to punish me for my incompetence?  No one, I guess, except perhaps myself; that was one of the perquisites---and the responsibilities---of being the Dom here.  However I might have forced Rebecca to modify her behavior with my discipline, her total obedience later gave me hope that she might have begun to accept her new role.  She continued to play her little game of “mistakes” with me, and we both knew what she did.  Sometimes she went too far and I was forced to punish her---but most other times, I blithely ignored her silly and feeble attempts at disrupting our routine.  She didn’t like it and her face showed it.  We both knew that she'd sold her soul for a little security, but she seemed to accept it.

 

While I found myself spending more and more time with her, the sex was oftentimes more or less perfunctory on both our parts.  She submitted and I took as I desired.  I continued to maintain a cool exterior, and while firm, I also tried my best to be scrupulously fair.  Still, I was forced to bring her pain for different reasons.  Some times she had to experience the joy that my toys could bring because they were part of her training.  Other times I had to punish her for disobedience.  At first she seemed unable to recognize her responsibility in these lesser situations, but as Rebecca became more disciplined, she gained the ability to more easily acknowledge her guilt. 

 

***

 

I had first taught Rebecca the command “tiptoes” perhaps six or seven days after she’d accepted my collar.  She had willingly complied when I first uttered this command; her calves were an exquisite sight, bunching and straining to keep her weight on her toes as she smiled over her shoulder at me---her muscular buttocks tightly clenched in sympathetic effort, her exquisite rosy brown puckered hole buried from sight between two beautifully firm ass cheeks. 

 

But the time quickly came when she saw this as demeaning and finally refused my command.  At this point I had already initiated Rebecca to the rice.  Angry at this overt disobedience, I demanded that she assume the punishment position on her knees for fifteen minutes, but she silently refused by just shaking her head.  I had broken one of the first military axioms I had ever been taught---never give a command that you are not sure will be carried out.  This situation had quickly escalated from a minor infraction to being a clear challenge to my authority---and we both knew it. 

 

Without saying a word, I walked over to the equipment wall and picked up a pair of handcuffs and some rough rope to use on her slave collar.  Still facing away, she was watching me out of the corner of her eye as I began to return.  As I got closer, she began to shake her head saying, “Please.  No, I won’t.”  I was amazed at how much she sounded like a petulant, two year-old child.

 

With this, I charged quickly and picked up her naked body in a semi-bear hug, throwing her almost like a football onto the bed.  Even as she bounced off the mattress and into the wall, I leaped after her.  Forcing her onto her stomach and pinning both of her wrists in my left hand, I quickly handcuffed her wrists behind her back.

 

Keeping her on her stomach, I used the pieces of manila rope to bind both of her ankles tightly to the back of her thighs.  She kicked like hell and I did my best to avoid most of her blows, but she still connected twice in my stomach.  Suddenly I was angry for real, the adrenaline singing in my blood.  I slapped the side of her head twice, almost breaking my hand on her hard, obstinate skull.  This made me even more angry.

 

Although she was subdued physically, Rebecca’s furious curses were ringing even more loudly in my ears as I finished hog-tying her.  The adrenaline-driven rage that had been gone for quite a few days had returned.  I was huffing like a long distance runner as I finally tied a rope around the chains of her handcuffs and then ran the free end from the back between her thighs and onto her belly.  After using most of my weight to force her head down until it was only inches from her knees, I ran the free end through a loop in her collar and then pulled until it was tight enough to keep her face almost onto her thighs, but loose enough that she could still breathe.  I also knew that this move had to hurt like hell as the metal cuffs were pulled sharply down on her wrists, but I didn’t give a shit at the moment---I wanted to hurt her.

 

She was begging me not to do this because she was pregnant, but I didn't give a shit what the lying bitch said right now.  I caught my breath and after a minute, I walked over to the punishment tray and spread a pound of beans on it.  I picked the lying cunt up and dropped her from a foot in the air onto knees in the punishment tray.  She gave out a cry that was muffled by her thighs and purposely fell onto her side.  I knew that the beans would eventually hurt her arm and hip almost as much as they would her knees, so I left her as she was.  But how could I respond to this challenge?  What would be enough and what too much?

 

I hadn’t had the opportunity yet to introduce Rebecca to The Discipline and it seemed now was the perfect time.  Quite different from a belt or normal whip, The Discipline was a cord-like leather whip which resembled fine macramé on the business end; it allowed me to offer Rebecca great pain during discipline, but since it covered a larger area I could attack more of her body without wearing myself out so.  I planned on using it on her buttocks or back once a week from this point on.

 

From the corner where she lay hog-tied, I walked back to the equipment wall and picked up the leather flog.  Snapping it into my hand as I walked back to the disobedient woman, her eyes opened wide in fear even as she strained to see what caused the vicious sounds.  I had to be careful.  Flogging could be much worse than spanking because it's easier to break the skin with a tool like The Discipline.  This was her first punishment flogging and I’m sorry to say that I beat her ass and hips for at least three brutal minutes---not hard enough to permanently mar her beautiful skin, but certainly hard enough to cause great pain.  She screamed for mercy the whole time and sobbed for half an hour after I finished.  I then explained that the current disciplining was the result of her having refused her first punishment.  She started crying when I explained that she still had to finish the first punishment she'd been assigned after I finished with The Discipline.  I carefully explained one more time as if to a child that everything that had happened was for her own good: that she needed to learn obedience; that she didn't have the adult freedoms now that she had once so abused in the past; and that like a small baby, Rebecca needed to learn all over again that willful acts of disobedience did have consequences. 

 

I gave Rebecca a choice when I'd finished flogging her; her punishment would not be finished until she spent fifteen minutes kneeling on the beans.  She could begin at that moment or whenever she felt like it.  But she wasn’t leaving the punishment tray until she had served the full penalty---and I had not yet put The Discipline away.  She seemed to almost physically collapse into herself, beginning on the inside and finishing on the outside.  Rebecca spent no more than ten minutes on her side before she asked me in a small, pained voice to set her on her knees on the beans.  But I refused.  Before I would make a move to help her, she had to beg.  There was a stand-off for another five minutes before this beautiful, stubborn woman would submit---but in the end, she begged to be punished---and I complied.

 

Even though she fought me less obviously on other things, never again did she fight tiptoes like this.  Everything was as it should be, for in the end she had learned to willingly show her perfect body to me. 

 

***

 

She'd been my captive for over three weeks and tonight it was time for Rebecca to enjoy the ginger again.  I wanted this to be a little more erotic experience for both of us.  For Rebecca, it was her second figging, and I wanted to see how she handled it.  I planned to keep her cuffed during the actual event, but this time I would allow her to make all the noise she might feel necessary.

 

Vulva and legs freshly shaved, nails freshly done, I had her apply skin-softening lotion liberally applied all over her body, especially concentrating on her feet.  Her long hair was down and blown out; her makeup was impeccable.  Perfectly swollen lips were perfectly edged and perfectly glossed.  Eyes full of questions, but oddly not filled with as much life as I had come to expect as normal, Rebecca donned a black lace garter belt and sheer black stockings that only further emphasized her perfectly shaped ass and gorgeous legs.  Rings of golden metal embedded in her breasts and nose, black pumps with four-inch heels, black leather slave collar and golden hoop earrings completed her costume. I wanted to see nothing but stockings and heels as she was draped across my lap.  A well-built woman, she let me know again that she found not wearing support often tedious if not down right painful.  As usual, I let her know that I didn’t care about her wishes---she didn’t get a bra.

 

I fetched the ginger, but kept it hidden in a small plastic sack.  We walked towards her bed in the White Room; I led and she maintained position one step behind and to my right, just as she'd been taught.  I’m pretty sure that she knew I had plans for tonight, but she just wasn’t sure what.  I laid a thin cane and The Discipline on the bed.  She stood facing away from me with a carefully blank look on her face as I sat on the edge of her bed, the bag containing the two wet and cold pieces of ginger to my right; it was easy to handcuff her hands behind her back for by now this was an accepted part of her life and she put up no fight.

 

***

 

I had spent almost an hour preparing myself for him tonight, but tonight it seemed like there was nothing there when I tried to think.  I had memories of what he'd been doing to me and I felt emotions, but it seemed like the cord that connected the two had been cut.  I stared at him for a long time.  What I saw wasn't registering; I had a feeling of disorientation.  I couldn't seem to clear my thoughts.  There was too much to absorb tonight.  Suddenly, all I could do was relax; all the energy just seemed to drain out of me.  The temptation to go to sleep on my feet was almost undeniable.  But the heels were too uncomfortable, his collar galled my throat and he remained yet unsatisfied.  What would he demand of me tonight?  It didn't really matter.  All I wanted to do was get through this and be allowed to go to bed and sleep.

 

***

 

I told Rebecca to lower herself across my lap and she did this with a little help from me.  Her head was to my left, freeing my right hand to do whatever might be necessary.  She spread her knees upon my command and she raised her ass.  It was pooched up into the air, a position which would make it easier to insert the plug into her anus.  The skin of her ass and lower back was still slightly bruised from our earlier encounters, but everything was healing nicely. 

 

Rebecca was silent at first, but began to quietly ask me what I was doing as I spread her buttocks apart, baring the beautiful little rosebud she hid between her cheeks.  I told her to be quiet or she'd be punished.  She didn’t struggle, but this was perhaps because she knew it would do no good; she would never be able to get her feet back under her to stand up and I kept my left elbow pressed down on top of her lower back and hands---she was helpless in this position. 

 

First I used my wet finger to rim her, getting her anus excited and ready to accept a little something extra.  Once I'd done this for a minute, I spread her cheeks and kept them spread with my left hand as I removed the cold ginger finger from the bag with my right.  Rebecca smelled the herb and quickly took a look over her shoulder---she knew exactly what I wanted tonight.  Crying out, “God, no.  Not that again.  Please, no,” she began to wriggle on my lap.  I quickly picked up the supple cane and laid a quick shot across her ass.  She immediately froze, then forced herself to relax as she draped loosely again over my lap.

 

I began to slowly inserted the ginger finger into Rebecca’s rectum.  I took my time for I knew that the her anus would eventually accept the cold, slick, wet root.  As I anticipated, her defenses quickly gave way and Rebecca gave out a soft groan as I slowly slid it into her; first about half way in so that she could get used to the feeling, and then after inning and outing a couple of times, I finally pushed it in up to the ring that I'd carved on the thickest part of the finger. 

 

For me, the knowledge that I was now in control of a part of her body that she had so zealously defended when free---that she was helpless before me and that only I could remove the plug---that Rebecca knew exactly what dramatic affects this small root would soon have on her---that I could either make her beg for more or to remove it---that I could stimulate her further with other methods of pleasure and pain---it was all the realization of a fantasy that I’d had about her since we'd met that first day, and one that I’d had about women in general for years. 

 

I knew that Rebecca had to be humiliated by what I’d forced her to accept today.  But this was all part of the mental side of being figged; being forced to dress as she had to please me, the confusion and fear, the nervous anticipation she must have felt as I set up the evenings’ sexual activities around the one area in which she had the most psychological difficulties, being rimmed first and then the actual figging itself, and the obvious effects of the ginger itself, some of which were only now beginning to manifest themselves. 

 

Rebecca lay motionless on my lap and it was simply one of the most erotic things I'd ever seen as the burning built up slowly inside her.  First she cried out softly as the gentle, yet persistent warming began to build in her rectum.  This was not a stupid woman.  She'd taken the ginger inside once before and knew how it would end this time too; but over time I would learn that intensity of the actual experience took her by surprise each time. 

 

The burning of the ginger plug soon reached for her the frenetic and irresistible force of a runaway locomotive.  It must have built to a crescendo within minutes because her breathing rapidly changed from a fairly quick shallow pant early on to a heaving, lung filling quest for air that seemed at times unobtainable.  This was a proud, sharp and sophisticated woman; yet this tiny finger of root reduced her to a quivering mass of uncontrolled feminine flesh in only a few short minutes.

 

As she lay writhing on my lap, I continually stroked the backs of her nylon clad thighs and then up onto her vagina; there was no part of this woman that was not gorgeous and desirable.  Even as careful as I was, the small amount of oils remaining on my fingers from the anal insertion were still enough to cause her vagina to burn a little.  With just the merest touch of ginger oil to her clit, her vagina opened up and her fluid of love began to literally pour out. 

 

Once or twice, I pulled the finger out an inch or so, then pushed it back in even deeper before I allowed her anal ring to lock onto the shallow carved groove again.  As usual, to increase the burning effects, I ordered Rebecca to clench the muscles of her butt.  She did this one time, then cried out dramatically as the burning pain-pleasure must have seemed to increase ten-fold.  She tried to rise off of my lap again, but I kept her head down until she stopped struggling.  I could tell that her whole being now revolved around the ginger root that I had rammed up her ass and it seemed as if this had suddenly taken away her will to fight.  She wouldn’t willingly clench for me again, but this didn't anger me since I was both fascinated  and hugely turned-on by what I had on my lap.  I pushed her ass cheeks tightly together for her and held them shut several more times---she howled for me to stop and eventually I did.  When she refused to clench for me again towards the end of her time on my thighs, I caned her until she complied.  Her tears of frustration and humiliation were splashing on the floor when I was finally satisfied.

 

I pushed her off of my lap and onto her knees.  She faced me as my left hand held her chin up so that I could look into her face.  I reached around her left hip with my right hand and grasped her ass.  I ordered her to clench one last time and she did, holding it fitfully for about two minutes.  At the end, her whole body was shuddering.  Her shoulders shook and her eyes were closed as tears leaked down her face; I finally gave her permission to relax.  At about fifteen minutes, Rebecca walked on her knees towards me until her groin was pushed up against my shin.  She was panting as she did this.  Horny as hell now, she rubbed her groin and clit against my leg until she came. 

 

Fascinated, I watched as she rubbed her hips and belly urgently against me, her eyes closed and her mind in a place that only she knew.  Although I hadn’t given her permission to use me in this way, it was okay because she obviously needed physical release.  And I wasn’t about to fuck her right now and take a chance of getting any ginger oil on my cock.  After about eighteen or twenty minutes, the burning seemed to begin to recede and she was now able to put words together in a meaningful way again.  She was one hot piece of ass in every sense of the word, and I didn’t have the heart to put her through the next part where I put the second piece of ginger directly against her clit---maybe next time?

 

***

 

I lay across his lap and remembered the first time.  The horrified anticipation of what he planned for me cut through the mental fog like a knife.  I knew what to expect now and to say that I awaited his next actions somewhat hesitantly was a massive understatement.  I lay quietly somehow and willed myself to spread my knees at his command, forcing my thighs apart as he first ran his cold, wet finger around my anus.  The sensation was really unpleasant and I let out an involuntary ‘Mmmmunnghh’ of disgust.  Finally, he touched the ginger to the outside of my rectum; it was as cold and clammy as the caress of a corpse, and while it stung a bit, it was not yet unbearable. 

 

My mind suddenly wandered at that moment and that was good.  It’s strange, the places the mind goes when you’re under pressure.  I needed the brief distraction of that odd mental journey while he touched me and made my rear end ready for the ginger root.  The actual insertion of the root plug was a minor triumph of the mind for me.  Consensual or not, anal play is something that I had always before avoided, finding it to be incredibly demanding both psychologically and emotionally.  What this man had done to me, what this man had forced me to accept anally over the last several weeks was foreign and totally demeaning, so completely humiliating, that it required a psychological submission that to me would have been unthinkable, literally intolerable only a few short weeks ago. 

 

It was just as bad on a physical level.  All of the sensations were uncomfortable, it was extremely uncomfortable at the time of penetration and I always ached and burned afterwards  Of my own free will, I would never have voluntarily allowed him, or any man, to insert anything inside my rectum, let alone have sex in this way.  I wouldn't have accepted this from any man.  I never had before and did so now only under duress after being bound.

 

He went slowly and after a few moments I could feel that he’d slid it in partway in.  Something uncomfortable was happening inside me, the familiar burn slowly started in a way that felt cool rather than hot, like ice that never warmed to your body's temperature, but it never numbed you either.  I normally tried not to swear or be too coarse, but holy fuck, just like before it burned like fire.  I begged him to stop right then, but of course, he continued until he'd slowly pushed all of it into me.  I tried to pull my cuffed hands free, but felt only pain in my wrists and my hands as they writhed uncontrollably behind my back.  I closed my eyes and felt tears squeeze out.  But I had no other choice, so I continued to lay over his lap and prepared myself mentally as best I could for the rest of what I knew would happen.

 

After a few minutes I was writhing on his lap, unable to get away from the searing flame that seemed to get hotter with each throb of my heart; a heat so deep inside me now that it took my breath away.  Even though it was my rectum that burned with tortured fever, I knew that as I hung upside down and draped over his knees, my face too was flushed with the unbearable heat.  Everything burned now, my face, my lungs, my breasts, my legs.  Early on while I still retained conscious control over my body, I closed my eyes and concentrated on riding the burning tsunami of pain as best I could.  I kept telling myself, you can do this, you can do this.  And that actually seemed to help a little until Master used his fingers to finally push the ginger even further inside me, now stretching my anus with the thickest part of the root; it was then that I felt my ring of anal muscles lock onto the carved root and the pain became truly unbearable. 

 

It became a tidal wave of pain.  I couldn't do this.  Not for him; not even for him.

 

I lost any semblance of control at this point and even though it was impossible to remain motionless, I still somehow managed to suffer in silence---mostly.  I writhed on his lap.  I crossed my ankles and locked them together.  I rocked on his lap like a child.  Nothing worked.  Nothing helped control the agony I felt.  It’s difficult to describe the series of escalating fiery sensations I experienced.  I entered a state of extraordinary, exquisitely burning agony after the first couple of minutes, and that condition continued to evolve to ever finer tuned levels of pain throughout.  My entire body from the waist down felt like it was simultaneously on fire and vibrating at the same time.  I could feel my heart beating in my rectum and vagina.  The same burning pulse then raced again and again from between my legs and up through my head as I hung upside down over his lap.  Every part of my body was on fire and burning, my nipples, my breasts, my shoulders, my thighs.  My pussy was drenched in response to the sensations, and my clit became swollen and incredibly sensitive, then ice-cold. 

 

He told me to ‘clench’ and I somehow squeezed the muscles of my butt together.  There was an immediate flash of almost nuclear intensity, and I knew that I screamed in pain, but it was an unconscious response.  My eyes were closed and I actually saw what seemed to be fireworks behind my eyelids.  The burning had intensified a thousand-fold in my lower body, far beyond what anyone could ever reasonably be expected to handle.  And yet, and yet, on the periphery of my consciousness I was still somehow aware that he continually touched me, stroking the backs of my legs and my butt cheeks, parting my inner thighs and touching my mark of his ownership before rolling my clit between his thumb and forefinger and cupping my vagina. 

 

Always before, he demanded and I either obeyed or had chosen to willfully disobey.  But now, he told me to ‘clench’ again, and for the first time since I had been forced to take his collar, he required something from me I actually could not give him---the sensations were just too intense, too painful.  Suddenly, he began to beat me with a thin bamboo cane that he had set aside.  Crying, I tried to obey him, but I was a prisoner in my own body as it refused to comply with my conscious wishes. 

 

The cane smacked down on me again and again.  Even as I screamed, I could feel the icy burn flare in my anus.  It was worse than anything I could imagine and yet there were moments when it was worse than that---and then it receded.  It only took three more smacks of the cane before I realized that when the cane hit, I involuntarily clenched my buttocks each time.  Every time I tightened around the ginger because of being caned, the burn would again eagerly attack the lining of my ass. 

 

The incredibly hot sensation was constant---it was too difficult to remain still as he demanded.  It was out of my control, it forced me to keep moving constantly and even a hard spanking at times felt barely noticeable in contrast to my fiery, smarting sphincter.  In fact, a couple of times I wanted him to hit me harder just to distract me.  At times, the ginger was so powerful that his blows hardly registered, but the harsh contact still felt so good.  I tingled everywhere and my skin felt alive to every sensation after he stopped.  But thankfully, the beating did not go on for long for I think he knew that as much as I wanted to submit to him in this, I was made helpless by the ginger.

 

Then he began to play with my clit, and even though I was normally quite responsive to being touched and manipulated, right now there was just no way that he could make me enjoy this because the other sensations were just too intense.  There were more than a few times when the totality of what he was doing was so powerful that I thought I couldn’t take anymore, that my heart might stop, but my fears didn’t matter to my Master.

 

Finally, he pushed me off of his lap and onto my knees.  He ordered me to ‘clench’ again.  Even though it was as if he spoke to me from a thousand miles away, somehow I obeyed.  For several minutes he held my face and watched my torment evolve as I submissively and obediently contracted and released my buttocks around the spicy root for him again and again and again. 

 

Suddenly, something seemed to click and the heat became almost a cleansing wave, purifying me of what I now knew had been my all-too-typical selfishness, somehow allowing me to now almost revel in watching him take in and use my torment as fodder for himself.  I was almost outside of my body watching what went on.  It was at that point that I first embraced the burning sensations as a test of my ability to function while in pain.  As I acknowledged this new understanding, it culminated in my becoming even more incredibly sexually aroused.  I didn’t want this, but my body had no choice---I had to react, I needed a man.  I knew that my next move would leave me no pride and haunt my sleep, but the sensations were too strong and my urgency too great.  I couldn't stop myself. 

 

Without asking his permission, I walked on my knees next to him and began to grind my pussy into his leg since I knew he would refuse to fuck me.  I watched myself arch my back in order to get more of the inside of my pelvis closer to his shin---it was the only way I could rub my stiffened clit against his leg.  I felt like a dog in heat; an unthinking organism reacting to its surroundings without control or volition.  And suddenly, I had what I so desperately needed.

 

This orgasm began with a momentary sense of suspension; all gravity left and I just seemed to float.  This was quickly followed by an intense feeling of pleasure that began at my clit and pulsed as it rapidly spread throughout my pelvis.  My vagina felt warm and electric and tingly; these sensations then quickly spread throughout my body.  This understates what I felt by a thousand percent, but words fail me.  Everything seemed to go on and on as I rubbed against his shin.  Then finally, at the end, I could feel the muscle contractions in my vagina and my butt working together as my lower body and pelvis throbbed and throbbed in unison with the pleasure.

 

After a long shuddering moment, it was done and the insides of my thighs were wet with my love juice.  When he eventually helped me to my feet, my legs actually shook with the intensity of my sensations, my emotions.  When he turned me around and slowly removed the root from my rear end; it was such a relief to have it gone.  

 

I felt so drained afterwards.  I was not used to this.  I'd made mistakes as a teenager.  But I had learned from them and I had never allowed myself that completely uncontrolled freedom with men again.  While I had as many physical needs as any woman, I'd learned to control every facet of my life---I'd taught myself to be satisfied with less than other women expected.  Separate the physical from the emotional.  It was only in this way that I could keep complete control over my life.  But he'd taken that freedom of will away.  For the first time since I'd been kidnapped---and for the first time in years and years, I'd been forced to bare my deepest, truest sexual responses to a man.  For the first time in as long as I could remember, my body and my mind had been reacting sexually in a coordinated, yet completely uncontrolled way.  I felt so scared.

 

I stood in front of him and he looked at me with what I could only describe as compassion mixed with determination.  He was leading me to where he wanted me, teaching me what he wanted me know.  It was as if we were climbing the same staircase and he was always a few steps ahead of me, always having to turn back to look at me, leading me, guiding me to our shared goal.  In the end, he allowed me to lie in my bed after I undressed.  But all desire or need for sleep had fled.  Even as my ass and clit stayed sore and tender for hours more, I knew I would never forget this evening.

 

***

 

Not surprisingly, for a woman of her age and life experience, Rebecca seemed quite experienced with oral sex.  I'd taken her training to a point where I wasn't too worried about her biting me anymore.  We were in the White Room and it was perhaps the second or third time I'd had my new girl on her knees.  She didn't particularly seem to like sucking on my cock when it wasn't her choice, but she also realized by now that she didn't have much free will in the issue.  Training her was like training a puppy, exactly like training a puppy.  I stood near the edge of her bed, my rod heavy with blood and pointing up at the ceiling.

 

On her knees, Rebecca looked up into my eyes with an impassive face before she returned her gaze to my cock that stood out stiffly in front of her face.  I watched as her tongue came out to moisten her lips.  Was the little slave bitch playing with me, or was she just a little tentative?  If she was playing me, she was doing it well for the anticipation was almost unbearable.  She softly touched my cock as she studied it for a second more, then she finally opened her mouth.  I wasn't pushing her too hard, rather I was just waiting to enjoy the performance.  Her tongue brushed across the bottom of the glans and my knees suddenly felt a little weak---having a beautiful woman suck you off when you know she would rather see you dead is a rather heady aphrodisiac.  Knowing you can do anything you want to her mouth is even hotter.  She looked up at me again, then her tongue went back to its work with more determination this time as it licked softly about the head and shaft.

 

Every time she touched me it was like an electric shock.  Looking up at me with her beautiful blue eyes, she bent forward and finally slid the head of my cock into her mouth. I groaned, as much from the soft feeling of the hot, tight wetness of her mouth as for the incredibly sexy vision working at my groin.  I felt her tongue play along the bottom of my rod as she closed her mouth around my cock and began to suck.  Her cheeks hollowed and suddenly it became slightly uncomfortable.

 

"A little too hard," I told her and reached down and grabbed a handful of hair.  The pressured lessened, but she still didn't take more of me in, so I pushed on her head with my hand.  She looked up questioningly and then she suddenly realized what I wanted.  God, it was heaven as she took in another three inches of my cock.  I pulled her head back by her hair and her mouth slid back until only the head was still in her mouth.  Then she leaned forward without prompting and took me in again.

 

Her head started moving a little faster as she licked and slurped on my aching meat.  She worked me like a pro for a couple of minutes and suddenly, I knew I would explode in a matter of moments.  Her head was bobbing up and down as her lips slid along my now moist cock and she had her eyes closed as she worked on me.  I'd told her what I liked and I felt her tongue circle the head of my cock as she experimented with different things.  She pulled off after a few more strokes and licked along the bottom of my shaft.

 

"Oh yeah!" I said without thinking.  “Very, very nice.  Good puppy.”

 

***

 

His left hand controlled me as it held the hair at the back of my head, while his right hand caressed my neck every now and then.  I knew he was ready to choke me if I tried to bite him.  But my courage was gone---he was safe from me.  I had taken men and boys into my mouth like this, but always when I had been in control.  I knew his type; cumming in my mouth was how he showed his his superiority, his domination.  I'd swallowed semen before as a young teenager and hated it.  Never again, I had vowed. I wasn't a virgin; this had happened to me before, but never willingly and never with enjoyment.  I felt nauseous, but with his hand around my neck, there was nothing I could do to stop it.

 

I couldn't avoid what he did to me so my hands were braced on his hips as I tried to at least aim him a little.  He said something to me, but I didn't understand it...I was too busy trying to breathe.  My saliva was pooling around his meat and I was trying not to gag as his hot cock kept sliding deeply in and out of my mouth.  Like every man I'd had before, he felt hard but soft and rubbery at the same time, and his penis had a slightly bitter, yet salty taste.  Master's hand was in my hair forcing my head forwards and then pulling me back.  His erection was larger than I was used to and the tip of his circumcised cock was the size of an extra large egg or small orange, and it was hitting my throat, causing me to gag.  Suddenly he jammed the bulbous head directly into my throat.

 

"Ughh, umphh, ughh, umphh," wet, rhythmic, slurping sounds came from around the massive tube of meat that invaded my mouth and throat and cut off my supply of air.  He was past the area that made me gag now and completely into my throat.  I could see pubic hair, but he was so close my eyes wouldn't focus.  I slowly stroked his nuts as he'd demanded and I could feel it gave him immediate pleasure.  With shock and horrified anticipation, I realized his cock contracted and expanded as it throbbed in my mouth once....twice...then I felt a quick molten liquid sensation in the back of my throat, followed immediately by feeling it pour slowly down my throat like thick molasses.  He was pumping his semen directly into my stomach.  I hated letting a man do this to me; all I wanted to do was throw up.

 

***

 

Her mouth moved relentlessly up and down my saliva-wet cock now and her hand stroked and squeezed the exposed part that wasn't in her mouth in perfect rhythm with her sucking.  Her head started to roll from side to side as she bobbed up and down and I was in ecstasy.  She was softly massaging my nuts and I realized that they felt tight and that I'd be spraying the inside of her mouth in seconds.  When I had her that first weekend, she’d been so concerned about me wearing a rubber.  I didn't know if it was because she was afraid of STD's, or just fastidious, or perhaps it had been a control issue.  But it didn't matter anymore.  None of that mattered now, because as soon as I took her as an ass-slave, I’d broken her of that habit.  But always before when I'd had her suck me off, I'd always pulled out before cumming.  Well, I wasn’t sure if she'd had a man cum in her mouth before or not---most women had, but now was as good a time as any for her to get re-acquainted with swallowing shots of fresh cum.

 

"I'm going to cum, you sweet little bitch," I told her. “Don't even think about pulling your head back.”  To ensure that she knew what I wanted, I grabbed a handful of hair at the back of her neck and made sure that she couldn't avoid me.  Rebecca's eyes opened and she looked up at me as though she hadn't thought about what came next.  She tried to bleat something, but couldn't speak too well with my cock filling her mouth.  All she could do was give out a muffled, “Ummfff.”

 

Selfish as usual, I think the reality was that she'd never been too willing to fill her belly with semen to please her men.  Her smooth rhythmic sucking motion faltered for a second as she slowed just a little.  But my handful of her hair encouraged her to continue, and soon she had a good rhythm going again.

 

Her beautiful ice-blue eyes widened as she felt my cock swell in her mouth.  Suddenly, I felt a surge of cum rush up the full length of my rigid pipe like a tsunami and explode onto the back of her mouth at jet speed.  Rebecca gave a muted gasp and tried to pull back.  She succeeded to the extent that the next jet of creamy love hit below her nose.  Her face immediately flushed with embarrassment, she opened her mouth and let my semen begin to dribble from her tongue out over her chin.  I pulled on the back of her head and as she was forced to lean towards me, the next spurt of cum hit her in the right eye socket.  Her face was a bright red color now, humiliation burning her skin at being forced to take my seed like this.  I used her hair to give her head a good shaking.  Rebecca froze for a second, her right eye furiously blinking against the white cum that threatened her vision.  Then she slowly began stroking me again.  She squeezed and stroked as if milking a cow, and as if cheering her determination, a final, weak string of cum shot out.

 

She was too embarrassed to look at me.  I shook her head one more time and as Rebecca finished milking my manhood, she surprised me by tentatively leaning forward on her own and taking the tip of my cock between her pursed lips again.  I was spent for now, and she moved off my penis as it began to shrink.  I noticed a thin string of cum on her wrist and I told her to lick it off.  She hesitated at first, then obeyed and after it disappeared in her mouth, I watched as she rolled it around with her tongue, trying to decide what she felt.  With a grimace of distaste on her burning face, she gave a small shrug of her shoulders and swallowed. 

 

***

 

I hated this.  I hated him!  I wanted to vomit, but knew I'd probably choke on it because my mouth was already so full.  Finally, he started to pull out of my throat, then he rested his still stiff erection on my tongue.  My hands had slid from his hips somehow and without thinking, I had both of his buttcheeks in my hands.  It seemed as if he'd been resting on my tongue for minutes, even though I knew it had only been seconds.  "Umphh, uhhh," I gasped air into my tortured lungs as the head of his bog cock lay hot and heavy towards the back my mouth.  Then I knew it was starting again because he inhaled with a groan just as I felt his butt clench as he prepared to ejaculate one more time.  I jerked my head back, but it was too late; he started to cum on my face.  Before I could stop him or even think about fighting him, he'd pulled on my hair and driven into my mouth again.  But now I couldn't see out of one eye.  Hot tears burned my eyes and I blinked furiously to regain my cum-soaked vision.  He made me lick myself clean, then it started all over again.

 

His cock still throbbed and squirted it's heavy, fiery cream into my mouth again, and I barely got a chance to breathe before he shoved himself deep into my throat one more time.  I fought the need to gag and tried to hold my breath even as I could feel his pubic hairs brush up against my face.  One pulse, two pulses, everything down the back of my throat and into my stomach.  He pulled back to my mouth again, and finally, his hardness began to fade.  Even as I could feel his cock shrinking in my mouth, his final gift of semen pooled around the back of my tongue.  It had a soft, buttery texture and I could feel most of it begin to thin as it slowly mixed with my saliva and flowed down the back of my throat and into my stomach.  What was left was leaking out the corners of my mouth, and I could feel thin lines of the sticky liquid trickling down my chin as it cooled. 

 

My stomach burned and boiled with acid, my throat was sore, my jaws ached from being pried apart and it felt like my lips had split at the corners just to fit him into my mouth.  I looked at him but could barely see because of the tears in my eyes.  But I know he had a smug, satisfied look on his face.  A look I longed to be able to snatch away, hurting him in the process as much as he'd hurt and degraded me.

 

I hated this man.

 

***

 

It was time to embarrass Rebecca, take her the rest of the way down.  “Now the rest, bitch.  Clean off your face with your fingers and then lick 'em.”

 

Rebecca's face was beet red now and her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.  It seemed that she cried so more easily now, and I wondered if it was a sign that she was approaching her breaking point.  Slowly, she began to scrape my cum from her face with her fingers and then stick them in her mouth to suck them clean.  At the end, I could see one good sized load resting on her tongue.

 

“Swish it around your mouth.  MORE!”  She flinched, then quickly obeyed me.  I could see the cum traveling from one side of her mouth to the other, coating her gums and squirting between her teeth and jaw.  It must have been thinned out nicely with her saliva by now.

 

“Now swallow again, bitch.”  She hesitated for a long time. 

 

“Little Slave, I said NOW!”

 

Just as I felt that I might have to say something more, she swallowed with a shudder.  Finally, I had her use her hair to wipe her face clean.  It was her final humiliation for the evening and a nice touch, even if I do say so myself.  I realized that I had a very nice, very sexy little puppy that I was training. 

 

Rebecca now rose up to a standing position and wrapped her arms around herself.  I felt good; she was doing a lot better, but her behavior was still less than satisfactory.  Her response to my commands had been a little slow; her obedience still wasn't instinctive yet, but I felt that we'd made great progress.  I grabbed her arm and led her to the end of her bed.  When we got there, I told her to assume the position.  She knew immediately what was in store for her and even as she begged me not to hurt her, she obediently complied with my order and bent over the end of the bed.  She'd earned another spanking for not obeying me quickly enough in the lesson we'd just finished.   Perhaps, I thought to myself, it wouldn't be a pure punishment spanking this time.

 

***

 

It's been over three weeks.  No one is coming to save me, I know this now.  If I ever hope to regain my freedom, it will have to be on my own.  I still miss my husband, but I think of him less each day.  Even though he hasn't come for me, I know he would do anything to save me.  I have to believe this or I would have lost everything from my previous life. 

 

I knew I must have been clinically depressed, but there was nothing I could do.  All I wanted to do was sleep.  An immense lassitude had taken over my body, carrying me into a deep well of lethargy.  My eyelids always fluttered against their will, begging me for rest, for sleep.  The part of me that was conscious deep in the back of my mind always tried to warn me, but I could never seem to rouse myself enough to care anymore. 

 

Now I worked slowly on the mark that the man I have to call Master gave me that first night.  At first looking raw and fresh and pink, the black of the brand on my inner thigh was mostly gone, the skin picked clean of cooked debris.  The way he made me clean it has ensured that.  The only way I could do this was to stop thinking of it as living flesh.  I told myself it was the soft, buttery leather they used for couches and car seats.  I worked on it as I would a piece of furniture, except that it bled sometimes.  But even these tricks didn't help all the time.

 

A week of picking at the dead black crust with tweezers, first me, then him while I was unconscious, then me again.  Then another week of keeping it open with more picking.  Finally, he made me use a soft toothbrush, gently at first, then more roughly.  Scraping and brushing it clean and keeping it freshly open at least twice a day.  This too went on for days and it hurt every time I did it.  But as with so much else, I've learned to bring the pain inside and nurture it.  At the end, I had what he wanted me to have.  Three small concentric circles almost hidden by my labia, a irreversible mark of ownership that stood out starkly and clearly from my skin.  An ownership that no one could deny anymore.

 

***

 

The box had served its purpose and I no longer kept her crated during the day.  Her collar was now chained to the track in the ceiling, allowing her some movement during the time I was gone.  In her eyes, I could still see traces of the effects of training she'd gone through during the last three weeks.  She had good days during which she was incredibly well-behaved.  And there were bad days during which she seemed more confused than anything.  In between, there were times she was just willful, prone to fits of anger, but this was understandable after what I'd put her through. 

 

By this time, I’d spent more money on clothes for her than I’d planned.  By clothes of course, I mean lingerie, stockings and high heels; all the things that made her more sexy and glamorous in bed.  But she didn’t seem particularly appreciative and I had to lay down some rules.  She didn't like wearing stockings and at first she went through them like a reaper, wearing a pair once and then ensuring that they’d been destroyed.  This was another of her passive/aggressive acts and it annoyed the hell out of me.  Finally, I made a rule that she washed and cared for each pair of stockings herself and that each pair must be worn run-free at least three times.  Any runs earlier than that earned discipline.  It actually turned out to be one of my better rules.

 

Even as I found myself wanting to come to her more and more, both as my needs arose and as she finally began to accept her fate, she continued to confuse me.  She still pretty much an emotional blank to me, and I knew our sex was nothing but a physical act in which she felt forced to participate.  This wasn't what I had hoped for in the beginning.  At the same time, there had recently been a couple of times where I was sure that I had uncovered some true emotions.  Regardless, with everything she was forced to accept from me, at least for the moment, my emotional and psychological needs were overwhelmingly being met by Rebecca; both what we did together and what I could to do to her.

 

The woman was full of contradictions.  For example, when we were first together, she had no problem with being naked in front of me.  But now it was different.  After I'd collared her, I allowed her a sheer robe to wear some of the time and nothing else.  For some reason, this type of nudity made her extremely uncomfortable now---both psychologically and physically.  I guess it actually was more the discomfort of not having a bra for support which bothered her the most.  This in itself was not bad for it automatically gave me an additional level of control as she begged for something to wear that would support and sustain her breasts.  In addition, she also asked for panties to wear.  The last was ridiculous.  All of these needs, I knew, were mostly mental. 

 

But three weeks had now passed and Rebecca seemed continually frustrated over this issue.  She had an absolutely exquisite body, and I admit to an almost adolescent desire to see her always naked.  But her begging requests for something to wear for support became more and more frequent.  What I didn’t understand at the time was how truly uncomfortable she was and how much she needed something that supported her during the more strenuous activities I demanded of her during the day.  I finally realized that she would continue to fight me on this and that there was an easy compromise.  And so, I gave my slave her first new outfit.

 

I now understand the emotional impact of the clothing I gave Rebecca; it was like something designed by a teenage boy whose adolescent hormonal fantasies had outstripped his common sense.  Even though it was a difficult time for us both at first, I still have to smile at the memory of Rebecca seeing her first slave outfit.

 

There still existed a spark of stubbornness within her at that time and it came out at the oddest times.  She held up the tiniest black bikini top I could find, along with matching thong bottoms.  I'd decided that she could wear these only during exercise time, but for this viewing she would wear heels too.  I wanted to see her very shapely legs wearing a pair of black high heels that consisted of nothing a sole, a heel, and some straps to hold it all together.  She donned the bottoms and they covered just enough of her butt crack that they looked like ass-floss.  Very sexxxy. 

 

Ordered to put the top on, she was to flip the nipple rings up so that each rested on top of her breast.  She was then to thread the straps that were attached to the top of the tiny cups through her breast rings before tying them around the back of her neck.  I thought this would please her, finally having something to wear that provided support but which was still visually pleasing to me.  But at the end, she refused to cooperate and so we had another confrontation.  I was angry and she was upset with me; she'd forgotten that she didn't have that luxury anymore.  I was pissed at my puppy because we both should have been happy. 

 

I'd told her to walk around the room after she'd put the bikini on so that I could see how she looked, but instead I found that I had a bent-over, crouching female that continually tried to cover herself.  She really was quite conservative at heart about some things, and I think the bikini and heels made her feel more naked than if she were actually unclothed---Rebecca was trying to make herself as small as possible while simultaneously refusing to move her feet. 

 

“Stand up and walk around the room,” I said hoarsely, but she shook her head furiously.  My full-armed swing landed on her nearly naked buttock and produced a loud ‘smack’ as it brought her up onto her toes.  When Rebecca tried to crouch again, I held my open hand in front of her face.  Her beautiful blue eyes opened wide as I threatened her again.  She opened her mouth to say something, but shut it without saying a word.  Her nose ring moved as I heard a soft mumble, but I could not make out what she had said.  If it had been intelligible, I would have had to respond.  But this way, I could ignore it.

 

“Walk,” I said warningly.

 

Her glare was enough to slay wild beasts, but after a second her face cleared and became blank as she slowly straightened.  Then without any apparent consideration of the beauty that she revealed by this move, she began to slowly glide around the room for me.  The Denholm lilt was back and God, was she fucking gorgeous!

 

***

 

For some reason, it was only after this event that she opened up a little and we finally began to talk to each other.  The process of breaking in a new slave has often been compared to the work of a skilled restorer of paintings.  With immense care, the outer layers of grime or later paint were erased from the original canvas one layer at a time to reveal the hidden value beneath.  Just so, as I worked on this woman, I began to expose layer after layer of beliefs and memories that had been hidden or overlain with newer, learned values.

 

Rebecca was no longer quite as angry and seemed to accept the new rules in her life a little more easily now.  Having discipline in her life was still fairly new at this point and I continued to use it to shape her behavior.  We talked about the dominant/submissive duality in each of us; and as we did, I felt our relationship became more formalized in the roles we each had and a little more consensual in nature.  It was at this time that she finally began to realize that being submissive meant more than being there whenever I felt the need for a fuck.  It meant looking for opportunities to show respect for me and my position. 

 

***

 

Things seemed to be going better.  Perhaps it was nothing but wishful thinking on my part, but I had begun to notice for the first time that she seemed to be almost resentful or perhaps afraid of being left alone during the day.  When I came home at the end of work now, she often met me with a small smile. 

 

At the same time, I saw a change in myself too.  I found myself beginning to enjoy being with this complex woman even as I worked to change her.  Much of my anger at the world seemed to have fled.  She too seemed less angry now, somehow having become more understanding of both our roles in our private drama.  When she was like this, open and apparently happy (at least not overtly unhappy as before), the future......the potential for our fitting seamlessly together as something more than two individuals was never more apparent.  She was becoming more in touch with her submissive side every day, and with the right person, Rebecca had finally begun to realize how much she had to offer.  Obviously, I did not tell her how I felt, instead just feeding on her delightful presence like a starving man presented with a banquet.

 

On the flip side, my headaches still bothered me occasionally.  My head twinged.  An excruciating hard-under-soft sensation that made me think, for some reason, of when I had first pierced Rebecca.  I wasn't feeling any definable pain, but there was a sickly instability underlying the mental numbness that I knew had set in at an almost cellular level.  A soft red rush that wiped away reality in smudges of pink and gray.  I found I sometimes took our encounters too far when I used her in the White room at these times.  But Rebecca survived without obvious physical or emotional damage, and perhaps in an odd way, might even have found herself looking forward to the encounters during which we greatly expanded the limits of her previous vanilla world.

 

We began to talk about intimate things that affected us both.  Although married, Rebecca was as much of a loner as I.  One night she talked about how tired she had finally become of having people buzzing around her around like flies.  And of how at first she had thought it important to be surrounded by people, but how at the end, they just reminded her of how alone she was.  I found myself during the day looking forward to our talks at night. 

 

I began to think more and more about this woman; what had I gotten myself into?  She'd told me several times that her period was late and I began to wonder if this was the truth.  I was more convinced than ever; I certainly didn't want a pregnant woman.  I had no desire to control a woman with a big belly, listening to her complain about how bad she felt.  I didn't want a woman whose belly and hips were covered with stretch marks.  What the hell would I do with her then? 

 

This led to other lines of thought.  Other than sheer bloody stupidity and anger, why had I taken this last step?  Kidnapping and torturing a female, keeping her bound like a dog for weeks and months.  I could have treated her like all of the other wives I'd used over the years; get some leverage on her, bring her in, fuck her brains out, then kick her out of my bed and out of my life.  Instead, I forced her into my private life, into my tender care.  What on earth did I want at the end from a woman like this?  What did I want from her over the long term?  Even though I knew exactly what I was doing when I manipulated her mind and body, if I was honest, I also had to admit that many of my actions up to now had been dictated by either sheer lust or bloody anger at what I seen as her endless arrogance; everything had been short term thinking only.  The truth was, at this point I just wasn’t sure what my next step would be. 

 

But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed that she might have purposely put herself in a position in which she was forced to choose between destroying her life or accepting the collar and all that meant---or was it just my imagination?  Was I just attempting to justify my actions by putting the responsibility back onto her?

 

To a large extent, I truly believe that there is a period of time in which newly paired Doms and Subs attempt to 'match frequencies', rather like a radio transmitter and receiver.  Was she, as I thought, subconsciously a submissive that had all along been 'seeking' a Dominant partner like me?  Had she opened her outer barriers in what was an effort to 'align' with what she unconsciously saw as a potential mate that was so much more suitable than her current husband?  Stupid me; I'd wanted a woman that I could keep and sexually dominate over weeks and months, but had not really thought about the long-term reality afterwards.  Instead of a sex slave, what I had now was complete responsibility for a complex female, all of which was wrapped in questions and riddles.  I resolved to……I didn’t know exactly what I would do.

 

***

 

It was shortly after he had given me the black bikini.  I was still unhappy that he allowed me only this when I exercised.  Our “relationship” had reached a point where although I said nothing, I could safely ensure that he was quite aware of my feelings.  With a small smile, Master walked into the White Room holding up two pieces of cloth that together would have made one decent skirt.  At first glance, the top was a simple halter which would provide only the briefest cover; the triangular fabric just might cover my nipples alone.  But the weave was of some odd material that changed color as the light hit it.  Small as it was, the look was quite spectacular.  The ‘skirt’ that accompanied it in the same fabric, was brief to the point of scandal in any other place.  Short, very short, and slit up both sides.

 

“There are some panties as well,” Master said.  “”But with this, even a thong might show.  So I left them off for now.”  He grinned as he could see the color begin to rise in my face.  No doubt familiar with the conservative clothing that I had typically worn before his arrival in my life, I think it pleased him to be able to embarrass me again even after all that we had been through together.

 

“It looks…..tight, Sir,” I said hesitantly.  “I’m twenty-seven years old and haven’t ever worn anything like this.”

 

“It is tight,” he replied.  “I looked at some of your other clothing and figured they would be a little loose on you now.”

 

“I like it, Master,” I replied, making a slight moue of distaste.  I slipped off the robe I wore and stepped into the skirt.  It had two buttons in the back and I found it easier to slide them around to the front to button because it was so tight.  The buttons gave no sign of straining, but I had to struggle to get them in the holes.  I also had to pull it down hard onto my hips to obtain any decency.  The halter top was tight as well.  As I had feared, after I had threaded the halter straps through my breast rings, the tiny triangles barely covered my nipples.

 

“That is just lovely on you,” he said, looking at me with a strange fixed expression.  “Just right.”  I couldn’t help myself; I froze as he pushed my breasts up into the halter; the bottom of my breasts showing a goodly amount of flesh.  “Perfect.”  With this comment, he walked out of the room and left me alone.

 

I knew that I would have trouble trying to move with this skirt on, let alone sit down without showing everything I had.  Why this concerned me, I didn’t know, but it did.  Finally, I solved this problem by teaching myself to sit by pointing my toes and rolling down onto my legs.  It turned out to be a graceful way of sitting without spreading my legs or showing anything I didn’t care to show to an audience.  In the end, it turned out to be both an elegant way of sitting as well as being, well, alluring.  Grand.  I had just discovered a graceful and sexy motion to further entice the man that kept me imprisoned.  Great.

 

***

 

At the end of what must have been around three weeks or so, he made me begin a different schedule, one consisting of exercise in the morning, showering and preparing myself for his company, eating, then cleaning the White Room before I was allowed to read for thirty minutes.  Often I slept after that. 

 

He must have had a way to watch me without my knowing, for he would often ask me questions in the evening about my activity during the day.  He ALWAYS knew when I left something out.  At first I tried to fool him.  If I actually lived in an invisible prison I finally learned, I had to assume that he was still somehow watching all the time.  I’m alone, I thought to myself.  Yes.  Completely alone.  But I taught myself to put on a mask that made me look alert, diligent and ready to obey.  But he always knew in the end when I was real and when I was false; and I was always punished for these little dishonesties.  His reprimands were immediate and I must admit that I earned them fairly; as a result, I finally learned that playing games with this man brought great penalties.

 

The book had said that Stage three was Bargaining.  As experienced as I was, I had no real idea of what my life would be like when I had granted to him my freedom.  Three weeks after, I knew I’d made a mistake, but I also knew that he would never let me go now---there was no going back. 

 

If negotiating was Stage three, I went through it quickly.  I didn’t know; how could I make a deal with this man?  What would I say?  “Please, I enjoy talking with you, but I want my freedom back.  I know that you want a woman.  Take someone else.  I’ll even get them for you and I promise I won’t tell.”  I had too much pride to try to bargain with this man.  Eventually, this changed too.  And like they say, pride goes before the fall…..and fall I did.

 

He looked at me like a parent would with a stubborn child.  “Freedom is the biggest myth ever created for a woman like you.  To all but a very few, it’s a destructive, unachievable goal that has caused a great deal of pain.  Very few people can handle total freedom.  A woman like you is most often happy and healthy when you have clear boundaries that are defined by others.  It’s inevitable for you.  If not me, then you would unconsciously be looking for someone just like me.  There is no way that you could stop yourself in the end; no negotiations, no compromises, just dealing with the reality of your situation.”

 

He continued, “Life has dragged you into the situation you find yourself in now.  Don't blame yourself for what happens.”

 

“Life doesn't drag you along, Master, if you don't let it,” I pronounced, convinced I'd said a great truth.

 

“Are you sure?” he asked sarcastically.  “I know someone who wasn't very free when it came time to choose her destiny just a little while ago.”

 

I wondered if he was right.  Everything I thought I'd believed in had fled or been taken from me---in my heart was a naked hole and all I could do was think of what this would cost me if he was right.

 

***

 

The man had taken me multiple times in the last three weeks.  Not brutally most recently, but not with tenderness either.  I know at first I performed mechanically, but I didn’t care to do better and he seemed semi-satisfied.  Soon, I guess he felt the need to begin to experiment even more; pinching and twisting, thrusting and biting as he raped me.  Then things got even worse within a couple of more days; he hurt me to motivate me.  Anything to make me move beneath him. 

 

I was a rational person, not impulsive or emotional---so I tried harder for him, because it just seemed easier at the moment.  And even though the things he did hurt me some, I……..I have to admit that there were moments when, if these had been normal times, they might have felt good, far too good.  I never tried to give him the satisfaction of visibly appreciating his efforts, but there were a few times when at the end I wasn't in total control, a few moments that I wasn't thinking only of the role a sex slave must perform.

 

The first time he came in me weeks ago, as soon as I felt his scalding hot love blossoming so deeply inside me, I knew that my life had changed for good---that I had lost all control over everything in my life.  There was no going back now.  He would never let me go.  And each  time I had to be with him like that only reinforced my sense of freedom lost forever.

 

***

 

My right wrist was cuffed to the headboard as I lay in bed thinking about my future.  I'd looked in his eyes each time when I told him.  I could tell that this was the last thing that he wanted to hear or think about.  But what he wanted didn't matter now.  It was done and I knew I was pregnant; it was only my intuition at this point, but somehow I just knew.

 

He was a man that wanted nothing more than absolute power over me.  He was a sociopath and a control freak.  But there were other sides to him too.  He'd hurt other women and he hurt me.  But there were also times of remarkable tenderness. 

 

He was like an out-of-control car that spun in circles, yet he was a man that still somehow managed to maintain the fiction of control in his life.  What kind of man was he?  How would he react to something that was finally out of his control?  Something like my condition?  Was there still enough discipline in his life that he could maintain the vestiges of self-control?  Or was he capable of doing something unthinkable?  After some thought, I knew that the power he held over me scared me, but I also realized that I wasn't frightened of him in that way. 

 

What would he do?

 

When it finally became obvious to even him that I was carrying his child, I prayed that he would let me go.  I would promise him anything if he'd let me go.  We both knew that I had no other options; I had to keep my promises just to avoid the police. 

 

I was optimistic about my future for the first time in weeks; filled with hope and flooded with relief in anticipation that my nightmare would soon be over.  With feelings of almost smug satisfaction, I reveled inside that the best part was that my only route to regaining the freedom he had stolen from me would be through him---due solely to him and the unthinking way that he had satisfied his needs with my body.  Do what feels good today and forget about tomorrow; forget about the consequences of your actions.

 

Was I a hypocrite to feel this way?

 

I didn't know what I would do once he let me go.  Obviously, I couldn't keep the child, but what would I do then?  Deep inside, I had to admit that I'd begun to develop a taste for.....the disturbing thoughts that ran through my head all the time now.  I shut down that line of thought immediately, for I knew that what I had begun to feel was wrong, but that didn't matter somehow.  I felt the way that I felt, and there was nothing I could, or wanted, do about it. 

 

All I could handle was one major change at a time.  I fell asleep satisfied that my life would be changing again soon.

 

***

 

Early in my captivity, it became clear that my body was reacting terribly to what he did to me....and what I feared he would do.  My stomach was always knotted as I went through his training program.  I tried to steady myself, but everything mocked me.  Shapes shifted and sounds came and went.  I woke up each morning knowing with absolute certainty that something new and generally horrible would happen to me.  I felt like I had to go to the bathroom all the time and with the same intensity of a grade school kid that had just been called to the principle's office.  As the days and weeks dragged, these feelings increased dramatically.

It was the next night and he'd forced me to have anal sex about an hour earlier---and I was still trying to recover from it.  The worst part was that he'd made me assist him; I'd had to hold my cheeks apart to make it easier to be assaulted.  I knew that I was finally resigned to becoming what he called his “ass-slut” when I cooperated without thought or resentment.  The worst part, the thing that shamed me the most was that after so many assaults, the pain and discomfort no longer totally overwhelmed any pleasure I might have found in it. 

 

He'd laid me on the bed and ran his hands over my body.   "I'm going to fuck your ass....again," he said in a quiet, yet commanding voice.  I didn't want this---I hated being used like this.  But there was no discussion here, no room for doubt, no preamble, no foreplay.  I knew I had no other choice but to submit.  Already naked, it was easy for me to silently, obediently, get on my hands and knees on the bed, and wait for him to put on lubrication.  I hated my role in this, the feeling of waiting to perform like a trained animal. 

 

When he was ready, he climbed on the bed behind me.  His right hand went on my right hip while his left was under me, supporting my belly.  Then he pushed my head and shoulders down towards the mattress.  He wanted my ass in the air, but my face down.  I understood why when I finally assumed the desired position and both of my hands were free---he told me to part myself for him.  I hesitated, but he repeated his order a little more sharply. 

 

I submitted to the inevitable as I rested my cheek against the mattress.  And when I had opened myself to the cool air of the room for his pleasure, I felt him lean into me, the front of his thighs pushing against the back of mine.  I strained as I'd been taught and felt my sphincter pop open as I facilitated his entry once again.  Ever so slowly, he penetrated my defenseless rectum and slid his thick, oversized cock inside my bowels.  As big as he was, the pain was familiar, intense, extreme; but but I managed to control my reactions and just groaned in discomfort. 

 

All he said as he impaled me was, “Defy me now, Little Slave.”  Then he pulled out one slow inch at a time before he slowly drove himself further inside me.  Out again and then in one more time, more and more was buried inside me each time.  The feeling was indescribable---it felt awful...........with shock, I hated that it suddenly.........didn't feel awful.  It made me want to cry for my lost freedom, it made me want to mourn for my dominated femininity, to defend myself by killing him, it made me want to scream for him to hurry and ram it deeper into me.  None of these and all of these.  I fought the feelings, but soon realized that the desire to succumb continued to grow and grow with each move of his hips. 

 

Master was totally inside me now so I didn't have to keep holding myself open for him.  I put my head down to my folded arms and tried to spread my thighs just a little more.  The pinching, tearing pain in my rear was finally letting up just a little and I could feel my vagina getting wet.  I knew I groaned in parallel to his body's plunging rhythm. 

 

“Uhh, uhh, uhh, ohh, uhh, ahhhhh, ouch, uhh, uhh, ohhhh.”  I moaned and occasionally cried out as he drilled me with a move that was just a little off from what he'd been giving me.  I felt his deep strokes fill my bowels and then my belly.  He filled me so completely, it felt like he was banging on my diaphragm; I couldn't breathe.  The pain was less now, but I still felt abdominal cramps as if I were terribly constipated.  But he went on with machine-like thrusts that never slowed, never changed rhythm.  Always too deep and never concerned with my pleasure, only his.  Then he began to squeeze my breast.

 

“Ahhh, aaaawwww, gaaawwd.” I moaned in new pain as he squeezed and pulled back on my left breast, then switched to the right.  He kept me impaled even as leaned over my back and grabbed both of my breasts and began harshly squeezing them.  He used them like reins, guiding me to exactly where he wanted me to meet his next thrust.  There was nothing I could do except raise myself up a little on all fours, then arch my back and accept him even deeper as he continued squeezing. 

 

For the first time, I felt a warm rush in my pussy as Master worked my nipples.  Suddenly, my face was burning with shame as I realized that I was slowly responding to him, unconsciously moving my ass, grinding my butt into his loins, encouraging him without thought or plan to fuck me harder, deeper.  When I realized I was pushing back each time he penetrated me, I began to cry.  He was raping me!  Why was there an odd, hot tingly feeling in my belly?  Why did my vagina feel like it was vibrating?  God, admit it.  Why was it starting to feel good in an obscene sort to sick way?

 

I wanted to say, “More, yes, give me MORE.”  But I was almost in shock at my unwanted feelings and definitely in denial.  Then without conscious thought, I suddenly screamed as his iron control of my body swept my entire being before him---he'd rammed his cock up my ass deeper than he'd ever been before.  But it wasn't enough, he wanted still more of my body.  Grasping my hips, he slammed into me one more time and buried himself as deep as he could get.  Finally, his burning hot cock began to pump cum in huge spurts and jets. 

 

I will never forget the feelings I experienced that night, for all of my senses were working overtime and everything was branded in my memory forever.  I could hear us both breathing too fast, grunting with exertion.  The thrill of giving myself over to sheer physical abandon beckoned, even as I could taste the coppery feeling of defeat in my mouth and smell it off the mattress upon which I was being raped.  I could feel his breath on my back, his hands on my breasts and hips, his thighs straining against the back of mine, his veined, knobby rod expanding and contracting with each hot spurt it injected into my ravaged, yet somehow welcoming bowels. 

 

I couldn't help myself as I dropped my head to my folded arms and began to cry.  First, I thought, why me God?  Why me?  Then it was, God, he wasn't done yet!  My whole body shook with emotions and palsy as he began to slowly fuck my ass again.  He pulled out, then wanting more, he pushed back in.  Unfeminine sounds came from my rear-end as he plunged inside me, and I could feel his hot sperm squirting out between my rectum and his cock.  I could feel it as it ran in white and dark-brown tinged rivulets down the insides of my thighs.  I looked back at him over my shoulder and begged him to finish quickly.

 

But even as the pleasure seemed to grow inside me, so did the need to rebel grow in proportion too against this self-satisfied, self-appointed slave master-man; it continued to grow until the intellectual need to do everything in my power to keep him from thinking he'd won was battling on equal terms with my aroused body.  He felt he knew me, but I refused to let him win like this.  But he kept on driving into me and eventually I knew he would have to win, for all I could do at the end was anticipate my pending orgasm with a sense born equally of wonder and catastrophe. 

 

He was taking too long and I moved my hand to stroke my hard, tiny button. "Don't touch yourself," he ordered, and instead he slid his hand from my belly to between my legs.  I let him---God, I couldn't stop him from bringing to me to orgasm that way.  But he touched me so slowly, so softly and delicately that it was sheer torture.  And he knew that it was!  My only hope for release was to beg him to fuck me harder.  Which I did gladly.

 

As I quickly glanced back at him one more time, I could see Master close his eyes, grab my hips again and begin to fuck me with abandon, using every muscle he had as he literally threw himself onto my pelvis and butt.  Every thrust pushed me forward on the mattress.  Without wanting to, my mouth hung open and my eyes closed in anticipation.  Finally, my head snapped up in abject realization; without any desire or need or cooperation on my part, he'd forced me over an invisible threshold I'd never known existed inside me.  It was almost like I stood to the side and watched myself.  I knew it began with my incoherent babbling and moaning, but it didn't matter.  I knew he was ripping my guts apart, but at the same time it somehow all felt so deliciously right!  Intellectually, I hated what he was doing to me and what he stood for.  But my body's senses were overwhelmed.

 

"Yess, gawwwd, uhhh, ohhh, uhhh, ohhh," I heard myself as I wiggled my ass and pushed back at the rampaging bull that filled me again and again.

 

I could barely hear him as he said, "Get ready, you little slut.  Here it comes again, just for you.”  I was oh so ready, and again my head snapped up from my folded arms as I rammed my butt back at him, thrusting, wagging, grinding; letting him know that for the first time, I was begging for more, begging for as much as he had to give.

 

He almost screamed as he babbled, "You little ass-slut, take my cock up your hot, beautiful ass, take my whole load up your hot cunt whore's ass.”  I'm ashamed to say that this put me over the edge too, and I pushed myself back to him and wiggled my ass even more as he drove inside me ever deeper.  Then I grabbed him and held on as it overwhelmed me; my first orgasm from anal sex was totally unexpected and was one of the best I've ever had.

 

I gave out muffled scream after scream as I came---wave after wave of sensation washing over me.  Within seconds, I felt a jet hot bursting sensation deep in my bowels as he exploded. 

 

"Yeesssssss, gaaawwwwddd," I shrieked as I felt his cock begin to pulse and deliver another hot, wet, sticky load into my aching bowels.

 

Finally, he had won and I had lost---but just this one round.  In any other place, with any other man, the female in me would have felt that we had connected in the most intimate way.  But not with this man.  To him, for him, I knew it was physical relief at best.  Master panted for breath as he looked down at me with steely eyes and a slight smile.  I had been completely out of control at the end, but with a sense of panic I wanted make him think I had chosen to please him---that I had chosen to give myself to him completely.  I think....I hope he believed this because it made him happy.  As a reward for performing so well, he gently pushed me onto my belly and massaged my back and shoulders.  After a moment, I started crying.  He told me to stop, but I couldn't.  I wanted to obey him, but I couldn't.

 

***

 

He was a crude and violent man, but he was also a man that very quickly knew me better than I knew myself.   As much as I hated to admit it, I had begun to develop a taste for what he called “the rough stuff.”  I'd fought him and his desires as best I could, but how could I fight my own?

 

It was the next morning and I was still tender, but he had me on my hands and knees on my bed again.  I wore wrist cuffs for this performance, but Master seemed to feel that that was the only control he needed.  He smiled, “Take it easy, Little Slave, and just relax.”  I knew my eyes widened as I looked at him over my shoulder.  He just smiled in return.  I smiled weakly at him and tried to relax, but I couldn't help myself; I gasped in anticipation as I felt his finger began to gently move in and out of my still sore ass.  Even though I knew what was coming, my breath escaped in a hiss when the icy cold ginger was pressed to my swollen anus and I jerked away from it.  My Master patted my ass softly with the palm of one hand and pressed the cold object to me again.  I inhaled deeply as I felt the long, thin, unbelievably cold root slide into my anus like a wet, naked finger.

 

The lining of my rectum was torn up from last night.  The burning began quickly this time, almost immediately, and I couldn't stop myself as I soon found myself bucking uncontrollably on the bed.  It was like a stick of fire had been shoved into my rectum.  Oh God, it never changed, never got better, never became easier; and because he enjoyed what it did to me, I knew it would never stop.  My eyes were watering and my anus throbbed and I wiggled my hips to dislodge it.  I half panicked and whimpered to myself; God, it always felt like this before it got much, much worse. 

 

There seemed to be a terrible build-up of pressure inside me, then my pussy started to get wet, sopping wet.  The fluid was thick and clear at first, then white, almost as if I were ejaculating.  And it felt so incredibly pleasurable.  I couldn't help this reaction either.  For some reason, my anus and my pussy were intimately and erotically connected; as soon as a piece of ginger began burning me, I was wet.  All I knew is that my Master loved seeing this and I knew that he would be pleased---he was always pleased when I was wet for him. 

 

Soon, I was writhing and wriggling on my hands and knees uncontrollably, my screams mingled with my moans.  I wanted to lay flat on the bed and somehow obtain the pleasure I needed so badly at the moment, but even in my pain, I knew I couldn't without his permission.  My ass was on fire and it felt like my rectum and insides were burning up.  I just knew that all of my internal organs had to be melting in the icy-cold fire.  My pussy was soaked and I was moaning now in both pleasure and pain.  And he still hadn't entered me.

 

***

 

Rebecca was, I thought to myself, so beautiful.  Crouched on the bed, bound only by my will alone, with nothing else holding her in that position.  She was becoming more disciplined and trustworthy every day.  As I watched this beautiful woman writhe on her hands and knees, I knew that the ginger brought out the beast in her.  She never accepted the inevitability of it, hating at first what it did to her, fighting the sensations as if she could somehow win---but in the end, she always 'came to Jesus.'  I know that I certainly liked what it did to her.  I approached her again and sat beside her on the bed, running my fingers through her hair.  Then I cupped her vagina, beginning to work her clit and pussy with my wet fingers.

 

***

 

I faked as big a smile as I could muster for him.  Then suddenly I felt an overwhelming need to scream.  It wasn’t the fact that he had filled me with the peeled root, but this was the first time he massaged my clit, then finger-fucked me when his fingers were still covered by the ginger's oils.  It was like having everything that made me a woman suddenly immersed in hot wax.  There were all of the sensations of taking the ginger anally, but very little of the pain.  And it wasn’t pain in the traditional sense.  Rather, it made me hyper-sensitive to his every touch, his slightest caress.  And it made me instantly want to be filled even more.  Then he went back to my rearend and twisted the ginger around inside me a number of times, a feeling that was intensely agonizing and mind-bendingly pleasurable at the same time.

 

Master's hand felt so skilled as found its way between my thighs into my pussy. The ginger caused a huge amount of lubrication in my pussy and when he touched me there, I felt absolutely drenched.  I finally understood that I needed to remain absolutely still and feel the sensations before I could finally have an orgasm, but the ginger always forced me to continually move in response to the overwhelming burn.  This realization made me understand that I was always working against my very desires, involuntarily postponing my climax for far too long.  And when I finally did cum, it was only that much stronger as everything combined to push me over the edge into to an orgasmic sensorium in which I only had to be touched and I came time after time, whether I wanted to or not. 

 

He slid two fingers inside me and I could feel him hook them slightly in order to stroke my G-spot.  My hips began to buck wantonly and I knew that I was crying, telling him that it hurt and begging him at the same time to not stop.  God, I hated how weak I was.  He began to rub my clit and my scream bounced off the walls as I came for his pleasure.  My pussy contracted hard around his fingers as he stroked and curled them inside me; he wasn’t going to let me stop.  I came and I came as I covered his fingers with thick, steaming pussy juice.  I begged and whimpered and bucked as he forced me to ride wave after ever higher wave of orgasm.  I knew that he loved to hear me scream when I came, especially if it was against my will.  Finally, my anus began to pulse around the ginger in rhythm with my pussy and I knew I screamed in passionate agony one last time as my whole body rocked uncontrollably, driven to extremes I had never before known.  I think I might have passed out for a second.  Afterwards, I lay on the bed and shuddered for almost five minutes.

 

***

 

I still panted, but had mostly caught my breath.  He'd settled behind me, his left hand on my hip and his right on my lower back.   What he did with the ginger drove me crazy every time, but this time it was different.  Now that he'd allowed the ginger to take me, I was to “....push with my ass muscles” to expel the ginger.  How was I supposed to do that?  I'd had too many orgasms to obey him.  I was exhausted from everything he'd made me do earlier and the thing was huge.  I'd carved a deep moat in it, and I could feel my sphincter as it spasmed around the root, maintaining its death grip.  But I'd learned to obey Master too, so despite my misgivings, I tried to do as I was told and pushed for him---hard.  Oh God, it hurt!  I stopped and just panted for a second, my face flushed and my thighs trembling.  My rectum ached and throbbed, for the piece that had seemed so slender at first was now too big, far too big for me to push out on my own.  This hurt much worse than when he had forced the very first rubber plug inside me.  He gently coaxed me to push again, and unbidden, a whimper of fear escaped me. 

 

“C’mon, slut-baby… try again,” I heard my Master's soft compelling voice from a distance.  Obedience to this man was being driven into my soul; without thinking, I took a deep breath to prepare myself before I pushed again.  Burning pain seared through my ass and my vagina quivered like a new-born foal.  The sweet nectar of love already coated my labia and ran over my clit, and then onto my belly as I crouched on the bed for my Master's pleasure.  He touched my clit once again and began softly massaging me there.

 

Through the haze of pain and utter exhaustion, I suddenly realized I was cumming again and that I couldn’t stop it.  I didn't want to cum---but I didn't want to stop now either.  I was physically exhausted, yet every part of me was reacting to the ginger.  The more I pushed, the harder I came and the faster he manipulated me.  I didn't want it to feel so good, but it did despite the pain burning up my ass.  I screamed in both pleasure and pain as I was finally able to push the plug most of the way out of my body, stretching me from top to bottom, from inside to out, tearing me in every way even as my whole body shuddered in one last total orgasm.  Every muscle in my body felt like a wet noodle and I tingled everywhere.  My anus felt like it just been torn apart, and just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, he eased the last of it out of me.  It was a wonderfully satisfying feeling as my anus was finally allowed to tighten on itself again.  He patted me on the ass as I collapsed on the bed and just lay there watching him get off.  I was his pain-slut and it was obvious he'd decided to let his girl rest a bit.

 

The pain eased some when the ginger was gone, but as usual, it still felt as if something huge filled me and I was burning inside for hours afterwards.  I wanted nothing more than to just lie on the bed.  I was panting and I was flushed.  My ears burned and I wanted to cry.  How could it have come to this?  Where was the woman that was willing to fight against any odds?  I felt so lost.  I felt so empty, so abandoned, so degraded.  I lay there face down on the bed.  My abused butt stuck up into the air and my hands clenched into fists even as my wrists remained bound by his handcuffs.  Just as my reactions to the ginger were real, even as the luxurious feelings of total abandonment washed over me and penetrated every bone in my body, so too were the feelings of total degradation with which I was always left afterwards.  When I could think rationally, I was so humiliated by my out-of-control reactions.  And that was the worst part; I reacted the same way each time, writhing in orgasm, begging to be fucked, needing to fucked, and yet hating myself afterwards for giving in to my basest animal needs---and he knew exactly how much I loved it and hated it. 

 

I wasn't a whore, I didn't want to be used like a prostitute; like any normal woman, I needed emotional comfort, the comfort of someone who cared for me.  It had become more and more difficult recently, getting back into the ghost world where my husband saved me from this reality made up equally of desire and disgust, but I needed to try.  He.........he wasn't there for me as much now, yet these were the times that I needed him the most.  He was the only thing that gave me strength to carry on.  If I ever saw him again, I would never take him for granted.  God, just give me one more chance with my husband.

 

***

 

I know now it will never stop.  He came back again one last time last night and tore me like paper.  At the end, he grabbed my throat and squeezed, squeezed so hard I couldn’t make a sound.  He opened me like a flower of pain, and suddenly it felt good.  I didn't want it to, but it felt so GOOD!

 

I was lying in bed when he came in.  I sensed Master's presence as he leaned over me and pulled my hair back to whisper into my ear. “I’m not done with you yet, my Little Slave.”  Then I felt his finger probing my anus.  Oh, God….not again.  Please God, not my ass.  I thought he'd smile or something, but there was nothing playful on his face.  I looked at his face, then etched my gaze along the curves of his lips and the lines of his jaw, down the stretch of his neck to his collarbone.  He slowly lay next to me, and suddenly we were chest to chest.  I could feel him breathe.  I wanted to freeze, to deny him his victory.  But I couldn't. 

 

I knew what he wanted, what he expected from me.  Reluctantly, I slipped a hand to his waist, curled a finger under his underwear and ran it back and forth.  I leaned in and deliberately kissed him, barely a tilt of his chin so that our noses almost met.  Playing along with the lines he'd assigned me, I bit his lower lip, gently and tugged on it, then tongued his mouth wider, delved in like it would save me from every bad thing in the world.  I trailed a long kiss along his cheek, his jaw, down his throat when he tilted his head back.  And I felt his hand in my hair.  He wanted to train me, but I was determined to be less than he wanted, but more than he could handle.  I knew what he wanted and was going to give him more than that.  I would train him too by being this way.  But in the end, if I had my way, it was going to be worship. 

 

He pushed me onto my belly.  I glanced over my shoulder at him.  He straddled my hips and I raised myself up on my elbows because I couldn't breathe.  His fingers ran up my back and then down.  He raised himself up off of me a little, “Lift your hips.” 

 

I tried to roll over, but he wouldn't let me.  “Lift your hips,” he said.  “Please.”

 

He said, please.  So I did.  I wasn't used to this kind of sensitivity from him, and I guess it was this that made me obey him so quickly.  I thought he would touch me at first like before, but he put the lubricant inside me right away.  It was cold, and I squirmed at first, but he put his hand against the small of my back, mostly to hold me still.  He was tender at first, entering in increments for once, all of him and all of me, until all of me was wet and red and completely surrounding him.  For the first time, I can honestly say it didn't feel so bad.  But still I wanted it over, completed, done.  I became impatient and began to move more forcefully, trying to entice him into giving me what he knew he wanted me to have.  We fought a silent battle for several minutes before he finally lost control and I won.  Even though he controlled me in every way, that night for the first time, I had anal sex and it didn't feel quite so bad.  In a way, I felt like I had been the dominant one tonight.  Was I this easy?  Was this all it took?  Let me have the feeling of a little control and I would accept anything as pleasurable?

 

I hate the fact that even now I can’t help but want to smile as I think of what we did that night.  He sank into me and set me on fire, making me burn from the inside out.  No one who has not experienced this can imagine how it feels to burn on the inside like that only from what a man does to you.  The last couple of minutes, I got so hot inside that it almost seemed I could feel the flames all over my body, burning me to a crisp.  I knew he'd listened to my body sing under him several times now, but still I did my best to pretend that nothing he did had any affect on me.  Still I refused to give in.  I couldn’t let him know what I was beginning to feel.  An odd air of contented resignation mixed with an appreciation of the enormity of what had just happened hung over me now.  Somehow in the ongoing war to keep myself alive and my world in some sort of order, I'd managed to make a separate peace between the two.

 

***

 

“What are you thinking about?”  I jumped.  I was sitting on the edge of my bed and Master had come upon me unannounced; standing a few feet away holding a cup of coffee.  He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his face was clear and guileless.  His was the face of a poet's, fine-boned and full-lipped, with just enough softness about the jaw to imply a vulnerability that in truth never existed.  But in contrast, his eyes were that of the predator's, cold and calculating, windows to a mind that saw life as a game board and all others as pawns, to be played, or sacrificed, as the situation demanded.

 

He was staring at my exposed legs and arms, a look on his face as if they reminded him of something.  Instinctively, I folded my arms around my knees and bent forward a little, hunching over the first book he’d allowed me; I’d been reading.

 

“Well?”  He said.

 

“Well what, Sir?”

 

“What were you thinking about?”

 

“I wasn’t.  I wasn’t thinking about….about nothing.  Master.”

 

He raised his eyebrows.

 

“Nothing,” I repeated.

 

“Yes.  I heard.”  He finished his coffee, up-ending the cup so that the last drops fell out at my feet.  He looked at me sideways and said, “Tell me, woman.  Why do I keep staring at you?”

 

I dropped my eyes and fiddled with the book cover, pretending he had not spoken.

 

“I said, why do I want to look at you?  Why do I keep looking at you and thinking that you’re still hiding something I’d find very interesting?”

 

All of a sudden my skin felt very cold.  I blinked at him.  “I’m sorry, Master,” I said in voice that sounded small and distant.  “What did you say?”

 

“You’re still hiding something.”  He raised his arms and turned his palms to the ceiling for a second, then dropped them by his side. 

 

“It’s easy.  I just look at you and I can see it.  I don’t know what it is exactly, but I’ve got the---the instinct it’s something that I’m going to like.  See, I’m a visionary….,” he raised two fingers and lightly tapped his forehead, “…when it comes to women, women like you.  I can feel it in the air.”

 

”You’re wrong, Master.” I wrapped my hands around my stomach.  “I’m not hiding anything.”

 

“Yes, you are.  Even if from yourself.

 

“I’m not.”

 

He looked amused.  For a moment, I thought he was going to laugh.  Instead, he sighed.  He got to his feet and stretched slowly, giving me a glimpse of his flat abdomen.  “No,” he said, squinting at me thoughtfully.  “No.”  He dropped his hands and turned away from me.  “Of course you’re not.”

 

***

 

I slept on my bed at night now and Master allowed me even more of my basic freedom during the day.  I was still chained to the ceiling runs during the day while he was gone, but it felt so good being able to get up and walk around when I wanted.  But then I began to experience what seemed an overwhelming sense of despair.  Clearly, Stage four was Depression.  Even now as he began to give me more freedom, for a few days during the last part of the third week and into the fourth week, I just sat and stared at the walls.  I knew that something was going on in my subconscious.  Some kind of redecoration, refurbishment or re-upholstering that required a lot of system downtime---some shadowy application running in the background, performing unknown operations, consuming huge chunks of psychic RAM.  I hadn’t the energy or the desire to fight him and at times would have perhaps slit my wrists if the means were available.  Other times I was irritable beyond belief; these few fits of pique earned me several good beatings.  I was normally an even-tempered person and I hated the deep dark moods that engulfed me now.  Thankfully this period did not last too long.

 

***

 

Rebecca lay on the bed next to me and now I was fully hard.  On her back with her knees spread and massaging her pierced nipples, Rebecca hadn't wanted to do this at first, but finally she had begun to learn the value of obedience.  I held the root firmly in its new home and vigorously ass-fucked my little pain lover with it.  I think she has learned to like this---the sounds of pain and pleasure she gave me blended and rose to a single crescendo of what appeared to be incredible sexual delight.  The smell from Rebecca's pussy was strong and thick; the aroma alone was a major turn-on.   Almost orgasmic, it smelled like sex and ginger and wanton sexual acts; it made a man think of primitive beasts, hot blood and tribal needs. 

 

I rolled onto her sweaty belly and with one move, slid effortlessly up to my nutsack in her hot crack.  She screamed once as she clamped on to me and wouldn't let go.  I continued to pound her honey-filled pussy, concentrating on that exclusively, for her ass had now accepted my slender burning gift and I no longer needed to hold it in.  I kept pounding her and soon I felt my groin stir.  Her pussy convulsed and gripped my cock like a vise made of muscle and meat.  I loved that feeling

 

***

 

My Master had shoved the ginger in, then climbed on top of me.  I think he was fucking me now, but the longer the ginger was inside me, the more I was reduced to pure screaming.  Not the fake “ooh baby fuck me” screaming of an experienced whore, and not animalistic growling.  Pretty much just screaming.  I didn’t know at this point if I wanted him to stop or to continue.  I know he was fucking me for part of it, but I had the impression he was sort of sitting back and watching what was happening for part of it too.

 

He fucked me and I gave him everything he wanted.  God help me, I gave him everything.  My vagina was slick with juice as was usual, and his cock easily filled my pussy as I contracted and let go, contracted and let go without conscious control.  He shoved hard, ramming fully inside me and taking up any remaining unfilled space.  Each move of his hips ground the ginger plug into the tender lining of my rectum even more.  In only a few thrusts, he’d pushed me to an ever more intense, ever-higher orgasmic level.  And then I lost all track of my body and of time.  My world consisted only of my vagina, my burning anus, and Master's thrusting cock.  The burn of the root helped me accept him like this.  More than accept him.  God, I was learning to enjoy how it felt to be filled by him. 

 

I was alarmed at how easily my mind seemed to accept some of what he wanted to teach me.  Right now, it seemed I could have stayed forever in that timeless place where only sensations counted.  My Master was like a machine made of muscle and steel.  He drove and he drove, the thrusts deeper and deeper, never seeming to end.  And when he did cum, we were both completely exhausted.  But even as I felt his scalding hot cum jet inside me and he gave a groan of total satisfaction like someone who is totally spent, I knew that I still was not finished. 

 

Even more, I knew exactly what came next.  I’d carved the thing and I knew how thick and ripe it was.  Even after soaking in cold water for hours, it was fresh and I knew its spicy oils had been waiting to burst free as soon as they had found a suitable receptacle.  Oily diffusion had invaded my osmotic reality for the next eight or ten hours.  It had no other choice but this.  The burn of the ginger overloaded the senses.

 

But the most important thing I had found were the emotional changes I felt during and in the aftermath of the anal burn: a feeling of well-being and exquisite horniness totally fulfilled, a sense of dreaminess and overall warmth.  And worst in some ways, I often felt just a general happiness and genuine appreciation for what my Master had done for me---not to me, but FOR me.  At the point that these feelings flooded my senses, I was always ready for his love and I just couldn't help myself. 

 

I've thought about this a lot since that first night; I think there were two things about ginger figging that always put me over the top.  The first was a sort of delay of gratification.  As the pain from the ginger claimed me, I was always forced to put off my orgasm because of the evil burn, which meant that the ending had always been building up when compared to what I might have normally experienced. 

 

The second was this mood thing.  These warm, tingly sensations and the release of tension in my rectum and ass muscles after the initial onslaught of pain.  And as a result, every time he fucked me during a figging, I experienced a huge and warm and tingly orgasm unlike any other; something that always burst over me, taking away my breath and all conscious control of my body.  And I always....I always felt this overwhelming sense of gratitude for being allowed to experience this with him. 

 

This last thing was what I always hated most about the ginger. 

 

***

 

I have used ginger on a lot of women, but Rebecca was the most appreciative.  Certainly, her reactions were the most spectacular.  I have found that figging hot females with unconscious Sub characteristics that tend towards a need for total domination are the ones that appreciate it the most.  I can’t say I’ve ever met a woman who’s begged me to fig her, reluctant or consensual or otherwise; but after I’ve given it to them, there’s never been a time that the bitch wasn’t totally overwhelmed.  Even the ones that I've taken off the street against their will have a shocked look on their faces afterwards.  And for some?  They were sooo appreciative; toe-licking, cock-sucking, eating out of my hand grateful.  Someday, I knew I would be able use this trait of Rebecca’s against her.

 

***

 

It was almost four weeks into my captivity and my period was several weeks late.  Normally I was very regular and lucky in that the onset was always quite mild.  I had earlier begged him for my birth control pills, but for some male reason he refused.  Fine, I thought to myself passively, rather than rebelliously.  I told him I was pregnant today again and the look on his face told me that this man definitely did not want a pregnant female around.  Good.  He would see my belly grow and would have to let me go then.  The things he did to me were becoming intolerable; they had become too enticing, arousing too many emotions in me.  I had to be free of him, had to be myself again, not what this man wanted me to be.  I would have no problem getting an abortion once I was free.  I was hugging myself in reassurance as I fell into a deep, serene sleep that night.  This would be my escape and I felt a warm wave of happiness; I was comforted by the thought of freedom.  I remember falling asleep feeling satisfied with my plans for the future.

 

Dark, suffocating dreams woke me in the middle of the night, struggling for breath.  I dug my nails into my hand.  I could feel the fear in my belly, twisting and pinching; it had been growing, getting continually worse for the last two days.  I could still hear the people in my dream, screaming at me, screaming without words, like animals.  It took all my strength not to weep.  I had been too emotional, weeping too much lately.  I knew it was out of place and out of character, but I could not seem to help myself; the tears would come, sometimes over a trifle and nothing I did could hold them back.  I finally fell asleep once more.

 

I dreamed of the riot again.  The mob surged around me, shrieking, a maddened beast.  Women swarmed over me like weasels, pinching my legs and kicking me in the belly.  Then I saw the bright glimmer of steel.  The knife plunged into my belly and tore and tore and tore, until there was nothing left of me down there but shiny wet ribbons.

 

When I awoke, pale early morning light slanted through the glass bricks of the White Room, yet I felt sore and achy as if I had not slept all night.  There was something sticky on my thighs.  When I threw back the thin blanket with my unchained hand and saw the blood, I first thought my dream had come true.  I squirmed off of the bed, kicking at the blanket and falling on the floor, breathing raggedly, naked, bloodied, and afraid.

 

But as I crouched there on my knees, understanding came.  “No, please,“ I whimpered, “please, no, not now.”  Pulling myself up by the bedpost, I wanted to go into my bathroom and wash myself between my legs, scrubbing away all of the stickiness.  Unless I cleaned it, when he saw it, he would know.  Then I remembered the bedding.  I stared in horror at the dark red stain and the tale it told.  It was as if my own body had betrayed me to Master, unfurling for all the world to see the banner of a woman freshened and ready to be impregnated.  I didn’t know if I had been pregnant and spontaneously aborted or had aborted finally because of his earlier beating or my period had just been late because of the stress I was under.  All I knew was that I had no chance for freedom now.  I fell to my knees and sobbed into the bloodied mattress, and that is where he found me an hour later.

 

I think this scared him.  The only change as a result of my midnight experience was that he was more understanding and now quickly delivered tampons and clean bedding.  Later, birth control pills to help regulate my period mysteriously appeared with my makeup.  I think this female reality had frightened him.

 

***

 

INTERLUDE

 

Transference is a universal phenomenon of the human mind in which the unconscious feelings for one person are redirected towards another.  The interesting thing is that the person reacting in transference is generally unaware of the emotional distortion. 

 

The man who would be Rebecca’s master had spent a lot of time ferreting out her history.  He was a good detective and one of the best interrogators that Delta had ever employed; he well knew the importance of past life details.  And although he had somehow failed to put some of the most important facts together correctly, this omission didn't work against his attempt to re-make this woman.  Just the opposite.

 

Rebecca’s father was an aloof man, typical of his generation raised in a rural setting.  Her mother was an extremely religious woman who always did better with her son than with her daughters.  Understandably, from Rebecca’s earliest memories, she'd loved her father best of all.  But much of her behavior disappointed him, and raised to keep his emotions bottled inside (for that was what men of his type did), he was incapable of openly returning the love and simple affection a shy young daughter so urgently sought.  Much more so than her siblings, she spent her early years desperately trying to earn his respect and love.  But there was no success in this, no matter what she did and no matter how hard she tried. 

 

And finally, inevitably, Rebecca saw this as a comment upon herself; frustrated and having no idea why or of what she had done to earn his studied emotional neutrality, she intuitively knew that it was her fault, not his.  It must mean that she was somehow unworthy of his love.  So, in addition to missing much of what a warm, affectionate mother could give her daughter, Rebecca approached womanhood with a devastating sense of her own worthlessness, carrying a huge burden of unearned guilt on her back from her unrealized relationship with her father.  Terrified of never feeling a father's love and in the end, once she knew he would never give her this love, even though still craving his approval, Rebecca now turned to the willful acts of a teenage daughter trying to hurt the ones she loved.

 

Rebecca was a complex woman further complicated by the injuries life had later dealt her.  Without doubt, the woman Christian now held was slowly but surely responding to his techniques.  But regardless of how successful Christian had been in manipulating people in the past; regardless of where Rebecca was right now psychologically, what he did not understand was that nature had now taken a further hand in the process.  The effects of ‘Father Transference’ would significantly increase his chances of success with this woman, and the reasons were simple.

 

Unknown to Christian, the key to his final success in unraveling Rebecca's beliefs and modifying her behavior would be his ability to force her to endure the tension of opposite emotions that she now felt for her father/Christian.  Not even thirty, she still deeply felt the need for a father’s love and acceptance.  There is a tendency for people who were abused as children to re-create the circumstances of that abuse in other situations.  And even though she'd never been abused by her father in the general sense of the word, she still did not have a healthy emotional relationship with him---abuse can come in many forms because of the vast difference in power between the parent and the child. 

 

So instead of assessing and accepting the memory of her father in a healthy way, Rebecca had in certain ways fallen into the meandering memory of her past.  Due to the stress of captivity and forced slavery and in a totally non-conscious way, she began to overlay some of the damaged parts of her psyche upon Christian.  Despite, or perhaps because of his behavior, she could not help but soon begin to feel that perhaps in him she could begin to get the things she could not get from her father; love, support, confidence and acceptance.  All she had to do was earn them, prove herself worthy of his affection.  In this, he was a distorted image of Rebecca’s father.  But now, instead of being bad or worthless or even harmful, transference would be a vital tool for her survival.  Without this, she might not have been able to endure Christian's demands.

 

In the man that now held her captive, Rebecca subconsciously began to see many of the same characteristics that she thought existed in her father.  Many were admirable and some were not, but in her mind both men were remarkably similar in so many ways.  Master Christian had treated her brutally in the beginning of her captivity, and in some ways it seemed that the early physical maltreatment at his hands had paralleled the psychological neglect of her father. 

 

While her father had been unemotional, he had also been scrupulously fair.  And like her father, the initial brutality that her new Master forced her to accept had waned quickly as she learned the parameters of her new life and began to accept her new life for what it was---he treated her in a way that she saw subconsciously as “fairly.”  While Rebecca would rather be anywhere else than here, as she processed the fact that she was a prisoner, she was also forced to admit that she saw method in his behavior; he was still a monster, but not an unthinking or uncaring monster.

 

And so, with the decrease in undeserved and to her, unearned cruelty, Rebecca saw in her Master with a plastic clarity in her subconscious mind the return, the reincarnation of the idealized figure out of her childhood, and without conscious effort began an intuitive transfer to her Master of the long buried positive feelings and reactions which had previously been centered on her father. 

 

That she was subliminally experiencing this transference would be of critical importance in helping Christian accomplish his goals.  For without thought and without struggle, Rebecca now began to experience as yet unrecognized compulsions towards the man that so reminded her of her father.  She still feared this man and what he could do to her, but the situation had begun to gain momentum.  She began to feel a need to earn his approval and developed a concern about his feelings towards her, both of which were coupled with a curiosity about his personal life.  Finally, she began to understand that he was an authority on facets of life she had never experienced.  In ways she could not begin to even understand, she began to idealize him.

 

***

 

He entered the room and I awoke with a start from a troubling dream, the details of which were already in the process of fleeing my conscious mind.  The dream was gone, but quick vistas of memory from last night that I wished had been a dream flashed through my mind; the spanking and horizontal wood between my thighs, the leather and the cold metal.  It was the beginning of the weekend, and he had plenty of time to spend with me. 

 

Last night had begun with me draped over the foot of the bed, body open and defenseless against the whipping he was convinced we both knew I deserved.  I grimaced with each blow that he kept widely spaced in time, doing my best to keep all sound inside.  I obeyed the normal rules; the more sound I made, the more I prolonged his discipline. 

 

When he finished with the hard, leather belt I had come to know so well and the brutal spanking I knew he seemed to enjoy giving all his captive women, he ordered me to ride his horse.  Breasts unbound and hands free for the first time, through sheer will power alone, I somehow managed to force myself to please him again.  My face raised to the night sky and eyes closed, my mouth open and unfilled with the normally ever-present pear-shaped gag made out of hard black rubber, I found myself screaming my agony to the ceiling.

 

He had allowed me to go to my bed afterwards and after a half hour of moving restlessly until I could find a position in which I was comfortable, I'd finally asleep.  It was early morning now, still dark outside.  Startled and totally awake, right wrist bound to the headboard, I looked around and saw Master standing by the side of my bed.  One of those men that seemed to be able to carry on a conversation and still maintain an erection, he was smiling as he said, “Good morning.  We have some unfinished business.” 

 

I was exhausted.  I ached between my legs.  I didn't want a man.  But I was already spread wide for him as I'd been taught none-the-less.

 

***

 

I perched naked on the edge of my bed in the afternoon, took a bite of roll.  A gulp of water.  He was nothing if not consistent.  I still ached between my legs, but wasn't thinking of that right now.  Food was something that Master still used as an incentive, cutting back on an already light meal when I didn’t perform exactly as he wished.  I had fought him earlier with small passive/aggressive acts and he’d forced me to eat this way too many times.  Mechanical, tasteless refueling, small amounts choked down just after being forced to do something else that I hated.  I drank too much water, but I took another sip just to feel more full.  What I’d consumed so far sloshed in my stomach like an internal sea, whitecaps, undertow, and all.

 

Last night and like the thirty nights before, I'd slept with my collar, but for the first time in weeks, I did not dream of it.  I dreamt of my life instead, of the sequence of events that had both preceded and had followed my being kept here, and how they had been joined together like beads in a crazy necklace.  Now there was nothing more left, nothing left to gain or lose.  Within the necklace was a void, and I was in the middle of it.  For some time, my husband had floated within its boundaries.  But he was mostly gone now and more recently it had been Master Christian that completed the circle.  I sometimes wondered if I wasn't just his idea, in some complicated metaphysical way.  His world seemed somehow more substantial than mine was now.  But it was so quiet now, this beaded sphere of silence.  With my eyes closed, I traveled its perimeter and found it sound and sealed.  No doors had been left opened, no beads left unstrung.

 

But I knew that isolation like this was not the answer.  At the same time, to step out of it required more than I had, more than the strength that remained.  I was afraid.  It was evening, but it was not possible to sleep now.  I lay there imagining a future that had almost come into being.  Someone’s voice was inside of me, pushing me like a horse to gallop.  Rise, always rise.  Strength is your shield.  Was it my father?  I didn't know anymore.

 

No, I shook my head to an empty room.  I was afraid, afraid of what was inside me.  The next step Master would demand of me required courage I did not feel.  Every moment was tense with hushed anticipation; foreordained with meaning.  But already in the imagining there was more than there had been.  And as I waited for the daylight to press against the glass tiles, I reminded myself that I was not the first woman to be alone in a situation like this.  It wasn’t the end.  No matter what I did.

 

 

Chapter 25; “No victim becomes a reality without sacrifice.  Deny yourself.  It is so beautiful to be a victim; Josemaria Escriva.

 

It was now five weeks into her captivity.  Two severe beating, more than twice that number of brutal spankings, several maintenance spankings, multiple rapes and forced anal sex in which the victim had slowly had become more and more cooperative, all was compounded with isolation and little food, sleep deprivation and a lot of discipline.  Everything was combined in a controlled life-style in union with the re-awakening of a naturally decadent sexual drive, it all resulted in a female slave with immense potential.  A female of which most men could only dream. 

 

I didn’t particularly want a partner right now, but rather a woman to dominate and break to my will.  I wanted to enjoy dominating her, enjoy making her change her beliefs and desires at my every whim.  I wanted to enjoy her body, and finally, in Rebecca’s case, I wanted to enjoy the fruits of a recently aroused sexual appetite that was potentially ferocious in its extremes.  But most, I wanted her to know that it was me that forced her to acknowledge what she really was inside.  But now, it was time to force her to accept another level of degradation and sexual humiliation; to remove once and for all her belief in the sanctity of self and choice and personal freedom through shame, disgrace and misery. 

 

It took a few days in town to set everything up, but finally everything was ready.  It was evening and although I couldn’t do much to hide her remarkable eyes, I made her die her blond-white hair a light brown.  Everything ready, I took my woman for her first trip into a nearby small town.  Thrilled to be allowed out, she was almost giddy in her excitement.  Yet at the same time, she was suspicious because of what I made her wear; her little black dress from over a month ago.  The one that was tight around the top and waist, but which then flowed out softly from her hips and ended at mid-thigh.  The nose ring was gone and in its place a metal retainer now filled the hole in her septum.  Rebecca’s breast rings were connected by a strong, yet decorative golden chain which had a ring in the middle and was just the right length to pull the tips of her breasts slightly together.

 

***

 

On the thirty-fifth morning of my captivity, I woke up early feeling a little bizarre for some reason.  When he walked in to supervise the first part of my day, he said he was taking me out tonight for the first time since....since the beginning.  For some reason, I was scared.....scared and looking forward to it at the same time in a sick to my stomach sort of way. I wanted to please him tonight.  To let him know that he wasn't making a mistake, I spent more time than normal getting ready even though this made him impatient.  I'd dyed my hair as he'd earlier demanded, then wore it long without putting a lot of effort into it. 

 

I started getting ready early that afternoon.  After my shower, I put on light makeup, then finished with my lipstick.  I was nervous and I especially wanted to look good tonight; I was pretty sure that keeping my lipstick on would be tough.   It had taken me awhile, but I had finally learned how to keep my lipstick unspoiled when pleasuring either boy or man. 

 

I'd known a couple of drag queens in the past and found that they knew more about all-night makeup techniques than ten Hollywood makeup artists put together.  Everything I knew about lip makeup, I'd learned from them.  At the beginning, I always brushed my lips a little, then I put on the lipstick I wanted.  Next, I painted on a light coat of something called Lip Set and then let it dry.  Luckily, I'd had some in my overnight night bag and he'd let me have it.  You had to have your lipstick just the way you wanted it, then you put the Lip Set on and you kept your lips open in an “O” shape until they dried.  Sometimes your lips would tingle for a minute, but that was all.  It gave me a faultless lipstick that lasted through anything for between four and six hours, and I hoped he appreciated my efforts.

 

When I finished, Master handed me a garter belt, stockings and the little black dress I'd already worn once before.  I hated the idea of wearing the same dress for him again, but had no choice.  I slowly slipped the garter belt around my waist, then sat down on the edge of the bed to put on the stockings.  I'd begged Master a couple of times for panties, but he was adamant in his refusal.  He began to look impatient, so I had to finish getting ready.  Next, I slipped the dress over my head and settled it over my hips.  I had to adjust myself a little to get the dress to hang correctly over my breasts because of the nipple chain I now wore almost all of the time now.  Then I put on the formal collar I would wear tonight.  Finally, I sat down on the edge of the bed and put on the almost unworkable heels that he'd decided I needed.  From the bed, I walked over to the mirror and checked myself out.  I was missing only one thing; I now put on a pair of inexpensive, yet expensive looking dangling faux-diamond earrings. 

 

When I told Master that I was ready, he walked towards me with a slight smile on his face and pulled open the front of my dress to bare my breasts.  What he made me wear next was absolute torture.

 

***

 

After I finished, the sexiest thing she had on was mostly hidden from sight; a thin, twisted gold wire with sliding loops at each end and a small locket in the center that camouflaged a tightening slide.  A sliver of ice made her left nipple stand erect and the loop on one end of the gold line easily slid over the huge nipple.  I pulled on the loop hard to capture her nipple tightly and ensure that it would remain my prisoner until I freed it.  Rebecca cried out in pain, but just for a second.  She looked at me for a second with unspilt tears in her eyes and then assumed a submissive position again.  I now imprisoned her other nipple the same way, and again came the same soft, involuntary cry of pain.  Once I'd tightened it in the center, the length perfectly ensured that it always taut, but not too tight; thus ensuring a painful pressure on both of Rebecca’s nipples, but without causing more damage.  Finally, I connected a thin, finely worked leash made out of Spanish leather to the center ring of her golden breast chain and left it hanging over her left shoulder like a piece of exotic jewelry. 

She looked absolutely gorgeous, sexy as hell, and I simply couldn't take my eyes off of her.  She looked at me and asked in a worried tone, “What's wrong, Master?  Did I do something wrong?”

 

I just shook my head no in response; my voice had dried up a little. 

 

Then she asked in a low, soft voice, “Do I look pretty enough for you, Master?”

 

I cleared my throat and replied, “You'll do.  You look okay for now.”

 

This clearly wasn't what she wanted to hear, but it was all she was going to get from me.  Rebecca handled the chain that connected her nipple rings pretty well, but she clearly hated the nipple wire from the beginning.  Tough.  She grimaced in pain as she smoothed the front of her dress over her breast decorations.  Her dress was daringly scooped in front and her slave collar tonight was more decorative than real, consisting of an inch-wide black velvet choker.  Garter belt and sheer black stockings; pumps with four-inch stiletto heels.  And of course, no need for panties. 

 

The mind is an amazing instrument in both the way it allows man to make amazing intuitive leaps, as well as to hide the obvious from ourselves.   She was a woman that had always pretty much dressed conservatively.  Going out now with the short dress and stockings was bad enough.  But without panties, it was intolerable.  “Please, Master,” she begged, “please let me wear panties.  The dress is too short.  Please.”

 

When I asked her why she wanted a pair of panties so badly, she replied that “Only slutty women went out without wearing panties.”  I couldn’t help it.  I stared at her for about thirty seconds before I finally cracked up.  “What on earth do you think you are?  You’ve been a slut from the beginning and you’re only now figuring it out?  God, for a supposedly educated woman, you’re stupid as hell sometimes.”

 

***

 

It was a small town electronics store, not what Rebecca had expected for her first trip out and she looked about uneasily as I led her in.  I watched her closely and kept a hand on her forearm as I escorted her from the car and through the doors.  Although the sign said Closed at Ten, there were still numerous shoppers inside moving around at fifteen after ten.  Once inside, she walked behind and to my right, so there was no need at the moment to use the breast leash that was draped over her shoulder.  Her high heels made a slow, seductive cadence that drew men's attention to her entrance.  Every shopper present was young and male, almost all rather geeky looking.  Each in his own world, we (actually she) were rewarded with a total lack of attention except for a few stares from the corner of the eyes.  Without preamble, I led her to the restrooms in the far left corner.  When we arrived, I pushed her into the Men’s bathroom.  My sweet little piece of fuck meat didn’t resist me at first, walking along without requiring much too much assistance.  Only at the door to the bathroom did she hesitate and I encouraged her inside with a shove in her back. 

 

Once inside, I pushed her up against the wall and pinned her wrists above her head.  I leaned in and it was easy to kiss her this way.  She was uncertain and didn't seem to know how to react.  She gave me little resistance when I let go and held her hand as I dragged her towards the row of sinks in front of the mirror.  I listened to the echoing click-clack of her high heels as she moved reluctantly behind me and thought that when he was with a beautiful woman, nothing ever filled a man with more anticipation than that sound.  I put the bag containing the video camera off to the side where it could record us and catch our reflections from the mirror at the same time, then I turned it on and returned to my woman.  After I removed Rebecca’s breast leash, I pushed her against the counter sink and pinned her thighs as I leaned against her back.  I moved the hair away from her left ear and kissed her.  Then I whispered, “Put your leg up on the counter.”

 

Shaking her head almost as if in shock, it was clear that she didn’t understand what was happening to her or what I really wanted from her.  Finally, she leaned back and put her weight on one heel and raised her foot.  This only emphasized the attractive shape of her calf.  I repeated my command more loudly, “Put your left foot up on the counter.”  Finally, awkwardly, she obeyed, slowly putting the back of her left high heel on the counter.  The counter in that tatty men's room was high enough that she teetered awkwardly on her right foot.  I pushed on her knee, straightened her leg on the counter and moved her left foot into the closest sink.  Then I used my weight as I leaned against her back and pinned her right thigh even harder against the edge of the counter.  I put my hand on her hips and rotated them to make sure that her pelvis was parallel to the counter---I wanted her ass hanging all the way out and not half-on and half-off. 

 

She moved like a mannequin now, brain shutting down under too many conflicting signals, but totally obedient to my every wish.  Slowly, I began to stroke her stocking clad leg, the palm of my left hand sliding on the nylon-slick top of the gorgeous thigh that stuck out awkwardly to the side, my fingers trailing down onto the inside of her thigh.  My other hand was fixed at the back of her neck with a handful of hair.  Then I ran my right hand down until it could slide up the side of her satiny right thigh.  Both hands stroked firm nylon-covered thigh at the same time.  I finally moved my right hand back up to her hair and immobilized her again.

 

I looked at Rebecca in the mirror and could almost smell the fear I saw in her eyes.  I made her maintain this pose for a few seconds, then leaned forward to smell her hair.  I looked at her beautiful profile and she maintained an unnatural stillness as I kept her pinned.  Finally, I spoke, “Lean forward on your hands.  Lean towards the mirror.”  Rebecca's eyes never left mine in the mirror and she said nothing.  Slowly she did as I ordered and then held that position because she knew that was what I wanted.  It was a graceless and defenseless position I'd ordered her maintain while I assaulted her.  Standing on one leg, with her other leg stuck out to the side and raised like a stupid water bird.  It was a shameful and degrading stance, one that left her no dignity whatsoever.  But that was the plan tonight, debasing and humiliating my helpless, defenseless slave-cunt.

 

Even as she was leaning forward on her hands, I pulled her head back again with a handful of her hair and I could see in the mirror that she now had her eyes closed and her jaw clenched.  I tilted her head toward her right shoulder.  Not enjoying this, sweet cheeks? I thought to myself; I’m just getting started.

 

I reached around with both hands and freed her beautiful breasts from the confinement of the dress.  Both soft globes were captured by the chain that connected the breast rings.  But even more, the savage nipple wire that I'd made her don earlier now held two huge red, engorged nubbins of flesh.  Just looking at her strawberry-like nipples made me wince; at least for a second anyway.  I stroked her breasts for a second.  Overwhelmed for a second by an unaccustomed feeling of pity for the woman I was using, I avoided the thin line of wire that so cruelly captured her soft flesh.

 

I leaned in against her back and after I’d used her hair to pull her head to the side again, I bit down on the left side of her neck, taking a good amount of skin between my teeth.  Although not really biting hard yet, I've found that I can keep even the most ferocious woman docile and quite nicely immobilized when I used my teeth.  And when they are finally domesticated, I find it just gives me pleasure to bite them.  My left hand went from stroking her nylon clad thigh to unzipping my pants.  The ziiiiiip sound was shockingly loud in the quiet bathroom, the silence previously broken only by the sound of my heavy breathing and Rebecca’s soft gasps as I manipulated her against the counter.  I pulled a tube of lubricant out of my pocket and opened it.  Then one-handed, I lavishly greased my already stiff cock. 

 

Her buttocks finally ready to be bared, I lifted the back of her short dress up and moved in to snuggle against her bare cheeks.  My right hand was bunched with hair from the back of her neck and I still retained a ripple of flesh between my teeth from the left side of her neck.  She was left no choice; obediently leaning forward as ordered, she was an easy target.  I could feel the back of her right thigh tremble against the outside of mine. 

 

For the first time she spoke as she began to beg softly. “Please, Master.  Not here.  Not like this.  Don’t do this to me here.  Please, Master.”  The word Master finally seemed to come easily to her lips now.  It truly was amazing.  Only a few short weeks ago this had been a proud, arrogant woman fully convinced of her God-given right to treat a man, any man, in any way she wanted.  She'd been a woman that had wielded power and overt dominion over men; the complete antithesis of an eye-rolling, long-suffering female martyr.  Now I'd reduced her to an almost docile acceptance of the intolerable; only at the end developing the courage to beg me not to give her an after-hours ass-fucking in the Men’s room of a cheesy electronics department store.  I ignored her.  I was hot and ready.  The stupid cunt should have known what was coming when I brought her into the store.

 

Her bare ass pushed out from the edge of the counter and I separated her cheeks with my left hand.  I began to push hard with my erection, using her beautifully puckered and well-visited velvety-brown hole as a target.  I could feel her thigh begin trembling against me again.  I began to push into her harder now and she fought me instinctively, clenching her muscles tightly.  After about fifteen seconds of fighting her, I reached around with my left hand and gave the nipple wire a quick, soft pluck like I was playing the breast harp.  She gave a soft cry of pain and immediately relaxed her protective sphincter for just a second, allowing me a momentary advantage as I entered her body from the rear.

 

Rebecca squealed once and tried to go up on the toes of her right foot during my initial penetration, but even in heels she still wasn’t tall enough to avoid giving me what I wanted.  Anal sphincter fighting a losing battle, Rebecca suddenly accepted me fully inside her body with a loud groan that originated from deep within her belly.  I was helping to lubricate as I fucked her, so I didn’t fill her all the way with my first penetration.  I pulled out a little, then drilled her with the deepest part of my shaft on the second thrust.  I kept this up until none of me was left visible between us.  I was only trying to help lubricate her, but she squealed once again.  This time it was much more deeply in her throat and with her teeth clenched; then she shuddered all over her body.  She still wasn’t quite ready, but I only needed a couple more hip thrusts and her rectum was finally coated on the inside with enough lubricant from my cock that I could go on to the main act.  We were in total physical communication now, connected only by the long, rigid, iron-like bar of my cock buried in her beautiful, firm ass. 

 

Having gained full penetration, her asshole acted as a hot, tight sleeve on my steaming erection; it felt like my whole cock was being vacuum packed by her rectum, compressed equally along every inch except for the very base where I leaned up against this beautiful woman.  There, her sphincter had clamped onto me and it felt like a tight rubber band that kept loosening and tightening on me. 

 

I was now able to go back to stroking her nylon clad thigh with my left hand as I slowly and rhythmically drilled her rectum with each move of my hips.  Leisurely, I slid my hand up her slick feeling thigh until I had reached the edge of her stocking.  I would pull out a little and she would inhale with a soft hiss.  I would thrust back inside her and she would groan softly or audibly gasp, each sound emitted in parallel with the move of my hips.  It was a dance without words, but the moves were always well choreographed by the male lead.  The female lead followed the prompts perfectly, intimately, as if fated from birth to play her part in the dance.

 

I played with the top of her stocking for a long minute, running my fingers inside and out.  Finished with this, my hand resumed its journey up the inside of her thigh until it reached nirvana.  I played with her clit for a second, then finger-fucked her pussy, before I finally put my hand on her pelvis and pulled/pushed it towards my hips.  With her right thigh still forced into the counter by the pressure of my body from the back, she responded magnificently to my non-verbal commands.  She pooched her ass out towards me in order to take in another half inch or so of hot meat.  Christ, she felt good with her tight and hot, but rather unwilling flesh totally encompassing my cock. 

 

I could look into the mirror and see her face.  Fine autocratic features, bones and skin of the best breeding, stern beautiful mouth, eyes once as cold as North Atlantic ice.  I could see that she hated what I was doing to her here.  But maybe not.  She was moving with each thrust of my hips now and matching me grind for grind.  Maybe she was finally learned to like her sex rougher?  But what the fuck did I care either way?  She was mine and she'd do what I told her to do.  I ass fucked her for about five minutes, taking deep pleasure in forcing every kind of response from her.  Soft cries of pain, grunts of discomfort, sighs, unintended gasps and groans, heavy breathing, wiggling ass, grinding pelvis and out-thrust breasts; they all made me harder and more determined to fuck her brains out in the Men’s room. 

 

Suddenly, we both froze, her leaning awkwardly forward, eyes slitted in discomfort, dress hiked up around her waist, me buried deep inside her rear end.  The door to the bathroom opened and a young man with a manager’s badge walked in on us.  He stood there looking at us with his eyes bulging and mouth open for what seemed an eternity, but must have been only a few seconds.  His face red, he yelled, “What the hell are doing here?  Get out.  I’m calling the cops.”  Then he fled and we were alone again. 

 

I looked at my sweet meat-cunt in the mirror and her face was scarlet red with disgrace and shame.  We had a little time yet and I wasn't worried.  I smiled at her into the mirror over her shoulder, then grabbed her hair and pulled her head back towards me as I resumed pumping her in the ass.  She had her face up towards the ceiling now with her eyes closed, her face flushed red and hot with embarrassment. 

 

“Please...uhhhnnn.......Master.  Let’s.......aaahh-uhhnnn.......ohhh gaawwwd.  Let's.....go before....oowww uuhhnnn...... the police arrive.  Please.”

 

I laughed softly in delight and kept her hips pinned, positioned so that I could continue drilling her.  I thundered away at her gorgeous unresisting ass until sweat was pouring down my face and my throat.  Finally, the feeling of complete control over this beautiful woman; the physical, emotional and psychological---it all combined into a massive surge in my loins and I blew a load of cum deeper in her ass than ever before.  She gasped as she felt me ejaculate and seemed to push against me even harder for one last second.  But I didn’t care; I was finished with her for now.  I staggered back, gasping and blissful from the endorphin rush.

 

Her face burned beet red with embarrassment.  She whispered softly, “Are we done?” with her cheek turned away so that I could barely hear her words.  But I wasn't done yet and I wanted the world to know.  The bite marks on the side of her neck from my teeth were deep enough that anyone seeing her would know.   She belonged to me. 

 

I backed away from her and zipped my pants up.  Like a good little robot, she remained stiff in her sad, little position, standing on one leg with the other raised and sticking straight out to the side, resting on the counter.  Really sexy before you got your nuts off, after sex it was just stupid and pathetic.  Her dress was still pulled up around the small of her back, showing her stockings and garters.  Pearly drops of cum appeared around her now red and swollen anus, beginning their long gravity-driven roll towards freedom.  I looked up at her face in the mirror and she was still leaning on her hands, but her head hung down in shame and her eyes were closed.  The flush of her embarrassment had only deepened if that was possible; even her ears were burning red now. 

 

“Christ, woman,” I said.  “You look stupid like that.  Get your leg down and wipe off that nasty shit that’s starting to run down the back of your legs.  Stupid fucking slave!”  Rebecca slowly dropped her left foot to the floor and reached over with trembling fingers as she grabbed a couple of paper towels with which to dry herself off.  At the same time, I grabbed my bag with the video camera and turned it off.  I was filled with anticipation to watch this video.

 

“Christ woman, come on.  We don’t have all day.  Got to get out before the cops get here,” I said as I draped her breast leash over her left shoulder.  Only half-finished wiping herself, I chivvied her along and we left the men’s bathroom.  By this time, the store was closed and almost all the lights were off.  She hurried along in her position just behind my right shoulder, when I suddenly veered towards a door marked MANAGER.  With her breast leash now in my hands, Rebecca had no option but to follow me.  I stopped in front of the Manager’s door long enough to push it open before I began to enter. 

 

Inside it was dark.  Confused, she stopped as I continued in.  I reached back and tugged on her leash.  She was forced to walk inside behind me when suddenly the lights came on and it was clear that the room was filled with young men.  She tried to stop, but I stepped to the side and pulled on her leash again, but harder this time and she had no choice but to follow.  Without a word, I handed her leash to a rather pimply faced young man.  He began pulling her all the way inside as I said, “Here’s the whore I promised.  Remember, she's free for tonight only.  She likes it hard and don’t listen to what she says.  I’ll come back and get her when you’re done.” 

 

 

Chapter 26: Whatever they may be in public life, whatever their relations with men, in their relations with women, all men are rapists and that's all they are. They rape us with their eyes, their laws, their codes; Marilyn French.

 

The young man pulled on her nipple leash even harder and Rebecca was forced to put both of her hands protectively over her breasts to ensure the horizontal piercing bars weren’t pulled through her nipples.  She was literally dragged forward into the room, all the while looking back over her shoulder at me.  Finally, I allowed her eyes to catch mine.  She gave me an imploring look, all the while saying, “No, Master.  Please don’t do this.  I’ll be good, Master. I promise.  I PROMISE!” 

 

She was finally dragged all the way in, so I closed the door behind us.  The walls and floor of the small room were poured concrete.  A naked bulb hung from the ceiling over the only desk, a small, scarred steel one that at some time in the prehistoric past had been painted a robin's egg blue.  A group of young males stood in a group around and behind the desk.  There was a water cooler in one corner and it all looked just like it was; a nasty little office/cubicle in which clerks could shuffle papers.  But not tonight.  Tonight it was perfect for after-hours office sex.  I put the bag with video camera up high on a shelf that was by the door and turned the camera on.  By then Rebecca was surrounded by young geeky looking men. 

 

It had taken me several days to set this up, but I'd finally succeeded.  I'd talked to a young man that owed me big time for some work I'd done for his family.  He was acting manager of his father’s small electronic store and I'd convinced him that I had a whore that I had paid to play a “part” in a role-acting game tonight.  I told him that she got into “kinky” scenes and the deal was that if he'd let me use his bathroom with Rebecca after they had closed for the night, he and some of his friends could have her afterwards.  I warned him that she might not like it at first, but I'd paid her enough that she'd go along with the surprise eventually.  The only thing was, I said, he had to make sure that all of the boys used condoms because I wasn’t sure whether or not she was clean.  He quickly agreed to this one stipulation.  I had also prepped him to come in the bathroom to catch us, because I knew that Rebecca would be humiliated if caught like that---God, had that worked out good.

 

***

 

There was the smell of aroused geek testosterone in the air tonight, and the little lady I provided was the main attraction.  A couple of the boys looked nervous and a little uncertain about joining in.  By the time I got the camera ready and turned on, the rest had Rebecca lying on her back on the desk.  She was crying and begging them to stop, but it didn't slow them down.  One of the guys held her wrists pinned above her head, while two others held her ankles.  Her legs were spread wide, the backs of her knees locked against their chests as the bottom of her high heels faced the ceiling.  Another young man was in the process of exposing her breasts.  Once her tits were free of the dress, everyone began laughing and making rude comments about her breast piercings and her nipple wire. 

 

Young men were playing with her tits, stroking and pushing at her naked pussy, and feeling and stroking her stocking covered legs.  The smallest boy in the room reminded me of a mongoose.  He kept pulling on her nipple wire, repeatedly making her cry out in pain.  Eventually, he took it off after he got tired of hurting her.  Finally, one of the boys realized that she'd also been branded next to her vagina.  This was the final realization for her audience and quieted everyone for a second, before pandemonium broke out among the young men as they whooped with laughter and congratulated themselves on their luck.  The two boys that had looked uncertain earlier were now absolutely convinced that this was okay.  After all, these were not guys that got much pussy and all of them were looking forward to taking this beautiful whore in every way possible. 

 

I smiled to myself as I saw that the assistant manager had taken my advice and looked up the use of ginger on the Internet.  They had Rebecca’s legs spread wide and were in the process of pushing a particularly long, but nicely wedged-shaped finger of ginger up her sloppy ass.  Fortunately (or unfortunately) for her, there were two more pieces floating in the bowl, so I knew she was in for one hell of a ride tonight when they sheathed the last one in her rectum.  This bitch would be one sore cunt tomorrow.  Oh well, it wasn’t my ass.

 

I set up the camera near a socket and plugged in the adapter so I wouldn't need battery power.  After making sure it was focused on the desk, I left her to the boys.  As I closed the door, I glanced back one last time as I heard her cry out for me.  Pinned to the desk, they held her wrists above her head now and one boy was holding each ankle; they still had her knees locked and beautiful legs straight.  Her feet were spread far apart, heels pointed straight into the air and her toes at the wall behind her head.  The leather leash had already been removed and thrown into a corner.

 

As I turned to leave, I heard her scream in pain, then start begging.  This got all of them giggling hysterically.  Except for the end, the white ginger root had disappeared inside Rebecca and two of them took turns pushing her cheeks together.  I waited for a minute as she writhed and begged on the desk. 

 

Soon, she was crying softly, “No.  No. Not like this.  Please no.”  And then it was over for her.  I could tell the burn had begun and her pussy would be leaking love juice like a waterfall in less than a minute.  I left after I checked to make sure that all of the nerds were planning to use condoms. 

 

***

 

I closed the door and began my wait.  I was tired, but felt comfortably relaxed from having fucked Rebecca just a few minutes ago.  I'd just wait for my new woman outside the office and might even catch a nap if I was lucky.  I dragged a floor model desk chair over by the Manager's office and had it leaning back as far as it would go.  Even though I could barely hear voices in the office, the buzz from within sounded a lot like her begging.  There were also sudden bursts of male laughter.  But I ignored these like one would an annoying fly that buzzed around your head. 

 

Within a few minutes I was dozing off, but was awakened several times by surprisingly loud, long drawn out female moans and cries; once my snooze was disturbed by a short, sharp gut-wrenching scream that was suddenly cut-off in mid-voice.  I waited almost 90 minutes before the door opened for the first time and a couple of the young men came out, buckling their pants and laughing.  Finally they gave each other a high five and walked out the door without even looking at me---the ungrateful bastards.  The other boys left one at a time until there were only four left.  Three of them came out a little over half an hour later and told me that the Assistant Manager was waiting for me inside. 

 

When I walked in, the office reeked of sweaty bodies and wet sex.  He was impersonally cleaning cum marks off the desk top, while Rebecca sat on the edge of the plastic visitors chair with a shell-shocked look in her eyes, staring off into what could only be called the far distance.  I glanced at her and she LOOKED like a cheap, well-used whore now, seeming to be a different person from the one I'd first brought here tonight.  I wondered if I’d gone too far in my quest to break this woman.  Most people can handle so much more stress than they would ever believe, but even the most flexible can be driven over the edge and broken into small pieces if pushed too far. 

 

Rebecca had been pushed perhaps to the edge of madness.  Her beautiful pierced breasts were now unconfined by the dress and there was a crumpled ten dollar bill on her lap.  She was sitting slumped over in the chair making small back and forth rocking motions with her head and upper body.  And while her legs were sticking straight out in front of her, Rebecca's hand left hand was clamped between her thighs and her knees were tightly locked together.  Her right hand was across her chest, supporting her breasts.  The dress barely came up to top of her thighs in this position, and it was blotched everywhere with white cum stains.  Both of her stockings had runs in them now, and the high-heeled sandals she wore were scuffed on the sides from what could only have been her struggles while the young men had mounted her on the desk.

 

He looked at me and said, “Thanks man, for loaning us the whore tonight, but you’d better get the slut out of here now.  She's a nice piece of ass and you need to bring her back again.  But I want to get the place cleaned up for the evening; the bitch smells like hell and she's leaking all over the place.”  Nodding my head in agreement, I looked around and saw the leash and gold chain lying together in one corner. 

 

I threw the chain in her lap and said, “Put it on.”  Rebecca looked at me for a second like a zombie, then picked up the chain.  With shaking fingers, she finally attached the chain to both nipple rings.  I looked around a little more and finally found and pocketed her nipple wire.  I grabbed her breast leash and dragged Rebecca to her feet, then handed her the leash without a word.  She silently attached the leash to the center ring of the breast chain and threw it over her shoulder.  The crumpled ball of money lay at her feet.

 

The front of her dress had been torn; her breasts hung free and she was again doing her best to hide this with her right arm crossed over her chest.  I grabbed her right bicep and pulled Rebecca's arm away to look at her chest.  I could see that her breasts were unconfined except for the chain that connected her nipple piercings.  The ends of her breasts somehow looked different to me.  Both tips protruded far more than before.  Her nipples were enormous now, the angry color of blood-red raspberries and they just didn't seem to want to go down.  They looked as hard as a rock and must have been sore as hell; with the way she protected her chest with her arm, I guessed they really were sensitive.

 

She moved like a robot, so I tucked her breasts back inside the short black dress  as best I could.  Except for her lipstick, her make-up was long gone and while she had the bite marks of my ownership on her neck, many new ones had been tattooed into her skin along with the old ones.  Her hair was ratted and tangled, matted to her face by what could only have been partially dried cum.  In some places, her face was shiny and reflected the harsh fluorescent lighting, the skin slick from cum that was still wet and sticky.  Other parts of her face looked like they were covered in a dried version of the cheap white wood glue that's used to hold furniture together.  Although much of it was around her mouth, chin and down the front of her neck, her chest was liberally covered with the drying clearish-white gummy fluid too.  Tracks of tears were obvious on her cheeks and her mascara had run, giving her the look of a bruised raccoon.  She looked downright nasty.

 

I grabbed her arm after I'd retrieved my camera.  She didn't look at me, but just stared at the wall as she continued to cover her chest in a recently re-discovered need to maintain some small amount of modesty.  I dragged her out of the room and out into the main store.  We were accompanied by the same echoing click-clack of high heels as when we had first come tonight, but it was somehow different now.  She moved slowly as if her hips hurt her; the Denholm Lilt that had so captivated every man earlier that night was pretty much a thing of the past---at least for now.  My little slave now had a limp and walked as slowly and cautiously as if she were a hundred years old.  Rebecca still kept her right arm across her chest, but now cradled her belly with her left.  I guess getting your brains fucked out gang-bang style can lead to some serious stomach cramps too.

 

Playing to the single remaining audience, I said, “Baby, you did good tonight.”  Then I led my “whore” out of the office where I stopped.  She moved wherever I pointed her, slowly, tentatively, like a re-animated cadaver, stumbling on her designer heels without thought or protest.  I pushed her face-up against the wall and cuffed her hands behind her back.  I wasn’t sure how she would handle being gang-banged this early in her slavery, so I needed to take a few precautions. 

 

The evening was cool and I'd brought along a coat for Rebecca.  I draped this over her shoulders; no one that saw her in the parking lot would realize that she wore cuffs.  From here, I led her out to the car.  On the way out in the deserted parking lot, I looked at her and said, “You always knew you acted like a cunt to men.  And even if you didn’t know it, I’ve showed you that you were always a slut inside too.  But now, baby, now you’re a whore.  You're my whore.  You're at  the bottom of the gutter woman, and it’s only me that can keep you from drowning there.”

 

The once-pretend slut truly was a slut now.  And I'd made her into my whore too.  She said nothing to any of my taunts.

 

Half-way to the car, Rebecca suddenly begged me to stop in a hoarse voice as she fell uncontrollably to her knees and began vomiting.  Her voice was so raspy now that I could barely understand her.  When she was done emptying her stomach, I helped her to her feet and used the front of her ripped dress to wipe her mouth off.

 

***

 

I was numb inside, but I could feel that nausea building inside.  “Stop,” I begged him.  “Please stop.”  My throat was so sore from having huge erections recklessly rammed down it that I could barely talk.  I stumbled to my knees, barely making it in time.  My wrists were still bound behind my back, but I clutched my arms against my sides as tight as I could and leaned forward as everything inside my stomach came up, everything evil that had just been put there.  Tears were streaming down my face and snot was running out of my nose and I felt like my stomach itself might tear loose from inside me and make its way onto the tar of the parking lot on which I kneeled.

 

Finally, it subsided.  I rocked on my knees for a second, sucking air, then spat and tried to stand up.  I couldn't by myself and the man that stood next to me dragged me to my feet and on to his car.

 

***

 

We went to the car.  She looked and acted like a recently revived corpse, a bloodless body without mind or will.  I thought about it afterwards.  Before tonight, her beautiful face had been like a large isolated house facing the street, its windows lit from inside, perhaps promising lamp and firelight within if only one were patient enough.  Then I'd let the boys get at her tonight, and when you looked at her now, you realized the blinds had come down.  I wasn't worried too much though.  I felt like I had forever to work with her, and sooner or later, she'd have to come back to me.  But the main thing was that no matter what she might be feeling or thinking, she was in no shape to be running off or fighting me right now.  She was facing the car as I pushed her up against it, then walked back to unlock the trunk.  The manager had been right.  I needed a towel for her to sit on because she was still leaking so much cum from her pussy and ass.  So much for the boys using condoms all the time.

 

After I had buckled her seat belt, she remained silent, looking out the car window the whole time we were in traffic.  She sat next to me, unmoving, frozen into an arctic silence.  No tears, no sobs, no recriminations, nothing.  Her frozen silence was a little unnerving.  Nothing was left of the self-important, self-entitled bitch I'd met at that first lunch so many days ago.  She was a burned out husk now, totally different from the strong, confident, even arrogant woman that had tried to control everything that first weekend.  I'd taken her all the way to the bottom. 

 

The slave's existence ahead of her had always been real, but she had continuously refused to acknowledge its reality.  Instead, I think she'd always assumed that she'd somehow in the end uncover some unknown route to freedom before it went too far, or that I would experience a rush of emotions at the last moment and take pity on her.  Well, now she knew what her life would be like.  She wasn't living in a movie like An Officer and A Gentlemen, where some handsome hero came in at the end and carried her away to a new life.  She'd finally realized she was a slave, and that rape-sex was a major part of her new existence.  This last experience with the boys would either kill her or make her face her new life head on. 

 

We parked in my garage and I got out.  She sat in the car, too exhausted to move.  I walked over and opened the door and stood there waiting for her.  After a moment, Rebecca attempted to sit up and get out.  She got about half way out of the car when she hesitated for a second, then continued the move out.  More stomach cramps, I suppose.  I walked my now shabby looking street-slut into the house and through my bedroom into the White Room. 

 

I sat her on the edge of her bed and told her that from what'd happened tonight, she could finally figure out what her life would be like from now on unless she gave me absolute cooperation.  No more games.  If she didn't get serious and accept it all beginning immediately, I'd make sure that she went through this once a week for the next year.  The reason it would only be once a week and not more often, I told her, was that it would take that long for her to recover and be ready to “party” with boys again.  I would have no trouble, I assured her, in getting more than enough young men volunteering to ensure that her pussy and ass hurt so much from being gang-fucked, she'd never walk straight again.

 

After telling her she was to get herself cleaned up, I uncuffed her and left her alone.  I locked her in the room and then went to the monitors to see how she acted.  Slowly, Rebecca undressed and stood up, cradling her stomach with both hands.  I could easily see my bites from earlier in the night on the side of her neck.  The insides of both thighs and just over her cunt were also covered with bite marks.  Her breasts were bruised and mis-shapen, and even from a distance her nipples still looked angry and engorged from being captured with the tight wire loops.

 

She looked at the torn and nasty little black dress and stockings that lay in front of her, and with a soft sob, bent over carefully to pick them up before she wadded them up into a sodden mass and suddenly threw them across the room towards the door by which I had just left.  She stood for a moment swaying, then slowly and painfully walked over to the shower.  She stopped at the mirror and looked at herself.  She started crying as she examined her breasts, then her neck and between her legs.  Finally, she stood in the shower for over thirty minutes, just soaking and then carefully soaping herself between her legs, then washing her hair. 

 

After Rebecca finished soaping and showering herself clean, she would stand there in the spraying water for a second and then begin the whole procedure all over again.  Every two or three minutes, she would open her mouth to the water showering down on her and flush her mouth out.  She did this multiple times.  Finally finished, she slowly got out and dried herself off before walking over to the bed and lying down.  Naked under the single light blanket I allowed her, she curled up against the far side of the bed and after bringing her knees up to her chest and putting her hands between her thighs, she cried softly and rocked back and forth with a small, economical motion. 

 

I didn't think I needed to chain her wrist to the bed tonight.

 

 

Chapter 27: The principle of procrastinated rape is said to be the ruling one in all the great bestsellers; V. S. Pritchett.

 

The next part comes from the video that I'd recorded.  I watched myself begin to ass-fuck this gorgeous woman in the cheesy men’s bathroom.  Even though I’d already had her once and she’d been gang-raped afterwards, I felt the blood get heavy in my groin and my penis begin to stir again as I watched the video and thought about the exhausted woman that lay alone in bed in the next room. 

 

The camera had been set off to my back right, so there was a good view of both of us from the side and a clear shot of her in the mirror.  Rebecca stood only on her long and shapely right leg; the high heel on her left foot could barely be on the other side of me as it rested in a sink.  I could see where the sheer black stocking ended a little above mid-thigh, and I could see the garter strap as it was stretched tautly over her muscular buttock before connecting to her stocking top. 

 

Rebecca’s head was tilted towards her right shoulder, freeing her long beautiful neck for my teeth.  I saw myself reach around and strum her nipple harp, and I saw her grimace with pain.  Then as I penetrated her ass for real, I saw her go up on the toes of her right foot in a futile attempt to avoid accepting all of me.  Even though she was leaning forward onto her palms, her face was up and I could see her blue slitted eyes glitter in the fluorescent light.  Her jaw was clenched and what could only be described as a grimace opened her lips and freed her gritted teeth for view.  I watched myself ass-fucking this beautiful woman and I have to admit I got a hard-on all over again.  I watched her react in shock and embarrassment to the young man's entry and the stony smile on my face as I finished her off.  Then it was over and inside of the office filled the scene.

 

The view was perfect; Rebecca was trying to fight them off initially, but it became obvious from the beginning that it would do no good.  She was overwhelmed, then easily laid on the metal desk and opened up like a small shrimp on a New Orleans poboy.  Her breasts were exposed and her naked pussy was in plain site.  The leash was thrown in a corner and they brought out the ginger finger for her to see; she began to fight them even harder if that were possible.  Once the ginger was buried in her ass, one of the guys even rubbed a small piece of ginger against her clit for a second.  Now Rebecca almost howled in frustration and horrified anticipation as she must have felt the beginning of the burn.

 

Rebecca could still function at this point as she swung her head back and forth, begging someone, anyone to listen.  But they were all too excited.  She claimed she wasn’t a prostitute and wanted them to call the police…she claimed she'd been kidnapped and tortured.  But none of them listened; I think the still healing brand and breast loops and nipple wire spoke to them in a much louder volume than did her words.  I think that this was perhaps the hardest part for Rebecca to take; their total inability to see her as a human being rather than a disembodied, impersonal vessel of flesh only suitable for depositing their semen; a mobile vagina that was now theirs and available for the taking.  Soon, far too soon for Rebecca, the rocket burn between her legs and in her ass began to take over her mind and body.

 

Rebecca's legs were still pinned against two male chests, knees locked and feet pointing towards the ceiling as the group waited for the ginger to take final effect.  I watched as one of the boys to the side quickly stripped.  After sucking on a wire-bound nipple for a second, he climbed upon the desk and finally ended up sitting on her chest and stomach.  He leaned forward and even though Rebecca had trouble breathing with him sitting on her like that, she still tried to fight him, when two of the guys grabbed her wrists and pinned her hands above her head again. 

 

He had his knees on either side of her chest as he leaned forward and carefully pushed his cock between her nipple-bound breasts and underneath the chains that connected her nipple rings.  She screamed in sudden pain as her sweaty breasts were easily pushed apart and the tip of his cock suddenly appeared just below her chin as it peeked out from his personal tit-fuck tunnel.  He slowly began easing it back and forth, driving it towards her face until his nuts racked against the base of her breasts, then pulling it back.  It must have felt like her nipples were being pulled off at the roots.  Rebecca could only stare in mute horror at the young man as she was tit-fucked for the first time in her life.  She tried to fight again, but the struggles only tore at her nipples even more.  She had to stop---even for her it hurt too much.  As long her breasts were bound together by the nipples like this, he could use his hands to slap her face or choke her or just fill them with her beautiful globes as he hip-stroked between them. 

 

The others had seen what he was doing now and were egging him on.  They all seemed to be waiting for something.  Finally, he cupped Rebecca's breasts and she loudly moaned in pain again.  He started going faster and faster and she tried to pull back, but he grabbed her hair and pulled her face back towards him. 

 

“Come on, bitch,” he crooned to himself with his eyes closed.  “Look at me, look at it.  Soon, you're going to feel it all over you.  Oh yeah, that's it, baby.”  His speed continued to build and by now he was slamming his cock back and forth into the artificial cum-tunnel he'd created out of her flesh. 

 

The owner’s son had stripped his pants off by now and stood at the foot of the desk, his skinny legs hanging out from under his unbuttoned shirt.  He was an exceedingly ugly young man; he had bulgy eyes and was short and hirsute, with thick, curly black chest hair.  He had a haircut that wasn't quite skin, some kind of gadget in his mouth to straighten his teeth, and an Adam's apple about a third the size of his head.  She could see him standing just behind the boy seated on her chest.  I watched as she took one look at him and tried to fight them all over again, but quickly gave up as the tit-fucker grabbed her attention one last time.  This time he grabbed her breasts and pulled, pumping frantically now.  Suddenly, the tip of his cock peeked from between her breasts and the first string of cum jetted out and splattered against the underside of Rebecca's jaw.  The next strong ejaculation shot out and landed on her neck; the third and fourth ones were weaker and landed on her chest not too far from his cock.  Finally, he left a trail of watery ejaculate on the insides of her breasts as he withdrew his erection from Rebecca's tit-tunnel.  He gasped, breathing heavily for half a minute as he sat on the helpless woman's chest, then climbed off. 

 

But that didn't stop the assistant manager who had waited between her legs.  Judging that she was ready, he lowered himself on Rebecca’s belly and with one easy thrust, inexpertly slid into her up to his nuts. 

 

She was ginger-wet and tit-fucked.  And now she ready despite herself; her spread legs and dripping pussy invited him in and easily accepted his male offering, even as she alternated between begging him for help and threatening him with the police.  Rebecca screamed once more in frustration, or perhaps denial.  She fought him for a couple of more minutes, but was totally helpless.  I could tell that she was finding it harder and harder to ignore what the ginger was doing to her.  And then, she could ignore it no more. 

 

Suddenly, she surprised all of the boys as she stopped struggling for about a minute, allowing the hirsute one between her thighs full access to the heaven she represented to these boys.  Then she slowly began working her hips and belly against him.  Her eyes were closed and you could tell from her face that she hated herself at that moment.  But she was a ginger-slut for sure now.  After watching in fascination for a couple of more minutes, the boys holding her feet finally let go and the manager's son immediately clasped her nylon-clad legs against his chest and neck and leaned forward, pushing her knees towards her chest and bending her almost double.  She was a flexible bitch and once the boy at her head let go of her hands, she began fucking like a pro, her hands resting softly on the heads of the boys working her tits.  I smiled to myself again.  The ginger did it every time.  I didn’t necessarily use it on her a lot, but when I did, the results were spectacular. 

 

I’ve always been a leg man myself.  And there were boys there that liked to be sucked off since her mouth was almost always full of hard cock being driven down her throat.  But there were at least four “tit” geeks in the group tonight too.  Oh, they pussy-fucked her all right, but it was her beautiful breasts that really fascinated these lads.  They wiped her clean of any cum, and every boy there took turns working and sucking her tits, but the four titty boys ensured that her breasts and nipples were never left alone for less than five seconds for over an hour and a half.  Literally, as soon as one of boys left one of her breasts unattended, another was bent over nursing at her chest again immediately.  One on each breast, nipple buried to the back of the their throat, mostly sucking so hard that their cheeks were pulled in.  But a lot of licking or soft biting, or tugging and massaging was going on too.  Finally, the breast chain went into the corner too, allowing full access at her gorgeous breasts.

 

She was no more than a pleasurable animal to them now, nothing but their milk cow.  And even though Rebecca wasn’t going to provide any milk, that didn’t stop them.  She was female and had tits, and that was enough.  The tips of her breasts were completely aroused after only a few minutes, but the boys never stopped.  Their suctioning mouths pulled and drew her nipples out over and over again, until each eventually looked as hard as a rock.  Soon both of her breasts were swollen and melon hard as blood filled the beautiful, nubile nipples.  When these were over-filled, it then backed up to fill the globes of flesh themselves as each continued to get the young males full attention.  Damn!  No wonder her breasts had been so mis-shapen!

 

***

 

I felt I was living in a dream world.  I had long ago crossed the boundary where fear took over and dominated my life.  I was mentally exhausted after being used in the bathroom.  I wanted to resist, but the threat of a man's clenched fist was ever present.  I'd been on the verge of trying to resist him, when he'd dragged me in to the next room using the leash attached to my breasts.  As stupid as any cow, I'd accompanied him docilely.  Then the lights came on and I knew for certain.  No, this couldn't be happening; surely it was a terrible nightmare and I would wake up at any moment, free once again.  My mind had gone blank and inside I was more dead than alive.  I'd closed my eyes so tightly they hurt, but I didn't even have time to beg God to let the earth swallow me. 

 

I couldn't believe my Master had done this to me.  I couldn't believe that ANY person would set up another human being for this.  NO, I thought to myself.  Not like this, not in a place like this.  But there was nothing I could do to fight off these young animals.  And the worst part was that they left me nothing.  Not pride, not strength, not even desperation; nothing of decency nor even of life was left to me by them.  They pinned me down and drove ginger inside me---and I knew what this meant.  I lay pinned on my back, begging them to stop, "Please, not this.  Not this.  Not here."  Begging them to let me go before it took over my body and my will.  But all they did was laugh at me and touch my body as they waited. 

 

One of them climbed on me and began to thrust himself between my breasts.  The pressure of him pushing himself between my bound breasts felt like it would tear my nipples off.  I couldn't help myself as I tried to fight him.  But my strength didn't last long because it hurt too much to fight him.  Suddenly, he came all over my chest and chin.  I felt warm and sticky at first, but later as it began to dry, I felt like I'd been thickly coated everywhere with his semen.

 

The fire continued to build more and more inside me and then it was too late.  It began its awful slow-fast burn and my body began to respond as everyone there seemed to know it would.  I was humiliated.  Angry.  Mortified.  Terrified.  But all they could see was that I was soaking wet for them.  I was a little girl again in a world of adults and the world and my body was out of my control. 

 

He was the first and already I was in a frenzy of burning.  I got a good look at him and realized that it was the boy that had seen Master and I in the bathroom.  God, not him.  Please let it not be him first.  I whispered to him that I wanted him to call the police, that I had been kidnapped.  But I think he thought I was a prostitute instead; clearly, he didn't believe me. 

 

It didn't matter though, for nothing could have saved me.  He made them keep me waiting while the flames of my personal hell built and built, and finally that familiar roaring fire took over my soul.  The others wore condoms on their erections, but not him.  I couldn't stop writhing on the desk, not even at the end when he exploded that first fiery bomb so deep into my belly.  And when the heat of his body's fluid that he'd jetted into my vagina was finally fading, in its place he left a deep emptiness.  I felt a sense of anguish, as if I were foundering in denial and profound despair. 

 

God help me, in all truth I also somehow felt as if I welcomed the next boy, wanting to silently urge him to fuck me faster.  I knew that nothing could save me from this tonight and I wanted it over.  Yet at the same time, even as I sensed in the deepest, most wicked part of me that while I mourned the death of everything I thought of as good and decent in me, I was still being presented with the most astonishing of sensual opportunities.  And in the instant of the second boy's entry, I somehow experienced a fleeting awareness of something very high, very pure and quite clinically empty; the doing of the thing, the not thinking as I draped my ankles over my second rapist's shoulder's; that weird adrenal exultation that flashed inside me as he bent me almost double, helping erase the ever more troublesome aspects of self that hated and fought this. 

 

They all stood around watching, mocking, laughing, contemptuous of my moans and the shocked look on my face as I was raped and forced into oral sex.  My throat became so sore and swollen that it became ever more painful to continue handling those that used it for their sport.  It finally dawned on me that each boy was trying to force my throat to go into convulsions around their hard dicks. That seemed to provide them a unique type of stimulus, and several times resulted in my getting a bellyful of salty cum.

 

And to my everlasting shame, I cooperated with them for as long as that fire burned inside me---and it seemed to burn forever.  God, I was being raped----yet I needed to cooperate at some level.  And I wanted to kill every one of the bastard's lined up to use me.

 

***

 

Rebecca tried to fight them off at first, pulling on their hair as they leaned over her chest to suck on her breasts, but her wrists were quickly pinned over her head again and soon she seemed to lose interest in what was happening to her tits as she began to experience the other more “spicy” things being done to the rest of her body.  I winced, as after about twenty minutes, they pulled the first piece of ginger out and put a second one in.  She would be burned tomorrow, I was sure of that. 

 

She was well and truly gang-fucked before they flipped her over at the end, but even as excited and responsive as she'd been with the ginger, her nipples must have been extremely sensitive and painful after forty-five minutes or so.  For at that point, it seemed the sensations in her nipples and breasts now over-rode the feeling of being pussy-fucked.  And as their hungry mouths continued to take in her nipples again and again, she first began to cry out and groan louder and louder, then grunted like a barnyard animal with the now increasingly painful sucking sensations; she couldn’t do more than grunt because her mouth was always filled with one piece of stiff meat after another.  After almost an hour, Rebecca was giving continual soft, guttural screams of agony as the attention to her swollen breasts and extremely sensitive nipples continued.  This went on for at least another ten or fifteen minutes.  And through it all, she still continued to cooperate as she was being fucked by one after another of the boys.

 

I was amazed how aroused her breasts looked.  The tips were shaped like a wine goblet now.  Or perhaps bell-shaped might be a better description.  Have you ever seen those small glass or plastic bell shaped ornaments that are hung on Christmas trees?  You know, the ones that are about an inch or so long?  That’s how the ends of Rebecca’s breasts looked now.  Slightly puckered from being in the boy's mouths and almost blood red in color from having been sucked on for so long and so hard.  Definitely rock hard now from being engorged with massive amounts of blood drawn in by the continuous sucking.  The nipples stood out over half an inch from the misshapen ends of her tits; the last inch of darker aureole flesh at the end was puffed out and swollen, assuming an almost church bell shape. 

 

The boys were only a year or two older than the ones she'd seduced in school, but the difference here was that none of them were under her control.  She couldn’t stop them or save herself.  Except for that bastard the manager's son, they initially all wore condoms.  As soon as one of them came in her pussy, he would pull out and the next would mount her.  Within a few minutes, she was taking them just as good as any pro could. 

 

Eventually, one of them took the discarded scum filled condom off his limp cock and reversed it so that the inside of the tip could be seen.  He had one of the boys hold Rebecca’s mouth open and proceeded to drain the nasty thing into her mouth.  She fought him at first and when he was done, he harshly rubbed the inside of the condom on her face until it was empty and dry.  Within seconds, all of the remaining used rubbers were being picked up off the floor and cold thick semen was being squeezed out of the condom and drained directly into Rebecca’s mouth.  She seemed to give up after the first one and didn’t fight nearly as much, only coughing a little as she lay on her back and swallowed what looked like a cup of cum in about two minutes.  The rest, they ensured, she wore on her face.

 

***

 

They drew my nipples out over and over again with their sucking, vacuuming mouths.  I felt like my breasts had been inflated to the size of large balloons and squeezed out of shape by what they’d done to me.  My nipples screamed again and again at sensations from their never-ending, always open and greedy mouths.  At the end, it was all I could feel, all I could think about.  My flesh felt so hard and unyielding in their mouths, yet so awfully, terribly sensitive at the same time.  My nipples were screaming for attention, but screaming for an end to it at the same time.  I could look down and see myself for a second or two when one had temporarily finished, but another had not yet begun.  At the end, my nipples were red and puckered and exquisitely painful; any touch now was unbearable.  The worst part was that they were hard and swollen, sticking straight up into the air, begging for more attention---and I couldn‘t stop them.  I couldn’t help myself; every time one of them started on me again now, I screamed first with the pain and later at just the anticipation of the pain. 

 

And with sick pleasure.

 

***

 

Finally, a couple of the boys dragged her off the desk and onto her feet, then bent her over the desk.  They held her wrists and pulled her arms tight to the far edge.  A tall, thin black kid that had already taken her in the pussy twice walked up and pulled the second ginger finger out of her ass.  Even though in training as an ass-slut, she hoarsely moaned her appreciation; the pretty brown color was gone now and her asshole was an angry red puckered opening.  What with me having already fucked her there once tonight and then being forced to take in several pieces of ginger, she must have been sore as hell and in agony from the burn.  But he didn’t hesitate.  He walked up between her long, shapely legs, grabbed his long black condom covered cock in his right hand, spread her wide with his left and expertly drilled her up the ass in one move of his hips. 

 

Man, talk about being right on target!  My girl arched her back and cried out in horror, then screamed and bucked like a horse for about a minute before settling down like an old-timer, finally allowing herself to be ass-reamed in relative silence.  At the end, her head was down and her cheek lay against the desk as he banged her.  He used her ass to mix a lot of chocolate and vanilla, then he made a lot of shakes.  When he finished cumming, all she said in a tiny croaky voice was, “Are you done?  Please, sir, no more.” 

 

At this point, most of the guys had sated themselves on her body several times over and a few were even ready to leave by now.  Although her voice was muffled and could barely be heard, the plaintive tone was all it took.  If the stupid bitch had just kept her mouth shut, she'd have been fine.  Instead, she was rimmed and ass-rooted for another twenty minutes, her thighs driven into the edge of the desk by at least another four or five geeks before everyone had their fill.  Rebecca’s brains had literally been fucked out tonight and I didn’t think she would be thanking me for the experience.

 

None of them were wearing condoms now, and the number of boys that chose to use her asshole had grown as the minutes rolled by. This too seemed to be by plan, as it now was taking most of them longer before they filled her asshole with their hot loads of boiling love/hate. Rebecca's asshole now was gaping to the point that it remained wide even while they were exchanging positions to allow a new rapist to take her.  She made this odd squawking noise as her insides were torn open by the force of the thrusts and from the continuous battering and stretching her tender tube of flesh was enduring.

 

As more and more of the rapists had a second and third chance to hurt my little slave and further reduce her self-esteem and confidence, they became more creative.  The last one of them put a few drops of ginger oil on the outside of his cock which was sheathed in a double-walled condom, and it quickly turned her fucked-out asshole to fire.  Although it looked like she nearly passed out from the pain, Rebecca seemed to be grinding herself against her rapist's groin at the same time.  He took his time sliding it in and out of her burning tunnel and moving it from side to side to make sure that the acid-like substance penetrated every possible area within her colon. 

 

None of the young men had left yet and she was still bent over the desk.  Her dress was still draped up over the small of her back, and the backs of her stocking covered thighs were visible.  Both stockings had been laddered from her struggles and her feet were forcibly spread between three and four feet apart.  There were continuous thin smears of either clearish-white or a brownish fluid draining out of her asshole and vagina onto the insides of her thighs.  There was no fight left in her; at least not for tonight.

 

 

Chapter 28: However muted its present appearance may be, sexual dominion obtains nevertheless as perhaps the most pervasive ideology of our culture and provides its most fundamental concept of power; Kate Millet

 

The young black kid, the tall skinny one with long, sensitive fingers like a surgeon, now told the others that he “...had always wanted to do something with a whore and now was the chance.  But,” he said, “she probably won't like it too much.”  The audio was tinny and full of echoes, but he was easy to understand.

 

I had no idea what he planned and Rebecca never reacted to his voice, acting instead as if he weren't there or she hadn't heard him as she escaped into her own private world.  Searching the room quickly, he found a cotton hand towel into which he quickly tied a large knot.  Grabbing a handful of hair, he pulled Rebecca's head up and she cried out softly until he forced the knot into her mouth.  He now let go of her hair and her head fell back onto the desk as if she had no strength left in her neck.  Handing the ends of the towel to another guy, he said, “Keep this tight in her mouth because I promise you the cunt’s going to be making some noise now.”

 

Walking over to his pants, he pulled something out that I couldn't at first make out.  He held his hand over her buttocks and after he had spanked her ass a couple of times to get the blood flowing, he drizzled some lubricant over the fingers of his right hand from the bottle.  The sensation of oil falling on the crack of her ass seemed to bring Rebecca back to life.  She raised her head and tried to look over her shoulder at the naked young man now standing down by her waist.  When she saw him lean over her and felt him pull her cheeks apart, she began to struggle weakly.  But it didn't do any good.  The young man first centered two fingers against her rim and began to push.  Her head came up even further and I heard a muffled “nnnnnNNNGGHH!!” that continued to rise in volume as he pressed his two fingers inside her rear up to the knuckle.  “Oh man, this whore's been ass-fucked like hell tonight, but the bitch is still tight,” he said.  “She's already got her muscles locked on to me.  It's like trying to park a Cadillac in a bicycle rack.”

 

He laughed as he worked on her, “I had an uncle take me to Mexico for a week once, and we saw a bitch take it like this in Tijuana.  A full hand up to the wrist---fist-fucked in the ass all the way.  I've always wanted to do this to a slut ever since I saw that bitch take it like that.”

 

I could see that Rebecca had come back to life now.  Her beautiful blue eyes were wide with fright now as she tried to look over her shoulder.  Rebecca was finally fighting now, bucking harder and trying to fight free from the men that held her down as she hoarsely begged for her freedom.  Every now and then, she would turn her upper body enough that her breasts would swing into view.  Her tits were still misshapen from being sucked on so much and her nipples stood out like light switches.  Her head was up and her eyes were bulging with fear as she tried to see the man that would fill her rectum once more, but this time in an impossible way.  Tears of disbelief streamed down her face and she was obviously crying as the boy with the towel gag forced her head back down.

 

***

 

Somehow, it got even worse; I was draped over the desk on my stomach, pinned and held helpless, and then I was sodomized multiple times.  They held me down and multiple men explored me there, pushing their fingers inside me and moving them back and forth.  When the first one decided I was ready, he plunged into me.  As usual, there was a blinding pain and I gasped.  He bit into my neck as he began to thrust.  I struggled at first and screamed, then eventually I accepted the inevitable.  I finally learned later that the pain would eventually become pleasure when I had relinquished my previous beliefs and learned to relax and experience the rush of intense feeling.  But I wasn't there yet mentally.  So instead, I pushed back against him, trying to keep something of myself safe, but he thought I was cooperating, that I was somehow experiencing pleasure instead of degradation. 

 

“That's it, baby.  Give in to it.  Give it all to me.”  His voice against my neck would have seemed soothing, except for what he was doing to me.  They all took their turns.  But inevitably, the most terrible part was yet to come.  It was the Black One.  He was the worst of all; he kept me pinned and then laughing, he began trying to force his hand inside me.  I could feel my muscles flexing and clenching against him, trying to fight his fingers as they pushed at me.  I felt him smear more grease on me, then press back into me again.  I cried out for mercy, but even as I did it, I knew it would do no good.  He was talking to me, but I couldn't hear him over the sound of blood rushing in my ears.   

 

***

 

I could see him press in, pushing into her even more firmly.  Her flesh seemed to yield a little more to his fingers, until they could travel no further. "Oh, you are such a slut. Do you like that, bitch?  You feel so tight and hot; come on, bitch.  Let me know how much you like it."  My beautiful slave couldn't answer because of the gag in her mouth, instead just giving what sounded to the boys like a long sensuous groan.

 

He flexed his buried fingers, then withdrew them a little.  In the video, I could see her sphincter spasming, opening and closing like the mouth of a fish as he smeared the crack of her ass with still more lubricant.  He said, “I can't begin to tell you how many white sluts I've seen like you flaunting everything you've got in those tight dresses.  You bitches wiggle your gorgeous asses, and after you've driven guys like me nuts for the night, you go home and sit on a vibrator rather than have anything to do with a brother like me.  But not tonight, cunt.  Tonight you get everything you ever wanted."

 

He began to move his fingers again, using his other hand to keep her ass crack smeared with lubricant, the fluid trickling down over the hole that even now was  being investigated again.  He pressed back onto her puckered red rim and then worked quickly on it, this time making Rebecca jerk forward as she bellowed another muffled scream, her fingernails scrabbling on the desk as she tried to claw the man that held her wrists captive.  The young black man had now formed his hand into a conical shape, a deadly spear made of four fingers and thumb.  The point, made up of multiple finger tips, now pressed hard directly against her hole. 

 

He continued to explain with enthusiasm.  "When I saw that slut in Mexico take a man's hand all the way up her ass----I've always wondered why any woman would let a man do that to her.  What it would take for someone to want that to be done to them?  Okay, you're a whore and you're paid to do this stuff.  Maybe you don't have a lot of choice in the matter tonight, but I know that you're used to this kind of stuff and maybe even like it.  But every since that night, I've always wanted to have my hand buried all the way inside the perfect ass.  And tonight that's you, bitch.  I've always wanted to see what it feels like to fist-fuck a white bitch in the ass and see the look in her eyes when I do it.”

 

My little ass-toy that was out on loan groaned again, then began to fight him even harder.  But he was on a roll and didn't plan on backing off.  Her asshole was stretched out hugely now by the four fingers buried up to just below the last knuckle.  I couldn't believe how big her hole was already.  She was constantly bucking and fighting and crying and screaming, her body unable to accept anymore penetration.  He stopped for a second and took a deep breath, then clamped his left hand on her hip to hold her immobilized, his arm over her lower back and pinning her hips to the desk while he leaned into her ass, putting most of his weight into pushing with his right hand.

 

***

 

I kept begging him, "Stop, stop please!” but all that came out was “UgggghhhHHH!  NnnnNNNGGG!!" The towel gag kept every sound inside my mouth, each word echoing as it rattled around inside my head.  He kept on pushing and pushing.  I was like a rag doll and he was shaking me and ripping me open as he continued to force his dagger sharp fingertips further and further inside me.  His hand was tearing me apart and then suddenly, I felt my sphincter give way just as my flesh was about to tear; he was in me, filling me in an unholy way and then I felt my anus lock onto his wrist.  I realized that I could handle a lot of pain and even liked it sometimes, but this was shocking beyond anything I had ever felt in its intensity; it wasn't sophisticated or clever---it was brutal and straight forward; it simply was what it was and it overwhelmed me.  I couldn't help myself; I froze in sheer agony as the pain continued to increase, getting more and more intense as he pushed inch after inch deeper inside me.

 

***

 

Rebecca was bucking and screaming constantly now, and the young man hunched over between her legs was getting frustrated.  “One of you fucker's give me some help here.”  Except for the black kid's heavy breathing and Rebecca's soft, muffled screams, the room was silent now.  The other boys were standing frozen in a circle around the two participants.  You could see in their eyes that they thought this might have gone a little too far.  Finally, one of them stepped forward and pulled her cheeks apart to help Rebecca's assailant. 

 

Another boy stepped up and poured some more lubricant onto his coned hand and the kid now began to push for real.  He made some progress, then ran into even more resistance from Rebecca's muscles.  He gave one final hard push with all of his weight behind it and she screamed so loudly that everyone jumped.  Suddenly it was over; he had won and she had lost.  He was buried inside her rectum up to his wrist.  It was obvious when he succeeded, because she howled her agony into the muffling towel even as she immediately froze in place, afraid to move for fear of perhaps rupturing herself.  His hand was buried inside the tight rubbery hole that had never before been explored like this, that had never been intended to be explored like this.  I was hugely turned on and could feel my dick getting heavier even as I watched.  Her red and quivering rim was perfectly captured by the camera as it was stretched as taut as canvas on a tent, ready to tear like cheap newspaper, yet still grabbing onto his wrist like it was her only lifeline to sanity.  The insides of her ass cheeks quivered as they pressed in against his forearm and bulged around his wrist, and I knew that it must have felt like nothing she'd ever experienced before.

 

***

 

Suddenly, my life stopped.  I could make no sense of what he said.  My mind was in total chaos, I had no concept of time.  Panic and fear were a permanent part of my life.  What little touch of humanity that remained was slowly being drained from my mind.  To me, there was no life, no death, just this interminable limbo and the awful pain that came and went.

 

The world ceased its eternal gyrations and nature fell silent.  I entered a type of silent white tunnel which proved that Einstein was right---time and space are related.  I looked over my shoulder and saw that time had expanded and stretched, allowing me to study without haste both my attacker and what he attempted.  Somehow, I wanted to laugh.  I wanted to laugh inside because I was flying.  It seemed I couldn't erase the joy off my face the whole time that incredible experience lasted.  It was like I was suspended; I was a bird as I attempted to fly away from my body, my consciousness finally coming to rest in a corner of the room near the ceiling.  In a way it felt like I could forget everything being done to me; there was no time now, no today, no yesterday, no tomorrow.  Only a forever without end.  I didn't have a choice; I couldn't move. 

 

I thought I'd escaped, but I hadn't.  I looked down in dismay as that poor body below was mauled and ripped and torn.  I know that he ripped her flesh that night---tearing her apart in his final success, but I felt no pain.  I knew that it must have felt to that poor woman like she was sitting on a fire hydrant. He'd succeeded finally, he'd done it; his complete hand and wrist was inside her pelvis now.  But he held still and I could tell that the pain was slowly receding from her just a little.  After she could breathe again, I know that she groaned finally.  The feeling of him buried in her rear end like that must have been terribly painful and intensely disgusting, but there was nothing she could do.  And then he began moving again.  And he began pumping like a machine, going in and out, in and out, on and on and on. 

 

In that dreamworld, I finally realized how useless it was for me to fight this anymore—any of this---it was my life and I was fated to live it.  How bad could it be?  I'd asked myself that first day.  Now I paid for my pride.  I had always known that one of my biggest sins was pride.  I'd admitted to pride in all of its variations of arrogance, vanity, haughtiness.  As bad as the things had been that he'd done to me, I'd been incapable of rejecting his challenge that night in the rain, just as I was incapable of getting cold feet when any doubts were cast on my courage or intelligence. 

 

I'd been caught in my own trap.  I would be living this life for as long as I remained alive---or for as long as he kept me around.  But for as long as I could stay in that other ghost world, I knew that I would be safe.  By myself, I survived in the corner of that room for what seemed an eternity, when I heard a sound coming from outside my cocoon of safety.  I listened closely, then suddenly realized that it was my body, grunting again and again in pain, not believing what he was doing to me, not believing where this young man's hand was.  Suddenly, the white tunnel ended and I entered reality again; helpless, I felt myself re-enter the torn body of that poor woman below me. 

 

***

 

He moved a little as he tried to spread his fingers, but her muscles and colon kept them trapped in a cone shape that was probably starting to become a little uncomfortable.  Since he couldn't make a fist yet, he began to move his hand in and out, moving no more than an inch or two at a time.  My little bitch screamed again and again as he began to pump back and forth more vigorously now, moving inches at a time now with each thrust.  She was his ass-puppet, doing her absolute best to move with him in every direction; it was either that or have her anus and rectal canal torn to pieces.

 

Now he had more room in her intestines.  Balling up his hand into a fist he began a slow fist-fuck of his beautiful victim.  She appeared in shock, frozen in horror and disbelief, failing at first to respond to the continually deeper assault on her stretched and damaged asshole, but he kept pushing.  He moved deeper into her tunnel with every pump of his arm now, always meeting resistance from her flesh.  But undiscouraged, he persisted and explored further down that tight tube.  Nearly half his forearm was inside her ass when he decided that she needed some serious fisting.  Back and forth he pounded, punching away inside her tight tunnel.

 

All the boys stood back in delight, their erections plain to see.  Some were clearly ready again.  One of them was braver than I ever would have been.  Grabbing a handful of Rebecca's hair, he pulled her head back and slapped her face hard three or four times just to get her attention.  Then he leaned in and whispered in her ear.  Finally, he stood upright and watched her for a second.  Her head remained motionless.  He turned to the black kid and said, “You're my leverage, man.  Give her some.”  With that request, the kid with his hand buried in her ass kept his hand in place, then braced his feet as he lifted his wrist about two inches and rotated his forearm around his hand.  Rebecca shrieked in pure agony at his move; moving onto her toes as best she could until he lowered his wrist again. 

 

Satisfied that he'd pulled her out of whatever fugue world she'd been trying to hide in, the kid standing by her head pulled the towel gag out and stuffed his stiff cock into Rebecca's mouth.  I winced as I watched.  I hadn't known this was going on at the time; the last thing I needed was to have her bite one of these kid's dick off.  The EMT's wouldn't have been too understanding.

 

***

 

And then, somehow, it got worse as I was reduced to the final level of hell.  One of them told me what he would do to me if I didn't blow him.  And he proved it when the Black One hurt my insides terribly with one ripping, tearing, lifting motion.  And for the second time that evening, I began to suck that young man off.  The two of them eventually got into a synchronized, heaving motion which allowed them both to obtain everything they wanted. I gagged as the one at my head drove into my mouth, then tried not to cry out as the other one drove his clenched fist further into my rear.  Every part of my body felt like it was being driven in different directions, pushed here, driven there and ripped everywhere.  I gagged and coughed again as he drove into my mouth up to his balls.  I couldn't breathe!  Suddenly, horribly, I felt another one of them begin touching my clitoris, manipulating me in an attempt to make me enjoy this!  The Black One was tireless, seeming to go forever, when suddenly, I sensed that he now filled me twice over; he had made his hand into a fist. 

 

***

 

I'd lost count; for the second time or perhaps the thirtieth time that evening she was forced to begin sucking a man's hard dick.  I could tell it was difficult for her to synchronize her motions.  Even as her head bobbed up and down as she was forced to bury the willing member in her mouth, her ass and hips were forced to move in a different direction by the anal fist-fuck that was slowly, but inexorably exploring new rectal territory with each move of the black kid's forearm.  Rebecca coughed and gagged as the hard cock banged against the back of her throat.  But no matter what she did with her head, every thrust into her ass almost forced her hips and belly up onto the desk, making her swallow the boy's cock almost to the base each time.  Her eyes were closed and spittle drooled from her lips and chin as she sucked and ate the boy's meat.

 

They watched as her tormentor controlled her body completely; his every move making her flinch and buck and cry out in soft gargling moans.  Finally, he laughed as he rotated his fist inside her rectum.  Luckily, the kid fucking her mouth knew enough to pull his cock out as my beautiful little slave immediately began screaming and shrieking in her agony.  Her voice was mostly gone now and the look on her face was one of total desperation; the arrogance and conceit were long gone; in fact, little of anything human was left anymore.  This was a woman who knew she was trapped in her own personal hell and anything or anyone who could save her was long gone. 

 

She had been degraded in front of all of these young men.  It was clear to everyone in the room that she belonged to them for the night.  And all she felt now was the driving, humiliating desire to cooperate with her anal rapist in an attempt to get it over with as quickly as possible without any additional pain or damage.  Finally, it was clear from the video that the kid controlled the inside of Rebecca's world completely, pumping his elbow back and forth in long thrusts that always ended with his forearm buried inside her pelvis and the front of her thighs shoved up hard against the edge of the desk. 

 

I could tell that she was so hot and tight around his hand that he was totally lost in the moment.  Rebecca's body jerked and shook as nerves misfired and full-body spasms swept her, but the black kid didn't care.  He was only aware of her anal sphincter as it continued to spasm, giving him that amazing compression around his wrist and hand. When he had finally achieved everything he'd ever dreamed of with a white woman of her class, the kid began to withdraw his hand, giving her only partial relief as he eased it out; allowing her to think that she had succeeded in expelling him from her body.  And as he withdrew his hand from her anus, Rebecca gave one final scream of pain as it passed her torn and throbbing rim.  Her gaping, sloppy anus had been stretched so much that it remained open even after the kid's hand was gone.  I looked closely at her rim in the video in concern because she MY ass-candy, and I didn't want some half-assed kid fucking her up too much.  I'd check her out in the morning, but I thought she was okay.

 

The video was almost finished.  At the other end, the boy's cock fell out of her mouth as her torn but supple anus finally begin to recover a little from being stretched so hideously.  Pinned as she was, Rebecca couldn't stop the boy from stuffing his cock back in her mouth one last time, then she choked on his cum as the last of them came deep in her mouth.

 

***

 

Finally, I felt the monster at my rear slowly begin to withdraw his hand.  Even though my pussy ached from everything that they'd done to me, every inch of progress that he made as he withdrew seemed to bring me little by little back into the world that I so hated right now.  But now my world existed of a close, tiny room I loathed and everything seemed centered around my hips and pelvis and rear end; the terrible aching and throbbing there always threatening to totally overwhelm me, leave me paralyzed with the pain.  Finally, I felt him withdraw his hand slowly from between my cheeks, but even so the pain still increased to a crescendo of torment as his hand withdrew past my anal rim. 

 

It took a moment to realize I was empty, then the muscles of my anus flexed once, then spasmed again and again in response to the hollow, unfilled feeling of having been left barren of him.  At the same time, I couldn't stop myself from choking as the boy at my head drove his erection into my mouth one last time before he began to shoot his cum down the back of my throat. 

 

They were done with me I thought dully, at least for tonight.  I knew doors had shut in my mind, sealing off emotions and allowing me to focus only on surviving this agony and humiliation.  Some bloodless, disconnected part inside me realized that it was over now, and knobs and dials were turned inside, ensuring that I somehow continued breathing and moving.  They pulled on my hair until I stood swaying, barely able to make my hips work, then dragged me stumbling over to a cheap, plastic chair.  I sat, but I was lost.  I was confused and totally lost and nothing made sense anymore; I truly felt helpless.  I was trapped in a woman's weak body; I felt insignificant and totally ashamed of what I was for the first time in my life.  One last humiliation: I remembered later that the Black One threw a crumpled ball of money on my lap, paying me for my services. 

 

I was dazed, completely soaked in my own sweat, exhausted as never before.  My insides felt terribly cold, as if I were freezing.  I ached everywhere and felt diminished, shrunken as a human being for having finally accepted a punishment suitable for my enormous pride---I had been given what I deserved.  I somehow sat on the chair in that terrible room and knew in my mind that it would never end for me now, and that it would never change.  In their minds, I would forever be their possession, their slut-whore; for the rest of their lives, they would brag to their friends about the prostitute they'd gang-banged and fist-fucked in the ass one night.  I would forever be that whore to them, and nothing would change for me.  Not for me.  I hurt all over, and I deserved it---I was so worthless. 

 

I was covered by the bodily fluids from more a dozen young men, and I had swallowed more than I wore.  To even leave this place, I would be forced to openly brandish my humiliations to the world; the slutty dress and shoes of a whore who'd “been asking for it,” breast piercings and leash, a slave collar, and a brand.  My freedom had been taken from me and my flesh had been pierced for the pleasure of men like these.  It was like I starred in a terrible, simplistic erotic film; something that would be an insult to the rational adult mind, but yet was irresistibly compelling to the young men in this room.

 

And at the same time, if I could only be honest with myself for once, what had happened here was calling up too an echo inside me that I didn’t want to admit was there.  I'd been treated in a totally humiliating and degrading way, and yet primitive parts of me had responded eagerly.  I knew now that I was doomed to live this life forever, repeating this scene time after time for men's pleasure---or until one of them got tired of me and sold me into a life that could only be worse.  I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of fatigue.  All I wanted to do was go back and lay down on the small bed he allowed me.  I wanted to sleep forever.  Perhaps if I could, it would all have been an ugly, horrible dream and it would all be over when I next awoke. 

 

Maybe if I obeyed him perfectly---if I was the best slave possible, my Master wouldn't allow them to hurt me so much?  I needed this assurance; I wanted to believe this so badly.

 

***

 

I could testify that Rebecca’s breasts and nipples stayed engorged and hard for at least another thirty minutes after the boys had finished with her.  You know, like one of those commercials that warned men about having erections for over three or four hours?  Well, her tits were the same thing.  And from the way she acted as I led her out to the car, they must’ve hurt like hell, certainly too much to have the torn fabric of her dress rubbing against them.

 

But I still had one problem.  She had talked too much in the manager’s office when the gang-bang started; she'd showed little discipline and regardless of what a great piece of ass Rebecca had turned out to be by the end of the night, she still needed to be punished for her unacceptable behavior at the beginning.  I looked back in on her one last time and saw that she was still rocking back and forth on her bed.  She got up to go to the toilet, then continued that almost hypnotic rocking for another half hour before finally going to sleep. 

 

***

 

I undressed slowly, as I tried to support my aching breasts and cramping stomach with both hands.  I hurt everywhere; from the bites on my neck and stomach and thighs, to my breasts and nipples, from my rectum to my pussy---especially my rear.  I threw away everything I'd worn; I never wanted to be reminded of this night again.  Finally, I gathered enough strength to stagger over to the shower.  I hurt everywhere, but especially in my rear-end. My rectum continually ached and throbbed and leaked; the muscles had been stretched too far and wouldn't close at first.  It was a long shower, but nothing would ever be able to wash away the things that'd been done to me tonight, what I had willingly accepted tonight.  Finally, I got out and after I'd dried off a little, I staggered to bed. 

 

Finally it came out.  I started crying.  I just couldn't stop it.  My throat ached from being bruised by their oral rapes, and my sobbing just made it worse.  But I couldn't stop.

 

They'd hurt me a lot; and as stupid as it sounds, I tried at first to pretend it hadn't happened.  My mind was empty, still, but something vital had shriveled up and died.  I would survive physically, if I could just ignore what had been done to my mind.  But I quickly realized that something was definitely wrong.  I felt what seemed an almost electric shock of pain/awareness travel from someplace deep in my skull, into my brain stem and then down my spinal cord, where the agony dissipated into the tissues of my buttocks as if my backbone were a lightning rod buried in loamy soil.

 

My head felt It was like an enormous storm had hit me while the sun was still shining, and then I felt this tremendous pressure on my chest, like an elephant was sitting on me.  All I could feel were the thick, black clouds that had rolled in and overwhelmed my subconscious---and the never-ending pressure.  Where before, I had finally begun to be able to somehow accept the “inevitability” of my new life, now I suddenly began to feel like I had to escape.  Not escape, like I wanted out of the room; escape like kick down the door and run because the whole house was on fire and I would die if I didn't. 

 

I found myself absently rocking back and forth as I lay on my side.  I took my pulse, it was 120.  Was it possible to have a heart attack when you felt so empty inside?  I could feel my heart beating in my head.  I started to gnash my teeth; I wanted to kill him.  I'd kill him for what he'd allowed them to do to me.  I wanted to kill all of them.  But my homicidal intentions were overtaken by the sudden realization that I was about to vomit.  I closed my eyes to pray.  I prayed that I wouldn't die as a captive slave choking on my own vomit while having a heart attack.  My heart felt like a volcano ready to erupt.  I was going to die; there was no doubt about it, I was going to die in this God-forsaken room.

 

I lay on my bed taking deep breaths, when suddenly I was overwhelmed by a fear that I had to go to the bathroom.  My next thought was to stagger to the toilet in the corner, running as fast as I could, so I did.  But I could barely move.  Everything I did hurt.  Every part of my body that I used for this had been used by them too.  When I was finished, I went back to my bed and lay down.  After a minute, I took my pulse and it had sky-rocketed to 200.  I didn't care anymore; i knew I deserved to die.  But something inside wouldn't quit.  I tried deep breathing to slow my heart rated down.  I did that until I jumped up from the bed and ran to the toilet where I vomited for what seemed almost an hour. 

 

I felt an immense weariness come sliding down from the night sky, and my bed tilted away from me.  I closed my eyes and drifted off to something that wasn't exactly sleep, but came equipped with with all of the disadvantages.  An hour later, I found I was rocking myself like a small baby, and finally, I was able to sleep a little that night.

 

***

 

I went to bed and fell asleep almost immediately.  I woke early the next morning and went into the study to check the camera monitors.  Surprisingly.....or not, she was still asleep.  I knew that last night had been a little tough, so I let her sleep.  About 10 AM, I walked into the room and over to her bed.  The raped woman somehow sensed my presence and opened her eyes, but didn't move.  She seemed still in a stupor.  I continued looking at her expectantly, and suddenly she realized where she was, what she was doing, what she was.  Rebecca leaped out of bed and stood in front of me in the submissive position.  I walked around her, inspecting her like one would a car that you'd loaned out to a friend. 

 

I looked her up and down; long tousled hair and sleepy blue eyes above the long graceful neck that had bites on one side, her firm, beautiful tits still perfectly set off by the nipple rings that pierced her breasts; the nipples looking normal now, even if a little sensitive.  Her flat stomach and naked vagina, both covered with bites.  Her perfectly formed buttocks and lower back still marked with bruises from last night and the last time I'd been forced to give her a punishment spanking.  Her long shapely legs, lightly bruised on the back; another grouping of bite marks high on the insides of her thighs where the boys had marked their territory.  I grabbed her right hand and looked closely at her wrist; I could barely see the faint marks of bruises almost healed.  My little puppy was a beauty.

 

In her haste, she'd moved too quickly.  Now she was paying the price for not being more careful and her face began to take on a grayish tone as she tried to stand motionless in front of me with her legs spread shoulder's width apart, eyes on the floor and hands in the small of her back.  I watched her sway and waited for a moment, then asked if she was feeling okay.  Rebecca didn't reply immediately, but finally mumbled something that was impossible to understand.  I told her to repeat herself and she did, but her comments were still slurred.  It sounded several octaves lower than normal---I think they'd bruised her vocal chords last night.

 

"How's your ass," I asked brazenly and without apparent sympathy.  She looked up at me quickly, then lowered her eyes again to hide the sparkle of unshed tears there.  She'd aged some in her face---but I preferred to think of it as having gained character through experience.  What she'd undergone last night had made her a different woman. 

 

Caucasian and Asian, Hispanic and Negro and every ethnic type in between---women of every geographical nook and cranny had experienced it sometime in their history.  She had the look now in her eyes that women of the Mediterranean had when the Persians raided east.  The look that would have been familiar to Mayan villagers, and to eastern European woman when the raiders came down from the steppes.  And later, this look inhabited the eyes of Russian women when the Germans invaded, and German women wore it when the Russians retaliated.  The same look that had recently been on the face of the women of Kosovo. 

 

It was the look of a woman that realized for the first time that ideas of law and equality of the sexes were concepts forced upon a civilization.  The realization that people didn't really change their character no matter how civilized they appeared on the surface, and that beneath the urbane, sophisticated exterior there lurked the animal that would always believe that might makes right.  That most men in their hearts look upon every woman as a potential possession.  That brute force can almost always overwhelm innocence.  And in the absence of all else, it will. 

 

I'd broken people for a living and was familiar with the look.  I'm not sure how I felt about this in my personal life for it meant I'd definitely succeeded with Rebecca.  She was a slave now, body and soul, and the tools that would keep a woman like her enslaved were the discipline of pain and unending personal degradation.  She'd finally realized that it would never end, she would never be free of being humiliated or degraded for my pleasure.  But she'd also come to understand that she could minimize this by submitting to my every desire as best she could.

 

"Not very good, Master." she replied to my question.  The Master at the end was noticeable for the easy way in which it came out---she'd finally begun to internalize the language of a love slave, the language of a woman owned by a man.  But I could tell at a glance that I'd been right about last night; unsurprisingly, she was different from before---the light in her eyes seemed gone.  We all live our lives on a ledge, and it takes surprisingly little to push most of us off.  As bad as most people might think last night would have been for her, she'd suffered far more change than most would realize. 

 

Emotionally and psychologically, the monkey brain inside the organism had been forced to shut down before the boys had finished just to maintain her sanity.  What made her her, whatever internal operating system it was that made her Rebecca was fragmented now, shut down, and it hadn't really yet re-booted.  And now, it had finally hit her with the force of a Mack truck; that I could do anything I wanted and she would never be free of me or what I demanded of her, until I specifically set her free.  This was a massively heavy burden for a young woman of modern temperament to bear.  She feared me now, respected my power over her to the very deepest fibers of her being, and I was sure she was resigned to being my sex slave forever.  Oh my, the beauty and the wondrous malleability of the human mind.

 

***

 

I hadn't been asleep when he came in this morning, I hadn't been able to sleep most of the night.  When he entered, I was laying with my back to the camera, not moving.  I was done crying for now.  My thoughts kept returning to last night, what he'd done to me in the bathroom and what he'd allowed to be done to me afterwards.  In particular, my thoughts came back again and again to the unending nightmare on the small, metal desk in that room.  Thankfully, most of the night was a blur, my memory reduced to a sense of little beyond pain, sometimes dim, sometimes agonizing.  But even so I remembered far too much, and they kept re-playing in my mind, over and over again.  And those memories of the pain made me shudder, still.

 

My thoughts kept going around and around.  So many things were going through my mind now.  A slave, a coerced woman like me went through so many transformative changes before she finally accepted her fate.  I accepted my Master's violence now and the violence of others like him without protest---I deserved no less.  Even as I did this, I was aware that silently accepting what he continued to do to me was the sign of a profoundly molested psyche.  But nothing mattered anymore, and my mind still continued to race on and on.

 

There was disbelief; I had an incredibly hard time believing his attacks had taken place as my memory insisted they had; it had begun at the end to play tricks with me.  I thought about he and I, and how fear was just one of his tools.  I lived every day now in fear, fear that he would return---or that he would not return.  Sometimes, oftentimes in fact, he was charming and full of insights.  But there were times when nothing I did was good enough.  He beat me and hurt me then, when the headaches wouldn't go away, and there was literally nothing I could do except try to endure---wondering when and where the next attack would occur.

 

It became easier and easier to find ways to blame myself for what he did.  It was my fault I wasn't smarter, hadn't been able to learn quicker, hadn't been more pleasing physically.  Perhaps if I just tried harder. 

 

I always felt humiliated, shamed by the dirty things that must be inside me and which had led him to abuse me; the things that allowed him, that made him want to possess a worthless female like me.  Sometimes, I felt the need to just scream, I needed to talk so badly about these things that must be inside me.  But I absolutely could not at the time discuss anything with him---for I was insignificant, a body to be used and mind to be trained.  I'd survived his training so far, and I knew from personal experience now that survivors were not bold people.  This extended not only to what he sometimes did to me, but also to my future under his dominion---how could I be optimistic about my life ahead?  Survivors are not bold, they are beaten people. 

 

I'd first thought anger against him would be healthy, that it would help me.  But more and more often lately, the anger turned within.  Everything I saw now was filtered through my reality and became personal, hateful, mean and spiteful.  I hated myself and what he'd done to me; I couldn't think anymore without character assassination.  And this wasn't me.

 

I was powerless against him and no longer even pretended to fight these feelings anymore.  I knew, I absolutely knew that things would not get better, at least not for the likes of me.  As I lay there, I tried to list the things that ruled my life now.  And whether it was his fault or mine, I was the one that would forever adapt to his needs. 

 

Pessimism was the flavor of the day, the only flavor now.  His habits, the traits and character of my abuser were well known to me now.  I knew them as intimately as I had finally begun to know my own.  But recognition did not mean power to resist him and what he did to me.

 

Denial.  He denied that he ever abused me, claiming rather that he had taken the responsibility of protecting and caring for me.  He gave me, he claimed, only what I had not known I wanted.

 

Domination.  He always expected submission on the part of his women, and I cooperated in this as best I could.

 

Discipline.  I cried and I screamed in pain, but he always saw something different in me, in my responses.  He was unable to understand or recognize that men like him were the problem, he couldn't admit that he might have a problem.  And until he'd done that, he wouldn't be able to accept responsibility for his women, or what he did to them.  But my rationalizations about who was to blame here never helped me, only my ability to handle his pain allowed me to survive.

 

Guilt.  He was a master manipulator, a born psychologist.  He wanted me to feel the guilt for what had happened to me; somehow he instinctively knew how to make the victim in this feel her own layers of guilt and shame.  

 

Finally, believe it or not, he presented himself as the victim when I'd somehow  failed him and we both knew he'd have to punish me.  I failed him all the time, for he ensured this.  And he said it hurt him inside when he had to respond to my having earned additional beatings, additional punishments.  I knew that men like him have annihilated every woman ever with them, and that was my fate too.  I was sure of it, and I'd finally accepted it.  The total time my Master took with a woman may have lasted only a month or extended over a period of years, but once he was ascendant, women like me disappeared and became eventually extinct.

 

My enemy was not him, rather it was that of my duality, that I professed one set of beliefs, yet lived another.  I hated myself because I'd been mentally molested and abused; but I knew I'd deserved it somehow.  I knew I'd responded to his abuse just as a sexually abused child or rape victim would respond.  But intellectually it didn't matter, I felt this terrible sense of self-loathing---I hated myself because I had been molested.  He'd only responded to my situation.  It was clear now that I had somehow sealed my fate by the way I acted towards him, by the things I'd done and the life I'd lived before him. 

 

I needed to learn more about this man, educate myself on his forms of force and persuasion.  I knew there no such thing as him having only a part of my life, and I knew that I could not just be a part of what he did.  It was all or nothing now.  It was logically impossible to view our actions any other way, for the evidence was exquisitely clear all over my body.

 

***

 

I hurt everywhere when I woke up early this morning.  My mind was numb---it felt like the inside of a decrepit whorehouse, and the insides of my skull were the walls on which had been painted some of the most horrible and bestial acts a man could do to a woman.  I was tainted now, irredeemable.  I believed this to the depths of my soul; I knew I was beyond even the most basic level of redemption.  These feelings had been building inside me during the last weeks, never consciously, but always in the background.  Always slowly increasing in frantic intensity until it had become a chore to just breathe, a task for my heart to just continue beating; and now with last night, they had been fully realized.  My body had been the scene of what would have been a terrible crime in my previous life; and while I knew deep inside my soul that none of it had been my fault, the feelings of shame---of somehow sharing with them responsibility for last night had become almost inescapable. 

 

I had no one to blame but myself, and that thought led this morning to a feeling of contempt for my body and its weaknesses.  Even though I had survived last night, the scorn I now felt towards my body and all the weaknesses it possessed made me feel that I somehow warranted what they'd done to me.  After all, I rationalized, if someone feels as dirty or as bad as I did, they should expect people to treat them that way.

 

My old reality had fallen to pieces about me.  In my previous life, there had been certain “rules” that I'd used to create a predictable world.  These had been the things that I'd believed to be true based on my experiences; that the world was relatively safe, that sex would be pleasurable if it was by my choice, that I was in control of my environment and the men that I allowed in.  None of these beliefs could possible be true now; my innermost being had been under continual assault over the last weeks and had been changed to the very core.  I felt a vague need to entirely disconnect from my body.  Without that connection, I would no longer have to listen to the internal states which had always in the past helped me navigate, however poorly, through the outside world.  These internal guides were so out of touch with my new existence, I just felt totally lost.

 

Finally, because of my powerlessness and general unworthiness, I knew that even if suddenly set free, I could no longer go back and live my life as “normal.”  Things had gone too far; I had learned to need the support of the only other person that now allowed himself in my life.  And this thought terrified me.

 

***

 

“Just be aware,” I said as I looked at her without pity, “giving me what I want now will spare you the less.....delicate.....intrusions of the boys again later should you continue your stupid little games.  All we're doing now is hastening the inevitable.” 

 

I stopped and thought for a second.  Hastening the inevitable, I repeated to myself, mostly because I wanted to see how the words felt.  That is what she was doing, hastening the inevitable.  I liked the words and they felt right in my mouth.  Rich, luscious.  Perfectly describing Rebecca's self-destructive tendencies.

 

“That your dress from last night?”  I asked, pointing towards the door by which I'd just entered.

 

“”Yes, Master.”

 

“Bring all of it to me,” I ordered.  Without a word, Rebecca slowly limped over to the sodden dress and heels she'd wadded up and left thrown by the door, picked it all up and returned to me. 

 

“Put it on the bed.”

 

She laid the nasty mess next to me on her mattress.  I continued setting the scene, “Pick up your stockings and show them to me.”

 

With her face blank at first, Rebecca slowly sorted through the dress and heels and picked up both stockings.  Only after she'd held them and could see that both had runs in them did her face take on a concerned look. 

 

“How many times have you worn that pair of stockings?” I asked softly.

 

Her beautiful blue eyes filling with tears, she replied, “Once, master.”

 

“And what happens when you put runs in new stockings?”

 

I could actually hear her swallow, “I'm punished, Master.”

 

She hesitated for a second, then began pleading.  “Please, Master.  Not after last night.  For the sake of God, Master.  Not this.”

 

I got up and walked toward the equipment corner.  At the same time, I said over my shoulder, “Lean over the end of the bed.  You know the position.”  When I had the belt in my hand and turned to face her, Rebecca faced me with tears running down her face.  Without saying a word, she turned and silently draped herself over the bed and then raised her ravaged ass into the air.  She'd become a very obedient little puppy now.

 

After giving her a light spanking, I ordered her to prepare for her work-out and she slowly moved to where she stored the few personal things I allowed.  I watched Rebecca prepare her face and put her hair in a pony tail.  I could see that almost every move brought a grimace of pain, many from where I knew she did not expect to be hurting.  I watched as she put on the single skimpy halter that I allowed her during exercise time, then began to climb on the exercise bike.  When she first attempted to sit down, she had to stop for a minute and gather her courage.  I have no idea of how it must have felt, trying to sit down on a narrow bike seat when a man had driven his fist all the way up your ass the night before.  But if Rebecca was any example, it must have been a rather unique and terribly uncomfortable situation.  Finally, she was able to sit down and began to slowly exercise.  I walked out and watched the camera monitor intermittently to ensure that she completed her workout.  Afterwards, she showered and began to clean up her little space. 

 

I walked in with a light meal and watched her eat.  At the end, I ordered her to stretch her muscles for at least half an hour.  When finished, she was still in obvious pain, but at least now could move a little easier.  I left her alone for the rest of the day; she'd earned a little privacy, but that was coming to an end.  It was raining out and a cold snap had taken over the southeastern coast.  I walked back in and she popped into her position.  I looked at her for a minute and realized that I hadn’t yet told her to put the nose ring back in.  After waiting for a second, I told her to dress up for me.  I could literally see her face crumble even as I watched.  I'm sure she was still in great pain from last night and the last thing my beautiful enslaved woman wanted was to be touched in any way by a man, but she was approaching the end of her training and I couldn't stop now.  I didn't really want her right now, but couldn't afford to let her know that either.  Call it a test if you will. 

 

“Please, Master.  Please.”  She just looked at me for a second, and it dragged on for fifteen or twenty seconds.  In her face, I could finally see Rebecca give up on the hope of seeing any mercy from her Master.  Tears streaming down her cheeks, she obediently walked over to where I allowed her to keep a few pieces of lingerie.  Rebecca picked out a chemise and after putting it around her waist, she slowly began to fasten it.  But she had trouble because her fingers were shaking so hard.

 

I waited for a minute and finally said, "Oh for Christ's sake, forget it."  I walked out of the room and came back in about a minute later.  I threw a pair of French cut shorts and a halter top at her and said, "Put these on and I'll be back in a little while."  I left without waiting for her response.

 

I didn't really feel like having sex right now, at least not with her.  The way she was right now, dominating this slave was pretty much on the same level as taking candy from a baby.  It required no imagination or finesse at all. 

 

Last night I'd offered up her sexuality to the rapacious god of male need; the masculine impulse to dominate and subjugate and finally destroy that which was more than could be taken and held for the moment.  The alter upon which I'd sacrificed her femininity had first been the cold artificial rock of the men's bathroom; standing on one foot in a drying pool of water on the floor, humiliatingly positioned on the synthetic stone between dirty sinks to satisfy my needs.  Next, I'd allowed her to experience the horrors of an old, worn out desk top in the cheesy manager's office.  She'd been broken there, no longer capable of assuming that there existed any levels beyond which she would not be forced to journey.

 

But there were still a few remaining things to which she needed to be subjected; things that would give me the final leverage I had to have.  She still needed  more suffering, needed to suffer so badly that it would trump her terrible experiences from last night.  But this next had to be journey of the mind, not the body.  Although it had fucked her head up, last night had been the physical, tonight she would be taking the real mental ride.  Tonight I would break her on the iron-hard and unforgiving anvil of psychological guilt; tonight I would ensure she mentally underwent the torment of the damned. 

 

My plan required another unwilling woman, and there was the chance that Rebecca would forever look upon me afterwards only with horror.  I'd risk it.  What I had to do, I did without great pleasure.  Like Nixon said many years ago, if you want people to think you're a madman, you have to start doing mad things.  In which case, you might as well be mad.  What was the difference at that point?

 

 

Chapter 29: No woman needs intercourse; few women escape it; Andrea Dworkin

 

I drove my old cream-colored Toyota and finally picked as a target area a quick-food chain that was about forty miles from my place.  It was dark and I parked across the street to watch it for awhile.  I only left my car long enough to cover my license plates with mud so that no one could ID me and to cover the passenger seat in a heavy piece of plastic.  The rain was cold and constant; it was a miserable night.  And soon it would get worse, much worse for some lucky little lady.  Finally, I saw my date for tonight running into the chicken place.  She picked herself actually, because she was a good looking, long-haired brunette wearing a short jacket over a dark knee-length dress, dark pantyhose and heels; at between 18 and 20 years old, she was probably a low-level clerk or receptionist somewhere.  She certainly wasn't going to college dressed like that.  The young woman was perfect; old enough to handle my needs, but too young to be truly hard and cynical.  Using her to get to Rebecca was like making a bank shot in pool; you used an innocent object in which you have no real interest to fucking hammer the real target.  The silly little bitch was alone, impatient to eat and as a consequence, acted rather stupidly; she’d parked her car in a poorly lit area that had an open space next to it.  She had absolutely no situational awareness at all.

 

I walked in and took a quick look to make sure of my choice after I'd parked next to her car in the restaurant's parking lot.  She had a nice smile and expressive brown eyes that set off the slightly curly mahogany colored hair that fell to her shoulders.  Hers was not a beautiful face, but it was a pretty face, with cheekbones that looked like honey-covered chisels and luscious lips set off by light pink lipstick.  She was tall at perhaps 5' 8”, and the tightly buttoned coat emphasized her neat figure.  She had slender, shapely ankles and from what I could see, she had great legs beneath the dress.  She would definitely do. 

 

I tugged my baseball cap down over my eyes to cover my face from the security camera, put my gloves on and stood in line to her right.  Her order took longer than mine and I was waiting inside near a trash can by the exit when she walked out holding the bag over her head.  I walked out after her and when she was a few feet a way from our cars, I shouted for her to hold up.  I ran through the light rain with a smile on my face holding my sack of chicken sandwiches over my head in my right hand as if to block the rain and a five dollar bill held in my left, telling her that she had dropped some of her change.  She hesitantly stopped and waited by her car door for me to give her the money.  She was smiling her thanks as she let me get close and only at the end did her smile flicker with a little uncertainty.  My face showing a guileless grin, I handed her the money.  Just as she finished thanking me, I pulled my stun gun from the food sack and dropped the young slut in her tracks.  We were pretty isolated.  I looked around to ensure that no one had seen us in the gentle rain.  Good.  No one was paying attention to our little tableau.  She was a surprisingly solid little bitch, but eventually I loaded the immobilized girl in the front bucket seat of my car.  Then I picked up her purse and threw it in after her.

 

I drove about a block away and parked where I could watch the fast-food joint.  If the cops were called, I wanted to know about it.  I'd put her in the front seat and now I got out and walked around to recline it so that no one could see her.  By the time she was able to move again, I had her wrists bound behind her back with duct tape and her mouth filled with a cheap rubber ball and sealed with duct tape.  Finally, while she lay there motionless in my car seat, I super glued her eyelids shut.  The first part of the evening had gone well.  Before I got in the car, I slid my right hand up the inside of her nylon-covered thigh, then stroked her from knee to her pussy.  Her flesh was firm and ripe for the picking, and I could hardly wait to fuck her brains out. 

 

While I waited, I went through her purse.  Her name was Anne Marie and she was nineteen.  She worked as a junior receptionist at a law firm; she was single, seemed financially frugal with only one credit card and definitely was available for the evening. 

 

Finally, I cleaned off the license plates and began the long drive home at a slow, leisurely pace.  Anne Marie groaned a couple of times, but remained still.  I didn't know if I appreciated her consideration of the situation or felt a little surprise at her apparent calm.

 

I parked the car in the garage and walked over to her side of the car.  I opened the door and after I had unbuckled her seat belt, I grabbed her bicep and pulled her out.  Anne Marie stood swaying a little her silent blindness.  I had a knife nearby in the garage and I used this to begin cutting her clothes off.  She gave a couple of muffled screams, but just moaned at the end when I hit her in the stomach to show what was considered acceptable behavior.  I soon had her coat off, and this was quickly followed by her dark blue dress.  She stood in front of me wearing only a dark slip and bra, navy pantyhose and her heels. 

 

I cut the shoulder straps of the slip and pulled it down over her hips, allowing it to puddle around her ankles.  Her bra lay on the concrete about thirty seconds later.  She had a great figure; tiny waist and gorgeous legs and an ass that was tightly packaged by the nylon of her pantyhose.  But I was a little disappointed in her tits.  They sagged a little more than you would expect from a teenager, and she had large aureoles with the kind of breasts that came to a point without any apparent nipples.  Somebody needed to buy her a medium set of implants.  But she'd do in a pinch. 

 

Anne Marie was making crying sounds now as I dragged her through my bedroom and into the White Room, but few tears were able to escape the glue on her eyelids.  Rebecca leaped to her feet as I entered the room.  The shorts she was wearing were cut so high that her gorgeous ass cheeks were barely covered.  She took one look at the young girl and her eyes immediately filled with tears as her right hand flew to her mouth.  Rebecca knew exactly what I had in mind, and her expression was that of a woman serving a life sentence for a crime she didn't even understand.  I threw Anne Marie on Rebecca's bed and quickly tied a rope around her neck and then to the head of the bed. 

 

“This,” I said to Rebecca, “is your fault.  You played your silly-ass games about being too sore and now others get to take your place.  This girl is getting what rightfully belongs to you.  But since you've been 'traumatized,'” and here I put my fingers up in the little hooks that symbolize a quote, “she gets it instead.  You are SUCH a weak, despicable cunt.  Now help me with her.”

 

I walked to the foot of the bed.  She tried to kick at me, but couldn't get purchase as I grabbed the pretty young girl's ankles and pulled hard.  Her body slid down the bed until the rope was tight around her neck.  I looked at her feet and the high heels she still wore and felt myself begin to get hard.  I turned to Rebecca and said, “You hold her ankles, now.”

 

My little slave stood frozen.  Tears were streaming down Rebecca's face and she was sobbing.  Finally, my voice was as cold as frozen silk when I raised my voice a little for the first time, “Get your fucking, skanky whore's ass over here and grab her ankles.  NOW!!!”  She began to move towards me as if in a dream.  Hesitantly, she bent over and grabbed Anne Marie's ankles and held them as I had. 

 

“Spread her more, further apart, NOW!”  Rebecca jumped at my voice, then responded blank-faced by doing as I ordered. 

 

Even though unwilling at first to assist on a conscious level as I destroyed little miss Anne Marie in front of her, Rebecca had clearly identified me as the dominant in our relationship.  Although it would horrify her and she would hotly deny it, in an unconscious way she'd begun exhibiting some of what she saw as my attributes, but more as a photo-negative; displaying them in a manner that allowed her to better fit into the new life style I demanded she enter.  We were pretty much at the end of her initial training.  She'd almost completed the transformation from being threatened into becoming one of those that could make the threats if necessary, or at least that's how Anne Marie would perceive it.  To finish my woman's training, I needed to bully and manipulate her into voluntarily assisting me as I used the teenager.  That would destroy any last defensives she might have against me.

 

This was the last stage in breaking my new woman down.  By manipulating various training regimes, I'd been able to use fear as motivation to ensure that she satisfied my “needs.”  But at the same time, over the last month I had consciously begun changing my behavior towards her.  She didn't know what to believe about herself anymore.  She didn't want to believe that she would voluntarily hurt others if ordered to do so, or that she had the character and value for self of a whore, but the ginger chemical burns that still rimmed her ass and the memories of what had happened last night with the boys and how she'd responded had to haunt her.  She was feeling guilt over what the boys had done to her last night.  And even though helpless to prevent it, she was still experiencing deep shame over what she was afraid that she'd allowed to happen and how she'd responded to their depredations.  The rules of the game (which I'd written) said I could play the guilt card against her one more time and let her convince herself that she was a truly worthless human being.  Once she'd reached the very bottom this time, I would be the only one to whom she could turn for comfort and understanding. 

 

And if that didn't work, then I was done with her.  Fuck her, I'd put her out on the street again.  Her ass and pussy and tits had done some excellent heavy lifting last night.  Word would get out to the other Doms, and when it did, they'd want her ass served up on a platter for them too, sort of a whore d'oeuvre, if you will.

 

So this evening was it for Rebecca.  Even if it came at the cost of hurting another, especially if that were the cost, the mental transformations required should still allow Rebecca to achieve some minimal feeling of strength and control in an otherwise uncontrollable and humiliating situation.  In short, she'd probably never forget that she was a victim too.  But when the victim felt her only chance for survival was to join with the aggressor emotionally, as well as physically, anything short of total cooperation was unlikely.

 

This was Rebecca's major defense mechanism---hell, it would the major psychological defense of ANY woman in her situation.  I was certain that based on the last few months of training and what she'd undergone last night, she now had an unconscious and intuitive understanding of the current situation with Anne Marie.  She didn't know the pretty miss Anne, nor would she ever see little miss Marie again.  And as wrong as the act might be, Rebecca knew instinctively that if she helped me in this, it would give me pleasure and appease my harder Dominant side.  She had to be aware, even if only unconsciously, that proving her loyalty to me in this way would more than likely make her life much easier.  And if she reacted as I thought she would, when I finally began to show her a little compassion for her obedience, perhaps some small amount of respect, and even affection, she couldn't help but feel gratitude and even reflect that affection back to me. 

 

And thus do subjugation and shame, manipulation and guilt become the progenitors of complicity.

 

Anne Marie's legs were spread wide, her thighs waiting for me to settle in between them.  First I stripped, then I took the knife I'd used on her clothes out in the garage and climbed on the bed, kneeling between her thighs.  I pulled out the waist band of her pantyhose and stuck my left hand inside to cup the divine and mysterious treasure between her legs, a prize that would shortly be mine exclusively.  She began to struggle and I crooned into my sweet Anne Marie's ear, “Go ahead.  Keep it up and I'll cut your clit off.  How'd you like to be accidentally circumcised?  I hear the African women love it.”  Immediately the teenager froze as my hand continued to explore her labia and the silky dark crevasses of her pussy.

 

I pushed the nylon out away from her belly and cut out the crotch of her pantyhose.  Neither Rebecca nor Anne Marie seemed to notice that I continued the cut up the crack of her ass further than necessary.  I glanced at Rebecca and she looked ghastly.  I knew that she must still ache from last night's gang-rape, but right now she was in much more mental distress than she was physical.  Exactly where I wanted her.  But even as her face remained filled with guilt and self-hatred, I saw her take a fresh grip on Anne Marie's ankles and pull them a few inches further apart. 

 

Since this was to be a quickie object lesson for Rebecca, I wouldn't have time to put Anne Marie in the shower afterwards.  I went back into my bedroom and left the knife in a drawer.  Then I grabbed a couple of condoms and went back to my two girls.  I was huge with desire for the teenager and it was easy to slide the lubricated condom over my steaming meat.  I mounted Anne Marie as Rebecca kept her spread wide and with one quick move of my hips, buried myself in tight, teenage heaven.  Anne Marie bucked like a bronco with a spur under her panties, but it didn't do her any good.  She was mine for as long as I wanted her.  And I wanted her a lot. 

 

I aggressively fucked her for almost twenty minutes before I blew my load.  I rode her high and used friction against her clit.  I rode her low and filled her belly beyond anything I knew she'd ever felt before.  I rotated my hips and belly in grinding circles and savage thrusts as I lay upon her.  She fought Rebecca at first, but my little slave was too strong for her.  A little screaming and a little moaning, a few grunts and groans here and there, and then finally cooperative silence from my new slut.  Eventually, I was done.  I hated not being able to put the cum in her pussy where it belonged, but I was just using her as mind leverage, to give Rebecca an object lesson.  I didn't want to go to prison for something as stupid as leaving traces of DNA.  I lay panting for breath upon Anne Marie's sweaty belly and chest, then I heard Rebecca's soft sobs.  I looked at her over my shoulder and saw that she had the teenager's legs spread so wide it looked like they might come out of the hip sockets.

 

***

 

I had listened to his male grunts and groans of sexual frenzy seemingly forever as I lay beneath him.  Now I listened to them as he took another helpless female.  My jaws ached from being clenched so tightly.  I looked away, at the floor, at the ceiling, I closed my eyes and prayed; I looked anywhere but at my Master as he finished raping this poor young girl.  I couldn't believe that I’d helped him, that I had helped do this thing to yet another woman.  But at the same time, this had been done to me so many times.  I knew that if I could take it, she could too.  Being raped wouldn't kill her.  I knew this for a fact. 

 

Suddenly, I felt an immense weariness, as if the world rested upon my shoulders.  I wanted to die.  I knew my first thoughts had just been attempts to rationalize my guilt.  I wanted to rush to her and help her.  I wanted to kill him.  I wanted to cradle her head in my lap and tell her that this too would pass.  I didn't know what I wanted.  All I knew was that what I had just watched and assisted was entirely my fault.  I should have known that my claiming to be in too much pain wouldn't stop him.  If I hadn't selfishly put him off, it would have been me lying there and not that poor innocent girl.  God, I hated myself and my selfish weaknesses.  

 

***

 

Young Anne Marie lay upon the bed, crying.  Rebecca had stepped back from the girl's feet, but she still looked like she was in shock from what she'd just done.  Suddenly, I knew that I couldn’t afford to give Rebecca any more time to think; that I needed to finish this quickly.  I stood up and said, “Help me flip her over.”  My slave hesitated, but when I glared intently into her eyes, she finally blushed and wiped her tears away as she bent over to help me.  Rebecca looked and moved like a zombie, but the important thing was that she still obeyed my orders.  Together we each grabbed an ankle and within seconds, Anne Marie was twisted until she had flipped over and lay flat on her belly with her legs spread wide.  Her pantyhose were full of runs down the inside of her thighs, but her legs were still spectacular. 

 

I was lucky in that I could generally get wood up to three times in an hour, and tonight I was on a roll.  I took one look at my sweet little captive bitch and was hard for Anne Marie again, only minutes after blowing my first load.  As I stood by her feet, I admired again the look of her shoes with the sharp toes pushed into the mattress and the stiletto heels pointing back at Rebecca.  Hers were the three inch heels that some working girls wore, and they definitely enhanced her shapely ankles and calves.  At another look from me, my girl grabbed Anne Marie's ankles again and kept them spread.  As I slowly walked up towards my new fuck-meat's waist, I slid my left hand up the nylon-slick back of her right ankle, then her calf.  At the back of her knee, I rotated my wrist slightly so that my fingers were now on the inside of her knee and my palm rested on the back of her leg.  I slid my fingers up the inside of her silky thigh the rest of the way to her now sopping wet pussy and cupped her there for a minute, then moved on to the cut in the reinforced panel of blue nylon that went up the crack of her ass.  I needed more room there, so I reached in with both hands and ripped her pantyhose apart even higher.  Even though the nylon of the pantyhose still kept her asscheeks firmly captured and tightly compressed, the crack of her beautiful ass now lay open and unprotected before me. 

 

This time I wanted Rebecca to appreciate every inch I gave Anne Marie, so I pulled on a fresh, unlubricated condom.  I wanted Rebecca to understand that every inch I fed this girl's reluctant ass actually belong to her, that every centimeter of male need that Anne Marie endured should have been hers instead.

 

I laid down upon the young girl's back and after I was comfortable, I spread her sweet ass cheeks wide, ready to nail her.  But the little minx was still full of fight.  She clenched her beautifully rounded buttocks together and fought me all the way.  Her beautiful puckered little brown rose-bud defeated me even as Anne Marie screamed her rage and defiance into the gag that filled her mouth.  Having had enough of this shit, I punched her hard just above her right kidney.  The teenager's body arched as she gasped in pain and shock.  But as I knew she would, in unthinking reaction Anne Marie also stopped clenching her ass so tightly.  Suddenly, thoroughly, and without doubt, she was mine.  I drove in almost all the way to my nutsack in one move of my hips.  Her whole body arched and bucked in reaction, her muffled screams of defiance and anger immediately changing to one long drawn-out, continuous wail of agony and humiliation.  There was silence for a second at the end as she inhaled loudly through her nose and then she screamed again. 

 

The human anus is not naturally lubricated, and what I'd just done had to have hurt like hell.  Rebecca froze, involuntarily fixed by the sound.  I looked at her over my shoulder at her and she saw the accusation in my eyes.  She was continually crying now.  But there was no guilt in me as the physical sensations from sweet Anne Marie flooded my body.  The thought quickly flickered through my mind and then was gone.  But it had been true.  As I lay buried in this young girl's ass for the first time, I realized that she felt totally unlike Rebecca.  The two women were so different.  Rebecca was leaner and had a more athletic body.  Her ass cheeks were more well-developed and more muscular; they kept me off of her rim more.  She had a nice full, tight ass that forced me to use my weight to drive past her hard muscular buttocks to achieve full penetration.  When she clenched her buttocks against me, Rebecca almost pushed me out.  She was built for endurance, better able to withstand the give and take of a long term BDSM affair with one master. 

 

On the other hand, even though they were about the same height, Anne Marie probably weighed at least twenty pounds more than Rebecca.  Anne Marie was heavier and her body was lusher, her curves softer and more rounded.  And while her buttocks may have been encased in pantyhose, her rectum was much more available.  She was more open to easy penetration; her rectum just invited a man to totally possess her with each drive of his hips.  She was built for a series of one night trysts, being handed off to a different ass-master each night. 

 

I had reamed out my new slut's ass enough by now that she took me without continuing to scream.  In fact, her silence seemed to imply that at some level, she had finally accepted having a man deeply and brutally buried up to his nutsack in her rectum.  Anne Marie now was where Rebecca had been weeks ago, but both felt wonderful with my cock sheathed inside them.  Pity I couldn't take this one to the logical conclusion of our meeting tonight as I would be doing with Rebecca.

 

I knew I was hurting the young girl on purpose with an unlubricated condom.  In consequence, Anne Marie had at first cried out with almost every thrust I made.  The sensations of her involuntarily clamping onto me, then letting go, clamping and then releasing, all felt wonderful.  At the same time, her muscles strained mightily without conscious control to expel what now invaded her rectum, and I could feel her asshole continually quivering around the base of my cock under my onslaught.

 

After I'd plowed Anne Marie's ass a couple of more times, I told Rebecca that she could let go of the girl's ankles now.  I knew the teenager wasn't going anywhere and with me filling her ass and laying inside of her widely spread feet, she couldn't close her legs now even if she wanted to.  But she didn't even try, for the fight was gone from the teenager---all hope of avoiding the outrage was gone.  I felt an atavistic thrill roll down my spine; I'd turned her into a personalized rag that was specially designed for my use. 

 

She cried softly beneath me, only grunting or groaning in pain a few times at first as I continued to plow her now sore ass with especially deep thrusts.  She grunted and whimpered louder as I stroked deeper, then screamed into her gag three or four more times.   My goal was to fuck her ass deep enough that it felt to her like I was trying to ruin her colon with every hard stroke I delivered.  I'd managed to cram every inch of my dick into her asshole by now and I could tell that it really hurt whenever I bottomed out inside her colon.  But Anne Marie was a minx; she still maintained enough presence of mind to try subtle moves such as adjusting the way her back arched against me as she was ass fucked. 

 

Suddenly I pulled completely from her torn and aching rectum and began rubbing the head of my dick across her butt. Then I plunged back into Anne Marie, ripping through her tired sphincter and burying my cock even deeper into her colon than before.

 

I was lost in an erotic haze.  "How was that you fucking whore?  Was that enough for you, or do you want it even harder?"  I hadn't planned on taking it this far, but her muffled screams at the end inflamed me to my very marrow and drove me into almost total sexual madness.  I drilled her for at least fifteen minutes before I came again.  Another ass-virgin bites the dust, I thought to myself as I panted for breath.

 

*** 

 

I lay upon her sweaty back and enjoyed the sensations of her body involuntarily grasping me, then releasing as my penis shrunk inside her now sloppy and loosely fitting rectum.  I'd made a career of ensuring that the women I took like this remained only as impersonal objects.  It hadn't always been like this with me.  But you changed after the first.  You never took the same breath again, or dreamed the same dreams again.  Trust me.  I know.  So, as much as I could, I dehumanized these women.  Accepting them as human, as someone just like me, created empathy.  Empathy made what I was driven to do more difficult and produced regret.....and dreams. 

 

So I employed tricks—tools that allowed me to survive.  When possible, I kept them at an emotional distance.  I diffused responsibility, making much of what happened to them their fault for being too stupid or too unobservant, for allowing me to take them unawares.  I obscured their features; the hood was not just for their comfort, but allowed me to function without having another face to remember.  I took them sexually in ways that allowed me to avoid looking at their faces. 

 

At the same time, how the women I'd enjoyed like Anne Marie felt before I took them depended much upon individual circumstances.  I'm sure that they all felt an all-enveloping fear---but some, perhaps only a very few, may have very well have wanted to feel that fear.  To feel it running down their spines and through the very marrow inside their bones.  There were, after all, still some women that wanted to be taken by force.  Their heads may have been filled with feminist twadddle and their hearts thumped, their adrenalin pumped, their mouths dried and their palms sweated as I led them blindfolded to my lair: but to these few, I knew that this was an exhilarating sort of fear, not the fear of a victim.  These women, I think, experienced what was probably one of the most intensely erotic experiences of their life.  The strongest desire to be taken that they had ever felt: a desire that was made only more acute the more strongly they felt forced to resist it.

 

Each of these women may have felt the need to fight as hard as they could.  But secretly, so deeply buried inside their modernity and feminism that many could never admit this even to themselves, some willed me to prevail.  And when I finally did dominate these particular women, the physical shock always seemed indescribably, exquisitely pleasurable to us both.  I could immediately tell by the way they reacted; I somehow always knew.  I've given a few of these women the opportunity to speak afterwards, and all wanted to talk to me.  All said they felt as though I had energized billions of nerve-endings that had been unknown to them before me.  Some claimed they'd enjoyed the most intense climax they'd ever had, while others had screamed into their gags like no woman I'd ever taken had screamed before.  I'd also noticed that for a few, their whole body would suddenly relax just like Anne Marie when I fucked her ass, perhaps accepting and submitting, welcoming, worshiping. 

 

For these few women, it was a mixture of feelings that was both scary and exhilarating at the same time; it was incredibly important that it not be something they could have controlled---for them all opportunity for control must have been stripped away.  The women who truly desired such an experience did not want to ask for it or orchestrate it, otherwise the power to move them was lost.  This loss of freedom, of control over their bodies was the key to the whole experience.  It had to be authentic; raw, animalistic, scary, forceful, unpredictable, brutal and hot and sweaty.

 

For these women, I'm convinced that the whole experience left them feeling absolutely ecstatic, utterly at peace, deeply submissive and totally mine.  These were the natural Subs, and we were now connected at the most intimate levels.  I could see in the eyes of these few both reverence and awe, everything combined in a soft submissiveness that was coupled with deep gratitude, adoration and belonging.  These few were the ones that surrendered their modernity, their mystery, their sex---one of the few levers of influence they had in their public world---and disappeared into my world without leaving the slightest wave, pulling it on temporarily like a new skin, fitting in perfectly without any wrinkles. 

 

The way these women accepted their role in my world was almost a Zen sort of thing, and they were often moved to tears.  But not tears of shock or horror or anger.  I had taken them and they were mine; the tears were of acknowledged temporary ownership.  I always had their personal information; I sometimes later followed these women's lives after I'd released them, and with those few of whom I was sure, I contacted them with an offer they couldn't refuse.  These women were now willingly enslaved as part of the local BDSM underground.

 

Clearly, little Anne Marie was not made of this sterner stuff.

 

***

 

Rebecca was watching me with her hand over her mouth again and tears streaming down her cheeks.  She was crying in guilt as much as Anne Marie had from degradation and pain.  After I had my breath back, I crawled off of Anne Marie's back and stood up.  She still layed on her stomach with her legs spread wide.  Her asshole was sloppy and remained a little open, as the anal sphincter spasmed.  It gave her rectum the look of a fish's mouth as it gaped open, closed, then opened again.  I'd really drilled her ass tonight. 

 

The teenager continued crying softly even after I reached over and untied the rope from around her neck.  There was no fight left in sweet, young Anne Marie now.  She'd virtually accepted the role of providing her body for any entertainment that I might desire tonight.  Anne Marie's wrists were bound behind her back with tape, and it was the work of a moment to get rid of the tape, then handcuff her wrists together and tie them to the head of the bed.  I forced Rebecca to help me flip the teenager on her back again and Anne Marie's  ankles tied tightly as she was quickly spread-eagled on the bed. 

 

Rebecca was pretty fucked-up in the head right now, but she still wasn't where I wanted her.  With a small smile on my face, I told her, “Strip.”  She looked at me in shock and total incomprehension.  Her eyes were red from crying and they looked like a wild animal's might, as they flipped around the room, intentionally ignoring the young female body that lay on the bed.  Rebecca just stood there as I walked up and slapped her hard in the face.  She cried out softly and rubbed her cheek with her hand.

 

“Strip,” I repeated myself.  Within seconds, she stood naked in front of me.  Rebecca didn't know it yet, but she was going to be fucking Anne Marie too.  If I could force her to do this for me, even if it fucked her head up more than it was now, she'd still be exactly where I wanted her on the domination/submittal curve.

 

A couple of times I'd entertained more than one woman at a time.  I handed Rebecca the strap-on that I'd retrieved from the corner; she just looked at it for about thirty seconds, her shaking hands turning it over and over.  She'd seen them before, but had no idea of how to put one on.  It was a massive dildo; as thick as my wrist.  Ten inches long, it was a silicon copy of the real thing lovingly-made with veins extruded along the sides and a large helmeted head.  Finally, there was a ring of short, bristly, hair-like extrusions just behind the tip.  I don't think that Rebecca noticed that I had roughened the surface, making several rings of fairly deep, yet relatively unobtrusive cuts that always slanted towards the head of this woman-killer.  When it was driven into a woman's vagina, the cuts laid flat.  When it was pulled out, the flaps covering the cuts opened and the surface was pulled back, giving the whole thing a rough, uneven surface with multiple sharp edges.  These little cuts were also a nice delivery system for whatever I wanted deposited in a woman's pussy.  But tonight, I'd taken a little pity on Anne Marie and kept them clean. 

 

With shaking hands, Rebecca finally began to strap the dildo around her waist.  She stood stock-still for a second, then flinched as I threatened her with my hand again.  Finally, she crawled on the bed between Anne Marie's wide spread legs.  The teenager couldn't see, but struggled weakly when she felt the mattress dip as someone got in bed with her.  The young girl's pussy was still sloppy, but her labia had begun to dry and tighten up, making entry more difficult.  Rebecca lowered her hips onto Anne Marie's belly, but kept her upper body off of the teenager's chest as she rested her weight on her hands.  She looked at me beseechingly, but I nodded my head silently for her to continue. 

 

Finally, Rebecca's hips made their first motion towards Anne Marie.  It was a weak move and didn't achieve much penetration, but the head was so big that it still forced a scream from deep within the girl's chest as it pushed her labia apart.  Rebecca pulled back and slid another tentative thrust into the teenager; Anne Marie screamed into her gag again. 

 

“Close your eyes and start pushing.  Thrust with your hips and drive with your ass.  Now!”  Suddenly, the dildo was half buried in the helpless teenager and Rebecca reluctantly began a slow, rhythmic motion that drove the fake sex-meat much deeper into the unprotected belly that lay beneath her.  The way the strap-on was designed allowed maneuvering the instrument of torture into positions that men couldn't assume, and somehow, accidentally, Rebecca soon learned this.  As the forced fucking went on, Rebecca closed her eyes and at times lost herself in it.  She did things then that surprised me, and her, before she remembered where she was and what she was. 

 

But during those few moments of complete loss of control when she was in the eros zone, she inexplicably focused on truly hurting the girl that lay beneath her, hammering her repeatedly in those special places that only another woman knew.  Each of those times, Rebecca managed to dredge up screams of absolute agony from the teenager as she would find another one of those super-sensitive areas.  When combined with the multiple, tiny saw blades that I'd cut into the dildo, Rebecca didn't realize that with each deep thrust, she was tearing away layer after layer of sensitive mucous membrane, actually abrading away Anne Marie's vaginal lining.  The teenager was bleeding from her vagina within less than a minute of the Rebecca's first major penetration. 

 

There is a certain pitch of human scream that is impossible to ignore, a sound that drills directly into the most primitive part of your brain.  The kind of sound that makes your hair stand up, your scrotum retract and your feet freeze dead in their tracks.  That's the kind of scream that tore loose from Anne Marie as Rebecca sawed away at the lining of her vagina.  It didn't affect me, but it was exactly the kind of scream that I wanted Rebecca to hear.  My woman would frantically hammer away at her victim's pelvis until the girl's helpless, hopeless, continuous screams had beaten their way past Rebecca's blood rage and she'd regained mental control again. 

 

That was when Rebecca would suddenly falter and look at me helplessly with tears in her eyes.  But I was merciless.  And after she'd begun fucking the teenager again, my slave would eventually lose control and once more begin using her hips and weight to assist in pumping and driving the piece of abrasive hard rubber as deep into Anne Marie's ravaged cunt as she could. 

 

Rebecca was clearly unaware of where she was during these times; her eyes were closed and an almost feral look had come over her face as she hunched forward, using her hips to drive the woman-killer deeper and deeper into Anne Marie's body.  I knew I'd discovered a totally unsuspected side to my little slave.  The bound teenager showed her appreciation by bucking and make impossible arches with her body with each deep thrust, and in the continuous muffled screams that were smothered by the impromptu rubber ball and tape gag.  

 

Rebecca touched bottom inside the girl several times with the rigid man-made monstrosity, punching hard against sweet young Anne Marie's cervix.  Each time she bottomed out like that, the young girl's hips and belly would uncontrollably arch towards Rebecca, and her feet would try to fly up.  The teenager's legs would involuntarily attempt to close, always fighting against the bindings that kept her so open to this outrage despite the way they strained to come together. 

 

My slave was relentlessly slamming the massive rod into Anne Marie again when I finally grabbed Rebecca by the hair and yanked her out of her private world---she was killing the crying teenager.  Anne Marie was bleeding all over the bed and the dildo was covered by a thin frothy-pinkish film made of up vaginal juice, blood and a thick, soft layer of skin and mucous cells that had been abraded away by the sawing action of the dildo.  Rebecca was panting, on her knees between Anne Marie's thighs as she looked over at me from under her eyelashes.  Only slowly did the madness leave her eyes and recognition finally come back.

 

She was where I wanted her now.

 

Rebecca was finally exhausted and I was afraid that Anne Marie had almost been maimed.  I allowed my panting, sweaty slave to slowly crawl off of her sobbing victim and stand up.  She fumbled with the strap-on as she tried to get it off.  Finally, she let it drop to the ground from nerveless fingers and looked like she wanted to vomit.  Rebecca looked at me with shock in her teary eyes and I didn't know if she'd ever forgive me for forcing her to do this.  Frankly, I didn't care at the moment.  Suddenly, she ran for the small toilet and I heard retching sounds as she emptied her stomach.

 

I untied my victim's ankles and wrists, then grabbed a handful of the teenager's hair and dragged the young slut to her feet.  She was a mess between her thighs, but I was pretty sure she'd be okay.  Rebecca had slowly walked back to us by now, wiping her mouth on her wrist.  Crying softly now, Anne Marie swayed on her high heels in her lonely darkness for a second before finally standing upright.  Telling Rebecca to help me, I pulled the young girl's heels off and then stripped off the ruined pantyhose.  There were red pressure marks from the pantyhose around her waist and the insides of her thighs were covered with a thin layer of fresh, drying blood.  The front of her pussy was a mess where it seemed my slave had been trying to cut her pelvis in half with the saw-like dildo.  Rebecca shuddered and closed her eyes when she saw this, but I knew that nothing would ever make the vision of the helpless girl go away. 

 

Oddly, at that moment I noticed that Anne Marie's toenails were painted an attractive bright red that matched her fingernails.  Unfortunately, the color was also close to that which stained her thighs.  I used a clean, wet washcloth to wipe her down internally and externally before we put the shoes back on her feet.  She was ready to be delivered back to a slightly used and definitely soiled freedom.

 

I looked at Rebecca and said, “Get dressed while I'm gone.  You know what I like, so you'd better do it up right or I'll bring the punishment of God down on your weak ass.”  Anne Marie had been fucked so hard in her ass and vagina that she could barely walk.  Regardless, I left with the broken young woman in tow after I had locked Rebecca into the White Room. 

 

***

 

I gazed at his back as he left, caught my breath.  He'd taken her and she was gone.  She simply wasn't there anymore.  The bed he'd used was empty and all traces of the young girl were gone.  Except for the blood---the blood that I had been responsible for drawing from the young woman.  This was a nightmare---it had to be a nightmare.  I was empty inside.  I had no fight left in me.  He'd won.  Memories of what had happened in the last hour seemed dim and from long ago.  I couldn't believe what my mind was trying to tell me that I had done.  I knew it couldn't have been me.  I was tired, so tired.

 

I needed to sleep.  But I didn't dare.

 

Blood was pounding in my ears and I felt a physical pressure in my skull.  It finally got so bad, I grabbed the sides of my head to stop it from exploding.  I was hyperventilating and my hands were shaking.  My eyes jerked from side to side as if some part of my autonomic nervous system had just kicked in and was telling me that I was in mortal danger.  It got harder and harder to breathe, and when I could, it wasn't any help.  It felt like I was drowning in a sea of carbon dioxide and there was no oxygen for me anywhere. 

 

In that moment, it all flew apart for me, the whole rational system by which I understood the world and my place in it.  The balance of crime by retribution, the assurance that there was meaning behind everything, that we each control our destiny, it was all swept away like pieces on a board swept aside by a boisterous child.  I sank to my knees.  My spine was bowing, it was as if some ten-fold gravity were pulling me down.  Abruptly, it seemed impossible to survive, impossible to explain sexual slavery and domination to anyone who hadn't experienced it.  Wrapped in the brilliant pain and radiance of where it took my mind, I breathed the absolute certainty that my grief would crack me wide open.  How could you convey to another the ice-aching, diamond-bright reality of those awful moments?  How could I tell that young girl how sorry I was that I had been the cause of all her pain. 

 

He did what he did without guilt, like a force of nature.  And I'd somehow allowed him to drag me down to his level.  For a moment, only a moment, I felt a strange sense of freedom as I'd hurt that girl.  I was like Anne Marie, powerless against the random acts of men, of this man.  Analysis was pointless, so why waste time thinking about what might happen?  A shadow vanishing into itself---that was the sensation.  Release…. 

 

I had been the one with my eyes open, knowing his rules and the lack of truth of what I'd claimed---I could have taken his pain tonight, but I hadn't wanted to.  I could have disobeyed him earlier, but I hadn't.  I'd endured so much from him for one day, and just hadn't felt strong enough to take more.  But why had I hurt the girl?  For the first time it seemed, I opened my eyes now and looked at this man, the man that was my man now.  I closed my eyes and turned my head away, but I couldn’t stop my understanding.  I knew, without wanting to, what I had become.  It was my fault, all my fault.

 

One of the worst feelings on earth is that of always being the vulnerable victim; I knew that this way lay insanity for one such as me.  Ultimately, a normal relationship must please both involved, not just one.  But our relationship, his and mine, was not normal and never would be.  And given my life now, it was me that would have to change.  I knew I was fated to belong to him, to never leave this gray world of pain, of physical extremes and emotional degradation again.  And if I was to reside within his world, I needed someone to protect me from the other predators that inhabited it.  I needed a Master to protect me.

 

I somehow just KNEW that my Master, the man that currently possessed me could not be as bad as he seemed; after all, my instincts just couldn't be that wrong.  I just needed to get used to the absoluteness of my life---no control, no choice, no safety net and no way out.  I'd tried my best to accept his training without letting it control my life or truly change me.  But tonight it felt like I was a beach ball with a small pinprick hole in it, and bit by bit the air was going out of me.  And I was sinking down, and soon would be a very flat little slave.

 

I knew I flirted with insanity.  Master had forced me into his world, breaking me, then lifting me to glorious heights of passion my body could scarcely contain before dropping my soul to the basest of levels to pay for it; making me kneel and beg for more and do anything to please him.  His had been a studied manipulation, one practiced on many women until he was so good at it that the victim wept from the abuse.  But that didn't stop her from wanting it.  His manipulations and depredations could be so brutal that you prayed for death, or so subtle that they could be mistaken for love.  Yet, I couldn't believe that I had helped Master rape another woman tonight.  Everything that happened to her was my fault.  I felt a terrible, almost biblical guilt in my complicity.  I hated myself.  Why had I helped him?  Why had I felt compelled to obey his every order.  Unthinking obedience in a terrible situation.  I felt like a Nazi.  God, why?  Why?

 

Suddenly, as if drenched by a shower of ice, I felt an almost glacial calm come over me.  I could breathe again.  My subconscious mind had sifted through everything; the analysis was done.  I realized I finally knew what I had to do and I was deeply convinced of its necessity.  I took a deep breath and wiped the tears from my face.

 

I felt terrible pangs of conscience, I bore total responsibility for what had happened to Anne Marie tonight.  I had no doubt; I would never forget this young woman.  I was tormented by the internal strife that was tearing me apart.  I couldn't further contribute to the wrongs against her by erasing her presence, refusing to take even the tiniest obligation for her presence tonight.

 

I wasn't a stupid person.  I've done many stupid and petty things in my life, but always for selfish reasons.  I've never felt the need to be a martyr, never felt the need to suffer because of some ridiculous principle or take a punishment that was by rights due another.  But tonight had been different.  I owed this young girl, and somehow I knew I was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice now---but only if it would make a difference.

 

Giving in to my pain and weakness was why another innocent woman had been raped tonight.  Suddenly, I straightened my shoulders and wiped the tears from my cheeks.  I had few real choices.  The police were looking for me and I had no husband, no home to go to.  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had no choices at all.  Well, actually, that was wrong.  I had one choice.  While it was too late to save myself, I could save others from what'd happened to her.  The more I thought about it, the more I knew that I was making the right choice.  I knew that I would do anything for him now. 

 

A dizziness swept over me.  I had a precipice in front of me.  Turning back was no longer a possibility, and to tell the truth, I didn't even want to.  I think I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this man.  I sighed again; I would go forward and find a way to cross this chasm in my life.  I felt alone, as if my entire world had emptied of people, as if my ties with life had unraveled.  My family was gone, but everything fell into place anyway.  It was so simple now. 

 

I sat motionless, my head completely empty at the moment.  But suddenly, I realized that I had done nothing but wait all these weeks.  I hadn't understood it at the time; the fact that I was waiting or why.  But I had a mission now, and I didn't need to wait any longer to carry it out.  My old life was dead.  I no longer had any doubt.  And now, there was no turning back. 

 

But I still needed assurance, emotional sustenance.  I felt like a hypocrite; the last time I'd prayed on my knees was when I was a little girl.  But I did it now. 

 

I felt an urgent need to kneel and pray.  My head sunk between my shoulders, I covered my face with my  hands and tried to think.  Please God, I begged.  Let this be it.  Let me give him everything I am, let him take everything I've ever been, let him take everything he wants from me---but let it be me alone that satisfies him.  All I ask God, is two things.  No more women for him and no more men for me.  Please God, please.  No more innocents.

 

Let this be it.

 

Master had almost killed me with the highs and the lows as he carefully built within me an addiction to the euphoria of being his slave; warping my life, mixing it with my need for love and my craving for any acceptance, even from one such as him.  Even as I knew I belonged to him and would serve him for as long as he wanted, I swore that I would never again be responsible for another woman being ruined by this, or any other man.  I vowed that I would give him everything that he wanted, whenever he wanted it, as long as it meant no one else would get hurt.  I knew that I could take anything he wanted to do to a female's body better than any woman I'd ever known.  He called me a pain-slut.  Well, I would be his pain-slut, if that is what it took to save other women.  I'd be his slut forever if that was what it took.  And if I couldn't keep him satisfied, if he tried to hurt more women, then I would try to kill him, then myself.  I was crying now, but it seemed as if a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.  I'd made my mind up and suddenly everything seemed clearer.  I could finally breathe without that crushing, suffocating feeling of panic. 

 

My face was red and blotchy from crying, so I ran cold water in the sink and washed my face for a couple of minutes.  Then I wiped myself dry before I began to put on makeup for my Master.  I'd do what I had to do.  I'd had so much rage in the beginning.  But what did I have to work with now?  Look, I told myself, at the situation as it was, not as I thought it should have been. 

 

I needed to get dressed for his return. 

 

And thus, I descended into the deepest catacombs of voluntary sexual slavery.