Unintended Consequences

 

Chapter 40: A mutual and satisfied sexual act is of great benefit to the average woman, the magnetism of it is health giving.  When it is not desired on the part of the woman and she gives no response, it should not take place.  The submission of her body without love or desire is degrading to the woman’s finer sensibility, all the marriage certificates on earth to the contrary notwithstanding; Margaret Sanger.

 

Overt symbols of our relationship soon became more important to Rasha.  As our roles became more defined over time, I wanted Rasha to wear better collars.  I'd purchased a nicely worked traditional neck band in black leather.  For more social occasions, I'd also purchased Rasha an inexpensive gold bracelet of intricate design; this was a more subdued ‘symbolic collar’ and it allowed her to pass in vanilla situations. 

 

For me, these were enough.  But not for her.  She'd asked for additional collars, but I'd not yet purchased them because Rasha'd become a little too smug, a little too comfortable with her position within our relationship.  She was becoming openly possessive and a little resistive at the same time; sometimes subtly questioning my day to day orders, letting me know that she sometimes found doing what I ordered a trifling unpleasant.  I knew deep inside she recognized this as unattractive behavior in a woman of her status and she'd become melancholy because of it, almost as if she wanted her freedom again.

 

I snorted to myself.  Freedom was not an option for her, not after all that I'd done to her and she knew it.  I'd crashed through infatuation with this woman and hit the ground on the other side.  She knew she belonged to me, she knew that I could do anything I wanted to her; we both knew she just needed reminders every now and then.  I needed a good way right now to remind of her true position in life.

 

I thought back in time.  The truth was, early in our relationship this stubborn woman had frustrated me no end.  Despite my wicked imagination, I guess I’m not sure what I had expected when I took away her freedom.  And even after I felt I'd finally broken her over something that seemed important at the time, it'd only been a short while before she recovered her spirit and resisted me on some new matter. 

 

But now she was mine; I looked at Rasha’s beautiful body for a moment as she walked away from me to the bathroom before I softly said, “Tiptoes.”  I watched in anticipation as she stopped cold, just as she had been trained.  And then I watched the enticing rise of her calf muscles as she complied. 

 

And now months later, I knew that Rasha still feared what she saw as weakness---the fact that even as she knew that “Tiptoes” was demeaning to her as a modern woman, she had come to look upon this as a perfectly natural and acceptable rite in her new life. 

 

***

 

It has now been more than four months since he made me take his collar and Master Christian finally had enough confidence to take me out for an extended time.  Tonight we were going out to eat for the second time. 

 

He'd set boundaries and I knew to obey him now.  The sense of newness, of specialness, of being in exactly the right place and time, of being exactly where I should be and who I should be.......this feeling has never worn off.  Locked in the White Room, we'd experimented for endless hours, looking for answers to questions I'd never had the courage to ask myself and searching for boundaries beyond which I would not go.  Initially, there had been few and now to my despair, there were almost none; he told me that I'd come far and had “performed well;” his praise sounded as if he spoke of a well trained horse, but even so I felt immense pleasure when I had obviously pleased him.  Now he felt it was time to celebrate.

 

But I also sensed that something had recently changed.  There was an odd, charged feeling to the air.  I was sure that I'd picked up some alteration in our relationship that was too subtle to be identified; my mind had somehow not yet supplied the explanation.

 

I soaked in a hot shower for almost half an hour, then I shaved my legs even though they didn’t really need it and washed my hair as well, which didn’t need it either.  After spending twenty minutes rubbing lotion on my skin, I walked naked from the bathroom and stood, hands on my hips, staring at the clothes laid out on my bed.  He was allowing me to choose tonight, and I just couldn’t make up my mind.  A dress, a gown and a skirt and blouse; I could not for the life of me choose between them.  And until I decided that, I could not decide on the color of my stockings, which meant that I couldn’t yet choose my shoes, let alone any accessories.

 

I have always been used to dressing to suit the occasion.  Perhaps that was the problem; I wasn’t sure what the occasion actually was.  I wasn’t sure of my Master’s intentions, of how he felt.  I knew he loved me....I hoped.  I knew I loved him.  Was my confusion his fault, or my own?  I felt as nervous as a cornered rat, and afraid of coming to the wrong conclusion.  If I dressed one way, perhaps he would come to the wrong conclusion too?  What did that mean?  What did any of it mean?  What did he want me to look like tonight?  Pretty or plain?  Hard or soft?  Was I supposed to be sleek or bulky?  Could I dress to please myself?

 

It had always been so easy before.  For school, I dressed hard and efficient, because that was what was required.  For a dinner party, I would be elegant and intelligent.  Receiving friends at home, I was just slovenly enough to make everyone comfortable at my house.

 

And for an intimate dinner with a man, one that was also my Master…..?  That depended upon what I thought the man felt about me and what he wanted from me; and what I felt---in return.  I loved him and I knew I was his property, so what would he want to see me wear?  There was the blue jersey dress, which came to my knees, and showed a lot of my arms and shoulders.  There was the dark blue gown that he’d given me, one that covered most of my body like a shield, but was tight and sexy.  Or there was the skirt and blouse.  The blouse that could be worn open-necked, or else clamped shut and tied at the neck. 

 

Decisions, decisions.  All covered the light bruises that remained on my lower back and butt, and if I left the choice to the last minute, I’d have to make a snap judgment.  So be it.  Most people that had known me from before had thought me unflappable---but that certainly wasn’t true where this man was concerned.

 

***

 

I was happy and excited now, a giddy child being taken to a circus for the first time.  Master had chosen a nice restaurant, but parked a little too far away.  He'd unexpectedly opened my door for me and I had self-consciously snaked my way out of the car in the way that I knew seemed to hypnotize some men.  I'd seen distinguished-looking men stop in the parking lot that night, startled as they watched me exit the car.  My collar for tonight was a one-inch wide black velvet choker and the more formal gold slave bracelet; I wore the metal retainer in my septum---the nose ring would have drawn stares and clashed with my gown.  The tight, one-shoulder floor-length column dress in dark blue which I now wore had not been my first choice.  Or my second.  Or my eighth.  But I kept coming back to it; the material and cut of the dress whispered ‘expensive’ with a French accent.

 

I tugged at the dress again as I struggled to keep up with him.  My legs felt hot under the sheerest black stockings; they actually looked almost grayish-black and were held up by a black lace garter belt.  My current foot wear---strappy, black and extremely high heeled, had been chosen because they kept the dress from dragging on the floor.  I straightened as best I could in my impossible shoes. 

 

I’d worn little real clothing in the preceding weeks and months, and it had been a long time since I’d had to look this polished.  The double-wide door slid open as he approached the one story building.  He finally stopped and turned to me.  He watched intently as I caught up with him.  His face lit up, “I picked that dress.  I must say that I have excellent taste.”

 

I tugged at the gown’s rear.  “Please Sir, it’s too tight.”  The back of my neck tingled as he lagged behind to take in the view. 

 

“No, not a bit.  Just confirms to everyone that you have a tiny waist and very nice derrière.” 

 

I snorted….most respectfully; I was in a good mood and looking forward to the evening.  The four-star restaurant had a blue-blazered door man who was a grizzled, but genial Sikh with ‘Raghubir’ on a small name tag.  He looked at me as I said, “Master Christian, party of two.”

 

Raghubir’s brown eyes went wide, but he quickly recovered.  By this time, my Master had glanced at me and I knew I'd made a mistake in taking the lead like that.  Would I never learn?  I had no excuse except that I felt as feather-brained  as a dizzy school girl.  Raghubir opened the door and escorted us to the hostess, Master in the lead and me to his right rear.  She was a young woman that stood on endless legs capped by a blank, beauteous face with the big, empty eyes of a murder victim.  ”Ophie,” (as I had now named her) asked the name of our party with the delivery of an actress trying to give importance to a bit part.  Master Christian gave his last name and she went searching for it in her reservation book, certainly the only book she’d ever read through to the very end.  She murmured his name, pleased to have learned a new word.  Eventually, she found it and we were in.

 

The dark green and silver room was furnished with a tasteful, expensive blend of ornate modern and stark antique.  My step quickened.  God, I’m starved, I thought.  Over the past few months, it seemed that I could never get enough to eat.  It had been a continual part of my training. 

 

I pulled up short.  A man and a woman were coming our way; he had his hand outstretched towards my Master.  Master Christian walked forward and greeted the two.  He then turned to me and said, “This is Master Ridgeway, Master Durien Ridgeway.” 

 

I quickly glanced at Master Durien with no expression on my face, then lowered my eyes in what I hoped looked like deference.  I'd thought we would be eating alone tonight.  Previously instructed by Master Christian regarding the protocol he associated with one of my lowly status, I forced myself to extend my hand as Master Durien pursed his lips and looked me up and down.  His was a masculine beauty that I had only rarely seen.  Tall, narrow waist and big shoulders.  Short black hair tightly wound to the skull, perfectly chiseled features, thick, long eyelashes that framed a pair of large, heavy-lidded black eyes that were like deep holes into which a woman could fall and float downwards for a very long way---

 

He reminded me of old pictures that I’d seen of Rudolph Valentino.  He seemed as calm as stone, yet the sharp cast of his features was offset by the glitter of his black eyes---I didn’t like him. 

 

At the same time, I was gripped by his compelling facial beauty.  I just wanted to gaze upon him without speaking for as long as he would allow.  In that moment, I believed I knew what an artist felt when gripped by the muse---an absolute obsession to possess and express the feeling of a submersion into boundlessness.

 

“I’ve looked forward to meeting you…..Sub-Rasha.”  His accent was clipped and difficult to place.  Early Madonna British, I thought.  His voice and manner were layered with complexities of darkness and light.  There was something bad here as well as good, as well as things that defied a label.  I was certain that he never once blinked as he shocked my system with the fiercest look of total understanding that I’d ever seen.  He seemed to read my soul.

 

Even though my first response was to not particularly care for him, at the same time I decided that I must have been wrong; it must have been one of the few odd times that my feminine intuition had failed me.  It was impossible to put that much stock into my first reaction, if only because he was so damn attractive.  (I knew that there was an underlying flaw in this line of reasoning, but wouldn’t the world be so much better if we tried harder to put our trust into beautiful Master’s who dressed really well and purchased superior colognes?)

 

Master Ridgeway beckoned to the slight young woman who appeared lost among the furniture.  “This is……Sub-Angie.”

 

Angie stepped forward and with Master Christian's quick nod of approval, I replied, “Hello.  How are you?”  Angie’s outfit, a fitted copper gauze gown with matching nosebleed heels, seemed to be giving her trouble as well.  I studied her face.  Wide-spaced mossy green eyes, carrot red curls shot through with gold, stubborn chin, all combined to uncover what I'd hoped were long-dead memories.  I was certain that I’d had this girl’s younger sister in one of my classes when I had first started teaching at my last school.  I accepted Angie’s subdued greeting just as Master Christian began to herd us towards a dinner table. 

 

We were both of the same status, Angie and I; that of the Possessed.  But for some reason, I felt that she had required much less 'encouragement' to embrace our unique lifestyle than had I.

 

The men had drinks before dinner and I sat quietly next to Master Christian.  I wanted to sit even closer and take his hand in mine.  Instead, I just sat silently and watched as he and Durien conversed about meaningless trivialities.  He took a small pull at his bourbon on the rocks and I could detect the aroma; caramel and chocolate and grown-up.  A waiter finally appeared; Master Christian looked at him and said, “Soft-shell crabs.”  The waiter nodded and turned to me.  Master counseled me in the way that I knew was a an order, “If you’re hungry, the soft-shell crabs are out of this world.”

 

“Soft-shell crabs, please,” I intoned smoothly with a small mouthed smile, handing the waiter my menu while suppressing a tidal wave of absolute panic.  I have avoided soft-shell crabs my entire life.  I’m not comfortable with any method of consuming them.  I’ve seen people hold them in both hands, biting away at entire dead animal as if it were a foul gray sandwich.  I hate soft-shell crabs.

 

“Good choice,” Master nodded.

 

“Yum, Sir” I concurred.  He glanced at me quickly, but said nothing.

 

Silence fell between us.  My head down, I sensed Master Durien's sidelong scrutiny, Master Christian's more direct scrutiny.  I looked up and found everyone halted in mid-conversation, staring at me curiously.  I sat quietly facing my plate again, not drawing any further attention to myself, pretending that this was all normal, that I’d done this a thousand times, that I had never been reluctant or ashamed or forced.  I finally looked up at Master Christian, my expression expectant but guarded, withholding any further comment or reactions until I could gauge my Masters response, then temper mine accordingly.  Slowly it dawned on me that no one seemed angry and I could feel the color come back into my face.

 

The food was actually good even though the conversation was unremarkable.  Master Durien may or may not have been married to Angie, but there was no doubt now that she was of the collar, just like me.  While we both were attentive to our masters, I was quiet and Angie seemed to take my lead.  The men talked and laughed, eating slowly as the appetizers appeared.  Master Durien rattling on, a captive in his own recollective jet stream.  The balance of the meal passed uneventfully.  Except for a couple of intense glances at me from Master Durien, the men ignored the two of us and Angie chewed thoughtfully, her expression placid.  Embers of conversation sparked fitfully, only to die.  Bored, I was forced to cross and re-cross my legs to ease the pressure on my lower back.  Except for one instance of fashion commentary about my dress, Angie remained silent.  Ridgeway was sociable, though guarded with me.  Our host alternated between expansiveness and distraction. 

 

An after dinner iced-water in hand, even though it may have showed bad form, I asked Master Christian if I could be excused.  With his permission, I left the three behind to talk, or in Angie’s case, to listen. 

 

I strolled around the entrance hall, glancing at the pictures crowding the walls.  I shifted my weight from one high-heeled foot to the other and looked at the best paintings.  The subject of each was inscribed on a brass plaque at the bottom of the frame.  There was a water color of beach life in California, and another of a town in Boston.  Some government buildings in Washington were depicted in oil, along with a grand plantation house in Georgia and a panoramic view of New York. 

 

I was still staring at a painting that depicted a white clapboard house overlooking a long, sandy beach.  It perfectly captured the extraordinary quality of the light.  I’d forgotten how much I missed being surrounded by fine paintings.

 

I heard nothing for a moment, then a slow tread of footsteps from behind that set my heart pounding.  “That’s a nice piece they purchased three years ago,” Master Ridgeway said as he drew alongside me.  I experienced a sickeningly familiar turn of the stomach as I glanced into the dining room.  My Master was holding forth and gesturing broadly as a seated Angie stared and nodded like someone in a trance. 

 

I watched as Master Durien's face took on a new expression.  But I could tell that it was only an approximation of a face that he'd once seen, one that had carried interest and concern, something that he'd perhaps found intriguing.  There was something…off about him.  It was too fluid.  It was like he was trying on different personalities, seeing which one would look best to me in public.  I struggled to keep my tone level and chose to be daring.  “If you have anything to say to me, Master Ridgeway, you really should say it to my master or wait until you sober up.” 

 

Dom Ridgeway’s glower sharpened.  “For one who has committed herself to another's desires, your talk is very sharp.”  He hesitated for a second, “You don’t like me…..what was your last name?”  He waited for what seemed an eternity, but I didn’t reply.  Finally, he continued.  “That’s fine---you’re not mad for me, are you?  So, no more talking for us---I’ll be gone now.”  He turned to go, then suddenly turned back to look at me, “He’s right.  You are one that is not yet fully tamed.  I look forward to our next meeting.”

 

A shiver went down my spine and I felt almost like he was a ghost.  Ghosts aren't like they show in cartoons.  They have bodies, they eat food, make love.  But they're empty people because they're just visiting.  Trying to finish unfinished business.  A lot of hitchhikers, some of the lonely-looking people you see in a train or bus station, they're ghosts.  Certain parts of the country attract them.  Louisville---loaded.  Same with the New England states, the Carolinas.  This man was like that---and he scared me.

 

As he left, I took a deep breath and tugged at my bodice, working the tension out of my neck and shoulders.  I could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.  I'd been inappropriately bold and Master Ridgeway seemed to have taken an instant dislike to me even though we’d barely exchanged five words the whole evening---perhaps that was why he felt the way he did?  I wasn’t too concerned about Master Durien.  In fact, I considered the evening a great success as long as I wasn’t recognized as a missing school teacher.

 

Angie bounded to her feet as Durien and I re-entered the dining room separated by about thirty seconds and a million light years of evolution.  Her enthusiasm withered as soon as she met her Dom’s eyes.  I stopped as Durien continued in to meet the two.  Angie then walked over to me, looking at me for the first time with something akin to a smile.  “It’s been a long night.”

 

I nodded, “It has.”

 

Angie was about to say something else, but Ridgeway had returned.  He linked her arm through his and led her away without saying another word to me.  He was a Dominator; one of those heavy-handed and authoritative men that always worked at governing every part of the woman they were with.  To be with a man like that would be awful; to allow every aspect of your life to be totally controlled by one like him would be intolerable.  To be married to him would be even worse.  I would hate it.

 

“What was that all about?” Master Christian asked as the sliding doors closed.  “Don’t tell me---Master Durien was being Dom Durien.” 

 

I nodded, my whole body suddenly tired.  “Can you take me back now?  Please Sir?”

 

He looked up at the ceiling and exhaled audibly.  “Okay.”  He was silent for a second, “He liked you, Dom Durien I mean.”

 

“Please, I seriously doubt that.  Sir.”  I rubbed my stomach; it suddenly ached.  “I’d really like to go now.”  I tugged as unobtrusively as could at the bodice of my dress again.  A waste of time---the silky material snapped back into place like a second skin.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“I just ate too much.”  I’d snapped at him and suddenly I felt a tingle of fear---I didn’t want to make my Master angry.  He had too much power.

 

“Do you like your gown?”  He hadn’t seemed to notice my shortness.

 

“Nothing fits me anymore, Sir.  Not even the new things you’ve bought me.”

 

“I disagree.  The dress is perfect.’  He chucked me under chin.  “It goes well with the new woman that I’ve liberated from within the old.” 

 

He hesitated and then leaned in closely, lightly embracing me.  His breath smelled of wine.  I was still upset and made another mistake, breaking the embrace before he was ready and rushed to the door.  He slowly followed with a slight smile on his face. 

 

I’d become used to our relationship over the last several months and had even come to accept my role in it.  I had begun sleeping with him a lot more at that point.  I may still be married to another man (until he divorced me), but we both knew that I was my Master’s woman now.  Tonight it seemed, he wanted something else instead.  We arrived home without saying another word to each other and he led me directly into the White Room where he told me to remove my gown.  I looked at for him for just a second and then began to comply. 

 

I unzipped myself in back and finally skinned my way out of the tight fitting dress and dropped it on the floor. Then I bent over to remove the heels so that I could be blessedly barefoot.  He told me to stop.  My feet hurt and I hesitated for just a second before standing upright before him again.

 

He watched me the whole time with an expressionless face.  In an attempt to please him, I'd immediately assumed a submissive posture that I knew he liked.  I had worn no panties or bra under the gown and when it was finally off, I was naked except for the garter belt and sheer stockings.  There were no pressure lines on my body from tight underwear and I stood in front of him, flawless except for the faint, fading marks of his last punishment near the upper inside part of my left thigh and lower back.

 

Now he led me to my bed.  Wordlessly, I laid down for him, at which point he cuffed both of my wrists to the head of the bed.  He took out the longest penis gag he'd ever used on me and without any prompting, I opened my mouth to accept it.  The gag went so far into the back of my mouth that it felt like it was going down my throat---I forced myself to ignore my gag reflex. 

 

He was considerate, lifting my hair and resting my head on a pillow; after he had fastened the gags strap around my neck, he took out a forty inch spreader bar and began to cuff my ankles to it.  I knew at this point that the evening would be a long one.  With a full belly, I honestly wasn’t up for it, but knew that I had little real say in the matter.  I had learned my lessons well over the last few months; although generally gentle with me now, when within the White Room I was his to do with as he pleased. 

 

That was our agreement.  Although initially difficult to accept, it had been this way from the beginning and would remain that way until he tired of me.  I'd recently begun attempts to subtly influence him towards giving me more of what I wanted rather than just what he desired.  If I ever wanted to influence him, I knew I had to do it subtly.  It was however, difficult to be subtle with a gag in your mouth. 

 

I knew he cared for me and I desperately wanted to keep him interested in me because I had not only accepted my new life; I’d settled into our routine and had begun to feel great pleasure from his attentions and my new surroundings.  But I just wanted a little more than I had right now.  Depending upon my mood of the moment, I bounced back and forth between just accepting everything and absolutely adoring him. 

 

I was tired tonight, and my mood was a little more on the accepting side than that of adoration.  I tried to deny everything to myself, but it was no use.  God, I suddenly realized that I truly cared for this man so much---I knew that I'd begun to love him.  It was obvious---even as I became emotionally involved with him and even as I accepted it, I still knew it was a mistake.  It was crazy, I told myself, I couldn't love him.  Not really.  I wouldn't allow this

 

He gently tightened the ankle cuffs to avoid running my stockings.  Finally, he tugged on the bar to ensure that my arms were taut above my head before he fastened the spreader bar to the foot of the bed.  He looked down at the nakedness between my legs for a second before he left the White Room, leaving the doors open that led into the Master bedroom.  My hips were already aching from having my legs forcibly spread so far apart when suddenly, I heard voices.  Master walked back into the White Room accompanied by Dom Durien.  Durien looked at my Master and said, “My little whore’s waiting for you on your bed.  She wants it rough tonight.”

 

Master smiled grimly at Durien and said, “I’m ready; I’ve been ready all night.” 

 

In total shock, I looked at my Master.  His features seemed rigid with an absence of emotion, his skin as white as if his blood was leaving him.  Suddenly, I knew exactly what was going to happen, how it was all going to end tonight.  I watched as if everything were taking place on TV, as if it had nothing to do with me.  He was leaving me, leaving me to Durien  Suddenly, Master Christian was already as far away from me as was my husband.  Farther even.

 

I knew then why my Master and I had not had sex for the last two days.  I did not like this strange new man; even worse, for some reason I feared him at an almost genetic level.  Bound, I began to struggle in earnest, but my Master had done his work well.  I was totally helpless in front of the two men.  I looked at my Master with wide accusing eyes---this act went far beyond any unspoken agreement we might have had about our relationship.  Angie stood next to him, eating up my Master with her eyes.  A bitter, bilious poison filled my heart and stomach.  After looking at me for another moment, my Master turned and fled the room, leaving Durien with his prize.  He walked over to me and looked down with an enigmatic smile on his face.  “You were a mouthy little slut tonight.  You didn’t think you’d be seeing me quite so soon, did you?”

 

***

 

I walked away from Rasha without a second thought or backwards glance.  I looked with anticipation upon Angie as she lay upon my bed in all of her red-headed glory.  What an exquisite body.  She was younger than Rasha; her body more lush, her curves more rounded.  Her flesh was cool and firm, marked with only a few bruises on her back and buttocks from when her Master had last felt the need to punish her.

 

What I'd set up for Rasha played softly in the back of mind, but I planned to wash away my feelings inside the body of the new girl.  Angie looked at me with a smile upon her face.  She lay upon her back with her knees drawn up slightly and spread, her arms clasped behind her head.  I stripped as Angie watched---and she had no doubt I desired her.  With no foreplay, I mounted the beautiful young girl and with brutal vigor, plunged deeply into her as yet unready vagina.  This was my answer to the unfamiliar emotions I had felt only minutes ago.

 

Angie cried out in quick pain, but I didn't care.  She was a well trained little slut and kept her knees spread wide for my continued pleasure.  All but the very core of my being rejoiced; I had penetrated Angie’s body with the awareness and perfect ease of a diver entering a blood-warm lagoon.  Then a sense of euphoria swept away every other feeling.  Although not common six months ago with my previous non-consensual dates, these were sensations I was experiencing more and more when with Rasha.  The feeling was not simply that of a drug high or the instant before orgasm, though it encompassed those things.  There was also an enormous sense of well-being and the triumphant riding down of an aggressive opponent.  There were no false qualities to my perceptions now, for mine was the clarity of cells in a diamond lens as I jack hammered into Angie’s perfect body.  Could I experience the same sense of ecstasy with another woman?  Only vaguely did I hear Rasha’s muffled cries begin from the other room.

 

***

 

I screamed my frustration and anger into the gag; this wasn’t part of our agreement; I tried to say that this shouldn’t be happening, not to me, not with him.  But my sounds were completely muffled and meaningless to anyone listening; I knew from previous experience that the gag worked well at keeping a hurting woman’s screams contained within the small room.  And this new man watched, amused by my pointless urgency. 

 

Dom Durien took his time; he allowed me to struggle to close my legs for almost a minute as he peered at my naked and hairless vagina, the muscles on the insides of my thighs standing out in relief with my effort.  But my ankles were firmly cuffed and I would not close my legs again until one of the men chose to take mercy upon me.  This I was sure, would not be happening soon.  I didn’t know what to do, which way to turn.  It was as if he could smell my panic, taste it.  Finally, I stopped struggling and concentrated on breathing heavily through my nose. 

 

With a sinking feeling, I heard him say softly as he looked down upon me, “The next move is mine, you little whore; but the suffering is yours.

 

Durien sat on the edge of my bed and began stroking my body.  His hands seemed to roam forever between my thighs, first rubbing my brand then searching in vain for moisture; the wet slickness that would prove my desire for him.  And even though he wouldn’t find it, he never stopped.  Slow and light as a feather, his strokes continued between my legs, now splitting my labia and stroking each separately for several minutes before he finally put one finger inside my vagina. 

 

As he did this, he talked to me.  Child's play for him as a child, he said softly, sincerely, had been pulling the wings off flies and vivisecting kittens.  He knew this was a sure early sign of a sociopathic and dangerous psychotic personality---he'd earned his living as a professor of psychology and taught these things in his abnormal-psychology courses---but this didn't bother him.  What the conformity-straight jacketed mediocrities labeled as sociopathology, he knew to be liberation---liberation from social constraints that the weak millions never thought to challenge.  Unsentimentally, he'd known of his own superiority for decades.  Now, he promised me, I was going to learn what this meant.

 

Durien scared me, but it was too late to do anything about it.  He now began a relaxed in and out motion that he kept up for over a minute before he crooked his finger and began searching for that small pad of sensitive tissue on the inside of my pubic bone.  Once he found it, he massaged my G-spot with his finger tip for a couple of minutes.

 

No man had ever done this to me before in quite this way.  I tried to ignore it, but after a couple of minutes of his attention, I suddenly realized how much I had begun to respond to him.  I first felt a misplaced sense of loyalty to my Master, struggling to avoid responding to anything this man might do.  But quickly, my mind let me through a series of vignettes, all of which entailed my Master's various betrayals.  So, in what could only have been a need for revenge, I made a conscious decision to open myself to the man who now worked on me.  I spread my knees a little further apart for him.

 

Soon thereafter, I felt a moment of utter humiliation as I had an overwhelming urge to pee.  And in one of those slow-motion moments of horrible fascination in which no detail is too small to be overlooked, I noticed the need only increased as he continued to manipulate me.  Suddenly, unexpectedly, I felt myself shudder as a wave of burning desire claimed my body.  I was wet now, very wet.  He was far too intimate, far too effective; even if I planned on cooperating in only small ways, he was too confident in his ability to manipulate my emotions and reactions---he was far too good---I had to stop this.  But even as I made the conscious decision to try to slow him down a little, my body claimed me again and I was suddenly helpless.  As soon as I could think, I began struggling, but it didn’t do any good.  There was no mercy in this man; he kept me trapped with his finger and immediately began working me again.  Within what seemed only a few seconds, I felt my body responding to his manipulations a third time.  And when I finally came again, he took me a fourth time this way. 

 

It was as if I danced naked for him in a blacked out room which was lit only by a strobe light.  My vagina and thighs opened for him in slow-motion---every time I could rationally think about fighting what this man was doing to me, there would be another flash and a new part of my body would respond to his magic fingers by opening inside my groin, claiming me all over again.  I hated being manipulated like this, hated what this man was doing to me; yet my cuffed hands fluttered helplessly now, not even fighting my bonds as his fingers did their awful magic inside my pelvis.  For the first time and to my great shame, my knees willingly opened wider without my conscious thought as he worked between them. 

 

Finally, he pulled his finger from inside my vagina and slowly trapped the now stiffened nub that was my clitoris.  Pinching it lightly between finger and thumb, he rolled it and stroked it.  I was becoming moister and moister by the second; I couldn’t help myself---my lungs were heaving for air as I began thrusting my chest at him for his attention. 

 

I arched my hips to help him as he slowly ran his left hand between my legs and under my hips.  His forefinger explored and circled me there, then suddenly it penetrated my anus.  Durien looked at me as he deliberately buried his finger inside me up to the last knuckle.  I looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. 

 

Now he hesitated.  “A little melodramatic, I’m afraid.  But you really would have looked good tonight as a table decoration.”  He slowly rotated his finger, crooked it inside my anus and then slowly withdrew it, always maintaining the pressure of his fingertip on the side of my rectum.

 

From there, his hands slid back between my legs where he reached down and I felt him scoop my heat into his hand for a moment.  Then his hands lazily drifted up my belly and onto my breasts, both filling with my flesh.  Now he rotated his hands and cupped them, pressing my hardening nipples into his palms.  There was an ease in the way he worked my breast rings; almost a familiarity to his touch.  This stranger seemed familiar with every sacred secret about my body; how I became moist when touched a certain way between my legs and how when I was cold or excited my nipples crinkled up and within seconds poked out like daggers. 

 

Even though it was only in the back of my mind at this moment, the worst betrayal of the evening was that these things he did to me were the things that Master Christian had learned about me; Dom Durien HAD to have been given all of the intimate details of my body that it had taken my Master months to learn.  He suddenly squeezed hard and I closed my eyes as they went wet with the pain that washed over me.  Suddenly he released my breasts and I opened my eyes to see why.

 

Dom Durien had been carrying a small bag that he now opened and dumped on the mattress beside my chest.  He began pawing through the contents and I lifted my head to focus on what his hands held.  There were pincers and vises and clamps.  I felt a terrible sinking feeling as I recognized a cruel looking pair of clamps that could only be for my nipples.  The clamps were tightened by a small screw and the jaws each had small cruel-looking metal teeth.  I knew they would be extremely painful on my sensitive nipples. 

 

He had other clamps too; thin wire loops that slid shut on metal sleeves and which had small metal weights on the ends.  Larger wire loops that could only go around the base of my breasts.  And there was more.  A small chromed butterfly shaped vibrator and lengthy rod; a rod that was far too long and upon which five large shiny black balls had been mounted.  Everything looked cold and clinical; everything gleamed and reflected the ceiling lights.  My Master used things like this on me often, but he generally freed me after I had achieved liberation from my body.  However, none of these had ever looked as cruel or oversized as what this man had brought with him.  And my Master never had this kind of look in his eyes.  I now understood why Angie looked so cowed when she was with her husband.

 

Finally, Dom Durien smiled as he looked me in the eyes.  “He calls you Little Slave doesn't he?  Well, Little Slave, this isn’t about you being punished for something you’ve done or me inflicting pain because I’m a sadistic bastard---although I am.  This is about humans being pack animals like dogs rather than solitary hunters like cats.  Tonight is about dominance and confirming for your betters your role in the hierarchy of the pack.  This is about you willingly…..or unwillingly…..giving to the pack leader anything he might desire.”

 

After a moment of silence, Durien continued.  “I understand that your nipples are extremely sensitive and that you truly enjoy pain.  You are SUCH a slut; we will be having fun tonight.  You've memorized the lyrics to a new life.  Now it's time to learn the music deep in your bones.”  With this, he lifted a pair of pliers and snapped the jaws shut several times.  “Oh yes,” he drew out the ssss sound like the hiss of a rattlesnake, “there will be fun tonight.”  My body arched and bucked as he ran the cold metal over my body before he used it. 

 

He possessed me that night for over four hours.  I shrieked for his insatiable pleasure almost the whole time; but having spent much of the evening with the gag in my mouth, my screaming had not seemed to appease him.  And when I was not screaming, I had been gagged by his cock as he stuffed it down my throat.  In any case, at the end my throat was sore and my voice hoarse and cracked.  Even as my emanations from within had wept incessantly for what he did to me, he seemed possessed the whole time by the most violent desires that showed only in his black eyes---I now understood that it was absolute cruelty masquerading as passion.   He hadn’t used the pliers; they’d been only for show and to give me a spike of fear.  Too, none of the marks on my body were permanent; they would be gone in a few days.  But he had worked and sweated over me, obviously enjoying my distress; the look on his face and my uncontrollable reactions to his research on my body would remain in my mind for a long time to come. 

 

***

 

Still bound and gagged, I had attempted to fight Durien in the beginning, but it had done no good.  He had first placed a thin, flexible constricting metal band around the base of each of my breasts and tightened it until any blood flow in or out had been cut off.  Even worse, the constricting metal band had small plastic teeth set into it so that every movement of my chest felt like I was sawing off my breasts.  My captured breasts had ached and throbbed with each beat of my heart, and at the end they had felt like they would explode.  Dom Durien had continually drawn a sharp fingernail across the sensitive skin of my bulging breasts and nipples; every time he had touched me like that I knew the smooth, over-filled skin of my breast would rupture and the insides burst free from the ever-increasing internal pressures.

 

He had spent even more time on my nipples; both were red and raw from the various clamps that he had used.  He enjoyed fastening his nipple clamps too tight, enjoyed seeing the little red beads of blood that welled up around the sharp teeth.  Even now, hours later my freed nipples remained swollen, each the size of small strawberries due to the thin loops of fine wire that had been tightly looped around them at the base of the teat.  Although gone now, a lead weight at the end of each wire had hung down by my ribs and pulled my nipples to my chest.  As he later fucked me while I wore this jewelry for him, every time he moved on my belly and chest, it had felt like each nipple was almost ripped away and each breast sawed off. 

 

I writhed and shook, tried to sit up and failed.  My nipples felt like they were on fire, then he slapped my face one more time.  I lay stretched out, my breasts in agony, hurting everywhere, muscles taut as I tried to resist, yet somehow feeling strangely warm as a throbbing began in my pussy and spread outward.  Suddenly he was violating me in the most intimate of ways.  I lay unbelieving, legs forcibly spread wide, watching him as his head descended between my thighs.  I could hear him sniffing my sex, then I screamed into my gag for him to stop what he was doing.  But he wouldn't.  I watched horrified as Master Durien spread my labia with his fingers before he began licking them.  His tongue seemed to be on fire as it slipped deeply into my wetness and then began to lick my outer lips.  At the same time, his hands caressed and stroked my stocking clad thighs.  My juices began to flow even more and I could feel my inner lips began to unfold as they filled with passionate blood....soon I lay completely exposed, pussy dripping wet and gaping wide, a shiny wet pink in color. 

 

I lay on the bed, dazed.  My hands writhed and my fingers curled and straightened helplessly.  I had been so embarrassed when he sniffed at my sex...but for some obscure reason, in some deep, dark part of my mind, it turned me on to have a man sniffing me like this and obviously enjoying my aroused feminine odors.  He somehow knew before me that I would soon be ready for his cock. 

 

“The Little Princess LIKES a man licking between her legs, doesn't she?”  My eyes flew open.  I had gotten so hot and tingly between my legs from his tonguing that my eyes had closed in pleasure as the tip of his tongue licked my inner lips and probed my vagina again and again.  By now, my senses were almost singing in a magical intensity; I'd felt every bump on his tongue, every twist of the muscle as he sucked and lapped my juices.  Then I felt electricity again as the tip of his tongue flicked lightly over my stiffened clit.  Again and again he licked my pussy, then my clit.

 

But it could never be enough for him.  My breasts felt like they would explode, but he reached up and began to roughly maul them.  He flicked the heavy metal clamps, dug the sharp metal teeth deeper into my flesh, and turned my breasts into twin pools of fire, a fire that made my loins ache and boil.  But he never stopped trying to drink my juices and suck my engorged clit.  When Durien squeezed my bulging breasts and pulled on my nipple clamps a final time, it felt like they were intimately connected to my groin.  I could feel my pussy getting even wetter in response to his obvious ownership of my body, my clit getting larger and harder in his questing mouth.

 

God, no.  Please no, Lord, I begged silently, I can't stop him, but please don't let my body betray me, don't make me enjoy it too.  God, anything but that.  But the man upstairs had stopped listening to my prayers for the last couple of months.  Within seconds, I was leaking huge amounts of love juice and my hips writhed under Durien's assault.  My juice covered the insides of my thighs and made a damp spot under my hips on the bed.  My head was snapping back and forth in denial, yet the wet smacking and sucking sounds he made while eating me were incredibly erotic as they echoed in the empty room.  For ten minutes he sucked on my clit, my outer and inner labia, lapped my juices and probed me with his tongue while occasionally reaching up to flick the painful metal devices still clamped to my breasts.  The sensations finally became so pleasantly painful in the end that I came despite my best efforts to prevent it.  Even as I groaned and writhed in pleasure for his pleasure, I was still humiliated at so easily reinforcing his obviously low opinion of women.

 

He never stopped working on me and I came down quickly from my lover's endorphin high.  My labia were soon bruised and sore, and my clitoris felt like it was on fire, having first been exquisitely excited by his mouth and tongue before being pulled and crushed between his fingers and thumb.  A long rubber butt plug with multiple anal balls had by now been hidden deeply in my rectum, the last ball measuring almost two inches in diameter.  This last had hurt terribly as he forced them in.  But once in, the thing was locked inside me; the muscles of my anal ring had traitorously gripped the rod between the last ball he'd inserted and the flat base of the probe.  No matter how I'd initially strained to expel it after my anal muscles had betrayed me, nothing worked.  I realized wouldn’t be free of this thing until he himself forcibly removed it.  After its insertion, he then reached between my legs and turned something on; the balls had begun to slowly rotate on the twelve inches of battery powered rubber coated rod that now writhed inside me. 

 

Tied immobile at first and unable to protect myself, I could not prevent him from achieving his many other pleasures; a circle of red welts, hickey’s and bite marks now encircled my shaved vagina, beginning on the insides of my thighs just above my stockings and going up around the lower part of my belly.  In addition, I could feel the burn of his other bites on my labia, buttocks, back and neck.  Apparently, he did this to his slave Angie a lot.  After he had finished giving me nips over much of my body, he finally began to free me from my bonds and his toys, one slow piece at a time.

 

The worst part; the part that affected me most in the end was the way that I found myself reacting to the sadistic bastard.  I'd fought him as long as I could, but he never stopped.  He just kept coming at me without a break, and soon, far too soon, the clamps and the pincers and the wires and the probe and the bites had finally begun to have the effect for which he’d been searching.  Even though still muffled by my gag at first, the sounds I made for him then were very different from those that came before.  I'd finally begun screaming deep in my throat for him and not at him; it was clear to any that might have heard that I had screamed from an excess of pleasure, not pain. 

 

With perfect clarity and a terrible sinking felling, I realized the gravity of what had happened to me.  I was disgraced by having performed for Dom Durien as he'd fully expected and despite what I wanted, and I was furious that I had been given to this man in the first place.  I lost my soul because I didn’t realize that what I hid from him inside was by its very nature both hard and brittle; and as he continued to work on my body, each act seemed to fracture just a little bit more of the protective surface that I'd erected to save myself. 

 

Soon it was over and I knew that my body and my soul belonged to Durien for the night.  My new Dom forced me to experience this incredible plane of…of…there was no other words to describe it but ‘animal wantonness,’ by his sheer brute vigor alone.  For me, all higher brain function was gone now, and my body was simply and stupidly responding by itself to the massive sensorial delight he gave me.  Even though not yet physically fucked by him, he had already fucked my mind a thousand times.  I achieved true physical liberation, experiencing orgasm after orgasm and involuntarily attaining continually higher levels of pure ecstasy, all without feeling him inside me.  This had amused him and mortified the increasingly smaller part of me that still remained rational.

 

He looked down at me after the first hour and as he looked in my eyes, I saw a vicious guarded expression that told me I was somehow to him a threat, an enemy to be conquered but not respected.  I had never met him before tonight, I had no weapons by which to resist him and was completely at his mercy; yet this man with the black eyes full of dark fire totally enjoyed doing the awful things which now caused me so much pain. 

 

He had already taken from me everything he could ever have wanted without even entering me.  But he still wanted more.  As my second hour began with him, I prayed to a God I had not believed in for years that perhaps he had finished with me for the night.  But to my shock, he left the nipple clamps on as he now began to softly release my bound breasts.  As I softly groaned in anticipation of the coming release, I now did my best to mentally prepare for the agony that I knew was yet to come; both from what had been removed as well as what was left behind.  Next he slowly removed my gag; afterwards putting his hand over my mouth and slowly waving his index finger back and forth in front of my eyes, clearly telling me that I would make any sound at my own risk.

 

Master Christian had ‘'bagged' my tits once before and I knew exactly what to expect when they were eventually freed.  Dom Durien slowly released the band that constricted my left breast, carefully removing it to prevent my skin from being further cut by the teeth on the inside of the metal strip.  He calmly waited for a minute as I bit my lip; I fought to retain my pride as the blood began to flow again back inside my still bulging breast.  Soon the sense of ‘full and engorged, yet numb’ was replaced first by an intense prickly/tingling feeling.  This was in turn quickly followed by the fiercely burning rush of returning blood. 

 

My breast ached and it throbbed as needles of pain shot deeper than the wall of my chest; but it was now apparent to me that Durien somehow fancied himself as a conductor, an artiste of pain---and I was his symphony.  He’d removed the gag first because he wanted to fully appreciate my attempts to stifle the moans of pain that emanated from so deep within my bruised body.  After what seemed an eternity, he continued on to release my other breast; soon both felt like they had been dipped in pools of burning gasoline.

 

My head whipping back and forth as I tried to find a way to handle the pain.  I felt like I watched as if from a distance as with deft fingers, he now released the bonds from my wrists.  Even freed, my hands still remained clenched and frozen, unmoving on the mattress by my head.  And as I writhed in agony, his touch upon my body again was like a feather, but this time I felt chills at the contact.  Somehow, I managed to keep it all inside me, with no sounds making it past my clenched jaws and the pillow.  This, even though I felt an almost physical pressure building in my chest that threatened to make me burst.  I managed to contain it all somehow.  The pain continued to well up inside me for at least ten minutes before it began to slowly recede.  After awhile, my lungs began to work and I could breathe a little again.

 

He had remained clothed early on while he had worked on me, but this had not hidden the huge bulge in his pants.  He watched me in silence and as I finally began to breathe more easily, he had slowly stood next to me as he suddenly began to undress, stripping from the top down.  I had looked at his groin before; but my first view of him naked was like being hit with a mallet on the side of the head---it was like a physical blow that was combined with the utter fascination of every forthcoming forbidden pleasure I could ever imagine.  I could see his manhood, hanging long and low between his legs.  Not yet fully engorged, his penis to me still looked like a small baseball bat, but it continued to grow in size before my eyes.  I tried to look away, but was frozen for an instant of time, like the cobra looking at a mongoose.  I was shocked as I felt almost a yearning to take him in my mouth, but somehow closed my eyes against his terrible siren call.  But nothing I could have done would have actually saved me.

 

The spreader bar had finally been removed from my ankles.  Now Dom Durien took me for the first time that night---he climbed on my belly and began fucking me with no more regard than if I were an inflatable woman.  He told me that to him I was like a coke whore, ready to do anything for the Master that would give me my next sexual fix. 

 

And while I denied this in my mind and fought him in every way I had left, to my abject humiliation and irregardless of the pain remaining in my nipples, I creamed almost immediately again.  I had always before felt like I had a bottomless pit between my legs that no man could ever truly fill, but he filled me that night.  And now it was his hand over my mouth that kept the screams in.  I have no idea if it was just my imagination or actually him, but his rigid flesh at first felt cold; so very cold as he buried it in me.  Even as it totally filled me, its chill stole upon my belly and made me want to shiver.  At the same time, it burned; nothing on earth had ever burned like this rigid, iron-hard thing that pierced me so deeply.  And once he was inside, his ice began to fill me up and after awhile, I didn’t have any strength left.  His manhood had stolen it all.

 

He had looted my heat, but as he continued pumping me, it finally began to return.  Then began the most incredible series of orgasms I could ever have dreamed, let alone experienced.  Dom Durien’s cock was massive and as he drove it into me, I forced myself to not cry out in surprise and pain.  I was sopping wet, so lubrication was not a problem.  But the thing was huge; it had me bulged inside beyond belief and any previous experience.  I almost fainted when I felt how deeply this thing probed me.  And at the same time that he had forced himself inside me, it already felt like my abdomen had been filled by the immense probe that still consumed my rectum. 

 

There wasn’t room for both, there COULDN’T physically be enough room for both---but there was.  His cock seemed to force its way far too deeply into me, creating space for itself by parting the flesh inside me that had never been meant for this purpose.  I moaned and gasped and cried out in pain as he pierced me time after time.  Filled beyond belief, extended beyond what flesh could bear, my mind had seemed like a jigsaw, throwing pieces all over the room.  Part of me thought, thank God, no one else can see him doing this, while another part continued to reassure, Don’t worry, it’s just a dream.  It’s not real, it can’t be real.  My Master wouldn’t allow this.

 

I remembered gritting my teeth as the monstrous thing began sliding hugely in and out again, with each slick thrust nudging the bulb of my cervix.  I had felt paralyzed before but now, suddenly, finally, I could move my hands.  For the first time tonight, he bottomed out inside me as banged against my cervix.  I couldn't think or breathe for a second because of the pain.  Then, I couldn’t help myself; even as I screamed at the pain he caused me; I grabbed the cheeks of his ass and dragged him further onto my sweat-slick abdomen and chest and ultimately deeper into my over-filled vagina. 

 

Master Christian had taken me to new heights and new lows; he was like a psychic vampire in that he had wracked me with pain and siphoned off my anguish to make his own.  But I always somehow had been able to make myself believe that this was what I deserved; that these were my punishments for the wrongs committed in what now appeared as an earlier life.  In this, I had always done my best to hide my true nature from myself, but tonight I’d been forced to face my most unprotected inner-self; without dissembling and without lies.  Dom Durien had taken me past threshold after previously unexplored threshold, to places in my mind that I had never been. 

 

He forced me to abandon everything that I felt made me ME, and once the pain had crescendoed, it had merged with my desire for his sex and had become so exquisite a sensation that I never wanted it to stop.  These last cries had not been forced from my throat; I had howled my craving for more, willingly giving voice over and over again.  And at the end, even as I feared and hated this man, I also knew in my heart that I would willingly become his terminal pain slut if ever given the chance, and that shameful knowledge was forever seared into my brain---it would never leave me. 

 

But at the same time, I didn’t want that---I knew that I would never mean anything to this man except for being another one of his pain toys; and that the tiny shredded piece of pride that still remained inside me couldn’t allow this---this subconscious realization was what forced the small remaining part of me that was still ME to fight giving to him the final small part that remained free.

 

In the end, I understood that his goal was to make me offer him my ultimate orgasm, to give him the single final jewel that still remained in my possession....and I finally did.  He rode me hard to this ultimate destination.  Worse for me, once he had me there, he didn’t stop.  The ride back from that place was just as fast and just as hard.  I couldn’t breathe now, the air was like a hot bath to my lungs.  I felt enveloped, bereft.  Every minute of he rode me took me farther away from my Master, from the White Room, from my sanity.  Ahead of me there could be nothing of substance, for my future under Durien was as thin and vague as a vapor.

 

And Master Christian?  He’d betrayed me.  I still didn’t know exactly why I let any man do these things to me.  At least I told myself that I didn’t.  But my Master was MY Master---our relationship had become fulfilling at last and I felt that he got as much out of it as I.  But Dom Durien was the devil and as good as he was at what he did to a woman, he must surely have cloven hooves for feet.  He’d played my body like an evil classical composer might play his greatest work; eyes closed yet body always moving in a way that allowed the achievement of always greater levels of enthusiasm and expertise.  Moving and playing and creating until it was literally intolerable for me, and my body that was so tightly bound now only in the mind shuddered uncontrollably at his lightest touch. 

 

And yet at the same time, he required me to continually acknowledge the ever more wonderful levels of pleasure I explored with him that night.  The pain and the pleasure that night were tied inextricably together; neither could exist without the other.  Every orgasm he forced from me felt like it made the earth shake; the feelings from each seemed as delicate as a spider’s web, yet at the same time each vibrated me to my very soul.  Everything he did seemed to last a personal lifetime.  If allowed to be taken to its natural conclusion, I was sure that the beautiful violence that he offered me that night would have eventually stopped my heart; the sensations and emotions he aroused were so strong, they would have been the end of me. 

 

And at the end of that first fuck, the sweet sensation of yet another massive vaginal penetration only enhanced my bliss.  My blood had flowed thick and hot in my veins, and it felt like he was taking my very essence as he took my body.  He was pushing me out of my skin to take over my soul---I knew that they both couldn’t be in the same space; I knew that each orgasm forced me to yield just a little more to him each time; and this I did, multiple times.  And as he continued to thrust, I learned to lean into him as best I could.  My breath came fast even though the skin of my chest felt as if it had been aflame.  At the end, his breath hissed as he inhaled between clenched teeth; he somehow sank into me even deeper now and bit my neck hard to taste even more of my flesh---and I offered it willingly.

 

Finally, he gave me one last massive skewering and groaned as he did.  His mouth nipping my neck, he whispered into my right ear, “Now you take the first one.”  I wasn’t sure what he meant by this, when suddenly I think I blanked out for one intense second as he began to fountain into me for the first time that evening; an immense amount of semen as hot as burning lava spurted into the very end of my vagina, thickly coating every available crevice that wasn’t already filled by his erection.  When I began to be able to think again, I found that my nylon clad legs were wrapped around his waist and I was squeezing him as hard as I could.  Slowly, I unlocked my ankles from around his back at the same time that I forced my fingers from the claw-like positions they had seemingly assumed of their own accord as they raked his back of six-inch long strips of skin.

 

It seemed to take forever because when he finished cumming, I was drenched in sweat and gasping for air.  My whole body ached and tingled; a shudder ran through me as my breasts throbbed again and again with the beat of my heart.  But I didn’t care, for my whole body seemed to be concentrated inside my groin right now, totally encompassing his immense rod of iron-hard flesh; he touched me softly as finally withdrew and my every muscle spasmed at his touch, whether it was a part upon which he had spent time or not.  I closed my eyes for I knew that I could not take any more from this man; if I did, it would surely be the end of me. 

 

I heard him breathing heavily as he rose to his knees between my thighs and I finally looked at him again.  The circumcised head of his penis glistened with my wetness in the light, and even though it was still as thick as my wrist, I could see it finally begin to droop a little as it started to lose its horrible length. 

 

***

 

My breasts and hips ached from his attentions and I was already exhausted, but after about ten minutes of lying quietly next to me, Master Durien stood up and told me to turn so that my head was off the edge of the bed.  This was a new and uncomfortable position, but I moved as quickly as I could---which was not fast---as I still had that terrible thing moving inside my rectum and it hurt to move my legs.  He told me to cross my legs and grab my ankles; then he softly assured me that if I were to let go, he would give me a worse beating than Master Christian had ever thought of doing.  This I am now convinced was untrue; but how could I know that at the time? 

 

As with any of my status, all I could do was obey.  Grunting in discomfort, I strained to spread my knees wide in order to get my feet positioned under my butt as he desired.  But I finally succeeded and so I lay on my back for Master Durien with my ankles crossed, my right hand grasping my left ankle and my left hand holding my right.  As I was moving, I saw him drop to one knee by the edge of the bed.

 

I was positioned so that my head was unsupported and off the bed.  Master Durien suddenly grabbed a handful of hair on the back of my head with his left hand and pulled down hard.  He yanked my head backwards towards the floor so fast that it hurt my neck.  At the same time, his right had grabbed my chin and pulled it hard towards my chest.  The pain in my scalp and his quick moves had left my mouth gaping open in surprise. 

 

Unexpectedly, he now began feeding his stiffening cock into my mouth.  Suddenly, within just a few seconds, he was erect and huge again.  In this, he seemed to have an amazing ability to force an erection anytime he desired.  I felt that Dom Durien was far too big to go into my mouth like this, but he never stopped pushing.  To my mortification, I later realized that I was so shocked by what he was doing that I never once became angry or even thought of disobeying him, but rather felt only humiliation as he used me like a human garbage can.  At first I could taste only my pussy in my mouth as my dried fluids on his cock activated the taste buds on my tongue, but soon the peculiar taste that belonged only his massive meat overwhelmed everything else.

 

Suddenly, I could feel my jaws being forced painfully apart to accommodate his massive bulk and at least half of his huge, iron hard penis was driven into my mouth and down my throat.  The tip of his cock seemed to smash against my tonsils and I immediately gagged; I felt almost compelled to vomit, but fought it as best I could.  His left hand kept pulling on my hair, but he'd finally let go of my chin with his other hand.  His right hand now either stroked my throat or fed more meat into my mouth; as he did this, he whispered words to me so softly that I couldn’t understand him.  I could feel my neck straining and the muscles in my neck bulging, standing out like cords.  I was choking and could make only muffled gagging sounds, “Unghhh, AAHHUMHNGGG!”  I knew that my eyes were unfocused as I looked upwards, sometimes at his balls as they slapped me between the eyes and sometimes into the sparkling black eyes that blazed down at me; even then I knew that no matter what he did to me, I dared not use my teeth. 

 

I was going to die here, I couldn't breathe; he filled my mouth and my throat and my lungs, taking for his any space which might hide the air I had to have.  My hands kept twitching, wanting to push his hips away, but as I began to make that first move, a sudden movement of his drew my eyes.  He was looking down at me and slowly shaking his head no, while his right hand was raised to slap me---hard.

 

Suddenly afraid, I somehow locked my fingers to my high heels.  Abruptly, he stopped feeding me his cock and began to drive with his hips, forcing his shaft even deeper into my throat---there was no way I could take a normal breath with him filling me, let alone when he mouth-fucked me like this.  He was almost fully sheathed inside my throat now and my gagging sounds filled the room, but he didn’t care.  I lay flat on my back on the bed and obeyed his every command; even as he choked me, I’m sure he thought me his cooperative little slave-whore.  To his great gratification and my eternal shame, I totally accepted it as his right to do what he did to me.  I quickly learned that the only way I could breathe was through my nose---and even then, only when he pulled out a little.  But to my misery and desperation, he did this only in order to begin a new thrust into me each time. 

 

I desperately timed my breathing with the lunge of his hips; his balls were banging rhythmically onto my forehead or hitting me directly between the eyes.  He straddled my face, forcing my nose up near his anus.  He continued his powerful drives into my mouth, and after a few seconds of this, I felt even more humiliation when my eyes began watering and tears ran down my face.  At the same time, I could feel saliva pooling in my mouth; it lubricated him and eventually, when I had salivated enough, it exploded out of the sides of my mouth with each thrust of his hips.  I drooled onto my face and eventually it joined the tears around my ears and in my hair. 

 

My vision was blurred because of my tears, but I could tell that Master Durien was hairier than my Master between his legs.  In addition, his sack was so close that it was hard for my eyes to stay focused as swayed in front of me, but I could tell that it was a darker brown than the rest of his skin.  It was veined and while most men's were normally wrinkled in texture, right now any excess skin was taken up by his huge erection.  Worse, I could see the cheeks of his butt flexing just above my eyes each time he pulled out of my mouth and prepared for the next drive of his hips---he just kept on, never seeming to tire or approach satisfaction with me. 

 

When enough saliva had accumulated in my mouth, the sound changed.  In addition to the gagging sound that I couldn’t help but make with each of his thrusts, now each time he drove into me, there was a wet two-part noise, “Ga-glick, ga-glick.”  Lubricated by copious saliva, the first sound came as he drove his huge cock into my mouth and easily stretched my jaws and throat beyond belief.  The second sound came as he finished the penetration and drove out what little air remained in my lungs.  The awful sound “Ga-glick,” was tied together like a horse and carriage, one never heard or seen without the other.  “Ga-glick, ga-glick, ga-glick,” resonated around the White Room and echoed in my ears.  Moist and humiliating, the terrible sound forced from my throat sliced to my feminine core, piercing what little foolish pride I had left as a woman even as he used his huge erection as a weapon in his attempts to pierce my lungs. 

 

Once he slipped out of my mouth as he pulled back for another thrust and for the first time I was able to swallow the fouled saliva that filled my mouth.  Only then could I talk.  “Please.  No more,” I panted as I begged him.  “I….” my voice died in a muffled gurgle as he plugged my nose with his left hand and used it to pull my head back down again, while his right grabbed my chin and forced my mouth open wide.  Suddenly, he filled me again and my only chance to beg for his mercy was gone. 

 

Now he changed his aim and began thrusting his meat into the sides of my mouth, grotesquely stretching my cheeks.  With these moves, he told me I was receiving his ‘facial’.

 

God, I was so afraid of this man, and I hated him even more!  But I had to be honest too; there was a perverse realization---what I hated most was the sudden recognition that I had never, not once, attempted to defend myself from what he did.  I knew this meant my subjugation by the Dom’s must be complete---I WAS their whore now.  And to put the last touches on my self-loathing, I knew that I would have continued to accept anything else he wanted to do to me......and so it continued.

 

Now he went back to driving into my throat again.  Sometimes he lightly slapped my face, laughing with each blow as I remained pinned by his cock.  His right hand continually stroked my neck where I was sure he could see it bulge each time he drove into my throat.  Several more times he plugged my nostrils, stopping me from getting what little air that could fit around the erection that he kept buried in my throat.  He would toy with me for what seemed an eternity until I became frantic to breathe again.  But in reality, he could have only done this for what must have been thirty or so seconds before he freed me and began stroking my throat again.  Each of these times, even as I remained trapped and restrained by his cock, I was at the end nonetheless weakly tossing my head back and forth, trying to get a little air.  But like the good, well-trained little whore that I knew I'd become, I never let go of my ankles.  He watched the lizard-brain part of me weakly struggle for survival, even as the conscious part submitted to his vile acts; amused by it all, he threw his head back in laughter. 

 

Soon, he began to cum down my throat.  It rippled in waves down the inside of my throat and into my stomach like liquid silver.  I had never been with a man who produced so much semen.  Durien was the most prolific sperm machine that I'd ever experienced.  Even as I tasted the salt of his semen on the extreme back of my tongue, I hated myself as I knew to my eternal shame that if he wanted to fuck me again, I'd cooperate in every way possible.  God!  I knew I must have been mentally ill to just quietly accept his abuse like that.

 

***

 

He worked on me some more and then to celebrate his total victory over me, Durien decided to orally rape me once more, using his huge cock to again  purposefully block my windpipe and slowly strangle me.  I watched his ugly length of muscle grew longer and fatter as he gazed down on me, and realized it was an ideal tool for slowly strangling any woman that fell into his hands.  I didn't have to maintain that horrible position this time, but it didn't matter for I was barely able to breathe and was certainly no match for his strength. 

 

Satisfied that his cock was ready for the task, he pried my jaws wide open and then shifted his position so that the angle at which his cock entered my mouth pointed directly down my gullet.  His first thrust plugged my windpipe completely, but I barely made an attempt to struggle, already having mentally submitted to whatever he intended.  Durien looked down and my face, then leaned forward into me, slipping his rigid meat even further down my throat.  He paused to enjoy the sensations of my throat convulsing around his cock.  I knew my face had finally turned red and that my eyes must have been bulging from their sockets as he suffocated me.  Finally, he realized I actually was choking and he pulled back for just a second so that I could breathe.

 

But he quickly resumed torturing me, shoving his engine of destruction down my throat, completely cutting off my air supply again and again and again.  A red haze seemed to form in front of me after awhile and I knew my face slowly turned red again, then my skin grew paler as my lungs struggled for non-existent oxygen.  My lips were turning blue and then a darker purplish color, but he didn't care.  My eyes were wide open, but I saw nothing for I hadn't breathed in about a minute and a half.  Durien snorted in amusement, then decided to give me another thirty seconds of meat.  He finally pulled his cock from my savaged throat with a loud, wet popping sound, then listened to me wheeze and cough as air began to pass into my lungs through my bruised and convulsing throat.

 

I think Durien felt himself getting ready to ejaculate and he wanted to make sure that every drop was emptied into me as I gasped for air.  He popped the head of his huge cock back into my bruised throat and jammed it deep one last time.  From the look on his face, he was thoroughly enjoying how much pain he was causing me.  He rotated his hips and waggled his erection in my throat from one side to to the other to stretch my esophagus, then Durien began to throat-fuck me hard, desperately driving his cock deeper and deeper with each power-thrust.  It didn't take long for his nutsack to tighten and his testicles to churn and erupt, sending another salvo of hot, molasses thick cum into my throat and ultimately into my stomach.  By the time he was finished, I was almost unconscious again, but he didn't care.

 

Four hours after it had first started, my Master walked into the White Room holding Angie’s hand.  I blearily looked over to see that Dom Durien’s slave had a smile on her face; both of them looked exhausted and physically sated.  The girls’ body was beautiful in its perfection; any marks on her back and buttocks were few and old and fading.......worst of all, there were no new ones. 

 

This was as it should have been with ME, not Angie.  My Master had not hurt me in Durien’s way since our first couple of weeks.  While still maintaining his dominance over me in every way, our relationship had somehow deepened.  He had become in many ways so much more to me; still taking responsibility for all of my life, but leading me to new and continually more varied freedoms that I could never have experienced without him. 

 

But now, without feeling the need for my permission, he had given me to another man.

 

Exhausted after having spent the night with me, Dom Durien now sat on the edge of the bed.  He looked almost delusional in his feelings of grandeur as he exercised his ability to wreak havoc on my body.  His choices had been positively primal in their intensity.  A relaxed look now showed upon his face---he was mostly satiated by what he had done to me.  At this point, even though my gag had finally been removed for good and my wrists and ankles were now unbound, I was forced to keep moving my knees back and forth to just help lessen the ache between them. 

 

A final time Durien misread me as with a quick move, he mounted my spread thighs for a last visit---I heard myself make a soft unintentional ‘ungh’ sound as he brutally entered me again just after my Master walked in.  I was sure that Durien was doing this in front of Master Christian to show his dominance; I was even more embarrassed as I found myself unconsciously spreading my knees even more to help ease the pain of my bruised vagina as it was filled one last time. 

 

***

 

The voyeurs Christian and Angie watched now as Durien amused himself with me one last time.  Even though in pain, I couldn’t help myself as I began to give soft moans of obvious encouragement at everything that he did.  Performing in front of the two for Durien’s pleasure humiliated me beyond belief, but I could not stop myself from giving him everything that he wanted.  He didn’t even seem to enjoy the physical sensations of possessing me one last time, but rather he seemed to revel in my abject mortification. 

 

Finally, he grabbed my jaw with his hands and forced me to look at him as he began to cum one last time.  He had little fluid left in him by now, but his every inch still possessed me; I could feel my eyes flicker as each rhythmic pulse of the hot muscle now buried so deeply in my belly as it dispensed the last drops of his scalding love one last time.  Soon, he had achieved total release and injected one final puddle of semen deep inside me.  Our legs were intertwined for a moment, then he rolled off of my sweaty abdomen and lay beside me.  I tried to move, but realized how much it hurt to move my legs; my pelvis seemed locked, frozen in place by the long rod that still filled my rectum.

 

As my Master could finally see my body fully, I could read an initial shock in his face as he recognized how Durien had spent much of the evening, but he quickly covered this up.  My face flushed deep red with embarrassment and shame as I saw Durien’s slave Angie glance at my nipples with a tiny smile.  Both were a bright, shiny red now and ached terribly.  A thin darker red line interrupted by many equidistant spaced dots surrounded the base of each of my breasts.  Earlier, both had been gathered and bunched like dark purple bags resting on my chest---this was something which Master Christian had done to me once---thank God, that once was enough for him.  

 

***

 

It was early in the morning now and the satanic Maestro was at the end of his last performance.  Durien rose from my sweaty belly, our audience of two still silent.  Moving quickly and still breathing hard, he sat heavily upon my abdomen and chest, pinning my arms by my sides with the insides of his knees; then he waited.  In a few moments, I opened my eyes.  I blinked at the ceiling, not yet fully aware of his unexpected weight.  Then I looked at him.  He reached down with his left hand and wrapped it around my neck, pushing my head back and pinning it on the bed.  My throat muscles were so tight that I felt my tongue almost burst.  Looking directly into my eyes, he slapped me lightly three times with his right hand; forehand, backhand, forehand. 

 

My face snapped back and forth with his blows; I could feel my cheeks and ears burning with his contempt and I struggled to free my arms.  But I was pinned and helpless.  For the first time in hours, a rational thought floated to the surface of my mind; thank God I wasn't wearing my nose ring.

 

He said in a soft, yet commanding tone, “Say, ‘Thank you’, you little whore.  Say, ‘Master, thank you for fucking me.’ ” 

 

I shook my head as best I could.  Where was Master Christian?  Who would protect me from this monster?  I finally realized the answer was.....no one, as Dom Durien reacted instantly with another quick slap and repeated his command, “You little slut, say, ‘Thank you for fucking me, Master Durien.’” 

 

I would rather have died than submit to this sex monster, but I also knew that I had reached the bottom in my life---I had no other choice.  Hesitantly, still not believing that I was obeying him, I heard my voice answer without conscious thought.  My face scarlet with shame and embarrassment, barely above a whisper, I said, “Thank you, Master Durien.  Thank you for fucking me tonight.” 

 

I felt my face go even hotter as I finished, but I knew I dare not venture any kind of additional retort to the contempt I'd heard in his voice.  Besides, said the stubborn inner whisper of which I wished I could rid myself, much of what he’d forced me to say was true.

 

He nodded and climbed off of me, then sat on the edge of the bed.  This allowed me the freedom to move again; I tried to sit up, but he pushed me back flat onto the mattress.  I felt his eyes blaze like they had when he'd first talked to me tonight, eons ago in the restaurant.  “You liked it, right?” he’d asked as he spread my knees wide to remove the still active anal rod.

 

Cheeks burning, I tried to maintain the tiniest facade of dignity that he had left me.  “Please,” I panted.  “Master Durien, I---“

 

He slapped the flank of my left buttock as hard as he could; the sound like wet leather slapping skin.  “Right?” he demanded.

 

“Yes.  Yes,” I told him.  Full of conflicting emotions, the print of his slap still buzzed on my rump as I fought both my total embarrassment and the forbidden feelings that drifted up.  I hated him and all men like him---they were users, and I hated everything they represented.  But part of me; too much of me did like this---a lot. 

 

He fumbled for a second between my legs.  I cried out first in surprise, then groaned deeply in my throat for thirty seconds as he slowly pulled the huge rod almost all the way from inside my rear end; but as my muscles expanded to their maximum to accept this monstrous thing on its reverse journey, he stopped and rocked it in and out, in and out a couple of times.  As my anus released the first of the huge anal balls, I moaned in quick relief.  But he went on and I was still in a lot of discomfort as he slowly continued pulling and withdrawing the remaining four balls, oohhh ssooo slowly rocking them in and out, one ball at a time.  I heard noises in the room, long groooannnn, then quick grunt and soft moan.  Groooannn, then grunt and moan.  My groan turned into a wail as he finally popped the massive thing out.  And it took a minute to realize that it was me making each noise. 

 

“You see, you whore-slave, you liked it.  You’ve been perfectly broken in and you enjoyed it.  You’re part of us now---and this is part of you that will never go away.” 

 

Everything was out of my rectum now.  But even as my anus ached and throbbed, I remembered the chair.  Like then, when my rectum had been emptied after Master Christian’s first attentions, I now somehow felt hollow, like a necessary part of my body was missing.  A cavity inside me had in some strange way now been left vacant and unfilled, where before it had overflowed, giving me a weird kind of completeness.  But I could never force myself to look at his toy, for the only thing that I had been able to see as I looked at the ceiling was my own disgrace.  My body had felt heavy as lead, like it was bolted to the bed as he'd finished with me.  Now I turned my face to face the wall, I didn’t want him to see my tears. 

 

He stood at the side of my bed and looked down at me.  “Are you ready to be set free?”

 

Eyes now stinging with unshed tears, I looked back at him.  “Of course, yes,” I whispered.  But of him is what I meant.  And I hadn’t meant to whisper.  I’d meant to sound firm and not intimidated by his force of will.  But it was as if my spirit were no longer my own.  He commanded the room as he commanded my body and inner world.  What I would feel if given to him, I sensed, would always be under his control. 

 

And yet, the thought of that and my earlier humiliation at his hands didn’t bother me anymore.  It was crazy, but suddenly I wanted to deliver myself to him totally.  My Master had given me to this man for the night…..if that was the case, then so be it.  As Dom Durien stood next me and even as Master Christian remained in the room, I felt the urge to move closer, to grip this new Dom and press my face against his belly, his crotch, his thighs.  I craved to have his fingers touch my hair and bring me closer.  With all my heart I wanted to muster a scream of defiance at this Dom, but I knew that if he dragged me to him again, it would be a moan of desire and need, not a wail of despair that echoed around the room.

 

Suddenly, even as Durien reached down and gave me a final, contemptuous kiss, I felt my body respond again to his obvious self-hatred.  To my shock, I suddenly imagined myself locked with him in another embrace, but this time in erotic combat, loving and hating and trying desperately to join.  I quickly banned the hideous images from my mind.  For the sake of my soul, I hoped that my Master would never give me to this man again.

 

As I looked away from Durien, I saw that Angie watched us with an expressionless face as he gave me the despicable and condescending, yet so revealing kiss.  Suddenly, this ice-cold madman put the heel of his right hand against the left half of my mouth and with a quick move he roughly pushed his palm from the corner of my lips to my ear, pushing my head deeply into the mattress and smearing any remaining lipstick from my lips over the side of my face.  It was a move of total contempt and perfectly showed the overwhelming loathing he felt towards me---as the stand-in for all women.  Standing suddenly, Dom Durien departed, leaving only feminine wreckage in the White Room.  Grabbing his slave Angie’s arm as he walked by, he dragged her behind him as she teetered awkwardly on her high heels.  She disappeared after taking only a quick look at me over her shoulder.  My Master still looked at me without saying a word.

 

Nothing of importance left to see in the White Room, his face seemed to say; I could feel my world crumbling around me for the second time in the last six months as I clasped my arms over my still throbbing chest.  I realized I still wore my stockings and heels as I pulled my knees up closer to my stomach to ease my aching hips.  I turned my face to the wall as I heard HIM slowly come up beside my bed.  After a moment, he said, “Look at me.”  I ignored him and after a long pause, he grabbed my left arm and repeated himself, “Look at me now, or you will be hurting even more in the morning than you are now.”

 

Arms still over my chest, knees drawn up and locked together, I reluctantly rolled onto my back and faced Christian, my Master.  He did not hesitate to look into my eyes as he said, “This, I think…..perhaps went too far.  But you deserved it…..much of it.  It’s up to you to decide what you deserved.  Think about it.  For the last couple of weeks, you've begun acting like our relationship is that of equals.  It’s not.  And I told you that on the first night that you came to me, but as usual, you never listen and never take the easy way.  You needed a lesson tonight in humility........and he was willing.”

 

He paused for a second and it seemed difficult for him to continue.  “I’m......sorry that you had to go through this.  At the end he might have enjoyed it too much---but never forget, you get exactly as much freedom as I give you.  Nothing more, nothing less.  This whole thing is simple; if you finally get that concept through your head, you won’t be entertaining that man again.  But if you keep on thinking that you have the same rights and privileges that you had before I fitted my collar around your neck, I promise that you will perform for that man for as long as he desires and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.  Believe me---you don’t want to be doing that.  Is there anything about this that you don’t understand?”

 

Hugging myself even harder, my eyes teared up as I nodded my understanding.  Finally I turned back to face the wall despite the fact that my Master was still standing by the side of my bed.  He reached out with a tentative hand and touched my shoulder.  “Behave yourself, woman,” he said softly.  “And I promise that it won’t happen again.”  After standing by my bed for another minute, he turned the light off in the room as he left. 

 

Exhausted, I sobbed softly in the dark for a couple of minutes.  Drained, I got up and sat on the edge of the bed as I slowly took off my high heels and then the stockings and garter belt.  After another minute in which I sat motionless, I got up to use the toilet.  I turned on the light and looked at myself as I walked by the mirror; I couldn’t help but begin crying again.  I had spent almost an hour at the beginning of the evening putting on my makeup and ensuring that I looked my best.  Now my eyes were red and bloodshot from crying; my throat had bruises and it hurt from being choked by Durien for the last four hours.  I had huge blue bags under my eyes and my mascara was smudged; it looked like I had two huge black eyes.  But even worse, my mascara had run with my tears as my head hung off the bed and had made what were symmetrical thick dark lines on the sides of my face that ran from the outside of my eyes to my ears. 

 

But to me, the worst was from his contemptuous act at the end as he had smeared the makeup on the left side of my face. 

 

Was there no end to my humiliation?

 

I continued on to the toilet and sat down.  I began weeping again when I realized that every time I moved, I released the strong smell of Durien's sex from between my unwashed legs.  The brutally concentrated pheromones that originated from my vagina had a primal honesty that screamed of detailed control over another’s will.  I needed to shower, but literally didn't have the strength.  I carried his gift everywhere with me that night; a primordial pungency that clearly cried out of a vicious preemption of freedom and cruel obstruction; it was the reek of re-directed prehistoric urges released without control upon an unwilling victim.

 

When I was finished, I stopped at the sink to wash my face of the cosmetics destroyed by Master Durien.  Something seemed familiar as I looked at my devastated reflection in the mirror.  Then I remembered; it had been when Master was returning Anne Marie after her rape.  I remembered the feelings of total isolation and helplessness, of weakness and vulnerability that I'd felt after I'd used the same mirror to put on makeup for this man that time too. 

 

I finally crawled back into bed.  I was not going to reconcile my feelings of betrayal and humiliation with Master Christian---or myself---not tonight.  Tonight I would allow them to tear me from tip to toe.  I was not whole anyway.  I was not even two halves.  I was shattered, not like fabric; but rather like glass.  I could not occupy my body, not tonight; it was too sharp, there were far too many shards right now.  Not tonight or even tomorrow, not until it felt softer.  My heart had hardened, a round stony thing that lay heavily in my chest.  You weigh me down, I told it.  I wish I could live without you.

 

I yawned.  I was mentally and physically and emotionally exhausted.  After a few more tears, I was asleep in a surprisingly short time given the abuse and broken promises of the evening.  I slept restlessly all night, but if I dreamed, I didn’t remember it.

 

***

 

I walked in late the next morning and stood by her bed as she slept.  She snored softly and slept with her mouth open.  Finally, she sensed that someone was there and she awoke with a start.  Ruined makeup still marred her face.  The slave’s beautiful blue eyes remained unfocused for a second, and then I could see the memory of the night before suddenly flood onto her face.  Rasha continued looking into my face as she slowly got up off of the bed and then she stood directly in front of me, still draped in a thin blanket. 

 

Without warning, her right fist swung around and she screamed, “You bastard,” as she hit me in the face.  Totally unprepared for her reaction, I found myself flat on my back on the floor.  I got up slowly.  Filled with rage, I somehow kept my face still even though I could feel my jaw muscles bunch momentarily.  I resolutely walked toward the furious woman that was still my property; she took one step back and then stood her ground, her face unwavering in her fury.  Neither of us seemed to breathe. 

 

“Was that for real?” I asked gently.  “Or was it just a game?”  I stepped forward again, recklessly invading her personal space.  Her face bumped into my chest.  The woman tried to brace herself, but my size and strength thrust her back.

 

With a cry of fury mixed with a look of total helplessness, she tried to hit me again.  I easily blocked her blow and slapped her face in return, knocking her down with my open hand and all of my strength behind it.  “Now,” I said to the dazed woman lying on the floor.  “I think that you know what comes next.”

 

***

 

I'd refused to meet his eyes as I lay on the floor, but I had understood perfectly what was coming next.  Soon I lay on my back on the bed where he had thrown me.  He'd slapped my face several times, then when he tired of that, he'd enjoyed fucking me as a punishment; but he was finished for now.  I couldn’t move.  His bonds were punishingly tight and efforts to flex my legs had failed, causing my thighs to cramp.  Bands of steel like bony fingers encircled my wrists.  The side of my face hurt.  I opened my right eye and felt the depressingly familiar release of tension as I recognized the White Room.  I opened my other eye.  My vision alternately blurred and sharpened.  Finally my vision had cleared enough that I could look around.  Nice white ceiling.  I lifted my head to look around.  Nothing had changed. 

 

I tried to swallow and coughed as my dry throat tickled.  My mouth felt lined with absorbent, my lips dry and rough.  I summoned what saliva I had left and ran my tongue over my teeth.  I pulled at my restraints again; my lower back tightened.  I sagged back on the bed and tried to gather my scattered thoughts.

 

I'd been afraid this morning that I might lose my mind.  Master was gone now, but I knew that he would be back.  I lay in my bed, my mind blissfully empty now of everything but my own thoughts.  I stroked the bed sheet.  Warm.  Smooth.  Pure white.  Like my Master Christian.  He'd slipped into my room after Durien had finished and watched me pretend to sleep.  Hadn’t he?

 

I pulled against the bindings again until the pain brought tears to my eyes.  I raised my head again and looked at myself.  I was wearing clothes, wasn’t I?  If I had, they were long since gone and were replaced by nothing. 

 

I worked my hands.  The skin on my right wrist burned as I moved.  I’m hurting myself, I thought.  What kind of restraints are these?  I pulled against my left wrist restraint.  Gently and firmly at first, then not so gently and much more firmly.  All I felt was the compression, but never freedom.  Soon, I was asleep again.

 

“This is for your own good, Rasha.”  I shivered in my dream at the memory of what Durien had done to me; it was embedded in my flesh and bones.  Now I was awake and couldn’t help but remember how he’d examined me at dinner the night before; and how the stinking bastard had enjoyed hurting me afterwards.  At first, I thought myself the unlucky recipient of his warped version of foreplay.  But as the time had worn on, I was compelled to conclude that the man was truly a sadistic, misogynistic animal and simply did not like women in general and me in particular.

 

***

 

I never saw Durien again although I sometimes think of him.  As indifferent as I am now about pain and regardless of how much I might have willingly participated in the horror that night, I give thanks that the human memory will not retain extreme pain.  This forgetfulness serves the species well; without it, no woman would willingly bear more than one child.  And it also served me well too; for while the memory of Durien was still strong, the remembrance of how much I had been hurt by him and how much he loathed me at the end was already beginning to fade, maintaining no more substance than might a mirage.  Fading even faster was the remembrance of how much I think I had enjoyed his attention.

 

All I remember for sure was that after he had taken me beyond a certain level, what I experienced was not, in the strict and narrow sense, pain.  I had loved it and I had hated it.  And as I am able to look back upon that night now, it seemed the distilled essence of nightmare.  The dreams-that-were-not-dreams that I experienced under his guidance had given me only the most fleeting and veiled glimpses of a monster’s face.  But in the end, the monster had invaded my mind and he was so strong that I had not the capacity to either resist or flee.  As he was finishing with me that last time, with both Christian and the slave Angie viewing my shame for what I now knew was almost twelve minutes, I had been nothing but a vessel of horror, his to do with as he pleased.  Then had come the culmination of my shame when in only partly telling him a lie, I had thanked him for raping me.

 

***

 

I felt different now---I could no longer call this man my Master.  Christian punished what he called my insolence on and off for the rest of the day with short sessions of the whip and the cane, finishing me off at the end with a quick touch of The Discipline.  Although still unclean with Durien’s seed, he twice took me like an animal, forcing me to respond to his needs each time.  But he couldn’t hurt me anymore, not after I’d experienced the monster Durien.  The day ended with both of us exhausted, having agreed to an unofficial truce.  I felt emotionally empty, too tired to gather the energy necessary to fire the appropriate rage.  He released me as darkness fell.  We ate together in silence, then I went to my bed.  I sat on the bed for some time, staring at nothing.  My anger had receded, leaving behind edginess and despair, a certain heaviness of limb and mood that reminded me of a terrible emotional letdown.  I was a card that my Master held, and it had been my turn to be played.  He was, I finally knew, a man that I had learned to love; now I think I hated him.  With this man, there was no middle ground.

 

I laid there for about half an hour when I rolled off the bed and to my utter astonishment, I began to laugh hysterically.  But the fourth “ha” came out as an ”oh”, as did the fifth and sixth, each harsher and louder than the last.  Finally, I was jack-knifed so drastically that I fell forward onto my knees.  I rocked on my knees and it shattered the stuttering rhythm of my diaphragm.  Like an engine catching, I settled into great cyclic sobs that filled and emptied my chest.  I rocked on my knees and my sorrow and grief was a long time draining.  Something about my position eventually changed my weeping, or perhaps it was sheer lack of air; the sobs came shorter and closer together now, the pitch rising and falling wildly. 

 

I had been weeping as an adult woman would; now I wept as a baby.  It might have been neither the position nor anoxia, but just need for mother or father that was imprinted on each child.  But more than one kind of wound closed over and began to scab that night.  After a time, my sobs trailed off into slow breathing.  I fell asleep where I lay on the floor.

 

 

Chapter 41: She was not a woman likely to settle for equality when sex gave her an advantage; Anthony Delano.

 

The next morning, things were back to ‘normal’ and I again resumed my routine.  But at the same time, we knew that we both had experienced a shift of seismic proportions in our relationship; his betrayal and my sudden uncontrolled lust for another Master.  My anger and rage may have gone, but I was filled more than ever with a cold determination.  I had thought there was something between us, no matter differences in our status.  And even though I now knew that I probably meant nothing to him, ours nonetheless had reached a crisis point which would either be resolved or not.  And if not, then I would have to leave---I would leave him even if he tried to kill me.  In any case, we both knew that this normality would never be ‘normal’ between us again. 

 

The savageness of Durien and my bovine acceptance of his abuse had crushed me.  But Christian’s behavior afterwards breathed new life into the emotions and feelings and needs of an independent woman he had only briefly met at the beginning.  I had gained a concept of freedom in his world and I was determined to never again allow a man to use me as had Durien; to use my mouth as his toilet and my body as his plaything, to be broken and discarded at will.

 

I felt a grim satisfaction in my newly reawakened assertiveness---and felt only regret and full responsibility for it having taken so long.  I recognized now that from the very beginning, his phallic chair and everything afterwards had somehow broken my will and sucked dry my spirit to resist.  Everything else logically followed from that first event as I had grudgingly accepted all of Christian’s later intentions, one by one.  An involuntary shudder ran through me as I thought of what I had experienced over the last six months, of everything I had endured.  But no more!  Not after that bastard Durien!

 

At the same time, if I was truly honest with myself, I felt as if I had for a brief tortuous period looked through a window into a life that I knew was exactly what I wanted.

 

I appreciated his helping me understand what he seemed to sense immediately; that there were parts of me that I had kept hidden from myself.  He had showed me that I viewed life from far too narrow a framework, and that I had used this limited structure as a crutch rather than an opportunity.  I had not enjoyed or experimented with life……and I admit that I quickly came to enjoy much of what he made me do with him and for him at the end.

 

But I was a different person now, for he had finally forced me to acknowledge the something inside that welcomed his controlled brutality.  And whatever this was, it had changed me---permanently.  I knew now that I enjoyed subservience; that this streak ran wide and deep in me---and that knowledge drove me nuts.  But there it was. 

 

The problem now was what to do next.  I knew no Dom’s in town, so what could I do with the new me?  What could I do with this new body and mind and awareness that had been aroused?  To whom could I turn?  Who could I trust that would not abuse me as had these others?  I tried to hide it, but I knew I was heading towards our confrontation with a sharp pain needling my heart.  Durien was a toxin and a bringer of pain and anguish.  He was an animal and frightened me terribly---but he was also predictable.  I never wanted to have to go through that again, but the further I got away from what had happened, the more I realized that the man was almost comically obvious in his methods of dominating a woman.  And God help me, I still cared for Christian, but I felt like he had broken an unspoken vow and he was now in ways unworthy of what I had to offer.  I think I loved this man, but the waters around me, were churning I thought, and they wouldn't stop until I knew that I was on firmer ground, that I belonged to a new, firmer-handed Dom that deserved one such as me.

 

***

 

To say that I was conflicted would be the understatement of the century.  I had long ago gotten over wanting to kill Christian.  About the time I think I had fallen in love with him.  But I was shaken to my core for two weeks after Durien had paid me his surprise visit.  We obliquely referred to it as the ‘event’.  Christian never mentioned it again after the next morning, but it stood like a flaming concrete barrier between us.  He left me considerably more free now and spent time talking to me, but I was withdrawn and had little to say in response.  He still wanted to lay with me, and in this I had little choice but to agree.  But to me it was purely emotionless now; I felt icy and all of the joy was gone.  The trust, if any had existed, was gone.  And I was now ready for the next step---the slave obtaining some degree of her freedom---or the Master finally being forced to kill her in denial.

 

His treachery, his untrustworthiness was the first thing on my mind when I awoke and the last thing I thought of at night.  I tried to understand why he had allowed this to happen---no, quit making excuses for him, it was even worse than that---he had actually arranged for it to happen.  I could not get over the deep sense of betrayal that I felt, both from him and even more horrifying, by my very own body.  Worse, it seemed that everything I had learned from him had been negated that night---personal accountability and discipline, healthy sex without limits, the enduring trust in him, my partner, my Master…..  The most terrible part for me was that it had been such a surprisingly powerful and emotional evening in which I had confirmed to myself and….to him….what I saw as the most unwholesome side of my personality---I had finally been forced to admit how attractive I found total submission and servility to a dominate male. 

 

But I had already begun my journey of exploration down this unwashed road.  It had taken far too long because I had lacked a sense of responsibility and the courage at the beginning to assume the burden of slavery.  But I had almost arrived.  Just before the event, I had finally been able begin admitting to myself the unforeseen depth of my feelings for this man that was also my Master.  My feelings were so unexpected; this was the man that had kidnapped me, raped and tortured me and then forced me to acknowledge a part of my nature that had both shocked me and sickened me at first---yet at the same time he had awakened me to a whole new world.  One in which I willingly performed for him in ways I had never before conceived that I might enjoy.  I no longer considered myself married.  Anything prior to my time here was in the past.  The past was where I had not understood the dark, unrestrained and undisciplined needs within me and, lacking a good Dom as a guide, I had subsequently acted inappropriately.  With this man leading the way, I had no longer felt so controlled by the forbidden desires and needs within me.

 

But his actions had destroyed any sense of trust that I might have had.  And if we were finished, what was I to do now?  What did I want?  And how could I get it?  Much as I hated to think of it, would he let me go easily, freeing me without a fight?  And even if he did, now that I had been awakened like this, where could I go?  What would I do with the new me?  To whom could I turn for guidance….and caring dominance? 

 

This man only now had finally begun to understand the limits of his control over me and the cross-pollinating aspect of our relationship.  Even though I knew that he needed me as much as I needed him, I hadn’t voluntarily spent the night with him since the event. 

 

But tonight was different; he had dinner reservations for tonight.  It felt like this was an attempt to find out if there was anything left between us and seemed more like he was asking me out on a date rather than ordering me to accompany him---I think he was afraid I would refuse him if he had.  He wanted to take me to a nice place and even though I didn’t feel like spending a lot of time getting ready, I felt I owed it to myself.  And I wanted him to see what he had cast aside.

 

***

 

Two hours later, I was drying my hair with a towel.  She walked out of the White Room looking spectacular, accompanied only by the soft, almost subliminal swoosh, swoosh sound of nylon clad thighs rubbing as she walked.  Black, shiny high-heeled pumps over light black, almost dusky gray sheer stockings, and tight black pencil skirt that ended three inches above her knees; crisp white silk blouse open deeply in front confirming the lack of a bra and the presence of a thin, tightly stretched golden chain that connected her breast rings.  Hair brushed into thick, luxurious waves; light makeup perfectly applied, long dangling earrings.  Great eyes, open, frank, intelligent.  I had allowed her to choose her dress for tonight and what she wore was simple and uncomplicated, yet far beyond anything I could have imagined.  I felt a great, instant jolt of pleasure as I got my first sight of Rasha that night---I knew instantly that she was perfect for me; at least right now. 

 

But the woman I had named Rasha had changed.  Tonight she did not wear the decorative choker that she'd been given to wear as a collar in public.  I made a god of accurate information in my profession, but did not know what to think now.  I had broken her, then after the last terrible abuse, she'd rebelled—my every wish was no longer her command.  She had lived through her transformation at Durien’s hands.  Was it, I asked myself, that searing of an experience, affecting everything about her?  Was that what had made the difference?  This was the worst thing, I thought to himself; she had become unpredictable.

 

I wanted her again.  Being with her, lying between her thighs.  It was as close as I would ever get to heaven.  A dive into the infinite; the ecstatic moment of oblivion as I achieved release inside her body.  But I was pretty sure that I had already blown that.

 

But maybe not.

 

***

 

We had spoken little this evening, something that had become habit since Durien.  Master's eyes somehow made me feel like a side of meat, but I at least had the consolation as I looked at the front of his pants that he still felt it was pretty good meat.  Once I was ready, it only took him a few more minutes and he was leading me to his car.  It was a clear mid-June evening; slightly cool and not particularly muggy, a nice night to be out.  I had never eaten at the restaurant to which he had reservations.  It specialized in seafood; I was looking forward to the food, but the proposed conversation had me on edge.  Christian opened my car door and helped me out because of my difficulties with the tight skirt, then I unconsciously allowed him to precede me as I had been taught so many months ago.

 

Seated, we ordered a white wine while we looked at the menu.  After we had both ordered, a long uncomfortable silence ensued.  Finally, I broke the ice with a question.  “We’re not being joined by anyone, are we?”

 

He gave a soft laugh as he replied, ”No.  Not tonight, we’re not.”  There was another long, uncomfortable silence.

 

“We have to talk,” I said quietly. 

 

“That we do,’ Christian admitted.

 

“I needed you to do something for me.  With me.  What you did to me.  Before, I mean.  What you did has---”  I looked down at my hands.  “had an impact I didn't...didn't expect.”

 

“Ah,” he said, “that.”

 

“You've changed me,” I said violently.  “You fixed me.”

 

My voice quieted.  “I suppose I should feel grateful, but that isn't how it feels.  I don't feel grateful, I feel fixed.  You've created this....imbalance in me, and I want that part of me back.”

 

“In spite of what you did to me…..or perhaps because of it…I’m still strongly attracted to you,” I said, turning to look out at the lake in back of the restaurant.  I wasn’t really seeing it at the moment, but it was a better place to look than upon his face.  “But…I have screwed up so many things in my life that I don’t trust myself when it comes to any attraction to men.  Do you understand that?”

 

“Yes,” he replied.  He moved back in his seat and kept a respectable distance between us.

 

“I was….with my husband for several years and then I made mistakes in my work,” I continued carefully.  “Then you brought me here.  You took away my choices and forced me to be with you.  Many times.  In many ways.  I did not like it.  At first.  Later…I came to enjoy your company…and the things that we’ve done together.  I hate that!  Do you understand?  I hate that in me!”

 

I gazed at the faces around me, allowing my fantasy free rein for a few seconds. “To have had a family for once....”  I continued with in a scornful tone, “Was it so much to ask?  You're afraid I’ve been dreaming about us, aren't you?”

 

I leaned back against my chair.  For some reason I felt almost defensive.  “Well, even if I have, that’s not a crime.”

 

He snorted, “Depends on who you are.  In my case, I dream only of the possible.  But with you, I’m not so sure.  You’re a dreamer by nature.  You dream of the impossible, and that's a kind of prison.”

 

“Without dreams, I’d be dead from the neck up.......”

 

Christian shook his head, “You just see yourself differently from the way the mob sees you.”

 

“The mob?  Isn’t that going a bit too far?”

 

”No.  That's just the way of the world where people like us are concerned.”

 

I shrugged, “I’ll be alright.......once I'm done with you.”

 

“I've finally realized that you've given me nothing.”  I shrugged again. “You've taken from me and you've rearranged me to suit yourself, but you've given me nothing of you.”

 

He looked up at me from under his eyelashes.  “Sometimes you only have to give a little to get a lot in return.”

 

“Not anymore.  I'm not an innocent woman and I didn’t want to love you,” I said, almost pleading.  “And because of this, I don’t trust myself anymore.  I’m not one of those wannabee women who plays at the submissive game.  I'm the real thing.  You've forced me to acknowledge that I have this….weakness that I’ve found for servility.  It disgusts me.  And since you gave me to Master Durien,” I actually spat his name out, “ I feel broken….inadequate, as if there is nothing of strength left inside me; sometimes I think that it would be so much better if I'd just let you....or him,  take everything.  Every time you desired something new, I found myself wanting to please you in the most desperate way.  I’ve never felt this way before….this.  But then you allowed it to happen with…..him.  I really loved you before that, but I think I hate you now.”

 

He looked crushed, his face stricken.

 

“You'll never do that to me again against my will.”  Now I was angry and it showed.  “You raped my body in the beginning when you kept me tied up, and you raped my mind at the end when you made me care for you.  I came to trust you, but you weren’t worthy.  You head-raped me because I can’t consent to sex with someone who doesn’t exist.  It’s not consensual if someone binds you with lies and ties you up with their deceptions.  You know what you did.  You impersonated the man who should be my husband in every way that counts.  The emotional support you offered was even more important than the physical.  But every time you stuck your cock in me, every time you disciplined me, you were pretending to be the man I thought I needed.”

 

“And then you gave me to Durien---do you know---do you have any idea---how degraded that made me feel; how used, how dirty, how stupid?  Got a cure for that?  How about a little rape victim counseling?  How about I sit down and try to explain to someone how it feels to be tortured and fucked by a maniac?  And even worse, to wind up liking it!”  I knew that I needed to cry---to howl and wail and scream---but my cold rage wouldn’t let me.

 

He replied slowly, “I like the way I feel with you.  I want you to stay.  If I had asked.......”  I looked at him almost in disbelief, but did not say anything.  “I was wondering.  If Durien had not happened, what would you have said?”

 

“I might have said yes,” I said cruelly.

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

“But now,” I said to Christian, “I'm tired.  I need to get away.  I need peace and silence.  I need to be away from men for awhile.  You're not going to do something stupid, are you?”  My mind was functioning in obsessive spurts.  But at least I could face this situation without losing my mind.  As much as it pained me, as much as I wanted to reject the idea, it was inevitable; I would never be the same again.  A painful fracture had occurred in my life because of him; a fissure that split me into two irreconcilable parts and distanced me from my roots and family forever.

 

He started to reach over and lay his hand on mine, then seemed to think better of it at the last second.  He said softly, “We're too much alike for you to leave me.  If you don’t think that I’m like you, that I have ’issues’ too, then you’re nuts.  We both have them.”

 

“I know that I have them,” I replied quietly.  “You tell me I'm perfect for you.  But I'm as whole as I will ever be.....right now, and if I'm perfect now, then so are you.  In this, I am no more whole than you are.  But that doesn’t matter anymore; we may share imperfections, but I can't stand yours anymore.”

 

There was a long silence, then Christian said, “You’ve been traumatized; yes, by me, but you had all that baggage before you met me.  There are dark things in both our heads.  What had happened to you before me and what I did to you.” 

 

He looked uncomfortable now.  “I have the reputation of being a tomcat….not only a tomcat, but a mean one too.  I've never been serially monogamous before in my life, but I have been since you’ve been with me…except for that one night.  The point is that I don’t really understand women, but I understand them well enough.  And as insane as it sounds because of the way we started, I understand that there is something going on between us.  And I’d like to find out what it is.  I know that trust will be an issue between us for a long time, but I’m offering to talk about this now.”

 

He continued with a shrug.  “You know that I have a dark side too.  I picked you for your vulnerability and then I lied to you in order to use you.  I do what I have to do to survive.  It's your basic function-related raptor ethics.  But my point is that we're both equally screwed up.  I’m willing to try to see why I’m the way I am, and whether you stay with me or not, you’re going to have to look at your dark side also.  Your very own.  You’ll think that that side is something different from everyone else’s.  That there are things in there that you don’t want to share, because nobody could feel the way that you do.  But that’s not true---others have the same thoughts too, the same shameful thoughts and feelings.” 

 

“Life,” he said, “is like one big multiple choice test.  A series of questions that we answer through choices we make.  Sometimes our choices work for us and sometimes against us.  Most of the time, it's not the choice itself that is stressful, but the consequences of the choice.  The results we couldn't foresee or couldn't quite imagine.  But when we finally make our choice and realize that it was the wrong one, we wish there was some way to go back, one big do-over.”

 

His face twisted for a second as he thought back to what he had done to me.  “I screwed up,” he confessed.  “I got so involved in my own fantasies that I didn’t remember that you had needs too.  One of the main aspects of a relationship like ours is the continual probing and pressing for boundaries.”

 

“In the beginning, you thought you were dominant, but you’re actually more comfortable as a Sub---like most other bottoms, even though you try harder, you know you'll feel less responsibility for the ultimate success of the relationship and less guilt afterwards if it gets screwed up.  A woman like you generally gets more from the play if only gently pressed at the boundaries in your mind.  But when I forced them too hard and too far at the end, it pushed you out of your enjoyment zone and into fear and horror territory.  I should have been more careful to avoid this.”

 

He shrugged hopelessly.  “What I didn’t take into account early enough was that when I did something wrong, the scarring was worse because of the failed trust.  I've never had someone that I've trusted like that.  I’m not trying to make excuses, but please believe that a lot of the time it was just me misreading your cues, even if it came across to you as failed trust.”

 

“Finally,” he said, “I think there is also another thing going on too.  As a young girl, you were raised in the church and you internalized a lot of those teachings.  There has always been a feminine…..tension over sexuality within the Christian tradition.  Theology has always been interspersed with the same sexual guilt that I think you feel now.  Feminine sinners have always chosen to purify their flesh either through abstinence and chastity…a route you’ve obviously chosen to ignore….or through self-inflicted punishment.  What may have started out for you as an involuntary act of the flesh may have become a way to atone for your sexual guilt.  This is a very Catholic reaction.”

 

I didn’t know how to respond, so I remained silent.  As we ate, I thought about what he had said; some of it was remarkably insightful, and a lot of it was bullshit.

 

We were finished now.  From his face he hoped for forgiveness and a second chance as he stood and pulled my chair back for me.  I swept to my feet, but did not move into his waiting arms.  Even as others continued to eat, oblivious to what was going on, I stood like a warrior queen and my soft voice rolled out in challenge.  “Are you glad?  Are you glad you’ve made me into what you wanted?” I asked coolly.

 

I looked at him for a moment.  “I’m not Mother Teresa and have never pretended to be.  What I am is a slave and a prisoner.  I’m the lifer wandering around the prison yard: I’ve got the Warden in my pocket and I’ve got the best cell and the run of the place, but sometimes I can’t wait until I get out.  And if I ever do get out, I wonder---will I ever really get away from you?  And if I do, will I be able to stay away?”

 

I shook my head, a look of abandon on my face.  “I’ve proven to you who I am so many times, but now I’m so tired.  I’ve learned to live with your strength, but more than your strength, your weaknesses.  And when you get used to living with something, you’re tied to it.  And you don’t want to break away.  But now, I just want to live a little more normal existence.”  

 

I was a strong woman, an intelligent woman.  Why had I continued to let him do these things to me, allowing him to abuse me again and again?  I started crying in the restaurant, tears running down my cheeks.  I didn’t know the answer for sure, but the answer I suppose was that I had no one else.  Without him, I had nothing.  I had no one.  He was all I had.  But even more important, I was all that he had.  If not me, who else would he turn to? 

 

He just looked at me, unable to refute my need, or his.

 

“Rope and leather bindings do make it easier to control the person, don’t they?” I said softly as I began to walk back towards the exit.  “How can I believe you?  You sound like someone who's just read this stuff in a book.  You're still like a toxin, bringing only change and pain.  This is your way, and you know no other.”

 

“Listen, damn it,” Christian said.  He paced behind me, fists clenched, the image of a carnivore at heel.  “You were already in awful shape before me.  The only difference between then and now is that you have a man in your life.  You have needs that only I can fill.”

 

I spun.  “Do you really believe that?  Can I believe that?” I snapped.  “What---are you going to do---give me to fifteen men the next time I make you angry?”

 

He took a deep breath that trembled with the emotion that he was trying to keep out of his voice.  “There will be problems, there are always problems.  But no other men,” he promised.

 

***

 

I lay in his bed as he had ordered me, but on the very edge as far away from where he would lay as I could get.  He walked into the bedroom, reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim box.  I took it.  TIFFANY was written on it.  Yeah, right, I thought to myself.  The room was not well lit, but there was lighting enough to see.  I snapped the box open and was dazzled by the sight of gemstones, blue stars.  I blinked, hardly able to see.  Star sapphires.  A bracelet of star sapphires set in platinum.  I peered closely and recognized immediately that they were real, not synthetic.  Each one was different, each one slightly flawed, each one with its very own nuance of color and hue and personality.  I turned the box in the light, seeing the stars on each stone move, the light reflecting off their rutilated depths.  I swallowed, feeling a sudden lump in my throat.  No one had given me anything like this, ever.  Ever.  I felt a hot tickling in my eyes, which I instantly blinked away, horrified to find myself still so vulnerable.

 

I said in an offhand way, “Nice collection of fakes you’ve got here.”

 

“I was hoping you would like star sapphires, Rasha.”

 

I swallowed again, going up on one elbow and keeping my face turned to the bracelet so he wouldn’t see my eyes.  I don’t think I had ever loved anything so much at this moment as this bracelet.  Sri Lankan star sapphires, my favorite, each one unique, forged in the depths of the earth by immense heat and pressure---wonder incarnate.  I knew that I was being shamelessly and openly manipulated, but at the same time I thought; Why not?  Why shouldn’t I take it?  Wasn’t this the way the world worked?  Give him one more chance?

 

I felt his hand come to rest on my shoulder, giving it the gentlest of squeezes.  It was like an electric shock.  To my mortification, a tear escaped and ran slowly down my cheek.  I blinked rapidly, unable to speak, grateful that he was behind me and couldn’t see.  Another hand took the other shoulder, squeezing just a little in unison, and I could feel the heat of his presence on the nape of my neck.  An erotic charge ran through me like a bolt of lightning and I flushed and tingled all over.

 

“Okay,” I whispered and turned to face him.  I could be his whore if that was what he wanted.

 

***

 

She turned pushed me down on the bed, then straddled me and showed me her gorgeous ass.  She bent forward and spread her cheeks, but her mouth never made contact with my groin.  Instead, it was my turn to perform.

 

“Lick me,” she said with sudden urgency.  “I want you to give me pleasure.”  It was suddenly like I was with a different woman, and she was demanding things that I wasn't sure I was able to give her.  Hers was suddenly an angry, dominant tone as she ordered me to perform.  Reluctantly, I pressed my face into her crease.  After a moment, I'd worked up enough courage to spear forward with my tongue, working the tight whorl of her closed sphincter.  I wasn't enjoying this.  I wrapped my arm around one long thigh to steady myself and with the other hand I reached up and found her already wet.  The ball of my thumb sank into Rasha from the front as my tongue worked deeper from the rear, both rubbing soft, synchronized circles amid her insides.  She grunted, somewhere at the base of her throat as my tongue sank deeper into her.  I caught the reverberations of her deep moan in the pit of my stomach and found myself stiffening in response, despite my initial distaste.  I didn't last long.  Suddenly, I didn't care about anything but Rasha as she traced her pierced nipples up and down my skin.  Her mouth sucked and her curled fingers pumped.  My orgasm went on for over thirty seconds. 

 

When I could breathe again, I found she was lying back smiling at me.  I grabbed a perfect thigh and pulled her to me.  I sank my tongue back into her and heard a soft moan.  I pressed my tongue down harder, forgetting to breathe, and then discovering that I didn't need to for a long time.  Rasha's writhings grew more urgent and she wrapped her thighs around my neck.  I cupped her ass and squeezed, pushing my face into the folds of her cunt, then slid my thumb back inside her and recommenced the soft circular motion that was in counterpoint to the spiraling of my tongue.  She gripped my head with both hands and crushed my face against her.  Writhings became thrashings, her moans a sustained shout that filled my ears like the sound of surf.  I sucked.  She stiffened, and screamed, and then shuddered for minutes. 

 

She was mine again.

 

***

 

The next morning, I was up before dawn.  I watched the sun rise, splitting the night like a fruit.  I'd jotted a note and left it on the kitchen table, wanting to escape the house before any conversation with him, before my mind could be disturbed.  I walked quickly from the house down towards the lake, feeling the small thrill of a false escape.  The morning air felt gloriously fresh and I paused to breathe it in more deeply.  There wasn’t a single human sound.  It was at times like this that I often wanted to walk, when the stillness of the morning preserved a clarity lent by night and distance of sleep---when for minutes at a time I could perceive the faint remaining harmony that had once existed in my life, or which existed still.  As I walked for what seemed hours in the morning, the memory of his betrayal and its pain were finally shed and replaced by a tentative imagining of the way things might be again.

 

***

 

Perhaps I was spoiled, but there'd only ever been three really good, that is to say seriously magical, times in my life.  This was not to say that I hadn't been lucky too.  I'd been very lucky that first night when my knees wobbled with the fever of his breast jewelry.  Everything had hurt me then; the lights, every color, every sound, my mind pressing out into the world like a swollen ghost.  I remember how I lay there after the fever had broke and I'd begun to get better, the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes were the glass window blocks set up high and the daylight streaming through them, little dots and blobs of color that I'd never seen before, all swimming in my fevered eyes like bugs in water.

 

But the first time of true magic had been in the back of that van with those teenage boys.  It was then that I realized the power of my body to control males.  The second time had been when I finally capitulated to my Master.  He changed my life forever, bringing me pleasure in every way and teaching me that which I never even known existed.  And even though I hadn't recognized it at the time, the third time had been when I was given to Durien for the night.  In retrospect, that night had been the most incredible night of sex that I had ever experienced. 

 

Wondrous degradation leading to complete powerlessness and total submission.  If my Master had given me to that man a second time, I don't think I would have been able to come back to him.  And both Durien and I had realized instantly that if he had me permanently, I would die in his hands.  But like a lemming running for the edge of an infinitely tall cliff, I would be screaming my pleasure all the way.  Later, I sometimes woke up in the middle of the night and looked over at my Master sleeping by my side, knowing that I was his forever, but still wondering in my mind what that last ride into oblivion would have been like.

 

***

***

 

Nine months after it had all begun, it was another hot and humid fall afternoon on the Georgia coast and I lay in the lounge chair on the deck in back.  My skin was tanned a light gold, the color perfectly setting off my eyes and sun-bleached white-blond hair.  A breeze stirred and helped to make me feel a little less sticky.  Lost in thought, I flung my forearm over my eyes to block out a little more of the sun.  He would be home soon and I was ready.  I’d done my nails earlier and my makeup was on, but I hadn’t been out in the sun long enough for it to be smeared with sweat.  As usual, I was wearing something that he liked; this afternoon it was a small….a very small white bikini top and thong bottoms, finished off with expensive strappy white high heels.  I curled my toes in the sandals and admired the bold color on my toenails.  It was easy enough to do and it pleased him immensely. 

 

We had reached an accommodation in our roles....we each had rules now and I much more freedom.  I know I belonged to him, but in many ways, I felt freer now than ever before.  I would never have done this for him if anyone else was around, but it was a small enough price to pay for the peace I felt.  My life was like a beautiful garden without fences, for everywhere I looked gave me pleasure. 

 

Our relationship had undergone a lot of changes over the last four months.  I wore a white velvet choker today, symbolic acknowledgment of the status I both acknowledged and accepted, at least publicly.  I rarely wore the leather anymore, except when it was necessary for the White Room.  But even more important, I was perfectly content my role, having received more from him in the short time that we’d been together than I'd ever had from my husband over the years of our marriage.  Both Master Christian and I had been wounded long before we’d met; we talked little about those times now, but laughed a lot about the future we had together.  I felt that both of us had regained much of our confidence and life seemed good.

 

Looking back, my time with him has seemed an endless and bewildering experience.  When he'd first taken me, he'd guided me through my training with complete confidence.  I could tell that he had been planning this for a woman like me for a life-time.  It had been a pilgrimage for him of sorts.  One that I had been fortunate to share.  It took me awhile to realize that I had been a necessary component in his journey; an ever present servant as we explored at the end every intimate contour of my body and the desires that ruled it....and him.  There was a secret significance to this that I had yet to understand.  We had traveled an immense distance to understand something that he already seemed to have experienced himself. 

 

All I knew was that I wasn't bottom to his top because he'd dominated me physically at the beginning.  Rather I had given myself to him because of what he finally offered me emotionally at the end.  Despite my initial “misgivings,” I was now satisfied with my life none-the-less, for it seemed more than big enough for me now.  Physically, it was active, exciting, stimulating; almost a utopia.  Daily I relived the sensations.  The lightness.  The power.  The pain.  Best of all, there was a spiritual aspect now between us; a sense of oneness I had never before experienced with another man. 

 

I had the run of the house and I dressed comfortably during the day; shorts, a sports bra or tube top and matching choker, flip-flops and perhaps a ball cap when I worked outside on the lawn and the landscaping, sometimes a lot less when I stayed in.  But not when he was home; when the man that was also my Master was home, I dressed to please.  I knew that I would never have done this for any man a year ago, but now it was different---I felt totally confident in what we had and did everything I could to please Master.  The wonderful part, the part that gave me so much confidence as a woman was that that we were so connected inside now; I knew he felt the same as I.  It was quite a thing, quite a privilege, to care about someone so much that the measure of the worth of your life was changed by it.

 

I’d gained a couple of pounds over the last few months.  But I never looked at myself in the mirror unless I was putting on my face.  I knew that I looked better than I ever had before.  But my looks didn't matter to me, except in how much pleasure they might give him. 

 

I thought about our relationship and how it had changed over the last six months.  The things that he had done to me at first and the things that I had allowed him to do......  The early non-consensual period was confusing and there were a few times, just a few times, when late at night I would awake and realize that I still feared parts of it.  That in turn always led to thoughts of how we had both changed.  Everything I saw here measured exactly and correctly against the template of my memory, and yet the contours were subtly and indescribably different.  I was much stronger now, and he was good to me.  Of course, I'd earned his affection with my body and my submission to his will.  But with this submission, I had regained a significant measure of control too.  I was happy, and mostly it seemed that he felt that way too.  But there were still those few times that Master seemed distant, unhappy, sometimes pacing at night like a caged wild animal.

 

We continued to use the White Room as the mainstay of our sexual play.  I had never known how much better my sex life could be when I had inhabited a consensual world.  He'd opened my eyes with just a glimpse of it; that there was a sexual life in mythic proportions of which I had never dreamed; and once I known it had existed, there was no holding me back.  My role as submissive to his dominant, and his to mine; the new rules and boundaries we both accepted, everything new had been easily integrated into our comfortable life by both of  us now.  I felt so much better about myself and consequently, was less demanding of either myself or him, and the nightmares that had so tormented me had finally fled.  I’d become more mature in my outlook towards life and much less cynical; my temper tantrums were a thing of the past and my outlook was habitually sunny.

 

My back still ached from the strokes he’d given me last night.  These had in turn been offset by the touch of his tongue; always demanding, always probing.  These two physical extremes had combined to make me dizzy with desire.  The search for the perfect mixture of pain and pleasure has always haunted me.  But now I was no longer alone; we haunted the darkest sexual back-alleys together as we searched for what we both needed.  We were perfect together.  He’d been on a similar quest in an earlier world, before me: taking from women of every walk of life, teaching them and learning from them, always bringing his fantasies to life in living technicolor.  Then he took me.  And in the end, I was the one who craved the opposite of his every fantasy.  The one who needed to be taken as much as he needed to possess, who needed to feel the pain as much as he needed to inflict it.

 

Had he found me or I him?  In the larger pattern woven by life, there are no accidents.  When significant events happen, instinct demands that we assign responsibility.  We assign blame or responsibility because we're terrified of the truth; that life is random.  There is cause, but there is little design.  I have never believed that everything happens for a reason.  I have always known, however, that everything does happen.  Prey are destined to be taken by the predator just as the sun rises in the east and women are destined to belong to men.  And in the end, I couldn't fight him anymore; all I sought was to be transformed, not consumed.  

 

***

 

He was like a child in so many ways, so easily pleased by the little things that I did for him.  I performed in ways for him now that I would NEVER have willingly done for another man; in my heart, I knew he was mine now and my actions ensured that he would never want another but me.  And as time went on and the trust between us matured, the realization grew that we both belonged in a lifestyle that had until then seemed like a figment of both of our imaginations, a wish not quite come true.  We had great sex now, routinely incorporating chains, ropes, spreader bars and cuffs, along with many other more….....exotic things.  For his pleasure, I willingly rode the wooden horse now, perhaps three or four times a month on the average.  I still remembered the first time I volunteered him this precious gift; I might have felt a little uncertainty, but all I recollected for sure was my cheerful willingness to offer him whatever he wanted and whatever gave him pleasure. 

 

The initial shock of my weight driving the board up between my legs had been terrible in its intensity, crushing my will to move or to fight.  I had first frozen like a statue, but the pain was too great, claiming me again and again, continually forcing me to make minor adjustments that were no help at all.  But after awhile, in my helplessness I had begun to not only accept the agonizing sensations, but incorporated them and let them take me higher into a previously undiscovered level of pain and ultimately, pleasure. 

 

Even with my eyes closed and my head thrown back, I could still somehow sense him watching me and masturbating at the same time; it was then that I had begun to make small back and forth rocking motions, screaming at first my agony and finally the pleasure that I'd felt flooding from within.  This had been what had won him over.  I was his and he was mine after that; my Master AND my slave.

 

I'd seen videos of that myself that night and had been shocked at what I saw.  In a way, I hated the dark side that made me act that way and feel these things.  But with his help over the weeks and months that we have been together, I eventually learned to control the beast, if not tame it.  And now, it was only when we were alone together in the White Room that I let the dark monster out and stood in its shadows.  I blushed as I acknowledged that I had become a slut for pain.  But that wasn’t correct either; I would allow myself to be a whore only for the pain that I received from my Master.  I would never perform like this for another man again, not even for Durien; may he rot in hell. 

 

The bone-deep guilt and shame were gone too since that other flawed person had disappeared with my increased happiness.  That person had had difficulties in her life and had done some bad things….but I was trying my absolute best to do better now.  And with this realization, I had become much less hard on myself. 

 

I had also finally realized that there were no existing moral authorities that had ever prevented me from submitting to the situation here, and that no one would ever have blamed me if I did.  All the initial unwillingness had been in my mind.  Ultimately, I accepted the unexpectedly servile side of my nature; but only after I'd realized that it was only one facet of my character.  It had taken a long time to understand that each of us has to make up our own mind on the issue of how we handle our captivity---and make no mistake, each of is a prisoner in some way.  You can choose to accept what someone does to you---or not; but however you believe, that generally won’t prevent it from happening.  I was a smart, educated woman---and since there were no experts in ethics present to give me guidance, I had chosen to accept my situation; and then work from within to change it to something more suitable.  As a result, at least for me, life was both simpler than before and certainly more enjoyable than ever before. 

 

I was also aware that many others decide to accept what another might say on moral matters---but then they've made that someone their moral authority; even so, in the end the decision to do that was always theirs.  They too had decided to submit to another person rather than think things through for themselves. 

 

My head hurts, I smiled to myself.

 

The radio playing softly beside me began to broadcast news on the half-hour; this reminded me that I was old news now.  I had learned that the warrant for my arrest had been withdrawn at almost the same time as had Master Christian; this had gone a long ways towards my peace of mind.  It took away much of his leverage over me, but I'd remained silent with this knowledge.  I never figured out for sure why this was and after a lot of thought, why I had chosen to stay with him after Durien.  I honestly couldn’t say why I did this; perhaps I knew even then that I loved him---or perhaps I had wanted to have the time to control him within his own personal environment---or perhaps I had planned on killing him for what he was doing to me---I’d never really known for sure at the time.

 

Just then, I heard a sound in the kitchen.  The door opened a minute later and Christian walked out and stood by my chair.  He put a fresh iced tea on the small table by my side.  He gave me his normal welcoming smile and dropped to his knees by my side.  After giving me a quick kiss, I smiled and offered him my hand.  His warm skin touched mine; I felt transformed.  It wasn’t happiness.  No, happiness was a childish, temporary illusion I had finally realized.  Any pain that might have been there melted away and I felt sure that the two of us had created a center, a constancy, a whole.  He looked at me with an intense energy in his eyes, then let go of my hand and stood up quickly.  Our closeness was almost painful; it felt as if we had both crossed a terrible, wonderful line.  The pain he'd felt and the nightmares he suffered were so much better now; we both knew it was because of my entry into his life.

 

He poured a good amount of suntan oil into the palm of his hand and began our now familiar afternoon ritual.  After rubbing his hands together for a second, he began to apply the oil to my body.  He slowly lifted the bikini top and after baring both of my breasts, he began to gently rub the lotion into them.  I smiled in pleasure as I watched him.  Once both were well oiled, he cupped each prize separately with the familiarity of ownership and gently placed it back in the bikini.  Finished on top, Christian now began working on my abdomen.  He slowly rubbed the suntan lotion into the soft skin that overlaid my still hard abdomen and then went on to do my thighs. 

 

It was clear to us both that he was my Master and that I belonged to him.  But that didn't mean I was powerless, not at all.  While I didn't have the right to complain like a free woman, there were still many, many ways that I could let him know what made me happy.  I stretched like a cat in the hot sun, rolled over on my stomach and let him finish oiling my body. 

 

I loved this man and he loved me. 

 

Men were so easy.

 

***

 

We sat on the couch in the living room late that evening.  Rasha took another sip of the wine I'd served her, pulled her legs up under her and turned a little sideways so that she could see me better.  I turned too, until we were more or less facing each other from a foot away. 

 

Our relationship seemed to have gone through phases ranging from the completely non-consensual to absolute servility, the last driven by her strong need to accept everything I'd decided was necessary.  The capture stage and her initial bewilderment; the early stages of training and discipline, and her often barely controlled anger; the middle-times in which she finally began to recognize the value of the opportunities offered, yet it was still a time during which her pride wouldn't allow acceptance; the final crushing of any remaining pride, and the final approval of the humbled slave as she not only consented, but endorsed and supported the life journey she'd begun over the last few months. 

 

Her life had become a finely sculpted thing.  I did not love her, but I'd valued her enough to have accorded her my fidelity for our time together since Durien.  She was a beauty; literally a malleably sexual woman.  Never less than perfect when on display, she was a molten woman in private, ready to find pleasure in an almost infinitely extended range of activities.  But now, there had creeped back into our life an undercurrent of presumed equality, of her seeming to need to give her opinion on many things that I did, or that we did together.  I know that I was often too soft during this last stage, the stage we seemed to be in now.  Things had to change.  Things would change.

 

I stopped talking and watched her, silent, thoughtful.  It seemed to me that her looks were different now from when I first acquired her.  The thick white-blond hair hanging long and soft most of the time like a frame around her face, with just a subtle hint of inward curl at the ends that hadn't been there before.  Even her face seemed different to me.  Maybe it was just the fact that even though there had been no ceremony, she considered herself a happily married woman now and a woman like her could afford to spend more time with makeup.  But I attributed it more to what was behind the face.  It had finally struck me that she had lost that sharp, watchful look that had so disconcerted every man in the beginning. 

 

She looked great in the candle light.  Liquid eyes, soft skin.  I liked women as much as any man, but I had always been ready to find something wrong with them.  The shape of an ear, the thickness of an ankle, height, size, weight.  Any random thing could ruin it for me.  But there was nothing wrong with Rasha, nothing at all.

 

I could smell her fragrance.  A subtle perfume that she’d persuaded me to buy.  Soap, clean skin, clean hair.  Her hair fell to her collar bones.  She was slim and toned, except where she shouldn’t be.

 

I leaned forward and kissed her, just lightly on the lips.  I felt the blood warm metal of her nose ring on my cheek; her mouth was open a little and was cool and sweet from the wine.  Her tongue grazed my lower lip in a contact that lasted several heartbeats.  It was a good kiss, the kind that would normally speed a man's heart ten or fifteen whacks a minute.  She broke it off as my blood pressure soared despite my attempt to remain calm, then backed away a few inches and gave me a tiny smile.  I slid my free hand under her hair at the back of her neck.  Pulled her closer and kissed her harder.  She did the same thing with her free hand.  We held the clinch for over a minute, kissing, two wine glasses held approximately level in mid-air.  Then we parted and put our glasses down simultaneously.

 

She held the pause for a second and then leaned in and kissed me again.  Used both of her hands; one behind my head, the other behind my back.  I did the same thing, symmetrically.  Her tongue was cool and quick.  Her back was narrow and her skin was warm.  After a moment, I slid my hand under her blouse.  Felt her hand bunching into a tiny fist and dragging my shirt out of my waistband.  Felt her nails against my skin.

 

She raised her arms over her head and held the pose; I pulled her blouse off without unbuttoning it.  She was wearing only the semi-formal slave choker I'd purchased.  I raised my arms and she knelt on the sofa and hauled my shirt over my head.  She spread her hands like starfish on the slab of my chest.  Ran them south to my waist, then undid my belt.  I lifted her up and laid her down flat on the sofa and kissed her breasts, her wonderful, beautiful, exquisitely sensitive breasts. 

 

I rolled over so that Rasha was on top of me now and I stroked her back, lightly. 

 

“You seem pretty happy.”  Rasha said, leaning down to kiss me on the forehead and, not coincidentally, dangling her pierced breasts in my face.  There was the hint of a smile on her lips and a naughty look in her eyes.

 

I hesitated for a minute before I reluctantly replied, “I am,” reaching around in back to stroke soft flesh.  My hands drifted down and cupped her muscular buttocks that were hidden by the tight skirt that had ridden high on her thighs.

 

***

 

My  body tingled all over as I looked down at my lover….and my Master.  The thought of him brought a burn to my cheeks and a smile to my face.  I could tell I was a little woozy from the wine.  My thoughts were random at the moment, appearing to have as much and as little geometric certainty as a spider’s web.  They existed, but the connection of one to another might as well have been random.  They were haphazard---every Dom needed to know what the sub felt.  They were jumbled and arbitrary---every Top needed to experience the bottom’s wondrous sense of pain and pleasure, calm and panic.  They were disordered---each of us has characteristics of both the top and bottom inside us.  These fleeting thoughts and a myriad of others ran through my mind with the lightness of a feather.

 

He stroked the inside of my thigh, lightly rubbing the secret mark of his ownership.  Suddenly, the wooziness was suddenly gone as I smiled to myself and thought about the ginger finger I'd carved for tonight.  Even for us, it was an exceedingly large one and it was chilling in the refrigerator at this very moment.  It was the anticipation that made things so sweet; I knew as well as he that several exhausting hours in the White Room lay just ahead of both us tonight.  But this time, it was his turn to take the long burning ride.

 

***

 

Rasha twisted to face me and braced herself on an elbow.  Her pudenda had darkened with engorged blood and acted as a counterweight to her blondness as it emerged from between her thighs.  Moist and glistening in the lamplight, her guarded flesh had swollen to show a pink-gray sliver, a rooster's comb on a hen.  She had become incredibly wet in anticipation of the night's activities, and spillage glazed the tops of her thighs, leaving sticky, high trails to their source.  Her breasts piled below the rigor of her shoulders, uncharacteristically heavy at this angle.  When allowed to be herself, she was always crisp, almost prim in public; but she was shameless in the managed light of the living room.....a delight to me and to herself.  Sometimes I liked her best without perfume, a day unwashed and sexed out, with good music in the background.  Other times, like now, when she was a perfumed beauty, prepared to accept anything I desired in an unending attempt to satisfy my driving needs.

 

***

 

It was time.  I stood holding his hand, then started towards the refrigerator, but he shook his head, “No.  Not tonight.” 

 

Well then, tomorrow night instead.  Tonight would be just as good without it.  Holding his hand, I led him with anticipation towards the White Room.  Tonight would be better than good, I would make sure it was memorable.  We entered the room together, but it really only began for me.  Master quickly tired of his nipple clamps for once, and for this I gave thanks.  Even with me, he tended to use them with too rough an abandon.  Other things were put on and taken off, but it didn't seem like he'd entered tonight with his normal full enthusiasm for working my body.  Well, if he seemed a little tired tonight, I would wake him up. 

 

We'd finally finished, I ached as we walked into our bedroom, but that was only what I'd expected.  He pulled me to the side, towards our bed.

 

“Tonight,” he said, “tonight, we stay here.”  I looked at him uncertainly for a second, then smiled.  He was in an odd mood, but I would bring him out of it.  I knew what he needed now, I knew what he liked.  Soon I had him naked on his back on the bed.  I knelt on the floor to the side and my mouth caressed his body, moving in light touches from his nipples to between his legs.  Taking the long route drove him crazy and set up the perfect ending at the same time. 

 

Soon my Master was hard and rigid and ready.  Anymore and he would pour into my mouth instead of my body.  I was hot too and the smell of aroused female filled the air around our bed.  I needed to feel him tonight and soon we both were ready.  I still wore my heels, so had to be careful as I climbed into bed with him.  I straddled him as I slowly stroked his erection.  He groaned in response and I leaned forward, my lips only inches from his.  I had finally screwed up enough courage to ask him.

 

“Have you ever wondered? 

 

“What?” he said.

 

“You know,” I answered.  “Why it was me.  Why it had to be me.”

 

“I don't know.”

 

“Before you took me.  When you first saw me, did you ever wonder.  Would I be good enough?  Did you wonder what my skin felt like to touch that first day at the restaurant?  How I tasted?  Here.”  I kissed him, tracing the tip of his tongue with mine.  “And there,” I touched the tip of my breast.  “And here?” I put my hand between our bellies as I touched myself between my legs.

 

“Yes,” he said.  “I wondered about all those things.”

 

“Please tell me, don't make me beg for this too.  Was I worth it?  Was I worth the effort?  Am I good enough for you?”

 

“Rasha, you have always been worth the effort.  You just didn't know how to value yourself.”

 

“Good,” I said as I sank into him and he into me.  “I want to be good for you.” 

 

I gave a belly deep groan of sweet appreciation at the sensation of my vagina being filled to over-flowing, my sound echoed around the room.  My knees were spread wide to ride his pole and my groin felt fully exposed as I indulged him, the bedsprings squeaking as my thighs struggled to stretch wide enough to accept him.  I rocked back and forth, up and down on his pelvis, accepting everything male he offered inside me. 

 

This was a special night for him.  I could tell by way managed every part of my body that night; it was his night to prove that I needed him more than anything else in my life.  I could feel it in the way he held me, the way he concentrated on each part of my body as though no one else had ever entered this strange land before and only he knew the way.  I sensed his emotions building and tried to slow him down, but his need overpowered both of us.  His hands were first on my buttocks, grabbing the firm muscle and holding handfuls like melons in a store as he pulled me onto him again and again.  From there, his hands wandered to my chest, pulling me down until my breasts were in his face and my pierced nipples filled his mouth.  He sucked and I moaned again and again.  Soon, too soon, it was over and I lay upon him, covered with sweat and trying to catch my breath. 

 

I rolled off of him and lay in his arms.  The insides of my thighs were wet with sweat and sticky with my love juice and his.  We weren't yet done, and he would be doing the work next.  I leaned over his waist and felt a throbbing need to make contact with his skin.  I licked the inside of his thigh and slowly let my tongue trail up his leg.  My Master laughed and used his hands to perfectly place my face, moving forward and lifting his hips so that his balls were under my mouth.  I eagerly took him like that, moaning softly as I did.  But he laughed delightedly as the sound came out more like a gargle when my mouth was filled like this.  I know my moans had turned him on because I could hear his grunts as I continued tonguing his sack.  The blood was whooshing in my ears and it was all I could feel, all I knew was him and his body on the bed. 

 

Like the team we were, I silently tilted my head back and closed my eyes.  I opened my throat in anticipation just as he pulled out and turned, slipping his cock inside me.  I could taste my drying pussy juice on his cock.  My lips closed as he began to mouth-fuck me and I timed my breathing to his long strokes.  There were wet sucking noises, but no gagging even though he drove deeply into me.  I was so used to this by now.  His hands were on my breasts and I felt him pinching my nipples.  The intense sensations that in the past I would have called pain made my back arch involuntarily and my mouth tighten around his now huge erection.  The pinching began to get harder and suddenly, he was tugging on my nipple rings.  It was true that pierced nipples are so much more sensitive to the touch of another than are the unpierced.  Then, it was time again.

 

I moved him to the side, carefully using his rigid bar as a love handle to guide him.  I needed to focus on what came next, wanted to feel this in every way so I used little lubricant.  This was what I wanted, I thought to myself as I got on my hands and knees.  I looked over my shoulder at him and smiled with love.  I inhaled and kept it.  My lungs were filled with air, but I faced the mattress now and my mouth hung silently open, whether waiting to express impending pain or ecstasy, I honestly wouldn't know until the moment arrived.  Silently I waited with bated breath as the air slowly turned stale in my lungs.

 

And then he was in me in one steady move of his hips and I grunted deep in my belly in response, the massive meat he brought to our bed filling me to the brim.  I felt his weight on top of me and the insistent rhythm inside me; I closed my eyes and used this sweetest of memories to guide me home.  It was like this every time; muscles that weren't meant to be stretched in this way, but which had been stretched by him like this a hundred times before.  The uncomfortable feelings at first of stretching and extension, distension and fullness, the internal muscles stretched to the maximum, then pushed open one tiny centimeter more as it felt like he probed deep enough in my rectum now to displace the organs in my abdomen. 

 

It all overwhelmed me and my breath was driven out of me in that one massive lunge.  I groaned in both pain and wonder as I always did at the beginning.  But it got better, much better as he first got what he wanted; I backed into him, pushing my wiggling butt into his groin and squeezing my muscles around him as he gave me circular lunges with his hips.  And then everything got tremendously even more better as I took what I needed, clamping onto him and holding my breath as wave after wave of sensations crashed through my body. 

 

I was suddenly aware that I was screaming, “Fuck me, split me, tear me, you bastard.”  His right hand remained on my hip to act as a guide, while his left was under me, supporting my belly and massaging my clit.  He had to be careful, touching my clit was always enough to take me to the edge, then quickly push me over.  But we both wanted this to last and he was careful to not touch me like that too much.

 

It was pure animal domination now and I had submitted to my dominator---allowing him---no needing him to do his best to drive me into the mattress.  I wanted this now; I needed this, I loved this.  He had been right all along, I had learned to like it his way.  We both grunted and groaned, crying out in erotic ecstasy, each gasping for air in our own world of wondrous rapture.  I grabbed him, let go, grabbed him again.  He in turn, drove into me with the need of thousand men, as if each were trying to prove that he alone had the right to dominate me this way.  He slammed into me again and I clenched one last time, grabbing him once more like all the times before, but not letting go this time.  Being filled like this felt wonderful to my vagina too and I knew I was cumming; I couldn't have stopped myself from having a huge orgasm even if my life depended upon it.  But even better, as usual my locking his member deep inside me drove him into a sexual frenzy.  His hips slammed into my buttocks again and again and again like a love machine made of steel as he pulled free from my grasping muscles, but always returning to drive his love home one more time. 

 

He semen came now, jetting out and exploding like a bomb inside me.  Then there were more scalding hot spurts, everything joining at the end into a massive lava-like tidal wave of heat that washed over everything ahead of it and left me coated thickly on the inside with his love.  At the end, I kept him locked inside me as I finished cumming, letting out one small scream after another.  I experienced my small death for the hundredth or perhaps the thousandth time as I crouched, dominated and used as I so desired beneath my Master.  I milked him for every drop, feeling the heat of his liquid essence slowly fade inside me as I ground my hips and buttocks against his groin, slowly, provocatively, always ensuring that he knew I wasn't yet done with him tonight. 

 

We lay next to each other, slick with a sweat that was slowly cooling under the lazy ceiling fan.  I couldn't help myself, I found myself crying as I stroked Master softly.  He looked at me silently, intensely.  Then he held his arms out and I crashed against his chest, my head next to his hammering heart. 

 

We took each other once more after that, but this time slowly, wondrously, as we explored each other's bodies over and over again.  For the first time, he'd attached short dog leashes to each nipple ring, then tied them together in back as I was on my hands and knees.  Master used these leashes as reins to guide me, controlling my every move, backwards and forwards, side to side, up and down, with only a light tug on each leash.  I wasn't embarrassed or humiliated, only thankful for the pleasure of a new experience; able now to anticipate his every desire with only the softest of pulls in a wordless dance of ecstasy.  For I had months ago learned that he would never ask for more than I could give....and he had taught me to give a lot.

 

It was late and almost time to sleep.  I'd wiped myself clean of his multiple gifts and now sat with my back against pillows that leaned on the headboard.  I'd taken my heels off and my legs were spread wide.  He lay between my thighs with his head on a pillow that rested in my lap; I rubbed his temples where it sometimes hurt him so much.  I'd been doing this for almost an hour now; he so loved being touched by me in this way.  We were slowly working our way through a second bottle of wine and I felt a slight buzzing sensation behind my eyes.  Master got up and re-filled our glasses one last time.  I really didn't want any more, but sipped to please the man to whom I owed everything good in my life.

 

I felt relaxed, oddly relaxed.  In fact, I felt odd, more and more as if I were in a vortex.  He lay between my legs and I continued rubbing his head.  As the seconds passed, I felt less connected to my body and it seemed that I was sucked deeper and deeper into the water.  It was only the touch of his body against mine that kept me anchored; my Master, the man I loved so much.  I finally looked up from deep within the whirlpool and could barely see the night sky against the ocean's surface.  And then without warning, everything dissolved into nothing as I slipped beneath the surface of cold black water.

 

***

 

I sat on one of the steps out back as I swung the sapphire bracelet by one end and let the sun catch the blue stones.  I thought about how at the end of the first stage of training, I'd left Rasha in nothing but pyschodynamic ruins; the terribly bruised interior landscape I'd opened up by peeling her back one layer at a time, like bandaging that had gone septic and stiffened into the flesh beneath.  And how at the core, there was the tightly wired disorderedness that had allowed her to survive the damage in her life and to fight me for so long.  But I'd eventually taken this coiled kernel for my own.  She'd wept when I'd done these things to her, but she cried wide-eyed at the end, like someone fighting the weight of drowsiness, blinking the tears out of her eyes, hands clenched into fists at her side, teeth gritted.

 

I thought about what I'd done to her over the last half year.  I was good at what I did.  My intuition about people rarely failed me.  There were systems in my mind and body of which I was not even aware that measured women like her at some unconscious level.  Then these mental programs managed to somehow get this message through all the super-ego programming and baggage I carried around.  My military training had taken this natural ability and refined it so that I made connections and assembled models of what would be for each of them, the ultimate self-truth, the final journey into womanhood.  I hadn't just had faith I could re-make this woman; for me it had been knowledge.  There was a big difference between the two.  Just as there was a big difference between wanting something and having it and taking responsibility for it.

 

Through my discipline and training, Rasha had been forced to accept profound psychological changes over the past months.  Her view of the world now and her place in it was so much larger, and smaller, at the same time.  Always before, even as a married woman she'd been the beautiful heart-breaker that played the field, arrogantly using and then discarding men at will.  But that had changed after I'd forced her to investigate the incredible synchronicity of her hidden needs and mine.  I had shrunken her world to the limits of her body, the only things of permanence I'd left Rasha had been her slave collar and brand, and the metal that pierced her flesh.  Everything else she'd known and accepted as normal had been withheld, then a few small pleasures and insignificant freedoms doled out slowly as she more and more accepted her reduced significance in this new world.  No longer allowed the spoiled luxury of acting the self-righteous feminist or ill-natured, self-entitled bitch, more deeply than anything else, my woman had been inevitably reduced to the point where she could finally admit to the world that she needed a man as her master.

 

This was a woman that now desperately wanted, desperately needed to give all responsibility and accountability in her life to a man.  She wasn't a woman that wanted to please or taunt multiple men now, rather she craved one man that could give her everything her body and mind had recently been trained to desire.  To be protected by him from everything bad that could happen to a woman of her status, but still a man whom she could respect.  A man who was willing and capable of satisfying the needs that had always been there, but which had been until recently unrecognized, let alone fulfilled.  I'd brought her to this point and as she saw these qualities in me, she couldn't stop herself from offering everything that a woman in her position possessed, if only I could find it in myself to love her the way she loved me.

 

It was her beauty that had first attracted me.  But I finally realized that all things of great beauty in the world, from beautiful women to great works of art, suffer the unstoppable effects of the passage of time.  Their world begins the moment that life is breathed into them, whether or not they are aware of how much in harmony they might be with the infinite.  Then the human creator adds the finishing touches, or the parents train their daughters in how to face the world with their gift---or handicap.  And when finished, each surrenders to the world what they have created.  While time bestows on the inanimate objects a new type of beauty of which human aging could never dream, it withers and destroys us. 

 

I didn't want to grow old with her.  I had known it would come to this eventually.  I was incapable of love.  I had enjoyed her, took what she had to offer.  It was the sort of thing that was nice to a guy like me, but I had known from the beginning that it could never last.  Not nearly for long enough.  I thought about how complicated it all had become.  I'd cursed myself a thousand times over when the lust arose, heady and unstoppable.  It wasn’t the need or desire I felt for her that had frightened me.  It was the other feelings that she brought alive in me.  I didn't want any of these things from her, I really didn't. 

 

I knew that I could have said no to her at a thousand times, but I never had.  My will was stronger than my instincts most of the time, but not with her.  She'd made me weak and what she wanted from me only made me weaker.  In the end, I needed to control the lust because of her, but it still felt so damned good to let it control me.  The savage desire to force my needs on her over and over again vibrated through every nerve.  All I knew was that if she called what I did to her love, then she'd been whoring half her life. 

 

I'd turned from her a gorgeous woman who occasionally fucked a man when she wanted, to a beautiful woman who lived to be fucked in any servile way I could invent for her, and she'd fuck me with pleasure for as long as I could get it up.  I'd wanted a woman that would fight me for everything that I tried to take from her.  And she had in the beginning---but only in the beginning.  At the end, I'd realized I needed a woman that was as strong as me, and just as needy.  I'd wanted a woman to keep, not a virtual wife.  But Rasha was weaker now, her strength gone, taken along with everything else that had made her so desirable. 

 

Although subservient in every way that pleased me, she still remained a woman with the needs most women have.  She wanted one man, a man of her own, a man that could love her.  And to her, I had assumed that mythic position in her world.

 

Always a confident woman, I could tell that she now assumed not only that her position and status somehow allowed her minor input into our daily lives, but even more, that I wanted her in my life that way.  She was persistent in her attempts to include me in this warm world she was trying to create, driven solely by her obvious love for me and her need for my affection and approval.  Even as I routinely disabused her of these notions with belt and rope, whip and wood and steel, she continued to love me as my partner, not as my slave.  For her, I think she was in the best of all possible worlds; having an opportunity to explore her sexuality in ways and lengths she had never before dreamed possible, as well as living the fiction of maintaining a serious, long-term, monogamous relationship with a man she felt cared for her. 

 

I had a subservient wife in everything but name, and this was exactly what I didn't want.

 

I knew that I needed to escape the ugliness of what I really was; the temporary escapes through the temporary women, generally taken against their will, but all used to sate my desires for no more than a single night.  But even though none of them had ever lasted like she had, I'd always known in my heart that she too had been a temporary woman.

 

Rasha was wrong in her feelings about us.  There could be no love here, no tenderness---I didn't need it, I wouldn't allow it.  When I found myself with her as she willingly submitted to my basest needs, anticipation and the need to cause her even greater pain had flowed like lava within me even as I fought to bring it under control.  It wasn't the need to inflict pain that was the problem, it was the lack of control.  I'd tried to find the strength to pull away from her, but the lure of what she filled me with, what she allowed me to do to her day after day was too strong.  My desire, my need to dominate and hurt another was ingrained too deeply.  It was what I was.  But even as I understood what I was and what I was doing, I always wanted still more from this woman, taking her deeper and forcing her into evermore darker corners of her mind.   Until I felt disgust with her weaknesses, rather than affection for what made her her.

 

I'd taken everything from Rasha, convincing her that the more she gave me, the more proof it was of her devotion and love.  In the end, she'd became flushed with total acceptance, finding worth in everything I wanted, everything I demanded.  Months of indulgence had followed, and I found that the more dominating I was, the more satisfaction I craved and the less I found.  She would have burned up first, consumed by the fires inside me.  Then I would have followed, like a piece of small rock burning to ashes upon re-entry.  Her beauty was not enough to satisfy me anymore, not enough to keep me.

 

The memory of being unable to stop myself with her still resounded inside me; the lure of her body and her defenselessness still irresistible.  In the end, saying no to my needs had been impossible.  It had been hard, but inside I felt good about my decision in a melancholy way.  It wasn't the glorious shock of ecstasy, but more like a sunbeam, unnoticed when you first found it, but its warmth growing until you felt.....good.

 

And so I did it in self-defense.  She was gone.  Sold to a slaver.

 

EPILOGUE

 

I awoke on a boat.  It was night and the boat was making good speed as it slammed into three or four foot-high waves.  I felt nauseous and had a blinding headache.  What had happ............Master had done this to me!  Shock blanked my mind.  I.....I didn't know what to think.   I leaned my head against a metal pole and did nothing, felt nothing.  I sat motionless, stunned.  I felt numb and my mind was suddenly blank as the implications of what he'd done hit me with the impact of hammer blows.  He didn't want me....he didn't love me.  The emotional changes he'd forced me to accept the first couple of months had made me a psychological wreck.  I had cried all the time, filled with rage towards him at first and then self-loathing, consumed by psychosomatic aches and illnesses.  Even though he had already possessed my body, only at the end had I finally trusted him enough to truly let him into my life, then finally love him with all my heart.  At that point, I had allowed him to possess me totally. 

 

Suddenly, helplessly, I started crying as I realized how it would just start all over again.  The man I had loved had betrayed me.  Because of him, I was a ruined woman, a slave, one of America's “disappeared.”  No one cared what happened to women like me, certainly not men like him.  We were taken, then used and finally discarded, only to have it start all over again.  This life of being bought and sold, of continually being forced to both serve and service unknown men, men who would never want to know me, of men raping and sodomizing and torturing me---this life would never end, not for the likes of me.  Not until I was dead or so old that no man would want me.  Being without men sounded wonderful, but what would I do, how would I live then?

 

I must have cried for two hours.  Unthinking, senseless, hopeless tears.  Finally, I was cried out.  My neck was chafed from the tight collar I wore.  I was sure that Master had dismissed me from his life wearing his two-inch wide thick leather punishment collar that I had seen hanging on one of the walls in the White Room.  I leaned against the pole with my eyes closes, my mind empty.  I was blank for a long time, not brave enough to think what might have happened.  The truth was that there was no fight left in me anymore, but I had to be strong. I accepted everything now, why struggle when this was what my fate was meant to be.  Finally, I shook myself and looked around.  I felt empty inside, but still needed to see.

 

There was a crew of three and a fourth that must have been the captain.  I couldn’t make out their faces for all was a blur in the darkness.  I got the impression of disciplined men as I watched them moving around the deck, doing various jobs at the command of the boat’s Master.  I was sitting with my face up against some kind of mast and facing forward, in what looked like a three foot deep well on the top of the boat.  There was some kind of metal and wood cover over me and I could not be seen unless I craned my neck in an awkward position in order to peer out.  My legs were wrapped around the pole, my ankles bound together on the opposite side.  My arms went around the outside of my thighs and my wrists were tied together underneath my legs forcing my face against the pole.  I was helpless.

 

As hard as it was, I tried to remain calm, taking deep breaths and talking to myself.  But it was all useless babble.  I wouldn't allow myself to think about anything, let alone my fate.  Nothing had happened to me yet, but somewhere deep, deep inside, I knew it was to the pleasure of men and the delight of their souls that I would be forever offered. 

 

I suddenly realized that on the day that what my Master had done to me stopped gnawing at my soul and instead become pleasurable; when my hands had finally stopped feeling cold at what I accepted from him and I truly began demanding it of him for the first time, maybe that was the day that I'd finally accepted whatever my new life might bring.  I knew I couldn't step away from this life now even if I had the chance.  And I'd also known somehow that it wouldn't always offer blissful happiness.  But I'd thought I would be with him.........I had to stop thinking like this.  Thinking about this, and him, led to madness.  Instead of worrying about something over which I had no control, I forced myself to furtively watch the crew even though my head barely came up high enough to see them. 

 

The night was dark and the sea breeze was cool in my hair and on my face even though where I sat was protected from most of the wind.  I felt chilled.  I could see that I was dressed in my tight blue jean cutoffs, the lowrider ones that were cut so high up on my hips that I may as well have been wearing nothing at all.  A bright red loose, off-the-shoulder top completed my ensemble.  There was no gag in my mouth, but that really didn't matter since there was no one around other than the crew to hear me.  I knew intimately the feel of chains tightly binding my breast rings, and had that feeling now.  Other than that, I could feel my breasts swinging free beneath the loose blouse with each motion of the boat and if I knew my Master, I would bet money that I wore no underwear too.  My nipples were erect from the cold and exquisitely sensitive from rubbing against my blouse for so long.  I blinked back tears.

 

It felt like I had acquired a bruise somehow---as if I'd been wrestling or something.  My left elbow felt scraped and my stomach ached.  There was a sensitive spot on my belly just below my navel, perhaps a nervous rash.  Unfortunately, it lay exactly where the top of my cutoffs buttoned and this tormented me every time I moved; my cutoffs rubbed against this area, making me even more miserable.  Worse, it felt like there was a matching rash on my rear.  All in all, I was miserable.

 

Suddenly, I couldn’t stop the tears.  I must be a terrible person, worthless.  I must be no good.  No one wanted me.  I was like so many others that I knew had disappeared without a trace.  And I knew now that I deserved no less.  My life, my fate, everything had been sealed years ago by the vile things I had done.  And now I was paying the price.  Shuffled out of the deck of life, like a card thrown under the table. 

 

God!  Master, why have you done this?  You’d opened the gates of paradise for me, and I wouldn’t have rested until I followed you through.  By the end of our time together, by the time you finished with me, I’d have willingly followed you into any fire that God ever lit.  Why?

 

I knew I'd made a mistake allowing myself to care for him and he'd ended my world as a result.  He'd been a wonderful lover, but I knew now that he had no honor, no code.  But somehow, still I cared for him.  There would never be another lover like him; I wouldn't allow it.  It could only end badly when you allowed someone to get too close.  I'd had too much pride and had paid the price; now it was back of the bus and everyone took care of themselves.  Never again.

 

***

 

The boat must have traveled for at least another hour before it drew into a small deserted dock that needed repair.  Lingering patches of early morning sea fog quickly blanked out vision after only a few yards.  Only one weak bulb was lit at the end of the dock, barely enough to allow the boat’s Master to see.  Even so, he did an expert job of docking.  Two members of the crew jumped onto the dock and began carrying cans of fuel inboard.

 

Five minutes later I watched as the shapes of three people materialized from within the mist.  Two burly men with a slight figure between them.  As they got closer, I could see the two black men that carried the slight figure of a young girl between them.  Her feet barely touched the wood of the dock as they dragged her up the dock to where they were met by the four men from the boat. 

 

As they stood under the single light, I had a good view of them all.  She wore her light brown hair long and parted in the middle; she looked barely seventeen years old.  There was a gag in her mouth and she was crying softly.  Her hands were bound behind her back and she was bare legged, wearing only a short soft-pink skirt that came to within three inches of her knees and a tight white top.  On her feet, the teenager wore pink strappy wedgies with three inch heels that were covered with hemp rope; the kind of cheap shoes that could be purchased at any Target store and which had satiny-looking straps that wound two-thirds of the way up her calves before they were tied in back.  

 

She looked scared to death.  With cheap jewelry and her makeup smeared from crying, it seemed she was clearly what she appeared to be.  A lower-class teenager that had been kidnapped from a party or get-together. 

 

But even as scared as she obviously was, her face still seemed to glow with an angelic innocence.  This was not one of the experienced hard-faced slutty teenage girls with whom I was so familiar from having been a teacher.  Rather this was one that those girls would have mocked.  It seemed to me that this little girl looked like she belonged to that disappearing group of young women that everyone agreed represented the best of the old fashioned values.

 

She stood for a minute by herself as her captors met the man who'd just bought her.  Even in her fear, she moved with an unconscious feminine grace that would be intensely erotic to any man that might see it.  Her hair was thick, maintaining its body even in the moist night air.  She had a long graceful neck, tiny waist and long, shapely legs that tapered to slender ankles; the young girl was beautiful in an unfinished sort of way.  Just by looking at her, you knew that she was one of those rare young women that while she was beautiful in her youth, she would become even more beautiful as she matured. 

 

The Master of the boat stepped into the light and faced me as he counted out money and handed it to the men that had delivered their captive.  I gasped as I saw his face for the first time.  He must have heard something for he turned towards me even as I hurriedly shrunk back down against the metal pole, hiding my face in the comforting darkness.  The Master was a huge black man.  One side of his face was normal, even handsome.  But the other side was disfigured and had a terrible tattoo---something that looked both dark and threatening.

 

I could hear them talking and though I missed some of what they said, it was obvious that they'd kidnapped the girl from over a hundred miles up the coast and they felt that no one would be looking for her down here.  The captain had a good feel for the Coast Guard schedules and had apparently paid someone off, for between this and his camouflage as the wealthy owner of a boat that he liked to take out for deep water fishing, he seemed to have no fear of being caught. 

 

After a moment, I looked again at the dock.  He was gone, but I saw two of his crewmen drag the unresisting girl inboard in the back and apparently inside the boat's cabin below.  Quickly, the remaining member of the crew untied the two lines that secured the boat to the dock and jumped back on board.  Suddenly, the engines of the boat revved up and it began to move away from the dock.  Two figures, neither of which was the boat’s Master, moved around the deck near me.  Given the timing, I knew that the third crewman must be piloting the boat, leaving only the Master unaccounted for. 

 

I suddenly heard the soft buzz of a voice coming from down below.  It must have gone on for at least ten minutes, then suddenly I heard what could only have been a muffled scream from the girl.  It was a high-pitched, yet oddly heavy sound that came from deep within her soul and rocketed out from inside the boat.  The gag muffled her in such a way that her scream carried only a short distance over the wet night air before dying completely.  It was clear that these men had done this before.  Her muffled, cadenced screams continued to emanate from below for at least half an hour.  Sometimes a scream would break off in mid-pitch, other times it would drag on for at least a minute.  I found myself crying; great wracking sobs that tore me apart.  I deserved everything these men did to me.  But not her.  She was too young, too pure yet to have earned this terrible thing.

 

Finally, there was silence.  Shortly thereafter, the boat’s Master appeared on deck and said, “She’s yours for now.”  The three men eagerly left and within a minute, I heard men’s laughter from below.  Suddenly, she was screaming again, the sounds drowned out by men laughing at something they found hilarious.  More laughter and a final scream that was cut-off in mid-voice.  Then silence for at least ten minutes, which was only interrupted by the faint sound of something that I recognized immediately, a belt hitting soft flesh.  Suddenly, the men started laughing again, but I never heard her scream again.

 

Night became day and the boat went on for two or three hours in the daylight.  It then stopped and fishing lines were thrown overboard.  We were camouflaged as a private yacht whose owner was just out fishing in deep water.

 

One of the crew came up and looked at me speculatively for about a minute and I just knew that rape was immanent.  But he eventually untied my hands so that I could drink from a cup of water and eat a cold egg sandwich.  I shivered all over as I tried to ignore the implications of his behavior, but my mind kept coming back to how helpless they were keeping me.  I was so afraid of the unknown that I just curled into as much of a ball as I could and pulled my life in around me.  But around noon, my bladder began to kill me.  I had to beg over and over to use the bathroom, and finally got one of the men's attention.  Two men came up and untied my wrists and ankles, but one of them had to help me stand.  I hadn't known it at the time, but I found that I was wearing a pair of flat-soled sandals. 

 

My arms were numb and my legs felt as if they were made of rubber, as if they'd never be able to support me again.  I trembled uncontrollably from head to toe.  My heart was beating wildly and I felt like I really needed to throw up.  There was a breeze, but I was sweating profusely.  I closed my eyes, but the light from the overhead sun was still blinding as it screamed through my eyelids. 

 

I have never been a boat person, so please excuse that lack of experience in my descriptions.  Now that I was standing, I could see that the boat looked like it was about fifty feet long, perhaps more.  It had sort of covered veranda on the back with a few chairs along each side.  The steps in back led first down to a largish kind of setting room, then the galley, then to two smaller berths, one on each side of aisle and the toilet was at the end.  As they took me to the head, I had to walk by the cabin on the right in which they'd stored the young girl.  I looked in at her with immense pity. 

 

Except for her sandals, she lay naked on what looked like a double-sized bed, facing away from me towards the side of the boat.  The girl had curled into a fetal ball, bound wrists clenched between her thighs and around her tears and pain.  Her body was firm and smooth and youthful looking from the back.  She had been whipped on her buttocks and lower back, and only the end of a giant black rubber plug was visible, since the main part had already been inserted inside her rectum.  The insides and back of her thighs were covered with a thin film of what must have been dried blood and she lay in a hip-wide pool of what I assumed was dried semen that stained the sheet upon which she rested.  I wanted to be strong for her.  I leaned forward to say something comforting, but my captor pushed me hard in the back towards the toilet.  I couldn't tell her that it would be okay, that she would recover from this too.  That life had dealt her a shitty hand, and that like me, she also had to play it out.

 

He left the door open as I slowly pulled my shorts down and did what I had to do.  He wasn't paying attention to me right now and for once, I had a moment to myself.  After I'd finished but before I pulled my cutoffs back up again, I pulled my top up a little to look at was so irritating to my lower belly.  In shock, I gazed at a small fist that had been tattooed onto my belly just above my hairless vagina.  It was done in white, but had exquisite detail shown in black.  My mind was blank as I looked at this thing for almost a minute, then comprehension widened my eyes as I whirled to look at my back in the mirror.  A small black hand had been tattooed there just above the crack of my butt, but all detail with this one was done in white.  I would never wear a bikini bottom or thong again without flaunting irrefutable evidence to the world of having been fisted front and back. 

 

Time seemed to fly by at the speed of light, yet it took an eternity as the seconds dragged slowly by one after another.  I heard the others enter the cabin and knew I had to move, yet my mind whirled in absolute incomprehension and my feet refused to move.  Why was this happening to me?  Why had my Master forsaken me like this?  What would happen next?  Who could I turn to now?  Would I ever find someone that would care for ME?  Would I ever be free of this nightmare?  Would I see true freedom ever again?  Finally, I heard the buzz of men conversing outside in the aisle.  I hurriedly finished getting my cutoff's zipped and snapped and walked out on my own. 

 

When I came out of the bathroom, I saw that two of the men had forced the young girl onto her back, then tied her bound hands to the head of the bed and stretched her legs out towards the foot of the bed.  She'd been gagged and her ankles were tied far apart; the men were in the process of removing her sandals.  Suddenly, one of the them reached over to his side and pulled out a thick flat piece of wood that was shaped like a ping-pong paddle with holes drilled in it, only larger.  He literally sat on her shin to pin her foot, then squared off and hit the bare bottom of her left foot hard with the paddle.  The poor young thing arched her back and bucked helplessly, screaming into her gag in agony.  But it had only started for her as the second man joined the first in hitting the girl's feet.  I started crying, but was quickly dragged out of the cabin to the back of the boat.  But the muted sound of paddles hitting flesh and muffled screams didn't leave my ears for hours and hours.

 

I spent what seemed interminable hours on the back of the boat undergoing my own training and discipline before they took me back to my little hideaway.  There were no thoughts in my head as I was returned, none.  My legs still felt like rubber and barely worked.  My mind had been blanked by what I'd just experienced.  But the young girl's occasional muted screams never left me, never allowed me any piece.  It was awful.

 

Regardless of how we female passengers might have felt, the boat continued its journey later in the day.  It once made a quick stop near a deserted beach and used an inflatable dinghy to pick up more fuel, then it went back to cruising at least fifteen miles offshore.  I was hungry, but wasn't fed again.

 

Eventually we stopped in the early evening at another dock, but this time it seemed as if we had tied off at an island rather than the mainland.  The smell of pine or spruce from the island was strong, mixing wonderfully with the ocean air.  One of the crew tied the boat to the dock while two others untied my bonds and led me off the boat.  I squared my shoulders and tried to show a confidence I didn't feel.  I hadn't been hurt too badly so far, perhaps this wouldn't as bad as I had imagined.  Perhaps when he rid himself of me, my Master had at least ensured that I would find myself in a better place than I had just left. 

 

This dock was well built with a tightly fit wood surface which left few gaps.  It was much better lit than the previous one and I could walk without too much difficulty.  I saw our boat's Master as he jumped lightly to the dock to meet a waiting figure.  There were a couple of lights near the end of the dock and I could see both men clearly this time. 

 

I watched the captain closely.  The master of the boat was a huge man, massive in a way that made me think his whole body was made of lead and iron.  He possessed that special something that which caused some people to stick out in a crowd.  His eyebrows were as black as a raven.  His dark eyes had a fiery intensity and were set beneath a heavy brow which gave him an aura of brooding intensity.  One side of his face was roughly handsome, the other side damaged, his skin eerily smooth, like a mirror, like water.  Yet it was also rough and pitted with unnatural angles, the skin tightly covering deeply angled indentations.  It was this side that was embroidered with the most fantastic tattoo.  Yet from time to time, he would chuckle and even laugh, and he seemed mostly considerate.  This was a scary man, a born dominant.  He behaved as if we were on an outing, as if there were nothing odd about having two kidnapped women on his boat.

 

Aside from that indefinable charisma, he was a handsome man with thick black hair, flashing brown eyes and perfect teeth.  If he had a flaw at all besides the damage that had been done to his face, it was his hawk-like nose.  But even that worked to his advantage, granting him a definite predatory air.

 

Who was this man with the serious eyes and strange tattoo?  I watched the way he commanded everyone's attention, the obvious intelligence in his eyes......the quiet strength in his body.  I caught myself.  No, damn it, no!  How could I?

 

He looked skyward, rubbed his eyes and appeared to enjoy the damp evening air.  We lingered on the dock even as it misted rain off and on. 

 

The man that met us on the dock was a handsome man, slim and long limbed.  He wore his kinky black hair short and flat on top.  He had glossy black skin, high cheekbones and an expressive mouth which at the moment was formed into a hard thin line.  I could hear the two talk.  He spoke like an educated man that had been taught someplace other than the U. S. and conversed with the boat captain as if an equal, with a confidence and ease borne of long familiarity....another obvious dominant.  Both acted as if I weren’t there, and after a couple of minute’s preliminary negotiations, my sale began.  Even as the other man began, I knew I had no choice but to continue watching the captain of the boat closely or I'd be severely punished.

 

With one quick move, the new man pulled my top down over my shoulders to expose my breasts.  I froze in disbelief.  His black eyes gleamed as he looked at my piercings, then he cupped my breasts for a second and played with the rings and chain that Master had given me so many months ago.  He ended the massage with a soft milking motion on each breast that left my nipples engorged and sticking out.  My head was bowed and I never looked at him as he did this, for I my eyes never left the Captain.  Apparently, I passed this test because leaving my top where it was, he now reached down and first unzipped my cutoffs, then unsnapped them.  Pulling my cutoffs open at the top, he placed the palm of his left hand flat on my belly and then slid it between my legs.  After he had cupped me for a second, he rolled my clitoris between his thumb and forefinger for about half a minute until he felt me begin to get wet. 

 

Next he stuck two, then three fingers inside my shaved vagina.  I closed my eyes and tried to keep my mind blank, trying to ignore the sensations I was feeling as he explored the most intimate part of my body.  His fingers were inside me for almost half a minute before he pulled his hand out and smelled his fingers with a discerning sniff.  Making a soft sound of what seemed approval, he then walked around in back of me as he pulled and jerked my cutoffs down to the middle of my thighs.  He reached between my legs with his right hand and stuck his middle finger inside my vagina again to get it moist, then quickly inserted it into my anus.  I gasped in shock and horror.

 

With his left hand on the back of my left shoulder and the middle finger of his other hand buried inside me, he said, “Clench your muscles.  Come on, you little piece of ass-candy, tighten up for me.”  I obeyed in a daze, tightening my buttocks at the same time that I pushed with my rectum.  After a minute of tensing and straining, he pulled his finger out and walked back around to stand in front of me.  Suddenly, he reached up and put his fingers into my mouth, pulling my lips back and exposing my teeth.  He forced my mouth open and peered inside.  I could taste myself on his fingers as they probed my teeth and pulled at my lips and tongue. 

 

Finally done with his exam, he turned and began to talk to the Master of the boat again.  As the two talked, he absentmindedly wiped his fingers clean on my blouse.  I stood on the dock with my hands to my side, my top pulled down below my breasts.  My feet were spread shoulder's width apart and my shorts rested just above my knees as the dominants discussed what they thought would be a fair price for me.  I continued watching the boat's master closely. 

 

Suddenly, I saw the hand signals I'd known were coming.  I brought my knees slightly together to allow the cut-offs to drop around my ankles, then dropped to my knees in response to his command and rocked back on my heels. 

 

I thought back to when I had first been taken down below in the boat yesterday.  When he brought me back on deck in back, he'd left me facing the rear of the boat as he removed my handcuffs.  He'd then grabbed my hair from in back and forced me to my knees. 

 

“Forget,” he said, “about what's going on inside.  You've got some things to learn too.”

 

He began by forcing me to sit on my heels, knees slightly spread.  Then he began showing me variations on the position; head bowed or upright, knees spread or together, palms down or facing up on my thighs---each having a different meaning to a Master trained in these subtleties.  As he did this, he showed me the corresponding hand signals that went with each position.  Once we'd gone through these basic commands, we began working on other more complicated commands and how to string them together in a simple, wordless language.  The man spent hours working with me on these and other hand signals until I was perfect. 

 

I had to pay attention all the time, for he beat me when I missed his signals.  He always held his hand almost hidden by his side, but soon I was missing only a few of the hand commands, and then, finally none.  I knew I must be better trained than any bitch alive that had ever competed in field trials. 

 

There had been silence from below except for a rhythmic grunting sound for much of my training period, but towards the end of the last hour, I heard muffled groans and screams begin from below again.  I was allowed to go to the bathroom one more time after about four hours, and the girl had already been steadily screaming for over an hour by that time.  She was tied on her back naked, with wrists tied to the head of the bed and ankles spread almost four feet apart and tied to the foot of the bed.  Her virginity was long gone and the men of the crew were clearly tired, physically exhausted from the lengthy rape and torture of their prey.  This situation thus screamed for more modern means of breaking their captive's spirit. 

 

The men laughed and bantered back and forth as they watched; the poor girl was now being fucked by a robot in order to “...get her pussy used to it.”  They had what must have been a ten-inch long, red silicon dildo with a molded nutsack.  This was attached to the end of a long metal rod that was connected to a black box.  The metal arm had a back and forth motion of perhaps eight inches, and it was set so that at the deepest penetration, the rubber nutsack always just slammed into the crack of her ass.  Then it would pull out until perhaps only two or three inches remained in her belly.  This would allow her body would be to drawn slightly towards the foot of the bed as most of the dildo was out of her body for the moment and her ankle bindings pulled her back.  Then with about a second's delay, it would slam into into the young girl again between her legs, filling her vagina once more. It would ram into her pussy hard enough and deep enough so that at its maximum extension, it would drive her body back up the mattress a couple of inches.  At the end, as the dildo bottomed out inside her tortured vagina, the only noise was a tortured pig-like grunting sound that was forced from deep within her body.

 

Finally, the men left, accompanied only by the soft groan of the captured teenage girl.  One of the men would come down every so often and put more lubricant on the dildo, but the original red color didn't hide the bloody, pinkish froth that surrounded the dildo as it penetrated her body each time.  She had to be in agony, but she was so far gone that she only reacted physically when the boat would sway with a passing ocean swell and thus slightly change the direction from which she was being skewered.  This would suddenly bring her back to life and she'd scream until the boat had settled down again.  Then she'd go silent once more except for the rhythmic pig sounds she made---but the robot always continued its relentless fucking motion.

 

***

 

I knelt on the dock to show my submission to the inherent superiority of the two men.  My head was bowed and my hands rested on my thighs, palms up as I had been taught.  Regardless of how I might have actually felt, I knew I was required to show I was open to having sex with whomever might have authority over me.  But the strange man continued to ignore me as he bargained with the boat captain; telling him that at twenty-eight, I was too old and I didn’t have many good years left.  That I'd been used too hard and my ass muscles felt like calamari.  It was clear to both dominants that this was not true, it just his bargaining position.

 

The captain countered with my being completely broken in and not a trouble maker; that I was thoroughly slave-trained as well as a a full-on ass-slut.  I was, he said, “...a good second-hand woman, well worth the money.  Taken off the streets for less than year now, she still has a lot of mileage left.....a spectacular piece of ass.”  Finally, he added, “She’s well educated; an English teacher.  She can teach your sons ‘reading’, ‘writing’ and ‘rithmetic’.”  Then he laughed as he looked at me slyly, “She likes to fuck too, so she’ll be pretty good at teaching them biology on the side.”

 

He continued as if I wasn't there.  “Look at her.  Gorgeous body.  Great tits and ass.  You saw her legs, her face....she's beautiful.  She'll give you a lot of pleasure and at least two-three kids before you wind up selling her ass again.” 

 

This seemed to clinch the deal.  There was a little more arguing by my new Master, but it was just for form's sake.  The two men stared at each other silently as they shook hands; the deal for my purchase had been struck. 

 

“Well, I guess the sow is mine now.”  My new Master looked at me for a second as I knelt at his feet, then said to the boat's captain, “She's been trained, I see.....European Standard?”

 

“Yeah,” was the laconic reply.

 

“And she's been trained to show when she's receptive too?”

 

“Yeah.  We haven't tried her out, but she gets good marks from her previous owner.”  I blushed as I heard this, but remained absolutely still.  I loved him.  How could he have done this to me?

 

My new Master asked, “So why'd he sell her ass?”

 

“Oh, it was getting a little too complicated, what he said.  She was an educated bitch that thought she was a little better than she was.  Like a dumb-ass crack whore, she'd gotten herself into trouble and needed to keep low for awhile.  So he took her in off the street, then broke her in right.  Shocked the shit out of her at first.  She got a little too pushy, a little too demanding at the end.  She's a high-end, high-maintainence slut that was used to having her way with men; but with her looks, he felt she was worth the hassle.  Eventually forgot her status like a lot of these educated, society bitches do.  Wanted more than he was willing to give.  But he trained her right; you put her on her hands and knees with your dick up her ass and she'll beg for more just like any other street whore.  So he's moved on and made a little money on the side with the bitch.  He's peddled her ass on the market and here she is, ready to do your raggedy dick and your sons too.  She may fight you a little at first, but she likes to be fucked in the ass and likes to be hurt.  She's a steal, man; the rougher you treat her, the better she likes it.”

 

“Yeah,” my new Master replied as he smiled at me, “tough on her ass, but good for me, I'd say.  Between me and my boys, once we get her knocked up, we'll be keeping her ass pretty full all day long.”

 

My thoughts began to hammer at me, becoming more overwhelming in their frantic intensity by the second.  Oh God, please let this not be happening to me.  This can't be happening.  Not today, not in America.  Not to me.  I didn't deserve this, not in any way. Why me?  I was too intelligent to think that I was inferior as a human being.  No, this must be my fault in some other way.  It must be MY fault somehow.  It must be because I'd been weak enough to give in to my needs, the cravings my previous Master had dredged up and then taken advantage of.  Like any nicotine or booze, drugs or gambling addict, I realized that there would come a point when I had to pay for my addiction.  But not now.  This just wasn't fair, not when I was finally getting my life back together.  At the same time, I knew in the pit of my stomach that this was real, this couldn't a dream.  As if to emphasize this last thought, my new Master turned and aggressively put his hips in front of my face.  He slowly unzipped his pants and exposed himself.

 

“You know what I want,” he said.  “Do it.  Now!”

 

This was purely a dominance issue between he and I.  He was humiliating me to show his power over me.  To him, my shame would be both immediate and a public warning to me of his power, proving to me that there were no boundaries for him when it came to his power over me.  There were three of us on the dock and we'd all known something like this must be coming.  Two were dominant males and implicitly expected the absolute obedience of any woman that had been trained by their hands.  I was the third and I knew that no matter what I did, in the end I would be forced to submit to this man's demands.  I could have fought him, but all three of us knew it always would end the same way.  There was no way that I could physically resist him, especially when there were three more men on the boat.  Worse, if I denied him, I knew they'd do terrible things to me later.

 

My heart felt broken.  My mind more and more dazed.  I'd always been the one that took advantage of a relationship.  Now I knew what it meant to be used and then discarded by someone you cared about.  But the difference was that I had never fundamentally altered someone's life like he had mine.  I was absolutely terrified of what might be coming, and I felt devastated by what I'd just heard; my mind was overwhelmed, my thoughts raced at light speed, but nothing made sense, there was no traction here, there was no way out.  I hesitated for a second as I realized that I would never be able to get used to being talked about as if I were a prostitute that wasn't even present.  But I also knew I didn't have the luxury of having any other options with these men. 

 

My mind ran over my options one last time.  I was afraid, but I knew I didn't dare show these men any resistance.  So hesitantly, reluctantly, I reached up with shaking hands and fondled him before I began to make longer strokes.  He was immediately hard, then hmmed deep in his throat, but not like I was making him happy.  He didn't look like a patient man.  I closed my eyes and my original Master's familiar face swam before me as I unwillingly opened my mouth to accept the hard black penis that was shoved in. 

 

There was an odd acrid smell to this man; it was unpleasant, but I had no choice in the matter.  It seemed that nothing important mattered anymore.  I licked the single eye of his hot, shiny snake a couple of times, then sucked hard once on the swollen, dark purplish-black end.  He jabbed himself in and out of my mouth quickly several times, then ordered me to get ready to “... take it deep.” 

 

Panicked, my eyes began tearing in humiliation at being treated like a thing in front of the other men; I wasn't person to any of these men, I was a thing, nothing but a living, breathing receptacle for their semen.  I braced myself for the upcoming oral outrage and somehow, just before he rammed into me, I managed to take a full, deep breath.  My throat felt terribly tight, but his thick shaft with the huge tip drove forcefully through my mouth and seemingly headed straight for my stomach.  I wanted to gag, but managed somehow to stop myself.  Suddenly he pulled back from my throat and into my mouth once more.

 

"Okay, bitch, show me what you've got.  Lick it.....work it; you're supposed to be a high-society slut, so show me what educated men like.  Work it real good, you little slave bitch,” he ordered.

 

With no other option, I obeyed my new Master.  He put his hands on my head and made me suck on him for about thirty seconds.  He still wasn't all in my mouth when he gave a another dreadful lunge and penetrated my throat, putting almost six inches of coal-black cock straight down my gullet one more time.  No matter how he tried, he still couldn't get the last two or three inches inside me.  Choking and trying to breathe, I grabbed his hips and held on as my Master orally raped me for the first time.  Both of his hands were on the back of my head now, rhythmically pulling my head towards his hips as he thrust into me. 

 

Almost in desperation, I tried to speed up his ejaculation.  I began to suck harder on his cock as it slid back and forth over my tongue, then punched down my throat at the end of each thrust. My mouth began to fill with saliva because of the friction of his erection as it banged against the lining of my throat.  I somehow managed to continue sucking as his balls slapped against my chin with each lunge of his hips, and his grip on my hair tightened, as if encouraging me to work him harder. I put one hand on his nutsack and began to massage him.  A few more strokes and I felt sure that he was on the verge of unloading. 

 

Then he yanked my head back and his glistening black cock popped free from my mouth as he made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a bark. "I'm on to your pathetic attempt to control me, you whore. You really are an arrogant cunt and now you're gonna' find out what a bitch like you gets for being so obviously disrespectful and manipulative."

 

I knew that any resistance was a mistake; I prepared to accept without complaint or resistance whatever was coming.  The only thing I could think of doing was to try to relax my throat to minimize the pain he was obviously planning to give me with his throbbing tube of hard flesh. But I hadn't understood the depth of his anger, for suddenly my nostrils were pinched shut by his thumb and forefinger as they crushed my nasal cartilage against my nose ring. The pain combined with my inability to breathe and put me in a near panic.  I was blinded; my eyes were tearing in pain and I felt like he'd paralyzed me.  I couldn't blink, I couldn't breathe, my brain and every muscle in my body seemed to be shutting down at the same time. My jaws began to hurt and the pain grew so quickly that it took over my entire existence. Something had happened to my jaws; they'd been forced open so wide that my muscles had locked up.  Tears were running from my eyes and rivulets of sweat were running down my face.

 

I was not ready for his raging fury as his cock punched through my lips one more time and wedged itself deeply inside my throat. His hands grabbed my ears and began twisting them until I felt as if he would rip them off. The pain of my ears combined with that from my jaw made me forget to breathe for a second.  He took full advantage of this momentary lapse and punched his cock another inch deeper into my gullet, gagging me, punishing me, totally blocking off even the slightest hint of air.  I wriggled like a worm that had been impaled by a hook; my eyes bulging from the strain of trying to somehow avoid suffocation.  Suddenly, I became aware that my hands were beating on his hips and I had no idea how long I had been hitting him.

 

A dozen deep lunges later, I felt his balls tighten up and his cock almost actually vibrate on my tongue.  An eye blink later, I felt the sperm in his nuts boiling out and then rocket up through his erection.  My eyes literally flew open in surprise as a huge gush of burning cum jetted against the back of my throat and began its slow, dripping cascade into my stomach.  He was so far inside my mouth that there was no taste to his delivery, the semen had spurted so deep into my throat that it was beyond the taste buds on the back of my tongue.  His semen felt scalding hot and honey thick as it slowly ran down my esophagus.  After one more huge spurt, he pulled back and finished emptying his nuts into my gaping mouth.

 

I felt paralyzed, but he wasn't finished.  My throat was sore by now, but luckily I'd taken a deep breath when I'd last opened my mouth.  My jaws ached from being forced open so wide for so long and massive amounts of saliva had pooled in my mouth.  But he still filled my mouth with his sex meat even as he began to soften. 

 

His flaccid cock now rested on my tongue and we both had frozen like plaster of paris statues.  After a moment, I shook my head and it felt like I was coming out of a trance.  To please him, I began to softly suck again for less than a minute and suddenly, he was rock-hard again. 

 

As soon as my lips had closed and made him hard again, he began thrusting into me, gaining speed and pushing deeper with each stroke he delivered. I gagged as the huge head began battering at the back of my throat once more. Then he grabbed my hair in his fists and used it like reins to control my movements as he violently face-fucked me. He forced his steaming meat deeper into me, putting it in my gullet once more, blocking the air that I so desperately needed.  I knew my eyes lost focus as his groin beat a desperate rhythm on my face, and I could smell his sour body odor.  I absently wondered if I would pass out before he was finished with me. 

 

I had no choice but to hold onto my new Master's hips now as he violently throat-fucked me again and again.  I could do nothing else.  My throat began to spasm as it was invaded time after time, but nothing stopped him.  The massive head rammed deep into my throat time and time again, choking me and filling me beyond belief.  I felt him pull back into my mouth and tried to take another breath, but the wide, black cock went full length into my throat again...and again....and again.  Despite the pain, I knew I was beginning to suffer the first panicky feelings of suffocation when I felt the familiar pulsing begin again.  Once more, an incredible gush, an actual flood of semen filled my throat and was quickly followed by another monstrous spurt.  God, where did he store this stuff?  Would it never end?  Would he never be empty? 

 

Suddenly, he pulled back into my mouth and finally began to deliver smaller gobs of his sperm into my open mouth.  I gasped for air, then choked on his jizz as I filled my lungs with the wonderful fresh pine scented air.  And then he was empty.  Finally.

 

I did my best to accept every drop he unloaded in my mouth, then hold it until he gave me the command to swish it between my teeth and then swallow. As my throat moved, signaling my obedience to his command, my new Master finally smiled and patted me on the head as if I were a trained pet who had just done a good trick for her dinner. I was at rock bottom, and deep inside I knew that there was no way out.

 

He turned and began talking to the boat captain, “Ooh, I've been waiting for a new woman for a few days now, if you couldn't tell.”  He was finished with me for now and pushed me away from him, almost with disgust it seemed.  I fell forward onto my hands and knees as I gasped for air.  My mouth hung open and I could see thin strings of cum mixed with drool slowly leaking from my mouth. 

 

He'd finished talking to the other man and turned back to me.  "Clean it up, suck it clean," my new Master ordered me in a soft voice as he grabbed my hair and pulled on it to ensure that I finished cleaning his cock of the remnants of his oral rape.  Shakily, I rose to my knees again and closed my eyes as I tried to remember what it had been like to be free, to have the right to choose what I did and who I would do it with.  I started to cry, when he suddenly hit me lightly on the side of my face.  My eyes flew open and with tears streaming down my cheeks, I wiped my mouth clean with the back of my hand, then quickly began to lick the remaining thick strings of whitish cum off of his rapidly softening cock.

 

"Damn, you are one fine cocksucker.  Take it back in, bitch, all the way in.  Talk me to baby, tell me how much you want it."  He patted my head again like I was his favorite dog. 

 

On the boat, I had pretended to a calm acceptance of my fate, but I was so afraid now; I tried not to look as frightened as I felt.  Desperation was a highly motivating force as I slowly took him back inside me, but I couldn't talk with his cock filling my mouth.  And I was afraid to pull my head back and take it out because that might displease him.  I nodded my head to him in faux approval.  Eventually, my Master slowly pulled his limp cock out of my mouth and I bowed my head again.  I could feel his cum thinned with my saliva as it leaked continuously from one corner of my mouth.  I could see it slowly falling into clearish-white beaded threads that each ended in a single drop.  And each string slowly stretched until it finally broke and fell from my chin to land on my tightly closed thighs. 

 

I shuddered as he aimed the small digital camera that he'd kept in his pocket; the light flashed as it caught the ultimate horror in a picture---his left hand holding the hair on the back of my head and forcing me to face him; my eyes closed as they leaked tears; snot running from my nostrils, then being caught by my nose ring; his cum dripping from my lips and chin,.  It was the final insult, but I knew there would be many more pictures like this.

 

***

 

He started to turn away, then turned back to the boat’s master.  “They tell me you’ve got a new one onboard, but not yet trained.  That so?”

 

“Yeh,” the tattooed man replied.  “She’s a lot younger than this one, but we’ve only had her a day.”

 

“She going to be any good?”

 

“Yeah, I think so.  She’s only seventeen, but she’s already been broken.  Now we’re just getting started with her training.”

 

“How long,” the new man asked, “before she’s ready to be moved onto the market?”

 

“Give me two to four weeks and she’ll be as eager as any piece you’ve ever had.”

 

“She going to be an ass-slut too?”

 

“Yeah,” the big man snorted.  “All my bitches are trained to take it like that.”

 

“Let me see her,” the man requested. “I might want to make an offer on her now---save you the time of putting her on the internet.”

 

The boat captain turned and called out to his men, “Bring the young bitch out. We might already have a buyer.”

 

After a couple of minutes, I heard a commotion from inside the boat in the cabin. I heard a sharp slap and a man's voice say, “Stop crying, cunt.  NOW!”  There was silence for another minute as both men standing next to me waited patiently.  There were sounds from the side of the boat and suddenly, two men appeared, holding the young girl between them.  They dragged her from the boat to the dock and half-carried her towards the waiting men.  It was clear that she could barely walk, but whether from having been beaten on the soles of her feet, the unending robotic rape or the giant butt plug I'd seen her wearing, I didn't know.

 

The girl wore no makeup, her hair was tousled and needed badly to be brushed.  Her huge eyes were a beautiful light honey brown in color, the size further exaggerated by the deep blue circles underneath each eye.  One side of her face was red from where she'd just been slapped.  The teenager still wore the pink hemp wedgies and her thin cotton skirt and blouse were terribly wrinkled, obviously having just been thrown on for the upcoming viewing.

 

The three stood in front of the buyer in silence.  The man walked around and around the young girl, just looking but not saying a word.  Suddenly, he stopped in back and unzipped and unsnapped her skirt, letting it fall to the dock around her ankles.  Without stopping, he popped the buttons on her blouse and pulled it down over her shoulders, then off her arms as they hung by her sides. 

 

Her not-yet-mature beauty seemed to hit all of the men the same way.  Long ash-brown hair swept down to frame an oval face that had the classic beauty of actresses from the 40's and 50's.  She had wide shoulders, firm upthrust breasts that were not yet fully developed, a narrow waist and long.  Her thighs and buttocks had the well developed look of an ice skater or distance swimmer, and her shapely legs looked somehow slim, yet muscular at the same time.  Her breasts were full, but not overfull for a girl her age, the aureoles small and light brown in color and barely larger than the lighter pink nipples that were erect from fear.  White skin curved down to the darkly-tangled triangle between long legs.  Her body absolutely promised an even lusher figure as she matured. 

 

My new Master put her through the same exam he had me.  I could see her legs trembling as he cupped her, then manipulated her.  But when he walked around back to measure the strength of her anus, she began to cry.  He looked down at the girl's buttocks for a second, then laughed as he said to the boat captain, “Already working on her I see.”

 

The tattooed man laughed in reply, “Yeah.  I call it 'Right-Sizing'.  The cunt'll be able to take a Mack truck up her ass when we're done.”  He quickly walked around back and roughly pulled the butt plug from her anus.  She cried out in pain, but he ignored it as he said, “Tighten your ass and cheeks for the man.  Do it now, you silly little bitch.”

 

In response to the tattooed man's crude order, she inhaled quickly and held her breath as she complied with his command to tighten up and clench.  He put his left hand on her taut belly and he probed her with his right.  I assumed that she was a little sloppy from having that thing inside her, but both men were quickly satisfied.

 

They began to negotiate again over the younger girl.  My Master wanted her now for his sons, but the tattooed man wanted to train her first.  It quickly became clear however, that both men really wanted her for themselves.  This inexperienced and naive teenager embodied to them a complete lack of sophistication both in the way she carried herself and in how she viewed the world.  It was obvious that both men felt a sexual hunger to claim the soft glow that seemed to emanate from within her.  They wanted to affirm their ownership of her freshness and cleanliness, her purity and naiveté.  She was a beautiful, helpless, innocent teenage girl; and it was clear that one of them would shape forever her station in life, altering the way she perceived herself and her relationship with men, just to satisfy his lust.

 

It quickly became clear that the boat's captain was keeping her for his own.  She was dragged back on to the boat and I never saw her again.

 

***

 

I was still on my knees when a new man walked out onto the pier.  My head was bowed, but I chanced a quick look.  I realized that it was a teenager, perhaps fifteen or so.  He grabbed my biceps and lifted me to my feet, then said, “Put your clothes back together, woman.”  He had an officious, arrogant  manner and his tone was cold and emotionless.  The kind of tone you'd expect from an inexperienced teenager that held ultimate power over an adult.  Afraid to show any disobedience, I stood up and began to desperately pull my clothing back on.  For some stupid reason, I felt so much better when I was clothed again.

 

By this time, one of the men on the boat had brought a large, cheap suitcase out from the boat and put it by me.  “These,” he said, “are the things her Master didn't want anymore.  Shoes, clothes, lingerie, makeup.....all that female crap.”   I looked at the thing and realized that everything I owned, everything that defined me as woman enslaved was in that inexpensive piece of baggage.  That phrase described my whole life now; I was nothing but inexpensive baggage.

 

Both men looked at me as the crewman continued.  “He doesn't have any plans for another woman right now, and doesn't want her stuff taking up space.  You can have it.”

 

I had just covered my breasts and zipped up my cutoffs when the teenager said, “Pick it up and follow me.”  I walked two steps in back and to his right as I followed him off the dock and struggled with the heavy suitcase.  The boy never looked back to see if I was following, he just seemed to have no fear of my trying to escape.  I was led down a dirt path towards a large, old multi-story Georgian-style house that took up the whole side of a cliff.  

 

It was dark on the path, but there was enough moonlight to recognize two women holding hands around a large tree that was near the basement entrance.  As I got closer, I could see that the women's wrists were handcuffed together behind their backs.  Chains led from each set of handcuffs to an iron ring that had been bolted to the tree.  As we passed them, I could see that both looked exhausted and their legs were shaking.  Both were sobbing softly.  The worst thing was that their faces were both snugged up against the tree bark.  Large fishing hooks had been run through high up on each woman's nostrils on both sides.  Heavy fishing line went around both sides of the tree and strung the women together. 

 

In his first conversational tone, the young man spoke without looking at me, “They've been standing there for over thirty hours now and their legs are getting tired.  The legs on one of them is going to give out soon, and when that happens, they'll fall and rip out the fishhooks..........they tried to escape.”  His offhand comments offered in such an unemotional, matter-of-fact tone scared me to death and I felt a thrill of fear shoot up through my spine.  They'd just made sure I realized I was helpless against these people, whoever they were.  All I could do was try to obey and not give them reason to discipline me. 

 

We entered through a locked door in the lower level and although it was quiet where we were, I immediately heard the sounds of young children at the other end.  He locked the door after us.  Before this I had been afraid, afraid for myself and afraid of the unknown.  But now, for the first time, I felt a sense of personal doom closing in on me as I first stood inside that door.  This feeling was so much stronger than anything I'd felt before; far, far stronger than the emotions I'd felt that first night so many months ago when my previous Master had collared me.  Everything had spiraled completely out of control and all I could do now was submit and try to survive.

 

He never looked back as he moved towards the sounds of life ahead.  The floor was smooth concrete so I was able to drag the suitcase on its wheels as I scurried after the arrogant teenager.  We walked down a corridor that had three cells on each side.  The cells all had bars on the front like you see with jails in western movies, but the first rooms on either side were fairly large and somehow looked comfortable.  The second set of cells housed a no longer attractive red-head on the left and a young, good-looking brunette on the right.  I continued following the arrogant teenager as we arrived  at the last cells, both of which were filled on the right and the left. 

 

As we came up to the final two cells, a woman in each cage stepped up to the bars and looked out at us silently.  Both pressed against the vertical bars as they looked out; the one on the left looked to be in her mid-twenties, the other perhaps in her early thirties.  There were young mixed-race children in the cells with both women, four on the left and three on the right.  Both women had infants of perhaps six or eight months in their arms and the belly's of each had noticeable swells that affirmed they were pregnant again.  There were formula bottles next to the front of the cage which told me that neither woman was nursing.

 

There was a strong family resemblance between the two women; the younger one looking remarkably like a girl that had disappeared in the Caribbean a few years ago.  The other looked enough like her to be an older sister.  My eyes caromed off of one and onto the other, then back again.  I was filled with horrified dread as my mind tried to interpret what it saw.  What had been done to these women to make them like this? 

 

Both women looked absolutely exhausted, aged far beyond their years.  Their blond hair was lifeless and they wore no makeup. Their bodies looked used and tired, their eyes sunken and emphasized by dark pouches underneath.  I stopped for a second and looked back at them.  They looked at me in silence, then at the man with me as he gave me a slight push to move on. 

 

Their eyes looked almost black in the poor light as they silently watched him without expression.  All three of us wordlessly appreciated the perfidy of the men that kept us captive like this.   I wanted to cry for these women.  Their faces were lined, worn out from their lives and their bodies, while still shapely, seemed soft, sagging beneath the unrelenting pull of gravity and the weight of multiple, sustained, child-births, one immediately following another.  They looked child-worn, their bodies exhausted by the very nature of their lives.

 

I suddenly realized that they were breeders and I was in a breeding station.

 

I was in shock as he dragged me through another locked door and down a dark hall into a pitch black room.  He left the door open.  I could barely see him with the dim light from the hall.  The dark had descended upon me like suffocating blanket, and instantly, I wanted to be back outside on the boat.  I hated the darkness like this, and the prospect of being here for awhile terrified me.  I shivered once and felt nervous sweat congealing on my spine.

 

Without inflection in his voice, he said, “Take it off.  Take it all off.”  I looked at him in disbelief and horror; this couldn't be happening to me, my Master would never have allowed this.  When the youth made a threatening gesture towards me with his fist; I flinched, then with shaking fingers I began to obey a boy that less than a year ago I would have been teaching in my classroom. 

 

He threw me on the bed when I was naked, then roughly pushed my knees apart.  After looking at my shaved nakedness for a second, he stroked me between my thighs.  The young boy finally stood up and began undressing.  I was paralyzed, in total shock at what was about to happen.  He was huge with need and I knew there would no finesse.  There was no tenderness here, no preliminary touch to help me prepare to receive him. 

 

I dared not close my legs.  I was pinned to the mattress in disbelief by his obvious anger and hatred towards me, my legs spread wide by him to make me more available, my dry vulva open and totally vulnerable to his needs.  He crawled between my knees, then slowly rubbed his gigantic flesh across my unready vagina, teasing my dry flesh in a terribly threatening way. 

 

My mind was numb and my voice was hoarse from having a cock banging on my vocal chords.  “Please don't hurt me.  Please, I'll cooperate.  You don't need to do it like this,” I begged in an unattractive croak.  But he looked at me without saying a word.  I whimpered then, expecting the worst when he tried to rip his monster into me.  His need to take what he wanted from me was so great that he first tried to penetrate me with one huge lunge of his hips.  My expectations had been correct; I was not disappointed. The pain was unbelievable. 

 

I sucked in a great breath of air and I knew my eyes were bulging as I looked up at his face.  I was dry and unprepared for sex.  Consequently, it felt like he was literally tearing me apart as he wedged the first few inches inside my defenseless body.  The pain I felt between my legs jolted me back to full consciousness.  I felt as if a tree trunk was being forced inside me, bark and all.  He paused for a second, then jammed another inch of his terrible weapon between my collapsing defenses.

 

The walls of my impossibly full vagina were being incredibly stretched and the pain was blinding.  This wasn't a man inside me, it was some kind of burrowing animal or perhaps one of those terrible machines that bored out tunnels to an unimaginable size.  I tried to keep my pain inside me, but finally screamed in agony as his huge cock turned my vaginal lips into a line of fire that consisted only of thinly stretched tissue; finally, he was partially in as he began to breach me. 

 

Looking down the front of my sweat soaked body in the dark room, I could somehow see that barely half of his brutal tool had so far entered my straining vagina.  It felt as if he were hitting me with his fist, but from the inside. Then, like a madman, he hunched forward and used all of his weight to drive another few inches into me, brutally splitting me even further open.  My screams grew louder and more high pitched in the darkened room as he wedged inch after inch of his wrist thick gristle into my tortured canal.

 

He wrapped his large, long-fingered hands around my breasts as anchors, then raised his body to better penetrate me.  I closed my eyes and tried to imagine I was somewhere else, but failed as he slammed into me with terrific force one more time.  I felt something tear as it gave way inside my dryish vagina. The pain felt like a dull ache at first, then continued growing until I was almost sick to my stomach.

 

Without thinking, I grabbed his shoulders, clawing at his back in shock and agony.  I arched my belly against his and felt the insides of my thighs clamp involuntarily against his hips.  He might have just as well stabbed me, for the massive agony he caused.  His weight was crushing me and I couldn't breathe, when he suddenly pulled back and rammed his cock deep into my body one more time, grunting like the animal he'd become.  He had a huge penis and the pressure inside my vagina was so intense that it felt like he was using a club to smash my insides as he bludgeoned me into submission. 

 

I lay on my back and he kept my thighs pried apart with his hips as his cock tore its way deeper into my now slightly moist channel.  His hands were clawing and stretching my breasts; there was nothing erotic or sensual about what he was doing to me as he manipulated the nipple rings.  It was an exercise only in brutality and violence against my person.  The only positive thing that night was that it gave him the physical relief he needed in the end.

 

An eternity later I was finally wet and the massive pain from his penetrations had begun to fade a little.  The boy raping me had finally gone as far inside me as he could and was now beginning to hammer away at my defenseless body, driving his cock in and out like it was some kind of weapon.  Suddenly, I screamed again in pain as he bottomed out inside me after one particularly vicious thrust, then I felt him pause, still pushed deeply, painfully deep inside me.  My body had convulsed helplessly after he'd hit the top of my cervix, my head and arms rising off the mattress and the insides of my thighs clamping nervelessly against his waist. 

 

He had me where he wanted me now and he began pounding away without uttering a sound.  It hurt each time he rammed his cock home and his pace stayed steady and relentless. My breasts bounced and jiggled in rhythm to the powerful body strokes he was delivering.  He was driving so hard now that my entire body shook each time he finished a stroke deep inside my belly.  He changed his angle of penetration every now and then, but almost always in a way to hurt me more.

 

I instinctually knew that I had to somehow try save myself.  I was a survivor, but I knew I wouldn't survive as a breeder.  I'd made it through the last nine months and somehow kept my sanity.  I could do it here too.  But I needed to be the property of a male.  A dominant male that would protect me and keep me safe from the rest of the pack.  In panic, I felt the only chance I had was to please this young boy, try to make him want me for himself.  I wouldn't survive becoming a breeder that was used by everyone.  Quickly, I grabbed his firm, pistoning buttocks and clawed him as I arched my belly and my clenched fingers pulled him in even deeper inside me.  I gritted my teeth against the pain and pulled on him even more.

 

In response, he jammed his hard cock into me with a loud grunt, swiveling his hips slightly each time to give his thrust just a bit more force with which to hurt me.  He explored every inch of me.  I allowed him---no, I MADE him take everything.  My legs were wrapped around his waist and my fingers dug into his shoulders.  I arched my back as my pelvis met his thrust for thrust.  I kissed his ear and stuck my tongue in it, telling him how big he was and how good it felt.  I tried not to gasp or cry out anymore as he pummeled me, instead tying to assist him in maximizing his penetration.  Then he took me by surprise as he leaned forward and stuck his tongue into my mouth.  I reacted without thinking, trying to pull my face away, but he held onto my head now.  I made myself go limp for a moment, not knowing how to respond without making him angrier. But he knew: he pulled back and looked into my eyes as he brutally slammed his cock home once more with a smile of satisfaction etched on his face.

 

I tried to think about anything but what he was doing to my body. To my horror, he proved to have more self control than I would ever have expected of a teenager.  He continued to plow away inside of me for one long minute after another, his tongue probing my mouth and then working its way deeper as he tried to enter my throat. He had an amazingly long tongue and it actually felt like he was trying to flick it against the back of my throat; whatever he was doing made me want to gag.  I willed myself to stay calm and I made no move that he could interpret as a rebuff on my part.

 

But his need to prove his dominance over me in bed?  This never left him.  His need to give me what he knew I had to take was immense, driving, unrelenting.  He grunted with effort as he used his manhood first like a sword to cut into me, then like an hammer as he beat me into submission. He'd taken his first slow progress against my unwilling flesh as an insult and had finally substituted brute strength for finesse.  I knew I was experiencing rape in all of its anger and ugliness.  At the end, he'd succeeded in bludgeoning me and taking away everything that made me a woman before drenching my insides with his boiling rage.

 

My entire body felt paralyzed from his assault, almost lifeless.  As he lay panting on my belly after he'd cum inside me, there was no doubt that I belonged to him now.  But the time to deceive myself was past.  I had to acknowledge that I was not the innocent anymore.  Nothing mattered any more but him.  I was nothing but a trophy in his bed.  I softly stroked his back as I tried to give him what I thought he wanted.  I didn't care how young or how brutal he was, as long as he was strong enough to keep me and protect me from what I'd seen in the cells. 

 

I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I almost didn't hear.  I looked over at a soft sound, but saw only silhouettes as four more male figures entered the dark room en masse.  Their first act was to begin undressing.