Unintended Consequences

Chapter 14: "What has been lost through the flesh, the flesh should pay back: be generous in your penance"; Josemaria Escriva, The Forge, p. 207.

 

I looked at the now rather small-looking, frightened woman as she sat on the chair hiccuping with pain and fear.  I knew her world was so much tinier now than it had been even just a few hours ago.  I slowly put on my right hand the glove with the metal capped finger tips and smoothed it between the fingers.  She jerked in surprise as I touched her, then gave out a muffled scream as the wooden phallus claimed her body again after the quick, unwary move.  I clamped my hand around the back of her neck where it was covered by the bag and forced Rebecca’s head forward and down.  I felt through the bag and selected the correct pressure point on her spine just above her shoulder blades.  Then I stiffened my middle finger and drove down with it. 

 

She jerked violently, twisting and squirming sideways, her wrists straining at the handcuffs.  I could hear her breath burst out of her nostrils, followed by a squeezed, grunting noise.  My metal capped finger continued to grind savagely against the nerve center it had found.  This was something that I’d learned in Delta.  It didn’t leave a bruise and if I got it just right, the recipient was actually paralyzed and couldn’t make hardly a sound.

 

“Thirty,” I finally said aloud.  I drew my hand back, pulled her upright and shook the sack that contained her head.  “Only thirty seconds.  Is it really worth fighting me?  You and I both know that the fear is everywhere inside you now, deep in your chest and your stomach.”

 

“Are you afraid?  You should be.”  I smirked as I leaned in close and whispered into her ear, “You accept pain because you can handle it.....but not fear.  Suddenly, you've realized that fear is a small cell with no air in it and no light.  It is suffocating inside, and dark.  There's no room to turn around inside it; it's like a coffin.  You can only face in one direction, but that hardly matters since you can't see anyhow.  There is no future in the dark, not for you.  Everything is over.  Everything is past.  When you are locked up like that, tomorrow is as far away as the moon.”

 

“People can stop and tap on your walls.  They can even bang on the door to show you where it is, but when you are afraid, you can't open it.  Just like me, they might not be who they say they are.  They might just make things worse.  It's safer to stay where you are, where you know what is what, even if you can't breathe, even if you can't move.  That's how fear feels, isn’t it?”

 

I watched her for a minute after I released the pressure, and other than sob, she did nothing.  I touched her spine lightly once and she jumped, then shuddered.  She was crying softly now, but remained silent otherwise.  Okay, enough for now, I thought to myself.  The anticipation is half the fun.  She’s had enough for now and it was time to put her into storage.

 

***

 

God, he had hurt me so much and I was so scared.  I’d never felt so helpless in my life.  Without warning, I felt a prick in my left cheek and molten metal flowed into my veins.  Within seconds, everything dissolved into nothing as I slipped beneath the surface of cold black water.  Lost in what could only be narcotics, I was unaware of anything; I didn’t even know the state of my own body.  I just floated.  Finally, the drug began to wear off and I awoke in total darkness, but now I was lying flat on my stomach.  I felt nauseous.  I felt a terrible throbbing ache in my pelvis.  My insides ached with a foreign feeling, a semi-fullness as if I had something yet hidden inside me.  Some sort of a cord or line ran from my inside my rear end and felt like it had been taped to my buttocks.  I was uncomfortable, but didn’t feel too bad. Whatever I lay on was extremely hard.  Gradually my mind understood that it was not a bed.  A loose layer of what felt like a thick plastic painter's tarp separated me from the hard, unyielding surface that was slightly rougher in texture.  My hands were not bound, but they were tied to my waist in such a way that I didn't have free motion either. 

 

My first thought was escape, but instantly my head crashed into an unseen surface above me.  Wincing from the pain, I lay back down.  After a moment, I explored around my body as best I could.  The space I was in---whatever it was---was very small and confined.  A space that was so tight that it would be difficult to rollover onto my back, but I couldn't do it at this time because of the way my wrists were constrained. 

 

Suddenly I was overcome by panic.  Uncontrolled and frantic, I couldn't stop myself from struggling and screaming.  My breath burned as I sucked in lungfuls of air.  My head and my lungs pounded in time to my machine-gun pulse.  After only a few seconds of struggle, it seemed to get harder and harder to get enough air to breathe.  I couldn't hear very well, something had been forced into my ears.  I thought, oh my God, somethings seriously wrong with my brain.  I could picture it all too well.  A veinous balloon swelling between two pieces of thinking meat, waiting for just the right stress to blow like a hand grenade buried in a dead cow's carcass.  Tearing away vision, touch, even the sense that there was a world around me.

 

The feeling that I was about to go insane had been with me since I'd first come to.  There were sounds, but they came from inside.  An internal rushing that wanted to force its way out.  But what bothered me most was that I couldn't move.  That was what was driving me insane.  Despite the fact that I was lying face down, I had the constant feeling that I was falling.  A dizzy plummeting without end.  Maybe it was a hallucination, a manifestation of the fact that I was falling apart from within.  Madness was about to shatter my mind into pieces.

 

For a few more minutes, I continued hyper-ventilating and my pulse raced even faster.  By increments, I finally began to calm down, my gasping breath slowing, pulse easing.  Reaching up behind my back with difficulty, I probed the ceiling? I found that it too seemed to be of the same rough texture as the floor.  I quickly realized that the space I was in appeared to be about a foot high, less than three feet wide and constructed out of wood---it was a wooden box---or a crude coffin.  Feeling slightly less nauseous, but no less scared, I stopped for a second and tried to organize my thoughts.  Enough time passed in the unchanging darkness that I could think again, begin puzzling things out and piecing them together.

 

I knew my clothes were gone and like my wrists, my ankles were restrained in a way that allowed me limited movement.  It felt like there was a Band-Aid or something on my right ankle.  As I moved, I found that there was a bottle that had been taped to the floor next to my head.  I soon discovered it had a long nipple on it and contained water.

 

Again, I had no idea of whether it was day or night, or for how long I had been in the box, let alone on the chair.  The CHAIR!  Thank God I was off of the chair.  The chair had hurt so much!  Suddenly, I couldn’t help myself and I started crying.  It just started and I couldn’t stop.  To take my mind off of my predicament, I took a sip of water, then settled back to think.  I tried to cling to reality.  I forced myself to think.  Reason and the ability to remain calm might give me some possible hope.

 

I fell into a morose and uncomfortable semi-consciousness.  Suddenly, there was a terrible cramping pain that shot up my right leg.  I screamed my way out of almost-sleep and tried to grab my twitching leg, but couldn't.  My head snapped up and banged against the wooden top; I saw sparkles for a second, but could’ve cared less.  I was in agony; my leg was cramping and jerking so violently that I was afraid that I would break bones or pull muscles.  Just as suddenly, the pain stopped and the cramps went away.  I wasn't alone, I knew this now.  There was a thick sense of his presence around me, as if I could reach out and touch him.  I felt suffocated by this spirit feeling, as if any second his hand might reach out might wrap around my throat, strangling me.  Then that massive, terrible pain came back again and destroyed my leg.  This happened several times.  Sobbing, I lay on my stomach and tried to figure out what had just happened and what the crazy bastard wanted and why he was doing this to me. 

 

***

 

It was a great little tool for guys like me.  It looked like a semi-automatic and made a sound no louder than an air pistol when I fired it.  But it could bring down a horse as easy as it could a mouse.  After a long six-count, I stopped shocking with her with the Taser whose probes had been lightly taped to her leg; she became quiet again.  The electrodes didn’t have to break the skin to be affective, just next to it.  Every time I squeezed the trigger, I knew that terrible muscle spasms ran up and down her leg and she would thrash around and involuntarily arch her back in her agony.  I could tell this by the thumping sound that the back of her head made as it hit the top of the wooden box each time I fed her more juice.

 

***

 

At first I just panted in fear, waiting for the next attack.  Finally, I think he left and my mind was a blank slate writ large with gratitude.  There were no sounds in the background, nothing that I could focus on.  My thoughts began to roam into areas I had always previously avoided, uninhibited by the plywood that surrounded my body.  First I was scared, and then angry, next brooding and feeling sorry for myself.  Finally I was afraid, really afraid.  Time passed slowly. 

 

Suddenly, my attention was aroused by the almost subliminal tinkling sound of running water.  Almost immediately, I felt a cold, flushing feeling in my bowels and for a moment, I had no idea what was happening.  But as the sensation inside me continued, I began to feel a stirring, a feeling of quickly impending fullness.  This sensation continued to build and within seconds I suddenly began to feel cramping pains building until they were shooting through my belly.  Like turning a corner, I was suddenly too full---so full there was no way I could hold it all inside me.  The psychopath had just given me an enema. 

 

Suddenly, I was furious.  The bastard.  The fucking bastard.  Just what was it that made him feel that he had the right to do this to me, to anyone?  What the hell gave him the right to do these things to me?  But just as quickly as it had come, the anger was gone.

 

I had an overpowering urge to defecate.  My bowels felt like they had been filled until they were as hard as granite, yet soft as jello at the same time.  The internal pressure was too much---I needed to bring my knees to my chest to hold it all in, but didn't have the room.  My anus was locked tight---I desperately ached with the struggle, but it wasn't up for a fight so soon after the chair.  I held everything in by urgently clenching my buttcheeks as tight as possible.  I struggled with the desire to let go, wanting to surrender to the need for relief, but I knew exactly what I would happen if I gave in to the urge.  After a minute of taking deep breaths, I knew I had finally beaten that irresistible compulsion to relax my sphincter.  I took a deep breath and concentrated on muscle control.  Cramps shot through my belly again, but I concentrated on maintaining control.  I could do this.  I could beat him at this.

 

My head snapped up and hit the top of the box.  I was in agony again; cramps grabbed my leg like an iron fist and wouldn't let go.  My leg spasmed as if it had a life of its own and it seemed like fire was running through the nerves on the back of my leg. 

 

It was enough.  It was enough to distract me, take my mind away from what had been my primary task.  He'd timed it perfectly.  I screamed in futile anger at first, then all I could do was sob and feel sorry for myself.  He'd waited until I had struggled through the initial shock and was sure I'd won, that I'd beaten him.  Any relief I felt in my bowels was perfectly matched by my feelings of total resignation.  I lay face down in a rapidly expanding puddle of nasty water that at first so closely matched my body's temperature I could barely feel it.  Quickly, the water began to lose heat and I could soon feel the scummy mess I was laying in.  It stunk of bowels and aching defeat.  It stunk of hopelessness and total failure.  It was my life.  And he let me lie in it.

 

By the end, it seemed that I had been in the box for hours.  Of course, I tried to speak to him.  Somewhere there had to be ears and a mouth.  Every time I sensed he might be near, I tried a different approach.  I pleaded, I raged, I tried to be my own defense counsel and speak calmly and soberly.  Everyone has rights, I claimed, sometimes sobbing, sometimes enraged.  Even a bound woman has rights.  The right to know why I've lost all my rights.  I didn't even ask to be set free.  To start with, I just wanted to know why I was being held captive, why was he torturing me.  That was all.  Was that too much to ask?

 

And when I wasn't screaming at him or trying to negotiate, there was total silence.  He wouldn't respond and bored, I finally begin to look within myself---and much of what I saw after a while, I didn’t like.  But still, I didn't deserve this.  No one did.  But if anyone did deserve this, a small voice inside me said, it would probably be you.  I began to see some of the truths of my life, things I’d done my best to ignore in the past; I had made so many mistakes that it felt like it took hours to review all of them---it wasn’t fun.  But I would never in a million years have admitted this to him, it would have been too much like letting him win as I lost.

 

For some reason, my emotions were up front and on full display.  I've always been a controlled, rational person and I hated being controlled by my feelings.  This was so unlike me, but there was nothing I could do. 

 

Eventually, my bladder finally began to press, telling me that time had passed and that I needed relief.  Please....not that too.  What would happen if no one came?  Would I be forced to lie in my urine too?  But the blackness went on and seemed never to change.  Suddenly, there were sounds outside followed closely by a blinding light as the lid on the box was lifted. 

 

I heard him say, “Time for a change,” as he opened the lid.  Nothing he said made sense anymore, it must have been a true psychotic break.  My eyes began to water and before they could adjust to the light, there was another prick on my right hip and I quickly drifted off to into a different kind of blackness.  Molten metal.  Black water.

 

***

 

“Welcome back,” he said finally.  “I was wondering when you would rejoin the land of the living.”  I lifted my head a little and looked around woozily; it was more difficult than it should have been.  George stood next to me; I was lying on my back in a bed in the same White Room---a sterile, blinding white at the moment.  I had a killer headache; I put my head back down on the pillow as I fought back an overwhelming urge to cry.  When I finally had my emotions under control, I began a rough inventory.

 

”I felt,”  he said, “that you needed a break.  Just relax.”

 

My wrists rested on my belly and were handcuffed together, and I smelled faintly of stale sex and sweat.  My skin didn't feel sticky and there was no smell of bowels or urine; he must have cleaned me up a little.  There was a plate of finger food on a small table next to my bed, and next to the bed a mug of what smelled like hot coffee.  My stomach grumbled loudly, reminding me of long it had been since I had eaten….just how long HAD it been since I’d last eaten?

 

I tried to sit up and swing my unbound legs over the side of the bed, but fell back because of sudden dizziness.  After taking a couple of deep breaths, I succeeded on my second attempt. 

 

George sounded solicitous as he asked, “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”  I nodded without looking at his face; silently he helped me up and led me to a toilet in the corner.  The muscles controlling defecation had been loosened by his abuse, but I had been cleaned by his enema.  I still had to pee badly and it gave me a rebellious pleasure to think of him cleaning up after me.  But I squatted without shame on the toilet seat now and felt immense relief as I emptied my bladder.  Wiping myself wasn’t too much of a problem because of the way my hands were bound, but when finished I stood and let him wash me off and then towel my body dry.  He seemed to take inordinate pleasure ensuring that I was both clean and dry between my thighs---I did my best to ignore him.  When he was finally done, he led me back to the bed. 

 

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at George but didn’t say a word, instead grabbing the mug and taking a deep drink of coffee as I surveyed the room.  It tasted wonderful, but I felt a chill of fear go down my spine.  I had no idea of where I was or of how the various things I saw in the room were to be used.  I took a second sip to give me time to think of something to say.  He'd tortured me.  I had no idea why he'd kept me instead of letting me go.  This scared me, but from the few hours I’d spent with him during the weekend, even though he was a manipulative bastard, he'd seemed a nice enough guy at the time and good in the sack at the end.  A little on the devious side perhaps, but I hadn’t detected the vibrations of a serial killer or anything like that.

 

Finally, I looked up at George.  Trying to keep my voice calm, I said, “What do you want from me?”  As I looked at him, I ran my manacled hands over my thighs.  Remembering the last time I’d shaved my legs and from the stubble there now, I estimated that at least two, perhaps three days had passed. 

 

He asked in a solicitous tone, “Are you okay?”

 

I glared at him and almost spewed a mouthful of coffee on the floor.  “You’ve kidnapped me and you're torturing me.  How do you think I feel?”  The bastard was insane.  He was absolutely insane, but I didn't want him committed---I wanted him dead.  I would enjoy that.

 

He hesitated, “You will start showing me some respect.  I don’t think you’re feeling that bad; I do however think you've been spoiled, and that you’re hell of a lot tougher than you’re letting on.”  There was silence for a minute, then he continued.  “I know more about you than you think I do,” he said.  “I probably know more about you than you do yourself.  But I’ve still got a lot of questions---and babe, I’m telling you now, you and I have a long way to travel before you'll leave here.  Let’s talk about you growing up.  I’m not sure you’re a naturally nasty person---what was it like and why are you---what rotten things happened to make you such a cold, devious bitch?  Or was it just easier to be a natural cunt?  That’s one question.  And from the look on your face, I think I’m going to have to get pretty serious with you to get an answer---but that’s going to be part of the fun.” 

 

George continued with a smile, “What's really happened at your latest school?  I just don’t buy your story; and because I’m curious, here’s a follow-up; why did you leave the previous school at which you worked?  Oh, I know what you tell everyone, but I want to know the real reason.”

 

I refused to look at him as I lifted the plate of food and began to eat.  Finally, I looked up at him.  Ignoring his earlier questions, I said, “I asked you what you intended to do.  And it’s none of your business, but I left because I was offered a better position at my current school.”

 

“No,” he said.  “You make the same amount as you did before.  In fact, you were paid less when you arrived at this school and only in the last six months have you worked your way back to where you were when you left the other school.”

 

I looked at him in shock.  I hadn’t told him this---how the hell could he know that?  This made me angry; I immediately knew I’d rather die than tell him anything else.  “No.  You’re wrong,” I came back quickly.  “Besides, what the hell do you care, anyway?”

 

“Don't confuse curiosity with empathy.”  He looked at me in total silence for about thirty seconds, then continued.  “Curiosity's a basic monkey trait.  Torturers are full of it.  It doesn't make for better human beings.”

 

I replied in the coldest tone I could muster, “I guess you'd know.”

 

“Point taken.”  George had a speculative tone in his voice in his voice as he continued, “You and your husband don’t have any money to your name---in fact, I just about cleaned you out when you gave me that last $1000; you were seeing a psychiatrist and had some success.  But for some reason, you got scared and stopped seeing him.  Do you think that was wise?  Both you and your husband did some heavy drugs for awhile, but you stopped after a short time while he’s worse than ever.  You’ve been dry-fucking school boys---and sucking them off for at least the last six months, and he’s been banging one of your teacher friends the whole time---do you want me to go on?”

 

My husband?  As much as I took him for granted and as bad as things had gotten between us recently, I knew I still desperately needed him and his support too.  Every structure of substance in my world; every truth that I had thought authentic and sincere and genuine, all threatened to come crashing down around me.  Suddenly, I looked at the maniac I knew as George with new eyes.  Still numb inside, I felt my naturally aggressive nature give a slight stir, “Just who are you, anyway?  Your name isn’t George, is it?  And I’ll bet you’re not even a lawyer, are you?” 

 

Suddenly, I began feeling weaker, like a battery running down.  Gathering what little strength remained, I let my voice get stronger and more shrill, “Let me go, you crazy bastard.  What do you want?”  As I began screaming, he slapped my face---hard.  Knocked back onto the mattress by the blow, I refused to cry.  I lay there for a minute trying to catch my breath.  But instead of regaining my strength, slowly my head got too heavy for me to hold up and I lay on the pillow taking deep even breaths.  The strong sedatives he'd put in my coffee had almost knocked me out again.

 

***

 

I was still in the White Room when I next came to, but I was immediately aware that I’d been impaled again.  Like before, the sensation of my lower body being filled was overpowering.  Like before, it cut through me like a red-hot spear, the ripping pain so intense I couldn't even scream.  I felt like I was falling; falling into a ditch made of blackness, but I never reached the bottom.  My body hung suspended from the inside on whatever he'd driven into me.

 

These thoughts consumed me, but this time I could see since there was no hood over my head.  As before, my hands were cuffed behind my back, my ankles were tied up under the chair and something around my neck kept my head back against the chair.  But now I was wearing an inexpensive terry cloth robe and it covered most of my body, except where it split over my knees. 

 

Whatever I was sitting on gave me terrible cramps that continuously ripped through my abdomen.  Each stabbing pain threatened to double me over.  But my lower body and kidneys ached and throbbed with each involuntary movement that I made and my anus continually attempted to clamp against and push out whatever filled it.  I couldn't breathe, whatever he had driven inside me felt like it filled me and pressed on my diaphragm, paralyzing my lungs.  I closed my eyes and even though I fought it, a small, soft moan of anguish forced its way passed my lips. 

 

I hadn’t felt this helpless since my fourteenth birthday.  “Please,” I whimpered softly to myself.  “Please.  Just let me go, I won’t tell anyone.  I promise.  Please.”  I waited another eternity, mired in my thoughts and the pain. 

 

I was facing away from him when I heard a door open.  He entered and walked around in front of me, then just stood staring at me without saying a word.  As much as I hurt inside, chills still went down my spine as he finally spoke, “Yeah, I know that you don’t want this.  And I also know that you won’t tell anyone either.  You say that you want to cooperate and right now you mean it, but deep inside you really don’t.”

 

He gave a short, dry laugh.  “You don’t know me well enough yet, but one thing you'll soon understand is that I can tell when you’re lying.”  He looked at my face, then at my hair and neck as if they had asked him a complex question.  He touched my shoulder and bolt of electricity made my hair leap at him, wrapping itself around his finger.  He looked down at it with a long, slow smile.  “I’m going all the way inside you,” he said quietly.  “All the way.  But don’t be scared, I’m going to do it very, very slowly.  And then, pretty quickly you’re going to WANT to tell me every little intimate detail.”

 

***

 

I squatted in front of her with my hands on her knees.  “Earlier, you asked what I intended.  I intend to prevent you from leaving without my permission.  I intend to keep you here for as long as is necessary.  I intend to train you in the ways of keeping a man happy---and you're going to hate that at first.  But after weeks and months of keeping you here, I also intend that you discover your only desire will be to satisfy me in any way you can.  You can shake your head no all you want to, but soon, your only desire will be to make me happy.”

 

I looked at Rebecca and for the first time saw real fear in her eyes.  “As a fighter, my dear, you are all heart and no style.”  She'd been treated like a princess by many of the men in her life, and she was used to being put up on a pedestal.  She'd soon learn that she was a cunt and deserved no special treatment.

 

I shook my head.  “You want to resist, but you've never been formally trained.  So I'll give you your first lesson for free.  What they teach you is, you have to accept that you are in position from which you can't win.  Your life is over and it belongs to me, your opponent.  There will be some pain first, yes.  For most, it only lasts a few hours; but for you, days and weeks.  Your spirit will be broken and your body used.  By then, perhaps you’ll hope that death will deliver you.  Concentrate on that deliverance, whatever it may be.  Let your body go out and meet it, use the anticipation of that impending rendezvous to hold out for as long as you can.  If you can do this, if you can detach yourself from what I'm doing to your body, that will make your mind that much harder to reach.”

 

I looked at her with a slight smile.  “But it's too late for you.  You're going to be squashed like a bug in the end, and I’m really sorry that it has to be this way.  You like to think that you’re a tough woman, but you’re not really, at least not deep inside.  No matter how much you fight me, you’ll never learn to accept what I do to you without being fundamentally changed.  No one in your pathetic life is that tough.  Any you see, that’s what I really want from you---a changed woman.”  At this point, I asked her a couple of questions again and I watched as Rebecca hung her head and didn’t answer. 

 

She didn't seem nearly as self-possessed now as she had the first time we'd met.

 

“Please,” Rebecca hesitated, then continued after a moment in a softer voice in which the pleading tone had become dominant.  “I haven’t done anything to deserve this.  Stop, please…..you haven’t gone too far yet.  I didn’t really want to leave you this weekend---just let me go and we can do whatever you want.  I’ll stay as long as you want and I promise we’ll have a good time.  Just let me go and I’ll let you do anything that you want to me.”

 

I just looked at her without answering.  Her face pleaded with me for at least a minute.  I didn't respond, but just continued watching her.  Suddenly, the pleading was over and the Alpha bitch was back.  There were about two minutes of furious ranting before I decided I'd had enough.  I reached underneath the chair and gave Rebecca two more inches of wood up her ass.  She broke off in mid-curse and shrieked for a second, before she started crying again.

 

After couple seconds of silence, she continued in a much more reasonable tone.  “God, it's too much, it’s too deep.  Please.” 

 

She was silent for another minute as I left her sitting on the now longer spike.  “Okay, okay.  You’re right.  I’ve been used to getting my own way for so long, and….and I tried too hard---I deserve you being angry with me.  Please, whatever it is you just did, please put it back like it was, it’s too deep.  I know I deserve everything you want to do to me.  But we had a good time, didn’t we?  I know that we both did, and it doesn’t have to end this way.”

 

I looked at my sweet-meat for a second, then slowly shook my head no, actions had consequences and she’d soon learn this.  Now I retrieved the Taser I'd laid aside. 

 

“Still feeling a little disoriented, are we?  From that time in the box, I mean?”

 

“Jesus,” Rebecca said.

 

“I Tased you,” I said.  “Or is it Tasered?  In any event, what that means is that I put fifty thousand volts and one hundred and thirty-odd milliamperes of electricity through your ass.  You may have noticed that this can be somewhat incapacitating.”

 

Now I gave her a serious look.  “From this point on when you show the slightest idea about being difficult, or when you refuse to answer completely and without hesitation any of my questions, I'll Taser your ass again.  You won't know when it's coming and it won't necessarily immediately follow your infraction, but it'll come.  You understand?”

 

Rebecca nodded.

 

“You realize that if I Taser you again for longer than even a couple of seconds, you'll start convulsing, and if you're still sitting on that pole when you do, you'll tear yourself up on the inside?  You know that?”

 

She nodded quietly as a couple of quiet tears rolled down her cheeks.

 

I knelt by Rebecca's chair as I looked at her.  To truly collapse a person’s will, they have to KNOW that they’d been broken.  If they are allowed to give up without having experienced the pure, absolutely dominating power of straight-forward, brutal, unending and overwhelming physical coercion, sometimes that person may be unable or unwilling to recognize how completely their reality had been broken, perhaps later even refusing to believe that they had in fact been broken.  It was better to take them all the way down in the beginning, leaving their life nothing but totally dominated wreckage, thus ensuring no confusion later.

 

Now had come the time of initial explanation and exploration of options; I always enjoyed this stage.  I took my time as I told her what was coming, ensuring that each detail was explained to Rebecca.  She needed to understand every feature, every facet; every nuance of what she was going experience.  Anticipation of what was to come gave her imagination the time it needed in order to work overtime, building up fear and dread.  Although Rebecca didn’t yet know it, for her this was just the beginning. 

 

I stayed on my knee and slowly stroked her naked thigh.  Rebecca turned her face to me, looking me in the eyes as she continued with her silent pleading.  When I didn't react, she suddenly spit in my face.  This was not a smart woman. 

 

Instead of immediately using the Taser, I leaned over without wiping the spittle off and disappeared from her sight.  Suddenly, she quickly sat stiffly erect and upright, then froze in her position; she'd obviously felt another deliberate penetration deep in her bowels as I leisurely gave her another inch of polished wood, then rotated it slowly.  Rebecca seemed to freeze as solid as a piece of granite for a second, then bellowed her new pain, finally ending with agonizing pig-like grunts that had to come from deep in her belly.  She found herself locked in a series of short exhales, totally neglecting the biological imperative to inhale between.  At last, with what appeared to be total helplessness, she put her chin on her chest and began to softly cry.

 

NOW I gave her a quick shot from the Taser and she jerked for a second, then fell limp on the chair as I stopped.

 

“When you're asked a question, you will respond by saying, at the minimum, Yes, sir or no, sir.  Yes, Master or no, Master.  Either'll be okay.  Understand?”

 

I noticed there was more than a little anger in her eyes, but her fear now was clearly far worse.

 

Rebecca nodded her head and said, “Yes, sir.”

 

“Rebecca, do you have any questions before we start for real?”

 

“I'd like to know what you think you're doing.”  She asked stiffly.  “Where am I?  Why are you doing this to me?”

 

“That's three questions,” I replied.  “You don't listen very well, do you?”

 

“No.  Not when it's with an animal like you.”  She replied a little impatiently.

 

I held up my index finger.

 

“No, sir,” Rebecca said quickly.  Then her eyes suddenly got wet and she started crying again softly.  I would never have predicted a woman like her would be a crier like this. 

 

It was time to let her think for a little while, so I got up and left without a word.  She was going to have to learn to wait on me.  I was delighted with the fight she showed so far.  The stronger she thought she was initially, the greater the fall when I took her apart at the end.  As Rebecca wept, I knew that she must be thinking about the awful sensation of her abdomen being filled by some huge artificial carved body, a giant wooden phallus that was both foreign to her rectum and loathsome in feeling.  Her initial fuzziness upon waking was long gone.  She was just like the others---she didn’t dare move or try to bend over, for that brought on a pain that was too great to even consider.  Instead, she tried to concentrate on ignoring what I'd done to her. 

 

***

 

I knew that I was not a good person, but I didn’t deserve this.  He treated me with total contempt, taking the one thing that in my ignorance I had told him that I hated more than anything else and derisively choosing this for his initial assault.  Who did he think he was?  What gave him the right to do this me?  He was a monster, a maniac; he was the one that should be going to jail, not me!  God, it hurt so much!  My bowels felt compact and hard and filled, stretched until they were over-filled, ready to tear like cheap tissue paper.  I knew that my belly and abdomen must be visibly extended from what he'd forced inside me.  My body still shook from the electricity he'd shot through me with that little gun he had.

 

Now he'd left me alone to explore in isolation the pain and the degradation of his chair.  He gave me plenty of time to think.  My mind wandered like a ship without a captain, forced to understand, then ponder my crimes of arrogance and what he called my 'effete snobbery'.  But first there was self-righteous anger.  I came up with a list of things I'd do to him if I ever had the chance, if the tables were ever turned.  I swore to myself I'd give him the same chair he forced upon me.  God, I just seethed with barely controlled rage.  This was so unfair, so unjust.  No one would have believed at the beginning of this weekend that this could have happened, let alone happened to me.  I didn't deserve this.  No one did.  The anger finally began to leave and I began to delve deeper into what might be motivating this monster.  Why?  Why was he doing this?  Why was he doing this to me?

 

This wasn't my guilt I paid for, I said over and over in my mind.  It must be someone else's.  I had hoped that passage of a little time would create some distance from the chair, but now I saw that wouldn't happen.  Only death could put an end to the pain it brought.  And since I didn't want to die yet, I chose to remember what it had felt like from the beginning.

 

It seemed designed to solely attack my feminine identity; that which I knew had always made me strong.  But the quiet violence it brought me seemed never to end.  As with the box, time dragged and it seemed that I had hours to explore the sensations of the wood that filled my insides, and then finally, what I had done to myself.  It seemed I spent an eternity impaled, sitting erect on that spike, thinking about everything but what I was experiencing at that moment.  I felt like I led a secret life.  I knew we all did in some way; we all laid some sort of camouflage over our secrets; always hiding from others our sins in the night.  In the end, I tried to be honest with myself and I ultimately came to understand that in a way, karma required time and effort to atone for my past, for some of the things I'd done.  No one knew where I was, nor was my husband expecting me back at any set time.

 

I was in so much fucking trouble.

 

***

 

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked. 

 

“I didn't say you could speak.  The next time you speak without permission....”  I mimed shooting her with the Taser.

 

Rebecca recoiled from me as if my finger were the real thing.

 

“Are you going to talk?”

 

Rebecca remained silent.  It seemed as if she looked off into the distance as if to ignore me.  The room began to get too warm, so I opened the door to let in cooler air.  She spent hours on the chair---I wanted her to marinate in her own exquisite personal hell.  Sometimes I shocked her on the legs or arms, other times I flogged her upper thighs.  Each time without asking a question.  She was tough, a really tough woman.  But I could tell that everything I did was working.  Women are so much more sensitive to this than men in so many ways.  Women were the race.  Men were just fighting, fucking machines.  To be a woman was a sensory experience beyond the male.  My experience in breaking both sexes had convinced me of this.  

 

Touch and texture ran deeper with women, an interface with the environment that male flesh seemed to seal out instinctively.  To a man, skin was a barrier, a protection.  To a woman, it was an organ of contact.  Because of this, there were certain female vulnerabilities.  And I used them.  Every one of us has a breaking point; and once we’ve been taken past that point, we have nothing left to give.  For her I think, the worst part was that there was no obvious end of which she was aware….this mistreatment could go on forever and no one would ever be the wiser.  A few times I threatened her with more wood, and once I penetrated her bowels and ass another inch, only to remove it a second later.  From that point on, the anticipation of that deeper penetration was far worse for her than the reality. 

 

Rebecca’s eyes were closed as she took shallow breaths.  Even though it must have felt like I'd run a telephone pole up her ass, I could tell she was trying to ignore the sensations from the wood that so deeply penetrated her lower body.  I'd ignored her muffled attempts at pleading for over half an hour; she must have thought she would die on the stake in that forlorn room.  Desperation was good, since it made her more impressionable.

 

A fine cold rain spattered outside and gurgled in the gutters and downspout, which were close outside the door that opened to the patio.  I went over and sat on the floor where I could feel the cool breeze coming through the doorway.  I waited awhile with my eyes closed and taking deep breaths, then suddenly it was time to get started again.

 

I showed her the glove for the first time, the glove that she’d already felt once.    She stiffened in the chair as she looked at the cruel metal tips on the fingers and shook her head, but never made a sound.  Now I clamped my hand around her neck and forced her head down almost to her knees.  She shrieked with the pain in her bowels as I did this.  My gloved hand brushed her hair forwards, then I softly touched her skin at the same point just above her shoulder blades with my middle finger.  ”Right there,” I said.  “Just like last time.“

 

Then I stiffened my finger and touched the spot again, pushing down lightly.  Rebecca shuddered, then wrenched her upper body violently, trying to turn away from the finger.  But nothing can save you forever.

 

***

 

And now, you bastard.  You miserable, heartless bastard.  Here you are again, I thought to myself.  I felt his presence near me again and I looked up as I opened my eyes.  He peered down at me as he asked, “Are you ready to cooperate?”  I nodded my head quickly in acceptance of his implied offer to earn better treatment, even as I ranted inside.  I hated my weaknesses as much as I hated him; he'd won for now and I hated it.  I desperately wanted to believe that I would have only cooperated with him because I had chosen to do so and not because he had forced me, but that would be a lie.

 

We both knew that anyone in my situation would have said or done anything to be free of his chair and his electrical wires.  The ironic part was that I while I would always fight against submitting to him in the way he desired, I was afraid I would always still wind up giving him what he wanted, for however long he kept me.  But I felt little satisfaction in knowing that even if I would have done it for my own reasons; he’d forever think he'd won.

 

Attempting to be honest, at least with myself, I acknowledged that there was something else.  A weakness I'd fought against my whole life.  But the Christian ‘need for forgiveness’ was a seed that my mother had planted so long ago; I thought I'd rooted it out at one point in my life.  But it had firmly taken root none-the-less.  And regardless of whether it made sense to me or not, I still felt guilty; there was bill I owed that still needed to be paid.  That was the way of my existence, my karma; the only way that I could round off the corners of the square. 

 

I know that people in trouble always promised God that they'd change their ways, but God help me, I would---anything to get rid of what I'd done.  At the same time, I couldn't help but wonder in the very deepest recesses of my mind just how much I was rationalizing.

 

***

 

I'd known her type the instant I saw her for the first time in the restaurant.  Skin the color of the first milk of spring; the injured spirit that oozed with too much pride; a satisfaction with her pampered life that she broadcast with every glance of her eyes and her uplifted chin; the arrogant set of her beautiful, swollen lips that reflected the remarkably high level of entitlement she felt.  Everything was there; resentment, pride, weakness, indolence, intolerance for others less fortunate and a desire to be special, always elevated above everyone else.   But what we'd already gone through together ensured that none of that seemed important right now.

 

“Please, sir.  Why---are---you---doing---this---to---me?

 

“Come, come, Rebecca.”

 

“Please, Master.  Please let me go.”

 

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

 

Her abdomen was cramping, and she was doubled over as far as she could go.  I grabbed her by the neck and pulled her up.  I couldn’t tell yet if I had been too hard on her or too lenient.  She gazed back at me, her eyes radiating pain---yet still attempting to mask a calculating intelligence.  Her expression was almost identical to the one she had worn at our first meeting. 

 

I picked up a tape recorder and walked back to Rebecca.  “Put your knees together.”  She grimaced in effort, but when she'd finally complied, I laid it on her thighs.  “If that tape recorder hits the floor.......”  I mimed shooting her with the Taser again.  She quickly pushed her knees even further together to hold the tape recorder.  I had cameras taping this from several angles, but she didn't know that yet.  The tape recorder made everything real to her and gave her situation an immediacy that it had up to now lacked.

 

“Breathe, Rebecca.  Take long slow breaths.”

 

“Don’t......hurt.....me......anymore.  Sir.”

 

“I won’t,” I lied.  “But you have to tell me what I want to know.”

 

“I don’t......know......anything.....sir”

 

I made my face betray mild disappointment.  I exhaled and spent a long moment sadly contemplating the stubborn woman.  “Please, Rebecca.  Don’t make this difficult.  Tell me the truth, and this entire episode will be over.”  It was clear I hated doing this; that I wanted to be her best friend, if only she'd cooperate.

 

She started to cry now.  “I’m not .....lying.  I don’t know......what you want.”

 

“You’ll talk, Rebecca.  Everyone talks.  There’s no use in trying to resist.  Please, don’t do this to yourself.”

 

After a long silence, I said, “You and I are going to take a journey together.  A night journey.  Do you know this term, Rebecca?  The Night Journey.”

 

Greeted only by the sound of her soft weeping, I answered my own question.  “It was during the Night Journey that God revealed the Koran to the Prophet Mohammed.  Tonight you’re going to make your own confessions.  Tonight you’re going to tell me everything I want to know.  If you tell me quickly, you'll have given yourself speedy mercy from the chair and the Taser.  But if you continue being stubborn, you’ll find that I'll increase your pain geometrically.  Do you understand this term?”

 

Silence.  She refused to look at me.

 

“Are you ready to talk?”

 

“Yes.”

 

I held up my trigger finger.

 

“Yes, Master,” she amended quickly.

 

“No more fighting me?”

 

She shook her head.

 

“Say it, Rebecca.  No more lies, no more fighting it.  Make me happy.”

 

“I.....will.....tell you......everything......Sir”

 

“You’re going to tell me everything?”

 

“Every......thing........Sir”

 

“Tell me about the first boy.”

 

“Which....first boy?”

 

Tired of her game, I gave her a small shot of electricity.  Rebecca convulsed on the chair, but managed to not lose the tape recorder still on her lap.  Even as she writhed with the electricity going through her, the wooden stake up her ass kept her upright and erect.  I let her breathe for a second, before I continued.

 

“Your first boy.  Tell me about him.  Tell me everything.”

 

And she did, drop by drop.

 

“When did you have your first school boy?”

 

“Master......I........can’t remember.”

 

”Approximately?”

 

“I can’t remember.  It was........about five years ago.  Sir”

 

I calmly looked at her.  I had a lot of information about this boy, the first student Rebecca had seduced.  “You’re lying to me, Rebecca.  If you lie again, this ends and I'll go about it by other means.  I don’t want it to be that way, but it will, all because of you.  The next means I use will be much worse than this.  Do you understand me?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Answer me, Rebecca.”

 

“Yes, sir.  I understand.”

 

“Good.  What did this one look like?  Describe him for me.”

 

“Sir, he was........thin and dark.  About 5’ 6” tall.”

 

She gave me the details, morsel by morsel.

 

“Now give me the boy’s description again.”

 

***

 

I hated capitulating to this man.  I hated letting him think he'd won.  But then, despair flooded over me.  As I described my life to him, every transgression, every sin seemed magnified by a thousand as he demanded every detail---details I hadn't remembered for years.  How could he know all these things?  I suddenly knew that mine was the life of an onion.  Every layer he peeled away made me weep more.  I hated him for this; he would pay.  The thoughts of what I would do to him when it was my turn never left my mind.  And his questions never stopped. 

 

***

I could've cared less about her petty, pitiful, pathetic life life before me.  It was the act of forcing her to tell me the most private and intimate details that was important; forcing her to reveal the things that shamed her made Rebecca accept the reality of her new position.  In the end, I stood in front of her---and she'd told me everything I wanted to know.  The electricity and the chair had broken her---they had gutted her will to resist as efficiently as a spider drains the juice from a captured fly.  She'd spent sufficient time in the White Room now and was no longer able to maintain her belief in the exaggerated protection offered by society's rules and laws. 

 

The civilized world sometimes forgets how thin is the veneer of civilization; how things always change over time and not always necessarily for the better.   How the venerable, respected institutions that protected individuals in the past could be hollowed out from within by predators and opportunists. Outwardly, nothing much had changed. But underneath all kinds of other forces were at play, and, by the time it's noticed, it often couldn't be reversed.  And so the protection that she'd taken granted had suddenly been snatched away.  She may have thought for most of her adult life that society allowed her to send mixed messages about her sexuality, but that stopped now.  And so it began for her, the first of many intimate experiences of being owned by another. 

 

Rebecca haltingly described the poor choices she’d made in her life; how she'd stolen money from her father numerous times and how he'd never forgiven her, coming to feel that it was in her character to be a thief; the ostracism in high school for being that worst of combinations for a young girl, tall, gangly and intelligent, yet naive; the date rape/gang-bang at sixteen and abortion at seventeen, about which her family still was not aware. 

 

It was at this time that the acting out began; the sullen arrogance which daily wore her parents down, the slutty behavior with older high school boys which culminated with the photo shoots with bikers’ magazines, the attempted rape at eighteen when she tried to recover the negatives from her first photos.  When Rebecca finally stopped crying about this, she told me about her husband and how they'd not been a real couple for over three years; her face burned with shame as she explained about the two young boys with whom she’d had sex at the first school---always oral sex, never all the way and always on her terms.  Somehow, she seemed proud of this. 

 

She told me their names and where they'd rendezvoused.  And when the whispers started, she'd transferred to her current school.  Rebecca finally named the four boys she’d seduced there, describing in detail where she’d met them and how she’d picked them.  She talked about how she allowed them to play spanking games with her, then rewarded them with oral sex.  She always maintained complete and total control over the teenage boys even as she allowed them to act in a dominating manner.

 

Any hint of arrogance was long gone by now as Rebecca admitted that she needed help, then she talked about the remorse she felt for the way she had treated her parents, the guilt she felt over what she’d done and how disgusted she was with herself.  By the time she finished, Rebecca had told me more about herself, her fears and her self-loathing than she'd ever shared with her psychiatrist.  I appreciated her attempts at honesty all the more because everything she said was caught on her tape recorder and my hard drive---but how honest really was this woman, how could anyone trust her?  I already knew that much of what she'd told me was a lie.  But I didn't have to let her know that I knew.

 

She was an empty husk, nothing left to hide and nothing behind which to hide. 

 

“Thank you for cooperating, Rebecca.  You see, I can reward you when you talk to me like this.”  I looked at her intensely for a minute before I nodded my head and went to my knees next to her chair. 

 

First, I unhooked her collar from its restraint and Rebecca could move her head and upper body.  Next I removed the handcuffs.  As soon as her hands were freed, she began to move in a feeble and uncoordinated attempt to get off of the chair. 

 

I said, “Wait.  Slow down.  Take your time.  I know feel you’ve just got to get off the chair, but if you move too quickly, you’ll hurt yourself.”  But even as I spoke, my concern for her welfare rang hollow in my ears.

 

With this warning, I began to untie Rebecca’s shapely ankles from under the seat of the chair.  When her feet were finally freed, she slid them out on either side of the chair as slowly and carefully as if her hips were made of rotten paper mache and then she put her hands on her knees.  I held my hands out to help her up, but she refused to look at me.  The impaled woman carefully pushed herself up using her knees as she rose into a half-crouch.  Rebecca had been used hard by the chair in the hours during which she'd savored its embrace and now tragedy struck; after everything she'd suffered, her knees finally gave out and she collapsed backwards.  There were no arms on the chair; leaning forward as she tried to rise from her seat, she'd nothing to hang on to for support.  Now Rebecca immediately cried out in fear and horrific realization as gravity drove her back into the impersonal wooden caresses of the waiting chair that she'd almost escaped.  I hadn't planned this---how could I?  But because she'd rejected my initial offer of assistance, I let the beautiful, yet obviously still too-proud woman fall backwards without trying to save her from the chair's wooden embrace.

 

I watched the whole drama unfold.  I watched in silence as she began to skewer herself one last time; crying out in great anguish as her legs finally failed and the enormous wooden post that had moistly appeared only seconds before now disappeared as it was again forcibly sheathed inside her lower body.  It was like one of those ponderous and unstoppable acts of nature on the National Geographic channel---great blue-white sheets of ice falling from the side of an ice-berg almost in slow-motion.  It was the same for Rebecca; once started, her physical collapse went on to a stop-action conclusion despite her best efforts to prevent it. 

 

The more it entered her body again, the more erect she was forced to sit.  At the end, she sat almost primly upright in her seat, like a nun who had been forced to refer, however euphemistically, to something obscene.  The muscles around her anus had been impossibly stretched earlier by what they'd been forced to accept.  But these same terribly stretched and fatigued muscles now did their best to stretch out again without tearing, while at the same time attempting to cling to the sides of the wooden shaft as spasm after spasm tore through her body.  Now sitting stiffly upright, Rebecca cried out softly in horror even as she finally managed to grab the sides of the stool and stop her descent before accepting the last few inches of the immense wooden rod.  She looked at me and I almost laughed.  Tears covered her cheeks, her lips were pursed into an almost perfect ‘oh’ and it looked like her eyes were ready to bulge out of her head.

 

I watched as she gathered her courage, then paused and took a moment to catch her breath.  Finally, the look of horror slowly changed to total determination; her face now drenched in sweat and her lips pressed tightly together in a rictus of pain, Rebecca supported herself off of the chair with her hands on the wooden seat as she placed her feet more carefully under the chair this time.  After balancing herself again, she succeeded this time in slowly standing up, revealing for the first time the full length of the truly impressive wooden pole that she had successfully, if unwillingly, accommodated for such a long time.

 

Rebecca turned and looked down at what she'd been sitting on, then closed her eyes and stood swaying, turning even more white.  Except for her eyes, the woman almost looked like a remarkably life-like statue of alabaster.  I knew she must feel faint, because she finally leaned against me.  She seemed to feel better after a moment and she pushed herself away from my chest, standing in front of me wearing only the terry cloth robe. 

 

***

 

Suddenly my stomach gave a lurch; my insides felt like they'd turned to frozen water that was slowly melting; I was afraid I may have ruptured myself when my legs collapsed.  While the torn flesh of my rectum was cramping and it ached and throbbed from being ripped by being so cruelly expanded, my innards were boiling and felt like they were burning hot with acid indigestion---which I knew could not be---and something more.  I felt a detached physical emptiness, a sense of vacancy inside as if a vacuum had somehow sucked out of me everything that should be in my abdomen.  I was sure that something was wrong inside me, something terribly wrong.  What he’d done to me was awful; no one should have to go through it.  But somehow, even as I felt anger, I also had a perverse sense grim satisfaction, of guilt assuaged and justice fulfilled.  Even as I'd sat again on that awful stool, there was an obstinate and contrary part of me that just knew deep inside that I deserved whatever was done to me; I hated him, but at that moment I hated myself more. 

 

I hoped I hadn’t been permanently injured. 

 

 

Chapter 15: The rabbit snare exists because of the rabbit.  Once you have the rabbit, you no longer need the snare; Chuang Tsu.

 

She was weak and without difficulty, I pushed Rebecca’s face against the wall, then injected her in the ass through the robe one final time.  When she next awoke, I had laid her on the bed.  Naked again, she was disoriented and so weak now there was no need for handcuffs.  She slowly sat up on the side of the bed.  I had removed the phallus and was now sitting in the chair in which she had suffered for so long, simply looking at her.  When I saw that she was awake, I walked over to the door that led outside and opened it.  Another front had moved in; it was cold and dark, the temperatures had dropped into the high 30's.  The storm was in full progress and the freezing rain was driven by the wind and fell in almost horizontal sheets.

 

I had a small portable television/DVD player set up for her; I turned it on without saying a word.  I’d burned a disc with the latest news about the teacher Rebecca Denholm; it was already loaded.  The woman being held against her will looked at me then at the TV as it came on.  I walked over and stood next to her.  When the report started, it drew her undivided attention.  At the end of the three minute report, tears were running down her face.  Two extra days with me and freedom was already a dream, a memory greatly shrunken around the edges.  As things worked out, it was clear that she was considered a fugitive on the run, that her husband believed her guilty and would provide no emotional support, and that her parents and family were in self-imposed isolation, overwhelmed by it all.  The news was devastating in both its brevity and clarity.

 

I didn’t say a word---I didn’t need to.  No longer handcuffed, I could see that she was still nevertheless restrained psychologically, perched on the bed and frozen into submission by my controlled menace as I towered over her---or perhaps it was her hopeless situation?  I grabbed her small suitcase, carried it over to the door and placed it outside.  There was a lull in the wind and rain at the moment.  Not a total abatement of the storm’s clamor, but a lessening, a pause for regeneration before the next assault.  I walked back, pulled Rebecca to her feet and dragged her to the exit; after a moment’s hesitation, I pushed her naked into the freezing light rain. 

 

I said, “Look at me.  LOOK at me!  The nearest neighbors are about two miles that way.  Come up with your own excuse, whatever you can think of.  But keep me out of it or you go to jail for most of the rest of your life.”  I'd exaggerated about how far away the neighbors lived and I had no idea what a jury would do to her---or me.  But it kept her off-balance mentally.

 

I slammed the door behind me as I went back into the White Room without a backwards glance. 

 

***

 

I suddenly felt drained---the last few days had been tough on both of us.  What would she do?  How would she react?  What would she choose?  What would I do?  How would I react?  I had a lot of thinking to do.  I'd been stupid.  For the first time in my adult life, I'd allowed another person to make me act like an idiot and do truly stupid and dangerous things.  I really didn't know what to do.

 

Finally, I decided I needed a shower.  I stood under the hot needles for at least half an hour just thinking; afterwards I fixed a cup of coffee to help me relax.  The cold rain pounded on the roof for at least another hour and I felt an introspective mood blanket me as I listened to its drumbeat.  The room was suddenly illuminated by a flash of lightning and instinctively I began to calculate the proximity of the strike.  The thunderclap exploded before I had reached three and my house shook.  More strikes followed in quick succession, and the rain hammered against the window.  The blues played softly in the background as I finally looked out of a window and saw Rebecca in the front yard trying futilely to shelter from the freezing downpour under a tree.  I went back to my chair and must have dozed off. 

 

***

 

I lifted my head.  The noise of the storm had become familiar and the sound was one that I just half-heard, one that barely registered on my senses; it was discordant; out of place.  She must have seen me stealing a look earlier, because now I heard pounding on the door that led to the patio in back.  I wrapped a towel around my waist.  I was amazed that the electricity was still on and could enjoy a fresh cup of hot coffee.  I slowly walked over to the door.  It was Rebecca and she was drenched.

 

The rain was lighter now, but her long hair hung in lines along her cheeks and across her forehead.  She was wearing at least three dresses, all of her clothing in layers, her arms crossed over her chest.    By this time, her fine white skin was an overall light blue color.  Her nipples were enormous, pushing out like coat pegs through the layers of cloth because of the cold, but at this moment I could have cared less about her sexuality. 

 

I held the coffee in my hand as I lazily opened the door and looked at her.  There was a long silence, but finally she said, “George, please.”  She tried to clench her jaw, but I could hear her teeth still clicking and chattering after she spoke.

 

I just looked at her and shook my head.  After a moment, I asked, “Why don’t you put some more of your clothes on?  You might be a little warmer.”

 

“I don’t….have anything….that’s rainproof.  Everything….I have….would just get soaked….anyway.”  She hesitated for a moment, “Please…George….listen.  I have…..no money.  I have nothing……nowhere to go.  The police…..are looking for me….and…..and…you’ve made sure…..that….I….have….nothing.  Please, God…..just let me stay…..for the night.”

 

I looked at her for a moment without saying a word, then told her to stay right where she was.  As I stepped back inside, I double locked the door in her face and then I walked around through my bedroom and into the White Room.  After I closed and locked the door that led to my bedroom, I opened the door that led onto the back deck. 

 

Rebecca was still standing by the door to the living room.  When I opened the playroom door, the sudden rectangular blossom of light to the side attracted her attention.  She picked up her suitcase and slowly splashed over to where I stood waiting.  She stopped and put her suitcase down. 

 

Rebecca stood in the open in the wind and the rain.  From my viewpoint, she was framed between the bulk of the patio and the door post.  Her wet clothing hid nothing; narrow waist tucked in above hips that were much firmer and more shapely than their layered fullness now suggested.  The light in the room behind me cast the shadow of one breast across the cone of the other, and her face was blank as her eyes met mine.

 

Then she started to walk past me into the White Room; I put my hand on her chest and pushed her back.  “God,” I said, “has nothing to do with this.”  Rebecca stood so close I could smell her wet hair.

 

I have been sexually dominant my whole life, as I guess too has been this woman.  I am sure that there are varying aspects of the dominant and the submissive in all of us.  To me, that’s only a partial explanation of why I'd acted like a servile, love-struck weakling over the weekend---the force of her personality had initially overwhelmed me.  But if she wanted to stay here, it wasn’t going to be for just one night.  One of us was going to have to change their sexual role---and I was damned if it would be me.  I knew that I had to keep the power in any future relationship with her; I also knew that she needed to understand that I would keep it.

 

She was looking at the floor in misery and I said, “Look at me!  Look into my eyes.  If you come in here, I want it to be with your eyes wide open and with a perfect understanding of what it means.”

 

Now I purposively shifted the tone in my voice without warning to something as cold as winter ice.  “First of all, my name isn’t George, it’s Christian.  But you’ll call me your Master.  You have two choices, and you get to make your decision right here and right now; you can either walk through this door or you can walk away from this house forever.  You think you have nothing now.  If you walk through this door, you will have food and shelter, but I swear to God you’ll have nothing else because I’ll take away everything you’ve got.”

 

Rebecca looked at me like she couldn’t believe her ears. 

 

***

 

He looked thoughtfully at my frozen legs and gave a short, dry laugh, as if he knew a rude joke about me.  “I'm older and I want something different now.  I’ve been in many places in the world.  I have been looking for something…..” he paused then and rubbed his fingers together, “…I’m looking for something more---something different.  And you might be it…at least for a few days.”

 

“It’s all about the blood.”  He held the back of his hand to my frozen face, making me shrink back.  “The way the blood flows to the skin.  Fascinating.”  He dropped his hand and looked at me seriously.  “If you take my offer, you’ll learn to love this.  And after that, everyday you’ll want more and more.”

 

***

 

I spoke in a voice so soft that I knew she had to strain to hear.  “You and I are both flawed, but we’re done with the games now.  I know you’re hot-blooded by nature---and you've taught yourself to control your desires.  But there's no more role-playing now.  For you this is it, this is the end; what you’ve been building to your whole life.  And now you get to make the decision you've always avoided---you’ve no one or nowhere to turn for help and no one to blame but yourself.  You’re not standing here naked in the freezing rain because of me or the school or your students.  You’re here because you deserve to be; and maybe some small part of you wants to be here.”  It was hard to tell with the rain, but I think that tears glistened in her eyes.

 

I looked at her and shook my head.  “I can break you, Rebecca.  I've just shown you that.  The stronger can always break the weaker.  In every place, in every time, the will of some man has shaped a woman's reality.  Here, now, in this room, that old rule is still in place.  Fate, at least for you Rebecca, is a fragile thing.  A mindless thing, controlled by the whim of a strong man.  Though it would take at most forty-eight hours to transform you into a perfectly willing slave whose loyalty would never be in doubt, such a transformation would virtually destroy the qualities that make you worth having---all those vague words that come under the heading of spirit.”

 

“So, instead, if you come inside I'd take my time as I worked on you.  It'd be harder on you at first and probably take a little longer, but it'd be worth seeing you in a......willing and worshipful orbit around me.  I'm telling you right up front what I'll do to you if you accept this offer and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.  If you come through this door, you’ll be accepting my collar and giving up everything that you’ve ever taken for granted; and you WILL be starting over.  I’ll take control of every aspect of your life; from when you get up in the morning until you go to sleep at night.  What you watch on television and when you get to watch it.  What you eat and when, and how your very day is organized.  I’ll take away everything; your freedom, your identity, your name.  You will wear the clothes that I like or nothing at all.  You will no longer choose your hairstyle or jewelry; you’ll always wear my collar around your neck.  You’ll have nothing in the beginning but what I give you.  Nothing!  And in the end all you'll have is what I allow you to keep.”

 

I looked at the frozen woman harshly.  “You mouth loyalty to a string of tribal ideas---truth, justice, freedom.  So transferring your loyalty to a new orbit should be relatively easy, for the idea of willingly serving me is no less vague than the idea of freedom.  Humans are, at our most basic, simple creatures.  Like the computers fashioned in our image, we operate on a binary code of pleasure and pain, a switch marked ON and another marked OFF.  In the end, finally, everything can be reduced to one or the other, everything we love or loathe; these are what form our images of ourselves.”

 

“If necessary, I’ll destroy you one tiny step at a time, just as a man would break a  horse.  And then I’ll help you, train you to understand exactly what I want from you.  Every time you fail me, I’ll increase the penalties until you fear failing me more than the need to maintain the fiction of any remaining ‘normality’ in your life.  And when I am finished, you’ll be exactly what I desire you to be---and nothing more.” 

 

Now I gave her a grim smile.  “At the same time, I have no idea where it will end---and that should scare the hell out of you.  There’s a real possibility that I’ll have to almost kill you to break you, and that should terrify you.  But I swear, however fine or coarse the details may be, I will stay at this until you are exactly what I want you to be.” 

 

Rebecca shivered all over again; she was so cold that she was nodding off as she stood on her feet.

 

I grabbed her shoulders and shook my head again.  I lifted her chin with my hand and made her look me in the eyes.  And when I did, I saw again that her eyes were the shockingly pale blue of a near albino, but it was the aching emptiness inside that stopped me for a second.  If I could only get to it, I knew this woman was holding a raw hunger whose depths I had only begun to taste.  But as I looked again, I could also see the embers of resistance still burning; the calculating look was still alive.

 

Outside the rain stopped and started, stopped once more and started again.

 

I shook my head slowly as I looked at her.  “You’ve been a sexual dominant for your entire adult life, but every dominant becomes submissive to someone at sometime.”  I knew human nature well enough to know that it happened all the time, the flip from Sub to Dom and back; that the situation often wouldn’t even be sexual in nature.  I knew that it was only human and that it never failed.  Finally, I knew that only one of us could win here and that it would be me. 

 

“And you know what?  There’s an animal part to your nature that you keep deep inside you and it liked what I did to you over the last two days……and it’s eagerly looking forward to being trained.  And so help me God, if you walk through that door, I’ll drag that beast naked and screaming into the light and make you face it and accept it.  More than that, I’ll teach you embrace it with welcoming arms.”

 

“No.  You can’t make me do this!” Rebecca reacted finally.  I had finally gotten through to the slow-working, chilled mind that inhabited the frozen body.  Angry and cold, she was shouting at me from what could only a lower-brain fear.  She could not admit that anything I said intrigued her; for certain fears and reflexes are older than human intellect.  She still refused to accept the possible truth of anything I said about her and it showed on her face. 

 

She pulled her head back as I let go of her chin.  “One other thing you need to know if you walk through that door.  There's a slut inside you as well as a whore for pain, and I'm going to train you and fuck you until I've brought it all out into the open for good.  But someday you'll eventually come to understand too that this really isn’t about sex.”  With this comment, her remarkable blue eyes looked into mine and they seemed to blaze with the fiery ice of hell.

 

Now I continued in a reasonable tone and sort of pushed her back towards the open door. “Honestly.  You know---you’d be a hell of a lot better off with the police.”  And with this last, I began to shut the door in her face. 

 

Rebecca stopped the door with her hand; her face looked like she’d found a last reservoir of strength somewhere.  I could actually see her gather herself for one last act of defiance.  She looked me in the eyes and in a clear, ringing voice said, “Fuck you, you crazy bastard.”  The fire in her soul was back as she reached out and tried to slap me.  I blocked her and quick as a snake, she scratched me along my right forearm.  I cursed and slapped her open-handed on the cheek and sent her whirling to the floor. 

 

She lay against the door jam, her knees together and calves pulled under her, feet side by side and off to the right in the kind of position that only women are flexible enough to achieve.  It was normally an erotic look, especially when the woman's dress only came up to mid-thigh, but Rebecca couldn't have looked less inviting right now.  Her multiple layers of dresses were soaking wet, her wet hair stringy and unbrushed, wearing no makeup and her left hand to her cheek as she explored what the blow had done to the side of her face.

 

This was how mutinous women were treated in her new world.

 

***

 

I heard ringing in my ears and for a moment was blinded by exploding stars.  When my vision cleared, I saw him standing over me, wiping his hands on the towel around his waist.  I was playing his game by his rules when I did this.  I had to be smarter, but it was so hard to think straight.

 

***

 

The flat slap-in-the-face sound hardly left an echo in the room.  We both froze for a second, then she slowly climbed to her feet and stepped outside with her small bag.  I shrugged my shoulders and loosened my neck before I closed the door.  I had felt more and more vigor as I had talked, but now I suddenly felt a crushing feeling of malaise as she disappeared into the night.  I didn’t have enough energy to bother cleaning up the place right now; I was pretty sure that even if she truly left me for good, Rebecca wouldn’t go to the police.

 

I shook my head; this was an incredibly complex woman with some sort of a Freudian-Jungian-Steven Kingian thing about her.  She was light and feminine, but there was fierceness in her that I associated with the strongest drill sergeants I'd ever known.  It was as if times of stress like this brought out the strength in her; a steel core able to withstand, at least temporarily, all I could do to her.  It was survival instinct.  Something in her DNA that went back a million years.  Oh yes, it was all there---and I wanted it all.

 

I was torn; I was pissed about my arm and the breath hissed between my teeth as I put Band-Aids on the deep scratches.  At the same time, I felt a grudging sense of admiration.  Only one thing was for sure---I had been bluffing; the last part about me not caring what she did hadn't been true.  I wasn’t exactly sure what I felt for her right now; anger, a need to smash her face, lust for her body, an urge to crush her defiance....to monster-fuck her and destroy the assurance and confidence of a mouthy, opinionated, arrogant, feminist bitch and replace it with fear and the utmost respect for me; all of these things.  For only then would she truly know what it meant to belong to another; to be at her Master's beck and call, answering to and suffering from his merest whims for the rest of her life. 

 

I'd been in the BDSM scene for a number of years.  And while I've seen a few good relationships that were out of the mainstream, these were more than balanced by a lot of “fantasy” stupidity.  Even among those who think they wanted to live this lifestyle, there still existed an incredible ignorance regarding the differences between some idiot's fantasies and the real aspects of BDSM.  As with ANY lifestyle, there were literally hundreds of things that distinguished the reality from the fantasy.  Likewise, it also took a lot of work by both sides to make it work.

 

But if I kept this woman, only one of us would be trying to make it work and there would be no fantasies here.  I knew that I wanted her to stay because she intrigued me; she was the first woman that'd ever truly challenged me in this way. 

 

In shock, I finally realized that I wanted her.  But like a child, I wanted to know her better in MY way, not hers; I wanted to re-make her into the exact image of the woman that would be most pleasing to me.  My God, was this ever a fucked up situation.  She was as strong-willed and generally dangerous to men as a scorpion---and here I was planning on giving her unimaginable motivation to hurt me.  This was actually a small town; I had a history and it was obvious that once the police knew where to look, she could easily wind up putting me in jail for the rest of my life, and I wanted to ‘know her better.’

 

I needed to be smart about this, but she somehow still threw me.  I had serious needs and intellectually, I knew exactly how to do her.  But for some reason, with this woman there'd been an instant emotional connection that made me feel like I had entered some kind of a Disney world for S&M'ers.  It may have only been lust at first and later I'd despised her, but I'd always wanted her.

 

I had never kept a non-consensual for over a day; and always before I'd kept my identity well hidden. Rebecca was the first that I had made serious plans about keeping and I was nervous.  It wasn't that I lacked confidence; even if I did, I would never let her know.  I wasn't that nervous about the police or about being able to control her.  I'd seen enough things in my life that these things didn't really bother me any more.

 

The problem was that I wasn't sure what motivated me; too many times after a few months or years of acting the role, I had seen the dominant in many local relationships completely lose interest in controlling his submissive.  He would, in a way, turn vanilla on her and if she had sincere submissive needs, sexually, she would then be right back where she was before she'd met him.  And this caused problems.

 

I didn't want to spend a lot of time and effort on this woman and then lose interest or become bored with her.  I'd be damned if I'd let that happen.  I was going to do this right---or I'd get rid of her.  And if it came to the last, I was afraid that meant having to do something permanent, an action I wasn't yet sure I was ready to take.

 

I walked back into my living room and lowered myself into my high-backed leather chair, rubbing my right arm and finishing my coffee.  I felt like it was an oasis of calm after my last encounter with the bitch-that-used-to-be.  The leather chair exhaled as it accepted my weight and I continued massaging the skin of my arm, avoiding the patch work of Band-Aids that ran from elbow to wrist.  About twenty minutes later, I heard knocking on the window in back again; it was Rebecca.  I got up and walked over to the window and looked at her.  The cold rain was still sleeting down.  She closed her eyes for a second, then looked at me again.  Without another word, she turned and walked over to the door to the White Room and stood waiting for me.  I watched her through the glass for a moment; she stood facing the door and never looked back at me.

 

***

 

The rain never stopped and I felt cold, so awfully cold.  The urge to sit down and go to sleep was almost overwhelming.  I felt weak and drowsy, almost like I was peacefully sinking into a sea of warm milk.  God, I was so tired of fighting everything and everyone.  Please come quickly, I’m dying.

 

***

 

I walked into the White Room and opened the door for her.  She moved sluggishly and looked at the floor and at my feet, at the ceiling behind me, everywhere but at me.  “Same rules apply now as half an hour ago,” I said. 

 

I'd made my mind up.  I needed to give her one last piece of truth about our arrangement, then I was going ahead with the non-con arrangement.  “And one thing more---unless you and I hit it off real well together, never doubt that I’ll keep you in slavery until the time comes to dump your ass---maybe when your tits begin to sag or your ass starts to get a little bigger or maybe even just when you start to get a few crow’s feet.” 

 

I shook my head at her.  “I don’t even know what it’ll take to make me toss you out on your ass with nothing, but I guarantee that the time will come unless you give me everything I could ever want.  So….make your choice and be damned sure that you can live with it, bitch, because when you do there’s no going back afterwards.”

 

She still hesitated.  The rain was pouring through the open door and I was getting cold now myself; I was annoyed and perhaps that was why I couldn’t pass up the chance for a final dig at her…..or maybe it was because I was more emotionally fucked up than she.  “You bitch, I KNOW that you like it rough.  Maybe,” I looked at her slyly, “allowing me to fuck you up will help you to get rid of some of that Catholic guilt you carry on your back like a hundred pound bag of cement.  You know, do some major penance for your sins and then you can start the rest of your life over fresh.  Or maybe, just maybe, you’re nothing but a sick fuck like the rest of us and in the last few days you’ve found out that you really liked what I did to you and now you want more.  Have you thought about that?  Come inside and learn about yourself; maybe I’m the one that can give you the answers that you'll learn to look forward to every night when you finally close your eyes.  Two birds with one stone; get rid of your sins and a little rough servicing at the same time?”

 

I looked at her for a second.  In that moment, I felt a sudden pang of guilt---but then just as quick it was gone.  “Nah.  You’re a pervert and just as fucked up as the rest of us.  Go on, go the police and get it over.”  I started to close the door a second time, but she stopped it again.

 

For a moment, I felt an sense of hollowness.  I had run out of words and I was filled with an uncharacteristic sense of…..uncertainty.  Not for the first time, I wondered if she was really willing to submit to my collar.  If she did, she would be taking a giant step into the unknown and it was too big, too important to be a half-assed move on her part.  I finally faced the truth; I wanted her to understand this….because I wanted her. 

 

I think I could have loved her as she was now; strong and intelligent.  But this was the person she would cease to be if I had my way.  And I doubted very much if I could  learn to care for the person she would become.  My intentions were not romantic or honorable.  I wanted her body.  I wanted her zeal and her clean face.  Her poise and her determination and her intelligence.  I wanted it all, so that I could control it, break it and re-make it into something that was one hundred percent mine.

 

Rebecca looked at me as she shivered in the rain.  “I could go to the police and tell them that you kidnapped me.  And that’s why I wasn’t around this weekend.”

 

“Sure,” I replied as I laughed in her face.  “Go ahead and tell the cops.  That’ll be great.  First I’ll show them a short video of us on Saturday and Sunday---that’s right, you’re on tape.  That’ll sure convince them that you were here against your will; I mean our fucking our brains out and all.  Sure, I'll get in a little trouble for making the tape without your knowledge, but that'll knock your story in the ass.  Then I’ll have them check out the house.  It’ll take you at least three or four hours to get to the cops and then get them back here, and I promise you that this room will be absolutely clean by then.  And I won’t have to touch the bedroom because of course we both admit that you were there.  Finally, as a good, law abiding citizen, I’ll be forced to give them an audio copy of the tape that I've just edited, the one in which you tell me about all the other boys that you’ve molested.  Or maybe I’ll just give them the names and let them do the leg work.”

 

I put a contemptuous tone in my voice, “Headlines at ten!  The Teacher lied!  There was more than one!”  “Mr. Police Person,” I continued in a mocking tone, “here I was just fucking her and it came out as pillow talk.  I was shocked, just shocked when she told me that!”

 

Now all of a sudden, I was angry.  “You’d do time for multiple sexual offenses then.  Perhaps twenty years, instead of six or seven.  And you know what?  You're fucked up in the head and deserve every fucking minute of it!”  I gave her a tight smile that had no humor in it.  “So, you dumb fucking slut.  Make up your mind.  I’m getting cold and wet holding this door open.  In or out.  Cops and jail, or me and everything that you so richly fucking deserve.”

 

She seemed to drag up a last bit of her courage, a last act of bravado before she gave in to the inevitable.  She closed her eyes against the rain and shook her head.  “You hate me for some reason, don’t you?” 

 

“Hate you?”  I asked mockingly, then smirked slyly.  “Hate you?  Of course not---well, not too much anyway---it's more like an intense dislike of what you represent.  But I will break you.  And even you'll admit there must be some small training in obedience for one of your nature.  Some small humbling of pride.  Just a little.” 

 

My eyes held hers, and in them she finally read the truth.  She closed her eyes for almost a minute as the rain continued to pound down on us both.  There was no look of bitterness or self-pity on her face as she finally looked at me again.  Rebecca shook herself and thrust her head forward in a way that seemed almost reptilian---defiant, angry.  “All you do is take…..if I had anything left, I’d never allow you to do this to me.  I swear I wouldn’t allow it.  Someone will make you pay for this someday.”  Then Rebecca inhaled deeply and held it for a second; finally she exhaled and stepped across the threshold of the door, committing herself to me.

 

Edgar Allan Poe once wrote an essay called "The Imp of the Perverse," one of the most insightful and important works I've ever read.  Poe explored the importance of perversity in human affairs: the fact that surprisingly often, people do things just because they shouldn't.  Because these things are wrong, or dangerous.  Or evil.  It was like that here; with that one step, she was mine.  I never cease to be amazed at how people can convince themselves to give up everything and accept the unacceptable, as long as the offer is outrageous---or dangerous---or wrong enough.

 

As Rebecca stepped inside, she knew her freedom would last just long enough for her to make one last comment without repercussions, “You think you’ve won.  You think you’ve triumphed.  You think you’ve gotten the ultimate prize.”  She shrugged, all emotions like hope now gone from her voice and face.  “You don’t get much with this package.  Sorry to disappoint you.”

 

I didn't say a word, but just started ripping her wet clothes off until she stood naked in front of me.  Small Taser burn marks broke the light reflected from her wet, smooth, bluish skin, mainly around the outside of her thighs and chest, but they would soon be gone.  I told her to open her mouth.

 

 

Chapter 16: He who surrenders in the course of interrogation, not only was forced to talk, but has forever been compelled to accept a status: that of being sub-human; J.P. Sartre.

 

I knew I wasn’t thinking clearly; I was ready to tell him in very definite terms what he could do with his offers and his demands, but the words just didn't seem to come out.  Then I noticed he was wearing a supercilious half-smile, and I could see that this was what he had expected of me from the beginning.  His contempt was plain.  I sensed he thought of me as weak, as a temporizing object, a female of no strength and little value.  My mouth was open to speak; but under that sneering expression, different words came out.  Even freezing, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right.

 

I had to get inside and get warm; I would die in the rain and the darkness.  How bad could it be, I asked myself?  It couldn’t be any worse than what he'd already done to me.  He was a sick, evil, twisted bastard.  I knew I could handle anything he tried to do, and once I was warm again, we'd see how it ended.  I knew now that I was capable of murder.  After what he'd done to me, as soon as he dropped his guard, I'd do my best to gut him like a fish.  I might be discovered, but no one would blame after I told them what he'd done to me.  I clutched my arms tightly to my chest to maintain what little warmth I had left; I was chilled to the bone and goose bumps covered most of my body.  I leaned against the door as a helium bubble expanded in the depths of my skull.  It was difficult to put words to thoughts, but I tried.  “And here, you probably feel like Christmas is early.”  I took a deep breath in an effort to dispel my lightheadedness.  “You don’t get much with this package.  Sorry to disappoint.”

 

He began tearing at my clothes, pulling and ripping.  Buttons flew and zippers were ripped.  Soon I stood naked again in the room.  I felt the cold air wash across my wet body and did my best to keep what little warmth I still had inside. 

He talked quickly as he stripped me.  I didn't understand what he meant, but he told me that from the first time he'd laid eyes on me, he'd wanted me for his ass-candy.  At his sharp command, I opened my mouth and suddenly he began filling it with a long black pear-shaped gag that he'd been holding in his hand---it seemed that he had been very sure of my response to his ultimatum.  It rested on my tongue and filled my mouth to the back of my throat; the taste was of cold rubber wiped clean with disinfectant.  It was the taste of horror, of slavery, of total loss of personal control and it immediately filled me with disquiet at my decision.  My teeth instinctively bit into the hard rubber and I closed my eyes as I somehow accepted all that it represented. 

 

In that brief instant, my mind replayed the events leading up to this second.  In vivid slow motion, I was afforded the opportunity to regret a million moments that I could have re-written to prevent what was about to happen.  But in the end, I knew that it was all hopeless.  For no matter what chances I might have been given to redo every wrong that I’d ever done, in the end I knew in my heart that I’d always wind up here.  Naked and freezing, standing in a doorway as I allowed a man that I barely knew to force a gag down my throat. 

 

And the funny part was that he was right in a lot of what he had said.  Perhaps this was even justified; but I knew it was inevitable that I would fight him in anything he tried to take from me.  But there was also a sense of the absolute inescapability about it all; there would be huge battle of wills, but somehow I knew I would eventually be forced to submit to this evil man, even if just to pay for my sins as I balanced some sort of a cosmic scorecard.  And in a perverse sort of way, I hoped too that he would be a hard master, for I knew that I deserved no less.  But if he wanted me like he said he did, I would make him take me---he'd have to earn me, if he was strong enough.

 

I could barely imagine what it would be like to temporarily surrender to this man or any man for that matter, but especially to a monster who gazed with full focus on me as he did.  Even as we stood apart, I almost felt the touch of his eyes on my cold skin, the hungry mouth moving closer to mine.  But I had given over all control to him for the moment.  And the seductively liquid release of all responsibility to him---that was what scared me the most.

 

The gag filled my mouth and finally was fastened tightly around my neck.  Then he roughly threw me against the wall.  I closed my eyes as he pulled on my left wrist; I heard the distinctive ‘snick-snick’ of what I assumed was a handcuff as I felt a constricting tightness around my wrist.  My right hand was pulled around and suddenly I had lost my freedom.  Finally, he put a thick, black leather dog collar around my neck and fastened it in back.  I shivered in my nakedness as my forehead leaned against the wall; I made no sound as he finished.  There was such a sense of finality with this act, such a feeling of inevitability…..I had voluntarily accepted a dog's collar to save my life.....and my freedom was now gone.

 

He dragged me over to a long wooden plank that was bolted against the wall.  It rested at a forty-five degree angle and had an iron ring fastened at the very top, and what looked like a cross beam at the bottom that ended in two stirrup-like affairs, one on each side.   Both had velcro straps that kept my feet firmly in place in the stirrups.  Now I lay on my back on that plank, my wrists strapped together and bound above my head to the iron ring, my legs spread-eagled and my feet velcro'd into stirrups that kept them immobile.  I was naked except for my collar and alone except for the terrible cold.  The room was dark and soft blues played in the background as the CD player broke its heart over a faithless woman; but there was no one listening but me.  He'd left when he finished and I'd not seen or heard him again.  The straps cut off the circulation in my fingers and I'd lain this way for what seemed days. 

 

The room was considerably warmer than outside.  But even so, my skin and muscles felt numb, as if I were frozen solid into one block of ice.  Even as I lived in that gray world, I somehow knew that hours had passed, and last night had become today; I had lost all real sense of time.  The pain fused with the music, the ache in my upper body twinning with the guitar riffs and the bluesy lyrics that he had playing softly.  The room was dark and the atmosphere moist from the rain outside, but slowly it got a little warmer.  Underlying what soon came to seem the stink of my body were the smells of a small room, overloaded with human presence.  The only source of light was a small light on the wall, just strong enough to reveal his shape when he came around, a bulky shadow that moved as silently as a highlight on dark satin.  Sometimes he came to just watch, other times he came to jab a hypodermic needle into my thigh, causing all the pain and terror to dissolve again into giddy warmth.  Sometimes he came only to breathe on me.  I couldn't believe that he was the same man that I'd had sex with earlier.

 

I tried to ignore the cold, but it chewed its way through skin and flesh, heading for the bones and the marrow.  I closed my eyes and sent myself somewhere hot.  An island, a beach, a dazzling sun.  I felt warm water, salt on my skin, the sun burning me.  It wasn't just my body that was frozen, it was my mind too.

 

Sometimes during the long periods of aloneness, I forced myself to relive the opening hours of our relationship again and again, hoping by doing so I could somehow will the outcome to change.  Not a rational hope, but it was the only one I had.  The last time we made love; that was the point at which I wanted to change things.  I wanted to insert new details and escape the drug-induced blackout.  I wanted to amend the part about being kidnapped and dragged to someplace new while I was unconscious, and the part about the wooden plank. 

 

But I couldn't change things.  My reality had hardened like cement and I had no choice but to endure it.  A door opened and suddenly I knew that he had returned.  Another needle, perhaps more music.  Possibly a squirt of water from a squeeze bottle and a marshmallow to chew on as before, and then the gag would be put back on again.  I wondered how much longer I could last like this.

 

He walked into the room and stood beside me.  I glanced at him once and then looked away.  My skin was ice-cold and he began rubbing me all over my chest, bringing the circulation back, warming me.  I could smell the very stink of his animal confidence as he leaned over; it frightened me and made me angry at the same time.  Soon he was finished and I knew what he planned, it was immediately obvious.  He was naked.  His manhood stood out at an angle from his groin as it pointed at the ceiling; and even though I was intimately familiar with him, he looked immense from this angle, the head purple and slick and shiny.  He must have already applied a lubricant, because despite my dryness he plunged into me, effortlessly, silently, burying himself into me up to the hilt. 

 

His huge cock seemed to penetrate my abdomen as if I were gutted like a fish.  I couldn’t help myself, I shrieked once into the gag in pain and anger and fear as the massive member fully penetrated me and I felt his balls slap against my buttocks.  But I somehow forced myself to be quiet after that---I knew how hopeless screaming would be.  And I wanted to deny him any possible pleasure he may have felt in the act of rape.  It's odd what goes through your mind at times; all I could think about was how rough his beard was against my cheek and neck---and that he would leave a rash on my skin.

 

He started to move back and forth, his cock sliding easily in and out of my belly, the friction of his hips forcing my body up and down the wooden plank with every thrust.  He drove into me, filling me in a way that he had not been able to accomplish previously---or maybe it was me.  He seemed to go on and on, finally increasing the friction of his rubbing, sliding moves against my hips and stomach until with a guttural groan of satisfaction, he suddenly came inside me.  The shocking sensation rocketed throughout my mind.  I was married and had been groped and allowed inexperienced boys to fumble over me, but it had been many, many months since I'd allowed a man, any man including my husband, inside me without wearing protection.  This man controlled my body and I couldn't stop him, but I also wouldn't give him any satisfaction either as I looked away from him.  I hated the feeling of his scalding hot semen as it wetly exploded inside me, coating me.  I hated every part of him.

 

When he was done, he caught his breath for a minute while he laid on me, then pulled himself off and walked over to the corner, then returned with two small pieces of metal.  He leaned over me and sucked on my left nipple for a second until it was hard, then flicked it with his finger before he put a small clamp on it.  The clamp had a saw-like teeth and a twist knob to tighten the jaws.  He tightened the clamp until my hips arched off the plank in agony.  Then he did the same to my other nipple.  God, they hurt so much.  Then, he walked over to the door and disappeared for a minute.  He was still naked when he came back, but now he held a small video camera and carried a belt and what looked in the darkness like a stick.  He positioned the view screen of the video camera so that I could see it, then he turned the camera on and I watched myself being raped.  He obviously had a camera lens above me, because I could see myself in every detail as he took me. 

 

When the horrifying video was done, he said, “Look at me woman.”  I wasn't going to voluntarily give him anything he wanted, so I ignored him and turned my face away.  He said softly, “Not fast enough,” and he hit me across my breasts with the belt.  I arched and screamed into the gag, but he he hit me three or four more times without saying another word.  There was nothing I could do but scream and cry in pain.  Finally, he stopped and inspected my breasts.  As he held each one up to the light, I could see a trickle of blood running down from each nipple.  The pain was incredible. 

 

“Now that I've got your attention, we go on to the main part of the lesson.”  Suddenly, he dropped the belt and began to use the cattle prod he'd brought into the room.  He pushed it into my left thigh and held it there for what seemed hours, but must have been only ten seconds.  I screamed and thrashed under the assault, but gained not an inch of additional freedom.

 

He started talking to me again, “You're a beautiful woman and you belong to me now.  Look at me, my Little Slave.”   I looked at him quickly this time, but again he said, “Not fast enough.”  I could see by the look in his eyes that no matter what I did, no matter how quickly I obeyed him now, he was going to hurt me again and again and there was nothing that I could do to stop him.  This time, he held the electric prod against my clitoris for about fifteen seconds.  When he was done, I couldn't breathe and my heart was racing, hammering so fast I thought it would explode. 

 

“You disobey me,” he said softly, “you get punished.”

 

He shook his head and said, “My women respond.  They ALWAYS respond.  But you just laid there.  You saw yourself in the camera.  Not an expression on your face.  You didn't move an inch on your own; you actually made an EFFORT to deny me satisfaction.  Not fucking good enough by half.”  And he used the cattle prod again, this time against my stomach. 

 

When he was done this time, he looked closely into my eyes.  “You belong to a man now.  When you see me, you will always smile, whether you feel like smiling or not.  Learn to smile.....NOW.”  I still had his gag in my mouth and I honestly didn't know what he wanted.  I was confused, and when I didn't immediately react to his command, the cattle prod came up against my right nipple and I screamed and writhed under his punishment for at least ten or fifteen interminable seconds.  I was sweating profusely in the cold room now, but it didn't matter to him. 

 

“Smile,” he said again.  And I did; God help me, to the best of my ability I smiled at him around the black rubber that so grotesquely, yet so completely filled my mouth.  “That's what I want to see,” he smiled back at me.  Earlier I thought I'd begun to know this man a little, but I was mistaken.  He was a monster and some day, somehow, I would kill him if I had the chance. 

 

“From this point on, when you have sex with a man, your whole goal is to please him.  This is your first major lesson, learn it well.”  And with this, he turned and placed the cattle prod against the wall by my head and walked out of the room, leaving me strapped to the plank as my fears swirled formlessly in my mind.

 

He left me alone for what seemed hours.  My vagina throbbed and my nipples ached from the clamps he'd left pinned on them.  And then suddenly he was beside me again.  Trying not to set him off, I faked a passivity I didn't feel.  It was dark outside so I knew that it must be evening of my first day with him.  Telling me to keep silent, he removed my gag so that I could sip Gatorade from a squeeze bottle he held.  I had done nothing wrong to this man, but I wanted to beg his forgiveness.  I wanted to beg him to let me cooperate, to let me go----but I said nothing.  When I finished, he forced my mouth open and gagged me again; and as quick as that, it was too late to say anything, to late to try to reason with him.   He ran his hands up and down my legs and stomach for several minutes, and suddenly I knew that he wanted me again.  

 

He was quickly ready as before, but this time had not come to me quite as prepared---there was no lubricant now.  He'd left the clips on my nipples and as he lowered his weight onto me, he ground them into my flesh.  He could hear me whimpering in pain and fear, but he didn't care.  I was dry and it took him four or five thrusts to fully enter me; he hurt me a lot when he took me this time.  He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, whispering in my right ear, “Smile for the camera, baby.  Smile for your man.”

 

Dread pooled like acid in my stomach.  He went on and on, and I was helpless.  I have never developed a taste for playing the defenseless female and I didn't know how to do it now.  I know I hated how it made me feel.  Then he hurt me, and regardless of how angry and humiliated I might have felt, I was ashamed to admit how hard I tried to smile around that big piece of black rubber as he raped me a second time. 

 

I'd once read that prostitutes always partitioned their minds.  Anytime of the day or night, anything to keep a part of themselves locked away, protected and private.  So I tried to do this too, tried to divorce myself from my body, tried to convince myself that it didn't matter what a stranger did to it.  Anything to make it easier to deal with the pain, the humiliation, the disgust.  The alternative was panic, hysteria and insanity.  I finally felt the stillness as it began in my head, like an anesthetic, and spread through the rest of my body.  The body was reduced to matter and nothing more.  And after a couple of minutes of being ridden, I went away into my mind and eventually, finally, it was over.

 

I suddenly realized that he still had not shaved.

 

Again, he left to get the camera and suddenly, I was filled with mounting dread.  When he came back, the look on his face told me all I needed to know.  Without a word, the cattle prod went into my right breast for at least 15 seconds.  He wanted me screaming and afraid, and I tried to refuse to give him both.  My body arched and shuddered in a spastic reflex to the electricity running through it, my teeth doing their best to bite the rubber gag in half.  I tried my damnedest not to scream, but quickly I was giving him exactly what he wanted.  My chest was heaving as I sucked air through my nostrils when he finished, my heart hammered as I tried to breathe.  I couldn't see very well because of the tears in my eyes.  But he just looked into my face and shook his head. 

 

“Not good enough, woman.  You may be smart, but you are definitely a slow learner.”  The prod bit again into the soft flesh of my stomach and I spent the next 20 or 30 seconds arching and thrashing like a fish that had just been gaffed into the bottom of a boat.  I know at the end I must have screamed for his mercy, but I don't remember anything but the awful pain.  My heart was beating in my chest and I felt like I would vomit.  And then, finally, it was over for now and he just looked at me as he rested the cattle prod on my chest.  I stared at the awful end of the prod and waited in dread.  The anticipation of the coming pain was so terrible that I started sweating and feeling the pain before it actually happened.  It was awful; I was hurting and I could feel the pain of the prod, even as I could clearly see that its terrible business end had not yet even touched me.

 

“You belong to me now.  I warned you about what you would give up, but you chose this life anyway.  Wish you could back and make that choice again?  Probably....but it's too late for that.  Now it's time to start learning what your new life really means.”  Suddenly, the current flashed through the cattle prod again and I was arching and screaming and bucking as I tried to get away from the relentless shock.

 

Then it was over.  He slowly removed the nipple clamps and rubbed my breasts softly.  Before he walked away he looked at me for a long minute.  “Like I told you before, the gag isn't because I'm afraid that someone will hear you scream,” he shook his head---”no one will ever hear you again unless I allow it.  No.  The gag is to instill discipline.  You will learn to obey, and you'll quickly learn that immediate obedience is demanded every time.”

 

“The next time we fuck, the gag comes out and I'm sure that you will want to cooperate in every way.  Think about it.  Total cooperation and complete submission....think how peaceful that could be.  How painless and enjoyable that could be.”

 

***

 

It was light outside again now.  He had left me alone again for what seemed a couple of days, but was probably only six or seven hours.  Even though I tried, I knew that I could not stand up to anymore of the electricity.  I still felt a burning, residual anger, yet at the same time, I was so shamed by my inability to fight his brutality that when he came back next, I couldn't even look him in the eyes.  With shock, I realized that it wasn't necessarily fear that would defeat me, it could just as easily be shame or humiliation. 

 

I'd been strapped to his plank for at least one, probably closer to two days.  My lower back was killing me and I was in my own world trying to get a handle on the pain, when suddenly I was overcome by an urge that could not be fought.  Helplessly, I felt my bowels let go and I defecated over the plank and my lower body.  I lay on my back on that plank, my legs spread wide for his eventual pleasure, covered in my own filth for hours.  First I was overcome by rage that he would do this to me, then came humiliation and finally, I was filled with a devastating feeling of helplessness; I knew that I was a weak person in many ways, but he treated me as if I had no worth at all.  This had to be one of the lowest moments in my life. 

 

I couldn't smell anything anymore, but when he finally came into the room again, the smell must have been overpowering, because he immediately opened the door to let in fresh air.  Then he brought in a garden hose from outside and began to wash me off.  He didn't seem angry, just business-like.  The water was warm and felt good on my skin as he scrubbed me clean without a word.  He left after he'd hosed down the floor.  He had the room warmer now and although I was still cold, I dried quickly.  The water drained away and the plank soon dried, but the room retained the strong taint of my shame even as he came back in carrying a small tray an hour later.  First he ostentatiously planted the electric cattle prod in a place that I would see it no matter where I looked.  Telling me to smile, he removed my gag, and after plugging something into the wall, without another word, he mounted me again and invaded my body without pretense or charm, and without warm up.  For my part, I knew I feared him, but somehow I still felt numb at the same time.   But I didn't attempt my same mind trick to escape a second time, as without shame, I moved as erotically as possible beneath him; however, I did my best to smile into his camera this third time.  I wanted to avoid the cattle prod, not satisfy his needs and obey his rules, but I knew the results would look the same to anyone watching, regardless of motivations. 

 

The man that would be my Master groaned loudly as he came inside me a third time, then he lay upon me for a couple of minutes just catching his breath.  Finally he got off and gagged me again.  I somehow forced myself to watch and as he moved, his now flaccid penis began to shrink in the cold air and pull up into his scrotum.  He reached under the plank where he'd laid some things and brought out several straps.  He velcro'd one around each of my thighs just above my knees.  Then he tied a thin rope to the D-ring on one strap and ran the rope under the board before running it through the D-ring on the other strap.  When he pulled on the end of the rope that ran through the second D-ring, he pulled my knees as far apart as they would go.  He then tied the rope off so that I lay there, totally helpless and spread wide for his pleasure until he released me. 

 

It was terribly uncomfortable, as if my legs were being pulled from their hip sockets.  Drafts of cold air in the room brushed the insides of my thighs and the lips of my vagina, and I felt goose bumps rising again.  Next he ran straps from under the plank over my abdomen and then above my breasts, and when he was finished tightening them, I couldn't move a muscle.  I was helpless, totally immobilized; I could barely breathe.

 

Finally finished tying me down, he turned on a strong, intense light and shined it upon my body, after which he draped a towel over my face.  He wanted to hide something from me; I somehow knew that this too important for me not to see.  I threw my head back and forth, but could never get the towel off.  He lowered himself onto my stomach and I could feel fresh cool air rush in as he separated my labia from my right thigh.  There was a warm wet feeling as he washed me there, then a quick feeling of wet cold as he wiped something else between my legs. 

 

At first I wanted to fight, I NEEDED to fight......but there was nothing I could do, my body wouldn't move, couldn't move.  It had shut down.  My mind had taken the full impact of his words and his last actions like a cheap Japanese car taking a hit from a Mack truck, and my legs received no instructions from my brain.  It was as if the machine inside had simply been turned off.  And then he touched the inside of my thigh.  He did it gently, so softly as to seem almost non-threatening, but in its damning simplicity the gesture was enough to jolt me to my core.  I felt an electric shock pass from his fingers into my bones.  Suddenly, my motor impulses seemed to return and my mind was back in the here and now.  By this time the air was full of the smell something burning.  And then with a quick, smooth move he did it and I was marked as his property forever. 

 

I felt a horrendous burning sensation pressing right at the juncture of the inside of my thigh and my perineum.  It felt like hundreds of refined pins of molten fire had been concentrated and then forced into the tiniest part of my body.  I bucked and screamed, but it didn't do any good.  He lay on my belly and pinned my hips against the plank with his weight, holding me almost motionless as he went about his horrific task.  Abruptly, the pressure on my belly was gone, but the burning pain continued, even increasing as the shocked nerves that hadn't been destroyed by his fire finally regained feeling.  It seemed that the branding iron stayed pressed into my flesh for an eternity.  The initial pain was tremendous as the few remaining nerve endings did their job.  Quickly though, the pain in the burned area seemed to leave, probably since most of the nerves there were now dead.  But soon, an overall throbbing took over and kept me in agony.  Finally he removed the towel from my face and he showed me what looked like a small electric soldering iron.  Barely able to see because of my tears, I raised my head as best I could and found that the maniac had truly branded me.  This suddenly scared me more than anything he had yet done. 

 

How bad could it be? I'd naively asked myself.  I was a fool, an idiot; and I deserved nothing less than what he had just done, even if just to pay me back for my pathetic arrogance.  The air smelled of burned meat, and with a sick stomach I realized that it was my own flesh that I smelled.  The heating iron had a small pattern worked into the flat head on the end, and it was this design that had been permanently pressed so deeply into my skin. 

 

I felt myself slipping in and out of consciousness.  The stench of charred flesh in my nostrils was overpowering, but the man standing over me barely noticed.  He just opened the door to the outside and began ventilating the room.  My first reaction was to gulp desperately for air, but the gag prevented that.  Then I began to cry.  Not scream, not bellow, but cry.  I have always handled pain well; actually, I handle pain quite well.  While it's a natural human tendency to scream at the infliction of intense pain, I learned that night that once a single, intense sensation passed a certain threshold, it was no longer within the cognitive scope of the human nervous system or the brain; it simply became an ache that caused discomfort, and most of the "memory" of the pain turned into shock. 

 

The only pain now was in my head, the cognitive whiplash of finding myself in a situation so far removed from that of only a few days ago.  My mind was no longer in the place where it had been a few minutes ago.  It was in a dark, foggy place where normal functioning of the brain couldn't be carried out.  Somewhere deep inside this zone, I saw my husband as I remembered him from the last time we had been together a couple of nights ago.  I missed him terribly and wished I could see him just one more time.  I felt an immense regret; regret for the way I'd acted, for everything I'd done to him and everything I hadn't. 

 

Vaguely, I heard sounds emanating from close by, but could barely make out the words.  The man who would be my Master looked irritated at my lack of response, and he repeated his command more loudly, "Spread your knees." 

 

This time the words were a little clearer, but their meaning still escaped me.  I shut my eyes tightly to preserve the image of my husband, the only good thing left in my life.  It was an invitation to my assailant.  Leaning over impatiently, he slapped me on the side of my face.  My eyes flew open in surprise and I moved my head feebly towards what looked like a person through the haze.  "Spread your knees wider!" 

 

I couldn't spread any wider for him and he knew it.  It was a cruel jest from a barbarous monster.  He smiled as he held the branding iron about two inches from my face as he said, “My property always comes marked with proof of ownership.”  I lay my head back down and continued crying softly.  Even if he wasn't finished, I thought, I was past the point of caring.  I let my head fall back on the board and shut my eyes. 

 

My husband was still there waiting for me.

 

 

Chapter 17: Women are an enslaved population -- the crop we harvest is children, the fields we work are houses. Women are forced into committing sexual acts with men that violate integrity because the universal religion -- contempt for women -- has as its first commandment that women exist purely as sexual fodder for men; Andrea  Dworkin.

 

I looked down at my beautiful little slave.  The bloodless face, the nostrils spread wide as she panted for breath, the dilated pupils; she was probably in light shock, and I didn't think she understood what I'd just done to her.  Oh, she understood the pain, but not the significance and certainly not the permanence.  Years from now when she, or any other person for that matter, ran their hand between her legs, the small raised area of patterned skin would always ensure that she understood the as yet unrealized concept of property permanently owned.  The extent of forced submission that this act implied hadn't really yet begun to sink in.  Others would see it however, and know immediately that another man had put his mark on her. 

 

No matter what happened, no matter how hard she tried, she would never be able get away from the permanent symbol of bondage that had been burned into her flesh this night.  Only as I began to work with her and on her in the near future, shaping her behavior and conditioning her body, only then would she begin to understand the level of submission that was required in her new life.  Finally, suddenly, she would realize that only total compliance would bring her the ability to survive what would be demanded of her.  Only total submission would allow her to live up to, or down to, the permanent symbol I'd just given her.

 

Mouth gagged and wrists bound above her head, her feet strapped into stirrups attached to the plank and chest tightly bound by straps, she lay helpless before me, chest heaving as she tried to breathe through her nose.  The way she was bound only emphasized her bust, and I needed that for the next step.  Her beautiful nipples were raw from the clamps I'd already used on her.  Using a soft milking motion, I gathered one breast and stroked it several times before I made small marks with a pen on each side a little more than an inch back from the nipple.  She watched with incomprehension as I then I filled my hands with her other breast and made identical marks again. 

 

Now I put on a pair of sterile gloves and then with a small cotton pad I washed both breasts in a cold antiseptic---immediately her nipples became erect.  She looked at me in what could only be mounting fear of what came next.  I brought out the long sterile needle that would go from one side of her breast to the other.  I didn't want to pierce just her nipples.  I needed rather more of her soft, beautiful  flesh for what I had in mind.

 

She still didn’t understand my plan until I gathered up her left tit in my left hand and held the long needle in my right.  Her eyes bulged in horror and she began struggling.  But it was too late for that; far too late.  With one smooth move I drove the needle through Rebecca's breast from right to left so that the needle pointed out towards her side.  Her pupils dilated until her eyes were almost black as she stared first at me in shock, then at her pierced breast.

 

Finally, it came out and I was surprised at the intensity of her scream.  Rather, I was surprised at how loud her scream was even through the gag.  There was fear and more than a little humiliation.  But mostly, there was rage.  Well, I thought to myself.  We'll see if she handles it better when I do the other one.  The way I'd pierced her breast put the needle well back from the aureole.  I knew that the female breast should supposedly never be pierced anywhere but ON the nipple.  Well, that was not where I wanted this bitch pierced because I had a lot of plans for how I would be using her tit rings.  Besides, if something went wrong, she was disposable.

 

No change in her reactions when I did the second breast.  I have to say Rebecca was at least predictable in that she didn't seem to care for my procedures at all.

 

She was pierced by two needles now, one through the milk-glands of each tit.  I went back to her right breast and pulled the needle through, following the hole left behind the thick needle with a straight golden bar that was threaded on both ends.  I had pierced the breast far enough back from her nipple that the bar needed to be fully two inches long to satisfy my needs.  A rather heavy horse-shoe shaped ring went next, one that had a small loop on each end of the “C”.  After I hung this so that the horizontal bar piercing her breast went through the loops on the ends of the “C”, I then screwed small caps on the threaded tips on each end of piercing bar.  Liquid gold solder permanently welded each cap to the bar, and ensured that Rebecca would never get these nipple rings off by herself.  Her left breast quickly assumed an identical look to the right, and I wiped both off with antiseptic again when I was finished. 

 

To finish off her new look, I used a old-fashioned looking purpose-made hand tool with narrow, protruding jaws.  It looked like something you'd use to punch a single tiny hole in paper---squeeze the handles and you punched a hole at the tip of the jaws.  I grabbed her hair with my left hand and pulled her head back.  Then I stuck the tool almost half an inch up her nostrils, putting her nose cartilage between the tool's jaws---then I squeezed.  As quickly as that, I had punched through a small hole high up in her nasal septum.  By this time, Rebecca had begun screaming and trying to thrash about; muted screams that rang of rage and frustration and fear, but her eyes were watering so much that she couldn't see.  She tried to shake her head and turn her face to the side, but couldn't.  Between my handful of her hair and the crude tool that I'd used to pierce her nose, the very same tool which still pinched her septum and kept it frozen in place, she was helpless. 

 

Finally, I removed the tool from inside her nose.  Keeping a grip on her hair with my left hand, with my right I picked up the nose ring that I'd chosen, easily sliding it through the hole in her nose before I locked it.  It fit perfectly and hung down in front just far enough above her upper lip to achieve an artful symmetry with her freshly pierced breasts.

 

***

 

God, this was a nightmare, this couldn't be happening!  My brain felt sluggish, like it was packed in cotton, but I knew exactly what he'd just done to me.  He was mutilating me!  I was in absolute terror of this maniac and afraid to disobey; he was merciless and I was helpless.  God, what would he do next?  Every time I didn't give him exactly what he wanted or obey him explicitly, he hurt me a lot.  Yet what had I gained by giving myself to him?  I'd fucked him at the end as best I could while I was on the plank, and I still hurt everywhere from where this man had touched me. 

 

Leaving my hands bound over my head, he removed the straps over my body before he unhooked my feet from the stirrups that held them immobile.  He told me to turn over.  Not wanting to obey, I was still more fearful of not obeying him, of getting extra lashed of the belt or tastes of the prod.  Wearily, stiffly, with my back screaming protests all the way, I rolled over.  It hurt to lay on my breasts, he didn't care.  With quick, economical movements, he placed my feet back in the stirrups and strapped them in tightly again.  Soon, it was done and I was helpless and trapped once more. 

 

What he'd already done left me filled with deep dread; I feared what might come next even more, but I was also filled with pain.  Every move he made maximized my helplessness and gave him even greater advantage.  I lay on my stomach and my breasts hurt; I was in pain from the cattle prod, the belt and the nipple clamps, the branding and the piercings.  Between the pain and the stiffness from being bound for so long, I knew I could only obey for now.  But he couldn't remain on guard forever and my time would come.

 

Without a word, he walked away for a second then returned to stand by my side.  Suddenly, I felt him spread my buttocks and begin to push something huge inside me.  My rectum had already been violated by his awful chair only a day ago; I ached there all the time now and it was still terribly sore and tender---every movement of my buttocks caused a new wave of throbbing pain.  But his new toy was lubricated, so no matter how hard I struggled or bucked and clenched, my body quickly accepted the massive object as sleekly and deeply as he desired.  In one smooth move, it felt like I was back on his awful chair, but in another way it was totally different.  In any case, I couldn't move.  Soon, most of the awful pain went away and all that was left was the massive discomfort caused by whatever he'd driven inside me.

 

He left and I cried.  I am not a woman that cried easily, but at this point I felt incredibly emotional, unable to control myself.  Even as I continued to somehow try and force myself to keep it inside, I wept incessantly; for myself and what he'd just done to me, for my unknown future, for my sins, for everything that I kept hidden from the world, for the wrongs done to me in the past and those I'd done to others.  As emotionally controlled as I normally was, my current inability to stop crying bewildered me as I lay alone on my stomach for what seemed another day; soaking in pain and immersed in humiliation at what he had so nonchalantly just done to me.  That, I suddenly realized, was what scared me the most.  The absolute conviction on his part of his right to do this to me, and of how little I was worth, of how little I counted in the grand scheme of things.  The rage and anger were long gone; now I was scared and feeling sorry for myself. 

 

Time passed.  It was still dark out; no light entered the room from the small glass rectangles set so high in the wall.  I lay on my stomach with my arms tied above my head and my face turned towards my right shoulder.  There was little other lighting and it was difficult to see.  But even though I couldn't see him, suddenly I knew he was there.  I stiffened as I felt his eyes on the back of my neck.  Men had been looking at me since I turned fifteen; I knew the feeling.  Abruptly, he was beside me again.  I couldn't see him at first, but I could sense his presence.  Without a word, he walked around into my line of sight and my heart sank...it was obvious that he wanted me again.  What he did to me now was as bad as anything anyone had ever done before.  Slowly he removed the plug he had left inside me earlier, somehow twisting it as he pulled on it in a way that made me feel like he was unscrewing it from my body. 

 

I stirred, tried to move my arms and legs, but I felt as if I'd blundered into a tar pit and had sunk to the bottom.  Finally, he had it out.  I struggled and tried to scream, but even if I hadn't been gagged, every movement met an avalanche of warm tar, stifling, smothering.  Another touch.  A man's coarse hand moving over the back of my calf, my thigh.  All part of a nightmare, I prayed.  There was nothing real here, only memories dredged up from the cellar of my mind.  I willed myself into another world, where women were safe from creatures like this man. 

 

This must be a dream.  But it was not!  I desperately wanted to fight him, but I lacked the strength and bravery.  Hauling in a lungful of air through my nose, I tried to scream myself awake, to burst through the curtain of sleep into the clear air of reality.  But I could only croak and whimper.  I felt the moist heat of his breath on my neck.  I felt his hands on my hips pulling me towards him, then the dribble of something cold on the crack between my cheeks.  His hand smoothed it around and I could feel it pooling it near my anus. 

 

There was no anger; the thought of what I knew would come next just froze me---I was filled with the kind of helpless dread that I knew a small animal must feel when it cowered in its burrow as a predator begin to dig it out.  I fought to prevent my mind from just shutting down.  I wanted to cry and scream through my gag, begging for his mercy, telling him that I was worthy as a person, a woman, a human being.  But the tar filled me and kept me silent.  And I knew he would never stop.  Please, please be gentle, I begged in my mind.  But he couldn't hear me, he was spreading my cheeks, getting ready to rape me from behind.

 

He started talking to me.  "You've got no choice in this.  I've taken a lot of women this way and it's always the same the first time.  It's going to happen, and there'll be no problem if you'll just relax.  When you feel me starting to open up your ass, try to push out like you are passing gas," he laughed. "And I'll pop right in.  I promise I won't hurt you too much and I definitely won't hurt you on purpose if you cooperate and fuck me back.”  I knew it must be someone else he was talking to, but I somehow nodded and braced for the anal invasion.

 

Even though Master would probably later say that he was gentle that first time, he took me brutally; a quick, almost stealthy entry that overwhelmed my obviously beaten-down and now inadequate defenses.  He began to enter me and as he did, I shrieked loudly enough to shatter glass, Oh God, easy, please stop, no, No, NO, I CAN'T, but only in my mind.  Filled with tar, my mouth could only give out a low moan.  But he could feel me shudder and he stopped pushing. 

 

His voice told me he was losing his patience a little.  "It's going to happen, woman, just cooperate and I won't hurt you too much.  Push back, try to push me out with your ass.”  With no way to fight him, I tried to strain as he'd ordered and suddenly felt my sphincter pop open.  I braced for him to ram himself up my rectum, but instead, he surprised me by remaining motionless for a few seconds. 

 

Oh, oohh, wait, please wait, I'll cooperate if you'll just wait, I begged him in my mind.  But he never heard me as he began to make little push-pull movements.  I could feel my anus spreading and closing for him as he penetrated me and then pulled out again just a little.  Not giving me time to fully accommodate his manhood, his initial assault was followed immediately by short, driving moves of his hips that ensured only shallow penetrations at first.  At first I'd thought he was trying to get me ready, trying to warm me up.  But it hurt every time he opened me a little and I think he was torturing me.

 

But eventually, he seemed to lose patience with any attempts at finesse and began to thrust deeper and deeper; absolutely guaranteeing that each succeeding drive ripped more and more virgin flesh as his engorged penis probed my bowels more deeply than the previous one.  Finally he was completely buried inside me and I was in agony. 

 

He was so strong in his need to take me this way.  The pain was tremendous, so much more different than the chair.  It was like a terrible and overwhelming, yet living force had possessed my body, a force that was associated with a pain remotely unlike anything I'd ever imagined.  He stayed a long time, pumping, grunting, groaning; his breath coming in puffs on the back of my neck when he wasn't biting me.  It felt as he was trying to shove a refrigerator inside me.  My screams of protest and cries for release were ignored.  Somewhere during this seeming eternity, my mind switched off and I plunged into nothingness.

 

Even as a stupid rebellious teenager in my wildest years of debauchery and rebellion, I knew I would have never submitted willingly to what he did to me tonight.  And now I had no choice.  It went on and on, but finally he was finished and for the first time in my life, I knew what it was like to have a man's hot semen ejaculated deep inside my rectum. 

 

When he was finished, he left without a word.  I hurt terribly where he had been, but the pain slowly lessened.  I had been raped and sodomized, and knew I was suffering the early symptoms of shock.  But I tried to be strong, fighting to keep my tears under control.  He was back within a couple of minutes and was carrying the camera again.  He showed it to me without a word; I started crying again when I saw the look on my face as he sodomized me on-screen.  Then he put the camera down and showed me the thick, two-inch wide leather belt he'd already used on my breasts.  He stood over me and let me see the belt.  He dragged it lightly over my back and then my cheeks.  He told me how much he hated to have to punish me, then he hit me lightly with it once, after which he dragged it over my buttocks again. 

 

I begged him for mercy through my gag, but there still was none for me in the room that night.  He played with me at first, but then finally, he it started for real.  He began to hit me with the belt on my buttocks, the back of my thighs and my lower back.  Suddenly, somehow, the rape and sodomy wasn't the worst that night.  I went berserk for a minute as I struggled against my bonds, but it did no good.  I was filled with an incomprehensible anger which he quickly whipped into embarrassment and humiliation, and then finally, submission. 

 

I was overwhelmed by a sense of the sheer unfairness of it all; what he'd just done to me and what he did to me now.  My humiliation seemed to linger forever as he treated me like a small, worthless child.  Just as the greatest bonfires need continually more fuel for the flames or they expire, my emotions burned themselves out and all that was eventually left behind was the weak shell of a beaten woman tied to a wooden plank. 

 

The beating went on and on, seemingly forever, and he was breathing heavily when he finished spanking me.  When he had caught his breath, he said, “You belong to me.  You're not an ass-virgin anymore and your performance was unacceptable.  You're going to be an ass-toy.  You'll learn to enjoy it or learn to pretend.  I don't care which.  But this is going to be a major part of your life now.  And when I fuck you or give you to another ass-fucker for a couple of hours, you'll take it with a smile and a moan of pleasure, whether its once a night or ten times a night, every time like a seasoned ass-whore.  I won't put up with a bitch like you that won't take it in the ass.  I promise I'll beat the hell out you every time you perform like you just did, until you learn to act like a true ass-slut.”

 

Nothing he said made sense to me.  I could barely hear him as I cried, but my sobbing finally slowed down to the point where I could breathe through the gag again.  I was sore from the chair and ached from the recent sodomy.  My back, buttocks and thighs ached and burned.  The burned area on the inside of my thigh was a distant ache now compared to my buttocks, and the throbbing of my breasts and nose couldn't begin to compare with the rest of my pains.  I felt awful---everywhere.  Later, much later when I had time to think, I realized that the physical assaults on my body, however much pleasure he may have derived from them, were actually only the initial stages of his psychological onslaught.  But this realization did not, could not help me resist him. 

 

I passed out.

 

 

Chapter 18: I seemed to have attracted everyone whose intentions were not the best; Sandra Bullock.

 

I found myself in a battle for awareness, a battle against a tsunami of smothering black feathers.  Somewhere in the distance, I heard blues music.  I forced my eyes open; it was early morning and gray was changing to light.  My third day---or was it the fourth?  I saw only traces of blood red and blue, pinpricks of electric light like on amplifiers and stereo equipment.  I became conscious too of the pain in my wrists and arms.  I realized that I was still bound on my stomach to the hard plank that rested at a forty-five degree angle from the floor.  And I was still naked.  I couldn't stop shivering.

 

Suddenly, I wasn't alone.  Someone or something had moved close to me.  I could feel his body heat.  I struggled against the bonds to get free, but they held as surely as if made of steel.  In the dark someone breathed on me, and I screamed, but only in my mind.  Eventually, a lifetime later, he took me a second time that way.  This was the most humiliating of all, because he didn't cum inside me this time.  Instead, he began urinating at the end, leaving me filled with his scalding amber liquid as he slowly pulled out.  This burned and stung where it came in contact with my ripped flesh.  Finally, after a few quick movements of hand and wrist, he then came on my back. 

 

I wanted to beg him to kill me, but I knew he'd just laugh at my pathetic request.  Even though he hurt me terribly and I'd honestly tried to please him this time, he still was not satisfied with how I looked on camera and he beat me again.  When he was finished with me this time, he hosed me down again like you would when you were washing your car.  Impersonally, professionally, business-like, as you made sure you got every spot of dirt.  I consider myself a tough person, but I cried myself into a light sleep afterwards as I lay face-down on his plank.  All day long I porpoised into a heightened awareness filled with fear and then back to semi-unconsciousness. 

 

That evening, after cautioning me not to speak, he removed my gag and allowed me a sip from his squeeze bottle.  Then he gave me some warm soup through a straw.  He asked if I finally understood what he demanded from me, and I nodded my head silently.  Total submission.  Docility.  The tranquility of one who has lost everything, willingly given up everything.  How bad could it be?  I couldn't take anymore punishment, not right now.  My eyes flooded with tears as I nodded my recently acquired willingness to cooperate with his needs and desires. 

 

He put on a hood over his head.  And when he took me a third time this way, I think that I finally understood what he wanted, and God save me, as much as he hurt me, and he hurt me a lot, I tried my best to give it to him.  Perhaps I succeeded, because he didn't beat me afterwards.  These were my first lessons in how cooperation with satisfying my Master’s needs led to being rewarded.

 

***

 

I took Rebecca hard when I pounded her ass the third time.  There was no artifice between us now.  She was exactly what she seemed; a previously powerful and dangerous woman in a hopeless situation; a strong woman only down for the moment.  Even though I controlled her for now, I still could see the great danger that lay in her eyes; we were enemies to the death in her current state and she knew it now.  The thing was, I wasn't planning on allowing her that kind of spirit for too much longer.  She had been strong and arrogant, allowed to dominate others for far too long.  But things were different now, and she needed to be taught humility the hard way.  The best part was that it was so damned enjoyable for me. 

 

At the end, I was making large circular motions with my hips and I ripped her good.  She was almost a parody of cooperation.  Even tied as she was, she tried to lift her buttocks up to meet each thrust---anything to please me.  The lighting was strong enough that I could look down and see a thin film of red around the base of my cock.  It was her blood; I knew I'd torn her somewhere.  As much as I knew I hurt Rebecca then, she still managed to give a false squeak of delight at the end that rather pleased me.  And the way she responded throughout gave me some hope that this was a woman that could actually learn to like it this way.  Surely, for the most part it was an act for the camera, for you can't re-train the habits of a lifetime over-night.  But I would bet my life that there were undercurrents of truth too as she faked delight for what I did to her on-screen. 

 

I smiled and re-ran certain parts of her performance over and over again, appreciating the look on her face and in her eyes as she did her best to writhe with enthusiasm on my pole that was buried up her rear end.  The look on her face as I came in her ass that third time gave me indescribable pleasure.

 

***

 

He made me rollover so that I lay on my back again.  After the ordeal of today, I was exhausted and my mind buzzed incoherently from sleep-deprivation.  I'm sure that this was what this maniac wanted by leaving me on the angled piece of wood.  After what must have been about an hour, I awoke with a start.  My lower back was in agony now.  I listened intently.  There was no sound in the room except for the irregular thumping of my heart.  I hurt all over.  I was sore in many, many more places than I remember him hurting me, and there were particularly throbbing aches between my legs and in my breasts.  My rear-end stung and ached no matter what I did---he had done to me multiple times what I had never before allowed ANY man to do.  I had hated the whole idea of anal sex as far back as I could remember.  I’d always felt it was dirty and knew now that it was terribly painful too.  Being taken like that, especially against your will is degrading and humiliating; good only for the sexually perverted. 

 

How bad could it be, I had asked myself?  As I glanced down for the first time and really looked at the golden rings that now pierced my flesh, powerful fear gripped me and tears slowly leaked from my eyes.  I had thought I was so smart; but he had never once allowed me a chance to fight him in any meaningful way.  I realized suddenly that I was afraid in a way that I never had been before.  It wasn't simply the fear of being held captive and tortured, it was the fear of a life lived aggressively and perhaps even poorly, but lived to the full nonetheless and now coming to a shattering halt.  I moved slowly, as if any sudden movements would injure me.  I lay like that for awhile, not at all sure of what my thoughts were, just acutely aware of a profound dread that seemed to originate deep inside me.  I tried to touch my chest and failed.  Was I having a heart attack? 

 

Even as my momentary panic subsided, depression started to set in.  It was slow at first, excessively sweet---almost like saccharine.  Then it began to burgeon, undulating in circular waves around my mind in ever-widening orbs.  My mind was trying to handle the rapes and sodomy and absent freedom as best it could.  I could feel my thoughts, my emotions, getting eclipsed by feelings of numbness that was mixed with an overpowering sensation of dismay. 

 

Although I knew that depression was only a time-expanded form of panic, I was powerless to stop it.  Inexorably, the most insidious killer known to man drew its tentacles around me, and the old, familiar feeling of falling---which I so detested in my dreams----gripped me like a fever.  I clamped my ankles even harder upon the rough edges of the plank on which I lay bound.  But the ground slipped away from beneath me anyway and the walls receded into the distance.  The room was swirling around me in a cocktail of colors, mocking me and my lack of strength and lack of control.  The room and the world no longer respected me.  I wanted to die rather than face what this man had planned for me.  At least in death, there was nothing but honesty.

 

***

 

Finally, he came back in and released me from the plank.  He left my wrists cuffed together and the gag in my mouth.  My back and hips hurt too badly to try to move in any coordinated fashion, I could barely walk even as he dragged me.  My bottom ached with each move I made.  Now he grabbed my left bicep and pulled me over to a spot near the wall at the foot of what I had assumed would be my bed.  Instead, he lightly kicked me behind my knees and my legs collapsed.  He guided me down to the floor as I fell and ensured that I didn’t fall too hard.  Finally, he clipped the chain of my handcuffs to a D-ring mounted low on the wall and stood up.  Walking to the bed, he pulled off the thin blanket there and draped it over me.  Now he looked down at me for a moment, then he turned and left.  At the door that led to his bedroom, he turned and switched the light off leaving me in total darkness. 

 

I couldn’t make out his features as he stopped; he was a silhouette standing in the rectangle of light. “Everything you've experienced represents the beginning of discipline in your new life.  Some things are best accomplished in the dark.....think about your life and the things you’ve done. “

 

He waited in silence for a second, then continued.  “I've been around and seen some shit in my life.  I think that life somehow stores up what each of us does, keeps track somehow.  And when you reach a certain point, there's an accounting due; you have to pay something back into the system.  Some call it fate, others karma.  Think about what I might do to you, but even more, think about what you've earned over the last twelve or fifteen years.  Think about the people you've used and the people you've hurt.  You're a cunt, and you KNOW you are.  Nothing for you can be too extreme or undeserved.  And that’s the best part for me; every time you feel the need to cry or scream or beg, you’ll know that you’ve earned everything being done to you.  Tomorrow, we’ll go over the rules.”  The door began to close and the rectangle grew small before it winked out.  There was the sound of a door being locked and suddenly I was alone with my thoughts in the blackness.

 

 

Chapter 19: This is the first time in the entire world that women have the freedom to do the things that we can do.  And still, you know, in the Middle East and a lot of parts of the world, women aren't free yet; Linda Evans.

 

I locked the door and walked into my bedroom carrying the pitifully small bag that now represented her previous life.  Oddly, I felt an indescribable mix of emotions; excitement, fear, destiny, a sense of confronting the unknown. In our lifestyle, non-consensuality is always the essence of extreme trust and understanding, undertaken only by partners who know each other well and who agree to set absolutely clear limits on their activities.  But I was breaking those unwritten rules wholesale.  Rebecca was uninitiated and while the extremes that she seemed to willingly accept in her normal life went far beyond that of most women, she had to sense by now that there were no limits for me in this.

 

To me, the world is divided into five types of women: sluts that I fuck; nice girls who in bed turn into sluts (these girls I fuck with pleasure); nice girls who remain nice in bed (these I usually left for the mundanes, because even civilians need to get laid too).  And while most of the wives that I forced into my bed were good women that desperately wished to remain this way for their emotional and marital health, I consistently forced them into accepting more than they’d ever dreamed existed in their pathetic little vanilla worlds, riding them against their wishes straight into previously unknown levels of slut whoredom.  And then there was my mother.

 

I was older now and wanted something different; I'd always wanted a woman with whom I could take my time and shape into what I considered the perfect partner---even if only temporarily.  I didn’t want this woman for her intellectual companionship, but at the same time, I didn’t want a Stepford wife either.  I wanted a real woman that was turned on by absolute servility---no matter where it took her.  She had to be beautiful, but also intelligent; one who would not bore me too quickly.  At the same time, I was tired of hiding my true nature---she had to be strong enough to be servile and yet have many of the same desires as I, except hers must be polar opposites to mine---black to my white, yin to my yang, ice to my fire.  And because of this, even if Rebecca wasn’t yet aware of it, if she was as I thought she was, in the end she would be the kind of woman who would want to respond to my every need. 

 

I'd have to hurt her in the beginning of her training, perhaps a lot.  Would I be able to get Rebecca to trust me after that?  Maybe, maybe not.  It was possible, if I could hide for long enough my true nature and the ultimate destination I had planned for us both.  Trust leads to intimacy, and while both are essential within any long-term relationship, they were also what I personally found to be the most difficult.  Most civilians aren't don't know this, but these things are just as important or even more important in BDSM as for mundanes, since ours is a negotiated lifestyle in which wishes, limits and needs are discussed, with both seeking unity.  But we didn't have this commonality of goal, Rebecca and I; ours instead was a coercive relationship.  There was no communication or trust between us even as I prepared her for a new lifestyle, one into which she'd been coerced.

 

Now I had Rebecca; but what had she felt when she delivered herself into my hands?   She was cowed for the moment, but what was she feeling now?  What would she feel in a day or two?  I'd raped and sodomized her, branded and tortured her.  When a person underwent powerful stress, the defense mechanisms used by the mind must be equally strong.  When a strong woman like Rebecca was subjected to extreme tension and strain, potent psychological mechanisms were evoked in an attempt to cope with this stress.  But this presumed she would be allowed time to reintegrate her psyche without additional stressors.  And I wasn't going to do this. 

 

I didn’t know if her recent capitulation was the act of a person that had truly repented of her wicked deeds and knew that she had earned some kind of punishment; or was it just the attempt of a weak woman to temporarily put off confronting the police and her own immorality.  Perhaps it was just a pitiful attempt to get out of the rain?  I didn’t yet know, but I knew I would find out over time. 

 

I smiled to myself; oh yes, she would learn to trust me again; and over time I would get to know this woman very well, some might even say intimately and in extreme detail.

 

I was tired and I wanted to lie down, but even days later after I had washed the sheets, my bed still smelled of Rebecca’s perfume and our private moments; instances of tangled legs and intense pleasure.  I didn’t think of her in that way anymore since the woman in my playroom was now something that needed to be tamed and humbled, her various levels of submission explored in great detail.  I went into my study instead and it was there that I spent a sleepless night thinking about what I would do to the beauty that I now possessed.

 

***

 

I leaned against the wall and cried.  God, how I’d fucked my life up.  How could it ever have come to this?  I was an abandoned daughter and discarded wife, a woman in disgrace.  I had nothing of substance left in my life.

 

Exhausted, I pulled my feet under me as best I could and huddled beneath the blanket in an attempt to get some sleep.  I fretted about what now seemed like small things.  I had been gagged for a long time and although my jaws ached, I ignored the pain for this was the least of my problems.  I was still cold, but not as cold as if I were still outdoors.  I hoped that I didn’t get sick.  But finally I begin to feel a little warmer and eventually dozed off.  I slept lightly, still surfing in and out of consciousness.

 

I dreamed, pictures forming in my imagination.  I saw myself encased in ice, then heard the hissing crackles as fissures formed in the block.  Water dripped as the melting progressed, revealing who I truly was.  Another person entirely, one who hated herself too.

 

Suddenly the door opened and I was awake again, sitting on the floor.  I shut my eyes against the assault as the room blazed to light.  My mind seemed leaden; I was filled with a formless, helpless terror of what the future would bring me.  I looked down and saw my phone lying beside me in two pieces.  It had originally been in my purse, but he must have gone through it during the night and left the phone here for me to see.  I couldn't remember the last time I wasn't in reach of a cell phone, a text pager or email.  Even if I were unbound, I had no way of telling anyone where I was.

 

The message was clear---no communication with anyone but him.  Dawn was just beginning to lighten as the owner of the house walked into the room with something in his hand.  He told me his name was Christian—but I knew in my heart that his true name really didn’t matter anymore.

 

 

Chapter 20: There is only one success: to be able to spend your life in your own way, and not to give others absurd maddening claims upon it; Christopher Darlington Morley.

 

Human beings have throughout history shared with many other animals the instinct to follow or submit to others because of sheer strength of will and personality.  Similarly, others also have chosen to follow or submit because of their own character.  Dominance and submission---inner conflict and surrender--- these concepts were inter-connected and enduring ideas in our culture and civilization, as well as in our sexuality. 

 

I wanted more than sex from this woman, but exactly what else?  How could I combine her imprisonment with being a willing slave?  Falling in love with your captor: The Sabine women and their Roman captors.  Patty Hearst.  Stockholm syndrome.  Others.  The most important part here was to make her want to be my slave. 

 

Or perhaps go the other way?  The way that an entrepreneur does when he takes an independent whore off the street; no matter how tough or strong she might be in the beginning, when her one or two-day training period was over, she was docile, obedient and tremblingly eager to please.

 

I made a mental review as I thought about Rebecca; the physiological and psychological effects of submission and their evolutionary origins have long been known.  I knew that even though I was capable of it, I did not necessarily want to beat her into total submission.  I would rather use her mind as my willing or unwilling accomplice.  At the same time, I was perfectly aware that continued and overwhelming violence would be necessary early on in her training, even if just to give her the necessary experience in which to frame her new life.  But I needed to keep it generally at a low enough level that it would ‘get her attention,’ so to speak, yet at the same time wouldn't risk of turning her into a robot. 

 

Women governed by men of intelligence often learned a hard lesson; with a strong man, logic can't be manipulated by looks.  I wasn't going to allow her that type of encounter again.   Instead, I'd turned her world upside down.  I wanted her to feel frozen in disbelief at what she'd undergone.  I needed to separate her from her previous life, leave her feeling forever unable to reconnect with the woman who'd existed before the rape.  I wanted her to feel humiliated, confused, dirty, ashamed; knowing that in many ways she was much at fault for what had been done to her---and totally disconnected from her emotions, at least in the beginning. 

 

At the same time, I put my faith in psychology and the flexibility of the human mind when it went into extreme survival mode; knowing that people somehow tended to connect with their captors when placed in unyielding environments like I had made sure that Rebecca knew she faced.  And women tended to do this more than males---perhaps due to some primitive evolutionary upside of trying to ensure that their physically stronger captors bonded with them and kept them alive? 

 

I'd done awful things to this woman and we both knew that more was coming; she was a victim and to her everything had swirled out of control.  Humans will go quite far to avoid such a feeling--including, at times, artificially modifying the situation---lying to themselves---in order to decide that the aggressor was not so bad after all; maybe even good.  Of course, brainwashing can play a role in that transformation, especially if the kidnapping goes on for a long time. But sometimes, it doesn't take all that much, and overt brainwashing was not necessarily a significant part of the process. 

 

The outer facade she'd presented to others had been important to her.  But Rebecca didn't understand that no matter how much effort she'd put into her image, it was all a fraud psychologically speaking, because so much of her life revolved around the unconscious.  Although developing a social identity like being a teacher had a certain short-term value, whatever she “thought” she was, was ultimately nothing but a vague approximation of what she really was.  And she would eventually reveal to me who she really was in discrete moments of genuine encounter in our new life together.  All I had to do was be perceptive enough to observe the real Rebecca when she offered me her innermost secrets.

 

A beautiful woman like Rebecca took her persona and individuality for granted.  She'd been shaped by the way she'd learned to make her way through life; controlling men and ignoring women, being treated like a princess on a pedestal.  As long as she derived her identity from the world around her, she also had to be concerned about losing it.  If word had gotten out about her behavior while she'd been free, like a dragon sitting greedily on its hoard of treasure, her entire being would have been caught up defending what she was most afraid to lose.  But I had her instead.

 

There was a psychological phenomenon known as "identification with the aggressor," something which was different from the "Stockholm Syndrome”.  This was a form of survival behavior in which the victim responded to the threat and fear of injury or death.  She became "grateful" not to be severely injured or killed by her captor, and in fact often ended up believing that her captor was the only one that could protect her.  Therefore, she did whatever she was told to do in a very compliant manner, sometimes even to the point of ignoring an opportunity to escape for fear of losing her captor's protection.

 

Carried to the extreme, throughout history it has been documented that subjects kidnapped and kept imprisoned for a certain length of time tended to readily bond with their captors and to even fall in love with them.  Not always, for humans are individuals---but often enough.  It wasn’t romance that I wanted, but rather breaking her to my will and forcing her to care for me despite how she might initially feel.  Were these contradictory goals possible?  I hoped so.  At the same time, I wanted to make her acknowledge her need for pain and her extraordinary ability to handle it. 

 

Getting her to submit psychologically to me as well as physically was just a means to and end; was this what I really wanted I asked myself?  And my answer was…..yes.  If humbling and pacifying her, then making her want what I could give her; if this was my goal, I had to hope that the physiological and psychological effects of her captivity would trump her intellect and will.  At the same time, if it turned out in the end that I had chosen poorly or was over-confident in my abilities to control her, the hard-edged beast within me knew that I could discard her with little fear or repercussion.

 

For a second, the fact that I so casually assumed that she was disposable shook me.  She and I lived in a new world, a world very different from the south I had grown up in thirty-five or forty years ago.  That had been a time when people still darned their socks.  I'd even learned how to do it.  Then suddenly one day it was over.  Socks with holes were discarded.  The whole society changed.  “Wear it, use, toss it out,” was the only rule that applied.  As long as it had only been socks, it hadn't really mattered.  But then it spread, becoming some kind of invisible moral code.  It changed our view of right and wrong, what you were allowed to do to one another and what you weren't.  More and more people grew up this way, with no memory of darning their socks; and how did they react?  With aggression and contempt.  And I included myself in this.  They had no memory of darning their socks; when we didn't throw everything away, including people like this woman.  But you know what?  It didn't matter anymore.

 

Rebecca hated and feared me right now.  I understood this; I accepted it as a given.  But regardless of what you've read of my treatment of her so far and of what we both know must yet come; despite what you as the reader feel must be the outcome---what her feelings MUST have been towards me---I tell you that it was still not too late for me to convince her, to manipulate her into willingly putting her life into my hands.

 

The human mind was an incredible instrument, capable of amazing things.  It could make sense out of utter chaos, protect the organism from killing stress and filter actuality after the fact, creating fiction from reality.  It could remove pain and disappointment, blotting them from our memories, allowing only relief and pleasant memories to remain.  It had the ability to heal itself, making one forget a little---or everything ugly that might have happened.  It could create new truths, ones that incorporated the current reality, but interpreted it in a way more favorably, as a necessity for survival.  It could do any of these things---or all of them, depending upon what the monkey hidden deeply inside might require for continued existence. 

 

Yet as powerful as the mind was, it could still be manipulated if you absolutely controlled the environment and knew what you were doing.  I did and I did.

 

Humans can be unpredictable, but given enough knowledge, most actions have predictable reactions.  I had learned everything possible about this woman and knowing her nature as I did, she wouldn't be able to help herself as she inevitable reacted in very predictable ways to my training stimuli.  And even if she were to become aware that everything I did had as an ultimate goal making her existence as my slave seem desirable, this knowledge would only work to my advantage.  There is no more helpless feeling in the world than having someone continually manipulate you and your environment and correctly predict your behavior; ultimately shaping your very nature against your will towards behaving in a way that was pleasing to another.  I'd seen it done it to others; I'd done it to others.

 

She would, in the end, still be mine.

 

We were both fucked up.  Intellectually, I knew exactly what I was doing.  But maintaining control of the deep seated urge to both dominate and hurt her beyond what was necessary took all the training that I had.  Instead, I needed to dole out my urges in dabs and dollops according to her training schedule---and her ability to heal.  I already knew, and she was unconsciously learning in the most basic and primitive ways, that she could accept huge amounts of pain and perhaps eventually learn to even like it.  On the flip side of that same coin, she was also in the very first stages of becoming aware of her submissive side, the part inside that eventually enjoy incorporating pain into her fantasies. 

 

I also knew that even as she'd hidden her true nature by pretending to a certain ‘normality’ within the public community, she had also experimented both with using pain to amplify her sexual gratification and in breaking accepted cultural norms.  Further, even while she had acted as a natural Alpha for years, within her character there lurked a powerfully seductive submissive side which she only infrequently indulged---and it was this part that most enjoyed incorporating the heightened physical sensations of pain into her sexual fantasies. 

 

When prompted by circumstances such as I planned next for Rebecca, hormones were released into the blood of the female captive which produced a state approaching euphoria, and this artificial emotion was almost always associated with the person in control.  In her particular situation, fear and love would be almost indistinguishable.  If I was successful, she would instinctually feel the need to turn to me over the next few weeks and months as the only Dominant male available to satisfy her emotional and psychological needs.  And while much of the initial attraction could then be morphed to a deepening passion, I knew that it would still be hormonal and not based on true affection---for her it would be nothing more than the lizard-brain attempting to survive in a difficult situation at the most basic physiological level---and this was okay too, because I could still use this against her.

 

***

 

When a Dominant and submissive pair off, the feelings seem to be generally stronger and more intense on the part of the submissive---this I guess because of the very nature of the role that the Sub has accepted.  It was weird; I wanted this woman to need me, but I had no intention of forming a sincere reciprocal relationship as her Top---I had taken her against her will and desired only what power over her could give me.  Was this the nature of all dominants---or the flaw in just me that had always before prevented any kind of a meaningful relationship? 

 

Two things were required for her to permanently submit as the bottom in our relationship; she had to sincerely desire this, seeing it as truly best representing her needs, and she had to see me as being worthy of her sacrifice, worthy of giving up her freedom and previous existence.  I needed to carefully shape her behavior over time towards my ultimate goals.  Could I discover what she needed to see in me and then pretend to this worthiness long enough to justify in her mind the desirability of permanent change?  This was a smart woman; would she eventually see the one-sided nature of the relationship I offered and finally forced her to accept?  At the same time, if I manipulated Rebecca psychologically in order to satisfy her, and my, emotional needs, would it even matter?

 

She was a strong woman that had recently undergone a string of serious emotional disasters; but even beaten down as she was, I had no doubt Rebecca would at first fight me.  And frankly, I relished the coming battles with this female.  Some Subs quickly embraced the existence they faced.  But just as often, uninitiated or unbroken bottoms like Rebecca resisted this initial dance, hesitantly dipping only their toes into what seem the frigid waters of a new life, fighting the very things that on the inside they most desired in their unconscious.  But in the end, the dominants could usually penetrate the flimsy lies these Subs told themselves, overcoming the fragile psychological barricades behind which they hid. 

 

Strangely, their defeat was almost always psychologically based and occurred with their willful, although sometimes unknowing assistance---for even if they couldn't admit it openly, at the deepest emotional levels, even the most uninitiated players always knew exactly what they were missing.  This woman was anything but weak, but in the end I was betting she would recognize what she most needed; the disciplined structure that a caring Master could provide.  But the honest truth was that while I knew I was controlling and needy and full of desire, I also had to admit that I wasn’t particularly worthy or really willing to care for her at this point.

 

I had recognized Rebecca’s passive/aggressive, submissive/dominant duality---but I doubted if she herself was truly aware of how deeply submerged she kept these desires.  Clearly, she was at her most susceptible now, questioning all of her previous life assumptions and sexuality.  But was she sufficiently vulnerable?  Was Rebecca psychologically beaten down to the point where she would be malleable enough----fragile enough to allow me to peel away the flawed, yet substantial armor she'd developed over the last twenty-five years?  Would she allow me to act as her guide as I re-made her into the vessel that I knew we both desired at our most basic levels...help her find the beauty among the ugliness of her soul?   Or did I need to take her a little farther down the road towards the total destruction of her ego? 

 

What mundanes can’t appreciate are the depths plumbed and the heights scaled in a BDSM relationship that truly works.  Even if it was a mistake, I was willing to take complete accountability for her.  I certainly didn’t love this woman, but I absolutely wanted to dominate her.  My desires regarding Rebecca had nothing to do with the foolish concepts of love in any shape or form; even the much weaker concept of affection was absent.  I didn't yet know what love meant.  Love to me at this point was a scary, yet somehow trivial word that defined how ‘citizens’ and the ‘vanilla-people’ looked at their relationships.  I was suspicious of the word.  In songs and television commercials, it was a slippery, deceitful word---used by what could only be described as drones---so what could it ever mean to me?

 

Instead I wondered; when she beaten down enough that when my task was complete and Rebecca was where I wanted her, would she would submit forever to the one that she saw as capable of protecting her physically and supporting her emotionally?  For a subservient woman isolated forever in that position, even falsely given support would be better than nothing at all.  I didn’t know and really didn’t care about those other facets of this woman, except in the ways that each might give me leverage over her. 

 

All of this of course, I thought to myself, presumed mental health.  I knew that Rebecca had significant emotional issues; and in this we were alike.  I wondered how damaged she was, and how much more damaging it would be to her psyche when she was forced to accept a new role---that of a strong woman, full of character, but now kept locked away and forever forced to accept what would seem a strange and unnatural role; that of the helplessly submissive female.  Her very core being continually shaped anew against her will over days and weeks and months---how indeed, I wondered, would she react?  Even more, knowing her as I did now, if I were successful, how would I react to this same woman in the new totally submissive role that I saw for her as permanent? 

 

God help me, I couldn’t help it---I looked forward to seeing what I could do with this woman.  In my arrogance, I was so intent upon my plans for the beautiful Rebecca that I ignored the one thing that had been drilled into my head by the military for years.  No plan ever remains unchanged when it meets the opposition.  You might know it as blowback, or even the law of unintended consequences.  In any case, it turned my life upside down.  Accepting ‘responsibility’ for this woman also implied being able to maintain a certain necessary emotional ‘distance’.  And while I should always appear conscientious and dependable and trustworthy, at the same time I needed to maintain objectivity towards her and her needs.  But what happened when that emotional distance was gone and objectivity was just another one of the games in which we kidded ourselves?

 

 

Chapter 21: I'm a true believer in Karma.  You get what you give, whether it's good or bad; Sandra Bullock.

 

It was 5:30 in the morning and I looked at the woman who crouched by my feet bound in leather and metal.  This was a day without dawn and slowly the sky lightened outside, but the sun never showed itself.  Black turned to gray, and colors crept timidly back into the world.  Everything was somber that day, as if the world cried for what this woman had relinquished.

 

She found it difficult to meet my eyes, but that was to be expected given what she had just gone through and considering what she had just surrendered.  The straps that ran around her neck immediately drew one’s eyes to the round black rubber piece that filled her mouth.  Not particularly attractive at the moment, any makeup was long gone and her stringy hair was now matted across her face.  Hands still cuffed, she couldn’t pull the blanket around her shoulders and it had fallen mostly from her body and puddled on the floor.  The sides of her breasts leaked a thin clear fluid from where the skin was pierced.  She shivered constantly.  I pulled the blanket back around her shoulders.

 

“First we talk,” I said, “then I decide what we do next.”  I leaned down and unhooked the strap from in back of her neck.  Rebecca opened her mouth as wide as she could and I slowly pulled the gag out.  She said nothing for a minute as she worked her jaws.  I knew that I had to be careful with gags like this---I'd left it in her mouth longer than I should've, but I would use it for shorter periods from now on.  During this time, I also unhooked her cuffs from the D-ring on the wall.

 

There was a determined look on her face for a second, then a shudder suddenly ran through her body.  “I’m cold,” she whispered. 

 

“Woman, you will speak when given permission to speak,” was my pompous sounding reply.  I winced to myself, this hadn't started off like I thought it would.

 

I looked down on her in silence for a moment, then grabbed her arm, “Stand up.”  Rebecca struggled to her feet with my help.  Her legs seemed numb and with her hands cuffed, she couldn’t get up on her own.  Finally she stood, but she was unsteady, swaying slightly as if there was an easy breeze in the room.  I turned her around and removed the handcuffs.  Leading her to the bed, I told her to sit on the edge of it. 

 

She was a woman with broad shoulders and a proud, athletic body.  Normally.  But not right now.  Right now, her arms looked thin and frail, her shoulders bowed as if they held the weight of the world.  As she sat down, I couldn’t help myself---I touched her face and ran my hand along her jaw line, then along her collar.  Her skin felt like ice.  Her knees were slight spread and I could see the small cooked area I'd left high up on the inside of her thigh.  I draped the blanket around her shoulders again.  She looked up at me and seemed to pause expectantly.  I thought she probably had a thousand questions for me, but I made her wait.  This was what she was going to have to get used to. 

 

She pulled the blanket more tightly around herself and then stared at the opposite wall.  Finally, Rebecca closed her eyes when I spoke again.  “You think you want freedom, but you’ve made the mistake common to many educated people.  You forgot that people are lazy.  They need to be led.”

 

“In your desperate rush to embrace your ignorance, you thought yourself a strong woman.  We both know that illusion of strength is gone now.”  I talked to her as if she were a child.  “I have no doubt however, that you remain strong-willed and unpredictable.  You'll be a challenge.”  I almost snorted aloud as I remembered what one of the Brits at Diego Garcia used to say to me, “Ten years of university to become a master of the bleeding obvious.”

 

“You know,” I continued after a short silence.  “I’m not really worried about you fighting me.  You’re not going to fight me, are you?”  I looked at her collar; it was the type that once you put a small padlock into it, it couldn’t be taken off without first removing the padlock.  Rebecca had to learn that like her brand, the collar now represented permanency; she would never again remove it without the express permission of her master.

 

Rebecca just shook her head no. 

 

Sure.  Riiiight.  No fight at all, I thought to myself.  I walked around her for a moment.  Then I reached down and quietly touched the collar around her neck.   It was loose enough that it wouldn't chafe her or leave marks, yet tight enough that she would never get it off by herself. 

 

I spoke, urgently, believably.  “You will be starting your life over with me.  Because of what this represents, you will no longer be known by your old name.  As you begin to understand your new life, you'll earn a new name.  I don't know what it is yet, but you’ll give it to me yourself.  You're a woman that needs order.  You need structure.  You’ve always needed these things in your life, but you just didn’t know it.  But I’ll be working with you now and when we're done, you'll have both in your life.  As an ex-teacher, you know how necessary discipline is for a successful life.”

 

Rebecca’s face seemed to collapse suddenly as I said ‘ex-teacher.’  She knew that I was right; she’d never be allowed to teach again.  I think she hated that more than anything else.  Whether anyone else believed it or not, from what I had been able to discover, she always enjoyed teaching.  I knew that she wasn’t the best teacher around, but I also knew that she was better than most….even if she had screwed up big time.  But none of that mattered now.  All that anyone would ever see from this point on was her police record.

 

***

 

As I looked at Rebecca, I felt I owed it to her to try the easy way the first time, before she forced me to do it the hard way---even as I knew that this last was the road down which we both were fated to travel.  I put a cold, forbidding tone in my voice as I began.

 

“A woman like you is going to find it hard to give me what you’re not yet sure you even have inside you.  You’re wearing a collar now and you're confused about your new role, about what it all means.  But even with your controlling streak, you’ll understand your true submissive nature better if you don’t pretend to a dominance that hasn't worked for you.  This is why you've had so much trouble making relationships work.” 

 

Rebecca refused to answer; she wouldn’t even look at me.  I ignored the rude behavior and continued.  “Because of this, you are going to be forced to explore the reality of a submissive---you will assume the bottom position in our relationship.  I know I'll have to use force at first to help motivate exploring the correct behavior, but not at the end.  This last isn't necessarily because I say so or even because I might try to make you do this---but rather because you were born to be submissive, even you don’t know it yet.  It's what's inside you.  What you are going to find in the end is that even unrealized submissives like you usually want to behave well for a worthy Master.  But Sub’s like you also get a thrill from testing their Dom’s and pushing the limits.  And this is where we are going to have the most problems.”

 

As I said this, I saw her look at me for a second, then her chin rose even more in what looked suspiciously like defiance laced with a touch of pride.  I knew I was in for one hell of a ride with this woman.  Did  I really know what I was getting into with her?

 

Suddenly she blurted out, “We don’t have a relationship.  You've kidnapped me.”

 

“Woman, if you speak one more time without permission,” I told her, “I will enthusiastically beat you silly.  Do you understand?”

 

She glowered at me.  I just stared at her without an expression on my face and after a second, she nodded her head.

 

“Give me an answer,” I demanded.  “Do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, I understand you.”

 

“Yes, I understand you, what?” I asked silkily.

 

“Yes, I understand you, Master,” she grated between clenched teeth.

 

I ignored her petulance as I continued.  “And at the same time, I know that you’re smart enough to fight me in a mostly passive way in anything I might demand, just like now; because that’s your nature.  It may take awhile, but you are going to find out eventually that you like the things I do to you: you’re going learn the pleasure of relinquishing your responsibilities to another, stronger person.  First you'll learn to live with your fate, then you'll learn to live above it.”  The sudden desperate look on her face told me I had discovered an area in which she was already uncertain.

 

***

 

I felt the first uncertainties.  I hated the fact that what he said sparked a small, primitive part of me; and fear, instinctive and unstoppable, jumped through me.  I knew myself well enough to know that evil or wrong, it didn't matter.  I could never resist doing something that felt good to me.  How could he know this of me, when I barely acknowledged it myself?

 

 ***

 

I looked into Rebecca's eyes as I continued without stopping.  “And as I take away each part of your life, one by one---if you honestly look at how much better you'll feel after relinquishing each to me, you’re going to start wanting to give up even more until suddenly you realize that you’ve willingly given me complete control of every part of your life.  This is a strangely seductive road for powerful women like you and once you truly start down this path, you’ll voluntarily look for something new to give every day.  And each time I restrict you just a little more, it’s going to make you feel that much more safe and secure.  In the end, only by giving up everything will you experience complete freedom in a way you’ve never imagined.”

 

I had another thought as I looked at my new slave.  “And when the Dom’s in town hear how you've submitted, they’ll welcome you quickly enough.”

 

“Welcome me for what?”

 

I scowled and she quickly said, “Welcome me for what, Master?”

 

I laughed scornfully.  “For one of us.  Do you think that you will be the first woman to ever fly into the arms of a Dom and beg to be kept, even though you may never have said a word?  In their hearts, most women want the same freedom I offer you.”

 

“And when I’m freed by you in this way,” Rebecca asked slowly, almost sarcastically, “will I be free to go then?  Master.”  That last had been added on only as an afterthought. 

 

“Sure you will,” I smiled warmly.  “And we’ll be free to track you down and bring you back.  It’s dangerous being free with people like me, but most Subs come to like the taste of it.”

 

Rebecca looked straight ahead and shook her head slightly back and forth in denial of my observations.

 

I didn’t care what she thought; I continued without responding to her obvious disrespect.  I would pick my battles carefully with this woman.  “In return for my taking responsibility for the less attractive parts of your life, you'll learn how to behave around Dom’s like me.  Believe it or not, you will learn to…..appreciate…..my needs, just as I focus on yours.  Your behavior will soon reflect your desire to fulfill the needs of those you look up to.  Your role will be to service those needs and desires---and doing this will make you happy.  At this point, you’ll begin to feel guilty if you HAVEN’T satisfied me.  But I have no doubt that you will fight me on this too.  At first.  However, in the end we’ll reach an agreement, some kind of an accommodation……”  I smiled at her for a second as I turned both of my palms face up, “….. and you’ll do everything my way.”

 

***

 

I looked at Rebecca in silence for a moment.  There was a lot of crap written about BDSM, most of it simplistic and some even juvenile.  I wasn’t angry at her, so how would I to explain that there would be an initial series of punishments over the next few weeks and months?  But somehow at the same time convince her that the purpose of these was to influence her future behavior, and not because I was necessarily into sadism---although I was.  And while I needed her to believe that I didn’t want to hurt her anymore than she already desired in her hidden fantasies, she also needed to understand that I would always push to find the most extreme boundaries that she might normally wish to keep hidden from the view of others.

 

This woman was a rational and complex person.  I wanted her to focus on why she was being punished and not on the punishment itself.  But at the same time she needed to understand that when she fought me, I would automatically escalate in a heartbeat to new levels of the beautiful violence that she so desired in her subconscious.  And in the end, Rebecca must learn that she had always been destined to give to me what I had chosen for her to sacrifice---but she also had to know that I would never ask her for too much, but rather just enough.

 

***

 

Her conservative style of dress reflected the way she looked at herself.  Rebecca was a woman that pretended to a sophisticated culture I didn't think she really possessed.  She was a proud woman, but a private woman too, always partaking of her guilty pleasures away from the sight of others.  Because of this, humiliation would be a powerful tool in her new world---and I would use it freely on her, and against her.  I would first use it rather sparingly at first and only in private.  But once I had a feel for her limits and our relationship had matured, I would later publicly humiliate her because it would push so many more of Rebecca’s emotional buttons all at one time.  I was aware that this would probably become even more shameful as I began to sexualize her humiliation.  If I was correct about her hidden nature and I could get her to embrace it, in the end she would have to at least accept these things.  And if we both were lucky, she perhaps would even find public shame attractive rather than abusive, because it would be so daring compared to what she was used to.  But because of her pride, I didn't think that she could early on easily handle being humbled to the point of having total subjugation and grinding sexual degradation witnessed by others.

 

She wore my collar now, and I relished the thought.  But for some reason, the current reality brought out part of the beast in me.  I later realized that I made an artificial distinction between the physical and the emotional, as if they were foreign entities in stand-alone landscapes.  Even as I knew that early brutality would lose her, I still daydreamed.  Perhaps after enough training, I could take her to a point where she would beg for these things?

 

I didn’t quite know how to exactly shape her conditioning yet, instead having only a general outline from which to work.  In a job like this, Rebecca would continually tell me what I needed to know with her actions and reactions.  I knew I wanted a servile bottom.  But I didn’t want to turn her into a craven bitch that mistook the ability to take heavy beatings as proof of her devotion.  Given her natural inclinations, would she in the end be the kind of Sub that enjoyed physical ‘excitations’ for the sheer terror it brought, since it was inevitably followed by a rushing storm of adrenaline and endorphins?  Or was she the kind of woman that would eventually learn to like the feeling of living in an environment that was always completely out of her control, always feeling like she was being pushed to the edge of a divine madness by my demands?  I just didn’t know yet.

 

In the end, I talked to her about discipline and punishment, and the need to obey.  I covered a few positions which I felt conveyed both respect and deference.  And then I talked for awhile about what I expected from her.  She maintained a sullen silence the whole time, but this did not really surprise me.  I'd prepared a schedule that generally covered the day, but I didn’t spend a lot of time at this point making it too detailed.  Rather I wanted to remain flexible, planning on addressing the many unaddressed issues as each came up.  And so this is how the first part of that first morning ended. 

 

 

Chapter 22: Cruelty, very far from being a vice, is the first sentiment Nature injects in us all.  Cruelty is simply the energy in a man civilization has not yet altogether corrupted: therefore it is a virtue, not a vice; Marquis de Sade.

 

We would spend a lot of time together while I was home during the next few days.  But once I went back to work, for at least the first couple of weeks I would keep Rebecca in the wooden box under the bed while I was gone during the day; I would only free her when I got home late in the day.  For the most part, she seemed to hate being boxed.  In anticipation of keeping her bound for long stretches of time, I had already shifted over to using padded leather wrist and ankle cuffs.  At night when I was home to monitor her, she would sleep in the bed with her right wrist cuffed to the head of the bed.  I planned on feeding her a light breakfast in the morning after she had exercised, and then another light meal later in the afternoon.  This would continue until we both had settled into a routine.

 

Frankly, she looked pretty rough this morning.  With no makeup, her skin was blotchy from the cold and her hair a mess.  Her nose was running, she was having difficulty with her nose ring, and her breasts seemed in pain from her new ornaments.  The skin around each hole was more red now and and continually leaked a thin, clear fluid.  I'd have to make sure that she kept herself clean and that the holes in her breasts were always covered with a topical antibiotic.

 

I let her know that beginning tomorrow morning, she must be more presentable within a few minutes of being awakened.  She would brush her hair and then put it in an easily maintained pony tail.  Rebecca gave me a long, expressionless look that fairly screamed defiance.  Her resiliency surprised me after what she'd just been through and I knew that I couldn’t continue to let these things go by without being corrected.  I grabbed her hair and asked quietly, “You stupid, stupid bitch.  Is there anything wrong?  Do you have any comments you want to make?” 

 

She shook her head and lowered her eyes; despite her rough appearance, she was still totally desirable when she submitted to my will like this.  It was appropriate to begin now, shaping her behavior from the beginning.  This was an integral part of her schedule---exercise and preparing herself to be seen before she had anything to eat.  Hunger was a good motivator.

 

She still wasn’t speaking to me very much, but I would let it go for a little while longer.  If she kept it up for more than a couple of days, I knew that I would have to act; but that time was not quite yet.  I led her to the stationary bicycle and cuffed her left wrist to the machine.  With a grimace of what could only be total disgust, Rebecca spread her legs to mount the bike and settle her shaved crotch on the seat.  She stopped suddenly as she realized that she had to sit on a narrow bike seat and that her poor, torn anus would be screaming its reply.  She slowly settled herself on to the seat with a grimace of pain and sat still for a minute.  Finally, she wiggled her hips gently a couple of times and without asking me to change the setting on the pedals, she began pedaling.  I smiled to myself as I made a mental note to get a couple of washable seat covers for the bike.  If she knew that this pace would later be bumped up significantly as I became more familiar with her capabilities, I am sure she would have been even more disgusted.

 

Once she got her speed up and a rhythm working, the natural back and forth sway of her upper body quickly became a problem.  While athletically slim, she was a healthy woman and her breasts suddenly became an issue.  She tried to perform but was in obvious discomfort; with her left hand chained to the machine, she could not care for herself.  Although she didn’t complain at first, it became more and more of a problem as I watched, and soon I knew that I couldn’t keep her wrist cuffed and demand that she exercise naked too. 

 

Finally, she glanced at me, her look a scream of silent frustration at the machine and, I think, at her new reality.  I solved this problem by freeing her hand and locking a light chain from the bike around her waist.  Without stopping, she grimaced as she gently cupped a breast in each hand and continued exercising.  Now she rode in silence with both tender breasts cradled and protected. 

 

This an excellent compromise.  While the first image of her on the bike was erotic, the second almost drove me wild.  I banished the thoughts from my mind as best I could.  Tomorrow I would have a belt for her to wear around her waist and I'd chain her to the equipment.  Finished with the bike, she switched over to the other machine.  While I read a book, I next had her spend forty-five minutes walking on the treadmill.  The pace bored her to death, but again, she didn’t know that she would be jogging soon.  When she was finished this, I had her put just her toes on a short piece of 2” x 10” wood that I'd bolted to the floor and hold 10 pound weights in each hand as she raised up on her toes for a minute at a time.  I was determined to keep her calf and thigh muscles well toned and attractive. 

 

When she finished, I gave her a small towel with which to dry off.  I now allowed Rebecca forty-five minutes to take a shower and wash her hair if necessary.  I'd retrieved the makeup by then from her bag and now insisted that she apply her face before presenting herself to me again.  This didn’t make her too happy and forced her to hurry, but she had to understand that for me, looking good at all times was a necessity in which she had no choice.  This could not be over-emphasized.

 

Finished with her early morning responsibilities, the beautiful woman now sat in front of me on the edge of her bed, eating a quick breakfast sandwich.  Interestingly, being naked didn't seem to bother her.  I didn’t plan on giving Rebecca anything that required eating implements until I knew how she would react to her new environment.  She quickly glanced up at me in distrust when I put coffee in front of her.  After I assured her that it was not drugged, she finally tasted it.  When I went back to work, it would be at this point that I would put her in the box.

 

Finally, we sat while I mostly talked.  I talked about various things: what I saw in her, about the need for discipline and what I wanted from her.  I talked a little about geopolitics and even sports.  She was stiff and responded little to my conversational gambits.  Surprisingly, the only time I got a real response was when I mentioned college basketball.  Both of us, it turned out, hated pro ball, but loved college ball. 

 

After a couple of hours, I left her cuffed to the bed since she seemed ready to take a nap---I had already told her to get used to going without lunch.  I was happy about how things had gone.  I’d maintained a strong sense of objectivity and distance from her, even as I had been able to talk about a few things that were a touch intimate to both of us---it was a beginning.  I locked Rebecca in the White Room and laid down for a nap myself.  This, I thought to myself, was going well.

 

***

 

I once read that there are five stages that a person goes through in a situation like this; I mean, as they were being broken down psychologically.  Stage one was Denial; you know, the “This isn’t happening to me……this can’t be real….why is this happening to me?” sort of lament that goes through the movie heroine’s mind after she’s GIVEN UP EVERYTHING!

 

I obeyed his commands that first day away from the plank as best I could.  As the hours passed, my fear of the unknown continued to grow until it was all I could do not to scream.  I was afraid of him.  There was nothing to say to this man, the one who thought his collar was permanently locked around my neck.  His ways, which sometimes seemed monstrous and alien, were always controlling.  Mostly, I was afraid of what would happen tonight.  But nothing happened after dark, I was allowed to sleep; still fearful, but untouched.  I couldn't really be here; I couldn’t have done what I'd just done, it was insane!

 

It might have been a dream.  Could have been a dream.  MUST have been a dream.

 

I was in the sea near mountains.  The west winds blew with incessant gale force from the cold mountain peaks, creating a psychological vacuum.  All I could think of was the savage winds, age-old ice in the harbors and cruel black water lapping at its edges.  Beyond the surf the killer whales waited until the current crop of frozen corpses dropped into the water.  To the Orcas, the bodies were nothing more than a frozen, or clumsy and noisy form of seal.  I rode a windsurfer.  But I had no arms to steer the board, and skimmed farther and farther out onto the lake.  The shoreline disappeared from view.  Skies darkened.  Wind howled.  The waves grew higher and higher, breaking over me again and again before finally tipping the board like a subway token.  I tumbled through the air.  Into the water.  The cold wet closed over me, pulling me down.  I could see nothing in the frigid blackness, but I could hear.

 

Voices.

 

No.  One voice.  His.

 

Welcome to the Dark Room. 

 

Deeper.  Darker.  Colder.

 

I’ve been waiting for you.

 

Pain.  The pain he always gave me.  In my stomach.  I pressed the side of my body against the floor, and tried to drive it out with the cold.  I curled into a ball.  Tighter and tighter.  If I made myself small enough, I could sink between the seams, disappear into the floor, and leave the pain behind.  It wouldn’t fit.  It was too big. 

 

Finally, I awoke, still in the White Room and covered with sweat.  The panic came out of nowhere and totally filled me.  I couldn't see it, but I knew my face was red.  My heart was having palpitations.  The thoughts swirled in my head like confused nocturnal animals in a room when a light is turned on.  It was in the middle of the night and it hadn't been a dream; I belonged to him.  I realized that in my new life I walked a tightrope; one side led to what seemed a life of collared madness, while on the other lay jail and disgrace.  I had traded one set of knowns for the complete unknown.  I was such a fool. 

 

I know later I that this was also the time that I began to come down with scarlet fever---at least that’s how I think of it.  It wasn’t really the scarlet fever, not the one you read about in the history books.  Mine started with just this feeling, and scarlet was its color.  Red.  At the end of a few hours, I grew so hot I had to release it, but it was the heat of a cold sweat. 

 

Soon I was helpless.  It came with the foreign metal now at home in my body and stayed to kill me, going from my breasts into my blood in one easy shift.  The fever ate me up inside and made me shake like I was winter, like my blood was made of ice water and I needed to see it run.  I needed to touch it and feel its warmth----because I knew that it had to be warm.  Nobody could feel this dead inside.  When it came out along my skin there wasn’t any pain.  Just relief.  Just the tiny red rivers of life leaking from my pierced breasts.  And I could breathe again, seeing that.  I could spread my arms and touch the edges of my emotions and know that maybe they touched back, like something new and curious.  Or maybe something old and forgotten. 

 

He'd pierced my breasts in a way that he knew should not be done, but I don’t think he cared much about what happened to me at that point.  And I thought the heat and the pain was who I am.  This was what I was made of.  An old friend that didn’t need introductions.  I held my breath until I let out the scarlet fever.

 

When I next was able to think, several days had apparently passed, or at least that's what he told me.  When I was first aware again, my head was on a pillow and my hands rested behind my head.  Even though weak, I needed to move.  I began to move my hands down by my side when suddenly, I felt this ripping, tearing pain in my nose.  Thankfully I was able to stop my hands in time; thin chains had been clipped to my breast rings and run up through my nose ring.  He'd then fastened them to the soft leather cuffs that I wore on each wrist.  The length of the chain was enough for me to comfortably keep my hands behind my head, but not enough to get my hands lower than my shoulders.  He had immobilized me in the most humiliating manner possible. 

 

Once we both knew the depths of my humiliation, he eventually removed the chains and finally, I began to recover.  At first I watched the light come through the window for a long time before I began to think about where I was.  The recollection came hard, like a lesson learned but not used for a while.  I tried to sit up, felt a dizziness that reminded me of the last time I had spent a week ill and flat on my back in bed.  As suddenly as it had come, it was gone.  I shook my head, then lay back.  I was here for a rest, a nice, long rest.  The picture seemed to lack something, but it was too much trouble to think about it right now.  I looked around the room.  It was white and small, and had a couple of doors---it was the White Room and I remembered everything.

 

Even though I was weak for days afterwards, somehow I avoided the awful scarring of the breasts that should have accompanied my treatment at his hands.  The strong antibiotic pills he gave me helped a lot, killing the infection inside.  But most of the success, I suppose, is due to my own efforts.  I learned to keep my breasts clean and applied the medicated ointment more often than necessary.  It took almost two months, but the tenderness and the redness and the swelling finally went away.  Then he used these rings to train me; humiliating me on purpose---and the worst part was how successful he was with these tools in his hands. 

 

At other times, he used them in a purely sexual manner.  Again, here too the worst part was how well they worked for him in the end.

 

***

 

Once I overcame the fever, he began 'storing' me in the box beneath the bed during the day when he was at work.  The first time didn't seem so bad.  I lay there and sweated until I could no longer smell the stink of my own body.  I closed my eyes, consciously letting the muscles at each of my joints relax---first the toes and fingers, then ankles and wrists, knees and elbows, shoulders and hips, then slowly, each vertebra along my back to my neck. 

 

The first day wasn't so bad.  He let me out at night and made me exercise and clean the White Room.  There was no training other than this.  The next day in the box was worse and the next after that even more terrible. 

 

The fever and the darkness had scrambled my brains.  I tried to remember things  I'd read, but the fever had scrambled my focus.  The first two nights, I woke up shouting into the blackness.....

 

“Is this what you want, you fucker?  Why?  What the hell is the point?  I'm going to rot away here not even know what the fuck you want....”

 

“I'm sorry mom, I didn't mean for this to happen.  But tell those bastards at CNN to back off.....”

 

“You win.  I admit it.  I'll do anything you want.....”

 

“You know, I don't think I'll make it home for Thanksgiving dinner...”

 

“For Christ's sake, it's not like I killed anyone...”

 

“Please, God, don't let me die in here.”

 

On the fourth day in the box, I went for almost ten hours before he let me out to use the toilet.  Once I relieved myself, he put me back in.  As I approached the box, I felt as if the miasma reached out and literally touched me.  Every now and then he would come by and free me, give me a little food and let me use the toilet again.  But the longer I stayed in the box each time, the more panic I felt.  But oddly, there were also times during which I felt only peace and comfort during the tedious periods of solitude.

 

***

 

I lay on my back and it had been hours since his last visit; my bladder was bursting.  I tried to calm myself and prayed for a cool cascade of emotional stillness, but felt instead only the dry mouth and roiling stomach of continually growing dread.  The air I gulped was tight and close, tasting of my sweat and my panic.  And through it all, the broken thought worked through my racing mind like subtle static, barely detectable….. this isn’t right, this isn’t right. God, this isn't right.

 

No sooner had I thought this than he came.  I knew that I had to escape now or I would die here.  I felt him move the box before he raised the lid and allowed light into my prison; he was obviously perusing my body.  I made sure that one of my breasts was fully exposed; he’d wanted me once, maybe he would again.  For a long time I didn’t move, feigning near unconsciousness.  Finally he reached down and felt my forehead.  Then his hand drifted to my shoulder, and finally to my breast, caressing it and tugging on my nipple, then on the golden loop that framed it.  Making no move and not acknowledging the pain, I waited.  It was instinct, for every man required a slightly different seduction.  Finally he grabbed my arm. 

 

“Stand up.”

 

I made as if to stir and struggled to my feet while I remained hunched over.  The ‘thank-you’ my back gave me for spending so long in the box was countered by the opinion expressed by my right hip and thigh.  I adopted a mask of nonchalance, but my mind was racing.  The terror I felt at what I knew he planned gave me strength for one desperate attempt and I was prepared to risk everything.  I hoped he would release my hands from their bondage, and he did.  In the near darkness, I fell against him, making sure that my arm and even my hands rubbed his crotch.  He took me by the shoulders and moved me away from him. 

 

He helped me out; I was terribly stiff and stumbled as I went, nearly falling.  He grabbed the hair at the back of my head and gave a tremendous yank to keep me upright.  But it didn’t help as my feet flew up in front of me and I assumed an almost horizontal position in mid-air before I came crashing down on my back.  With my hands stiff with fatigue, I was too slow and unable to cushion my landing; it knocked the air out of my lungs.  It was clear that he could do with me as he wished.  I let him help me stand.

 

***

 

INTERLUDE

It was just before Christmas and it was dark and cold out as the man returned home from work.  Spending time with the police had set him back several days.  Concentrating on getting inside and a fire going, he was a little surprised when he found the plastic sack containing a gift hanging on the front door handle.  Putting his briefcase down, he took the bag off of the door.  He didn't know many of his neighbors, so the gift surprised him; although a naturally reserved person, it had always been his wife that was the more outgoing one that way.  Opening the bag, he reached in and removed a small wrapped object about the size of a CD.  Curious, he tore away the paper wrapping to reveal a DVD case.  Picking everything up, he walked into the house. 

 

The first thing he did was get a fire going in the fireplace and mix himself a drink.  This done, assuming the disc was a gift from a friend, he walked over to the player and loaded the DVD.  The beginning played out on a blank screen, then the audio kicked in sharply, filling the room with the gravelly voice of a male blues singer.  He went rigid when the woman's face appeared on the screen, pale and chalky, a dark bruise barely noticeable on her right temple.  Tears glittered in the woman's eyes.  Pain, or lust, twisted her face.

 

“Jesus.....!” breathed Rebecca's husband as he looked at her face, then stepped back from the TV.  The shot was from above and was so tight that the tracks of Rebecca's tears showed against her bloodless cheeks.  Her breath came in grunts and sharp bursts.  It took him a minute to realize.  “My God,” he whispered to himself, “I think she's being raped”.  Still on his feet, he moved back towards the TV screen, his hand extended as if to reach into the television set and put a halt to the outrage.  He became aware of the music, the guttural grunts and gasps, the noise of a man's sexual frenzy.  Something writhed deeply inside him, an old terror set loose by the sound of his wife's torture, and by the music itself. 

 

For a second, the rapist's shoulder came into view at the edge of the screen, a dark boulder ramming against his wife's chin.  She stared over his shoulder at the camera and her lips crooked into a tiny smile as the rhythm of the act quickened; the grunts becoming louder, sharper, as the rapist started to climax.  She closed her eyes and he heard his wife give a moan of anticipation through clenched teeth, the sound cutting him to the quick.  In any other place, at any other time, from her it would have been the sound of true pleasure, but he would not believe it, not here, not like this.

 

He tried to pull his eyes away from the screen, but couldn't, even though his flesh was trying to crawl off of his bones.  There was a male groan of satisfaction and he watched her eye lids flicker as the man climaxed inside her, then the picture froze on the rictus of false pleasure as she stared at him out of the television for what seemed an eternity before it slowly faded away.  There was darkness. 

 

Suddenly, the picture came back again, but this time his wife seemed to be facing the camera in a different way.  Now it looked like she was laying on her stomach, but the angles were weird, off a little.  Her arms were above her head and she faced her right shoulder.  The lens of the camera was at the height of her face and she was looking into it.  Her body seemed to move towards the camera coming into better focus, then move away and go a little fuzzy.  And even though the same kind of music was playing in the background again, it seemed from the look on her face that her body now moved to the beat of a rhythm that perhaps only Rebecca could hear. 

 

She had a kind of fixed smile on her face that he had never seen before as she stared into the camera, and as before her eyes sparkled, filled with unshed tears.  Suddenly he realized that this time the man was on top of her back; she was being sodomized.  As before, the background sounds were filled with male satisfaction, grunts and groans of intense pleasure.  Peering closer, he realized that something else was different---she now wore a large ring through her nose.

 

The masked head of a man could be seen over her shoulder, maintaining a cadenced movement as he continued plowing her ass.  Like a machine, the man just kept going and going until he reached a sudden and unexpected climax.  As the unknown man groaned in pleasure upon reaching orgasm, Rebecca's husband watched a small smile of what to some might signal acceptance flicker onto her face, when suddenly his wife's eyelids opened wide in shock at what must have been the intense feeling of the man's cum spurting deep inside her rectum.  He had wanted this from Rebecca and she had always refused.  She would have never willingly allowed this to be done to her.  Never!  Having been married to her as long as he had, he knew how much his wife would hate being forced to accept this, especially on camera.

 

Her face stayed frozen on the screen, her beautiful blue eyes wide open and almost bulging at the last sensation she must have been feeling.  Suddenly, this scene too faded to black.  For a moment, nothing showed as the screen remained blank, then words slowly began to form.  “Do you want your wife back?  Save her if you can.”  Rebecca's husband looked at the words on the screen for almost five minutes before he slowly turned the television off and removed the DVD. 

 

His hands were shaking.  He knew that there had to be clues on it; things the police could find....they could do wonders with it.  Fingerprints; the computer on which it had been made could be traced, the program used to edit the movie; the background of where she was being held could be analyzed, the music, the room, the ambient sounds.  This was evidence that could help find her, help free her from the monster that kept her prisoner.

 

Even though a lawyer, he was not a hard man nor a mean man.  He certainly wasn't a brave man either.  But he was a man that knew he had disappointed his wife from the beginning of their marriage.  Even more, he was a man that finally knew exactly what his wife was like.  And he knew, even if only second hand, the vague outlines of her normal "desires" with her students.  He had forgiven her and moved with her once before because of that, but that move had taken a toll on him and their marriage.  And still it seemed that she could never get enough. 

 

It had taken a long time, but the love within had finally died.  He put the DVD back in and fast-forwarded to the shot of her face at the conclusion of the anal rape and froze the scene.  He looked at her face and Rebecca's beautiful blue eyes.  It took awhile to run through their memories together, but finally he made his decision.  Looking at her face, he said aloud, “Maybe your high school lovers can save you this time, but not me.  Not anymore.  I'm done with you.” 

 

He shook his head.  "And as for you, Mister Monster Man, I hope you know what you're doing.  She's a fucked-up slut that deserves everything you do to her, but watch out.  She's a tricky whore and can be a monster too in her own way."  Decision now made, he threw the DVD on the fire without a second’s hesitation and went to bed.  He was asleep in five minutes and never dreamed of his wife once.

 

 

Chapter 23: As with most liberal sexual ideas, what makes the world a better place for men invariably makes it a duller and more dangerous place for women: Julie Burchill.

 

He helped me up from the floor.  I looked at him and he looked at me; each of us almost challenging each other.  I could not keep my head bowed.  Quite the opposite, I stared directly at him.  I think he saw determination in my eyes; I know that I saw not an ounce of compassion in his.

 

I had allowed him to do this to me for too long now; I knew that I had reached my breaking point, that I had to escape or go insane.  Reacting in an unthinking frenzy, I butted his chin with my head and tried to knock him down, hoping that he had left a door open somewhere.  Surprise was my major weapon in what turned out to be my only attempt to escape.  I ran to the door that led outside---no luck.  My muscles objected to the sudden exertion and my side cramped badly.  I turned and made for the door that led into his home.  It too was locked.

 

As with so many other things that were involved with this man, I had under-estimated him and over-estimated my abilities.  I had been too impatient.  My muscles were tight and cramped from my time in the box; my back was stiff, the rapes and more leaving me barely able to move.  Even worse, I hadn't realized how weak the fever left me. 

 

I'd knocked him over and in desperation I turned from the last door to kick him while he was down.  I had failed.  He'd somehow been aware of my intent, and now waited with expectation.  He licked at a trickle of blood that ran from the corner of his mouth where he'd bitten his tongue.  The monster laughed.  Not from amusement.  Anticipation.  He walked toward me, overpowering in both his bulk and his anger.  We both knew what would happen next; him in some detail, me intimately. 

 

I had only now begun to recover from the fever and his rapes and beatings on the inclined plank, the bruises fading to a light blue, mottled with orange.  And I knew that if I could run somehow, I could challenge his belief in his mastery over me.  But there was nowhere to run, for that wasn’t part of the deal he'd offered me on that first dark night.  How bad could it be? I'd asked myself then. 

 

I learned how bad it could be.  And I learned this too that day.  When someone beats you until you’re unconscious, you stop feeling the blows before you lose consciousness; you stop feeling the blows long before the darkness comes. 

 

I turned to dodge him and something heavy fell across the back of my head.  I fell, but never quite lost consciousness then, even though the blow was enough to stun me.  It was almost as if he was trained, knowing exactly where to kick as i lay on the floor.  I heard him say to himself softly, “Not the face or the tits, keep them clean.”  Sometimes he held me by my arm or my hair and hit me with his fists, sometimes he worked up a sweat with his boot and my body. 

 

The pain he demanded I accept that night fucked me from the inside out.  Deeper than sex and more intimate than a kiss.  It feasted like an animal on my body and I felt its every bite. 

 

He finally kneed me in the groin and then let me fall.  Onto my knees first and then on my face, everything finally was a jumbled, pulsing netherworld after that.  I slammed into the ground, the impact taking the breath out of me.  More blows landed on my back and kidneys, forcing me into a fetal position.  Suddenly, my bladder cut loose and I was lying in a warm pool of urine.  Sound pooled around me and congealed to distant noise.  His voice.  Violent words.  A kicking foot and a banging door.  My body was a wet cocoon, upside down, hanging from my feet.  All the blood rushed to my head.  It must have been there because I could hear it flowing through my ears.  A loud roar, dashing me against a rocky shore.  But someone’s breath was in my face.  Someone was breathing for me.  Trying to anchor me, but I just wanted to float.  To disappear in the dark where it was safe.  And after that I died, but it’s nothing I hadn’t felt before.

 

***

 

I'd beaten the crap out of her, but I wanted to humiliate this woman now, show her what a worthless piece-of-shit value she represented to me.  I let her lay in her piss on the floor as I pondered; suddenly the perfect punishment came to mind.  It wasn't something I often did because it was so extreme, but she deserved it.  I walked over to the wall where I stored many of my toys, picked up two and carried them back to Rebecca.  I dragged her out of the urine, then rolled her onto her back after I cuffed her wrists behind her. 

 

She was still semi-conscious and took deep, almost snoring breaths.  I captured the base of her left breast with one of my toys.  It was very much like the nylon, self-locking wire-and-cable binding devices enthusiastically adopted by the police as “plastic handcuffs.”  But mine were made of half-inch wide blued steel which had loops on one end.  I put the locking slide at the bottom of her left breast and pulled it taut against her flesh, the ring at the end of the wire sticking out to the right from under her tit.  The way I'd fastened it, once I'd looped it over her tit and tightened it, there was no way she could get it off by herself.  The flat metal cut too deeply into the flesh, and you had to actually see the slide in order to figure out how to release it. 

 

I'd experimented on a few cunts with this toy, and to a woman, when I put the slide on the bottom of their tit like this, they couldn't get at it to release it no matter how much they might pull their breasts away from it.  In fact, that was always part of the fun, uncuffing their hands at the end so that they could try to free themselves from the horrendous pain in their breasts.  Also, I generally I locked the slide after I'd tightened it.  If I didn't, the women could easily continue tightening this thing on themselves without meaning to as they fought its steely embrace. 

 

I'd pulled it so tight on Rebecca's tit that the breast was already misshapen, forming in the end not much more than a bulging sack of flesh with a nipple on the end.  I'd “bagged” some of the women that I brought home before, but tended not to take it too far, because I never could tell which ones had implants.  Besides, even though I was a leg man, I knew I could really fuck up a good looking pair of tits by doing this, and most women didn't deserve it. 

 

This bitch did.

 

The metal loop had disappeared into her skin, but I hadn't locked the slide in place.  After I bagged her left tit, I did the right.  She still hadn't moved, and within a couple of minutes, both her gorgeous breasts had turned into nothing but good-sized balloons of flesh slowly turning purple in color.  We'd both see exactly how sensitive her nipples were when they were tagged and bagged like this.  After I locked the loops together on the end of the metal bands to form one ring, I dragged my new woman by her hair over to the pulley set in the ceiling.  I ran a rope through the pulley, then tied it to the loop that connected the wires around her breasts.  Rebecca was moaning softly now.  I helped the school teacher to her feet by pulling on a handful of hair.  When she finally stood swaying in front of me, I pulled on the rope and within fifteen seconds, Rebecca had been lifted onto her tiptoes by only her beautiful breasts.  The metal loops were pulled even tighter around her breasts as I tied the tit rope off, then stood back and watched.

 

She was back in my world now as she dazedly attempted to hop on her toes for a second.  The more weight she put on the rope when she sagged, the tighter the loops encircled her breasts.  And since I'd put the slide on the bottom of her tits, there was an added bonus.  The more weight she put on them, the more they pulled her tits in a rotating motion toward the center of her chest and then up from the bottom.  She was in agony now and actually danced from foot to foot as she whinnied in pain, like an animal.  I'd wanted to hear her beg, so I hadn't used a gag.  She made a long, high pitched moaning scream that didn't seem like it could come from a human throat.  Then she squirmed and wiggled for a second and screamed again. 

 

Suddenly, she was desperately trying to pretend she was a ballerina, dancing on the tips of her toes, even as she made wet, terrible gasping sounds that were wrenched from deep within her chest.  We both knew going up on her toes was the only way to lessen the horrendous pressure that had pulled her breasts into such ugly and unnatural shapes.  Her feet were spread about a foot apart now, the best compromise for maximum balance and height; her head and shoulders were thrown back and her chest and hips thrust forward in the awkward but necessary counterpoise required to maintain her balance, yet still apply the minimal pressure to her tits.  Her beautiful legs quivered with her efforts, calves and thighs exquisitely emphasized by the taut lines of muscles that played under her skin.

 

Her eyes were closed and even though she had to be in agony, her face was gray and frozen in a semi-grimace at the moment, suddenly full of lines and angles that hadn't been there a hour ago, let alone a day ago.  Her lips were dry and she was constantly licking them, but even so she couldn't speak coherently.  I could hear Rebecca mumbling, her lips in constant motion as she spoke to herself, trying I guess, to convince herself that she could handle this too.  But I wasn't finished.

 

I walked over to the corner and picked up the belt to which she'd already been introduced.  I slowly walked around her.  Then I stood to the side and whipped her ass and lower back for the next two or three minutes.  Her cuffed hands writhed with each blow and Rebecca cried out as I used the belt hard enough to make her body swing with each blow.  Other than an initial cry of pain each time she was hit, the woman was almost silent as she twisted and danced on her toes about the stabilizing rope from which she hung by her breasts and upon which her whole life was now centered.

 

I'd lost any sense of anger I might have felt; I felt nothing inside as I disciplined her for bad behavior.  No anticipation, no anger, no bitterness or disappointment, no sadness---there was literally nothing there.  I was methodical, professional, unrelenting; treating her beating as if it were a sad necessity, as if this were something that had to be done during the normal training of a domesticated animal; it was how you would teach obedience to a recalcitrant bitch retriever.

 

The only sounds to be heard now were soft sobs; she still hadn't uttered a word.  By this point, four narrow trickles of blood thinned with serous fluid was leaking down onto her belly, one from each of the punctured sides of her breasts.  This didn't surprise me because by now her breasts looked like large, dark-colored party balloons; the skin of her tits expanded and stretched beyond human endurance.  The flesh looked finely porous and tender, almost porcelainous, seemingly ready to literally explode under the immense pressure it somehow contained.  I ran my thumbnail over the skin of her breasts, then roughly flicked each nipple.  She didn’t make a sound, but shudders ran through her body with each touch. 

 

When I got to the front again, I grabbed her shoulder and gave her a spin.  Rebecca screamed once more as she struggled to keep her feet spread for balance as she spun around the rope that kept her upright. 

 

I was ready once she stopped moving.  The muscles of her legs quivered as I touched her body.  I ran my hands over her shaved vagina and then her ass.  Her head was thrown back in agony and her jaws clenched.  She was making a quick, wet grunting noise each time she exhaled, “nugh, nugh, nugh.”  But she hadn’t broken yet, hadn’t begged yet.  For a beautiful woman used to being treated by men as if she were made of expensive Irish china, she was one tough bitch. 

 

Her feet were still close together, so I grabbed her hair to get her attention.  When she was finally looking at me, I kicked her right foot to the side to make her spread her legs.  She screamed from the increased pull on her breasts, but she'd finally learned obedience.  She finally stood motionless, positioned exactly as I wanted.  I slowly ran my hand between her thighs one more time and played for a second with the folds of naked, sweaty skin there.  I put two fingers inside Rebecca and unsurprisingly, she was dry; her position couldn't feel particularly erotic right now.  Then I used a bowling ball grip and pulled her hips and belly towards me for a second, before I let go.  I left Rebecca hanging and walked into my bedroom, picked up some lubricant and returned to the beautiful woman I'd just bagged, the beautiful woman that hung in front of me, helpless as she hung from her tits.

 

I still hadn't said a word to her while all of this was happening, and didn't really feel like it now.  But perhaps a few words were appropriate.  

 

“You stupid, stupid woman.  You just don't get it.  You are not leaving here until you're ready.  And even someone as stupid as you can't believe that that time has come.  Keep your legs spread.  Further.  You always keep your legs spread for men, any men.  You're a woman, that's what you do.”

 

Rebecca's shocking blue eyes were mere slits as I stroked her cunt slowly and softly one more time.  She hung motionless now, her body quivering all over now.  After a moment of stroking the soft, wet parts, I had a good hard-on and was ready to go.  I stripped as Rebecca stood there stiffly, compliantly; moving only as necessary.  I was already hard, so it was just a matter of a few seconds to apply lubricant and step up to the plate, so to speak.  I hit the ball out of the park on my first thrust, sliding slickly into her until my belly slammed into hers.  Such a sweet willing thing as she allowed me to fuck her brains out one more time. 

 

At first it was like doing hips thrusts against a heavy punching bag.  I moved into her and her body swung back helplessly, always putting more tension on her tits.  I finally grabbed her ass with both hands and pulled her into me as I thrust.  That worked better for me, but hurt her more as it put her tits under even greater pressure.  Is it as good for you as it is for me, I wanted to ask.  Back and forth, in and out, up and down---it was all good.  I didn't much care right now how I hurt the rebellious cunt at this point.

 

I could see her bite her lips in agony as I plowed her pussy.  She never moved to avoid me, instead just standing there perfectly still, accepting my meat with legs spread as I pounded away at her pussy and grabbed her ass.  Finally, I reached around and stuck my middle finger up her ass as far as I could and pulled her towards me this way.  She had to learn that this was all that bad little girls were good for; being cock-fucked and finger-fucked whenever their master wanted a piece. 

 

My hands full of her firm ass again, I pulled her towards me with each move of my hips and belly.  The rope remained taut as she went up on the tips of her toes again and again to accept my lunging thrusts.  Her swollen breasts were pushed up hard against me now as I hugged her close and finished our sex with a frenzy of slams into her body.  Rebecca screamed one more time as her hips rocked forward, pulling the loops even tighter; she was off-balance and only her bound breasts held her upright now.  I knew that her tits had to be numb as I pulled her against me, rubbing my body along the full length of hers.  I began cumming and grabbed her sweet ass cheeks to pull her sweaty belly even harder against me one last time. 

 

After I'd cum, I left her hanging, her strong legs spread wide, painted nails in shocking contrast against toes gone white and bloodless from trying to hold up her body's weight.  Go on a diet, bitch, I thought to myself.  Her head was still thrown back, her eyes still closed and jaw clenched.  The only change was that her lips moved silently now as she prayed.  I grabbed Rebecca's nose ring and pulled her head forward so I could look into her face.  I said, “Look at me, woman.”

 

She finally opened her eyes a little and looked at me.  Her lids were slitted, eyes filled with pain; she hadn't said anything to me yet, but at least I knew somebody was home.  She licked her dry lips again.

 

“You,” I said, “had better understand one thing.  You're here because I want you here.  But the thing is, I don't NEED you here.  Don't mistake desire for weakness.  The next time you try anything like that, I'll bag you and leave you hanging like this for a full day.”

 

She didn't answer.  The only sound in the room was her heavy panting breath and that of the rope creaking as it stretched slightly under her weight.

 

“If I do that to you, I'll have to get rid of you afterwards.  Now that would give me a little pleasure, but it would also be a damn shame to waste a good-looking piece of meat like you.  But I'll do it if I have to and if you push me to it----are we clear?”

 

Rebecca nodded her head weakly, then closed her eyes.

 

“You see,” I continued, “the thing is, I don't want to have to do that.  I would much prefer not having to hurt you like this.  But if you change the situation, then you've changed the situation; and when I've been forced to fuck you up too much because of what you've done, then I no longer need to keep you around.”

 

“Do you understand me?” I asked harshly.

 

My beautiful captive silently nodded her understanding.

 

“Do you believe me?” I demanded of the bound woman. 

 

Again, she gave a quick nod of understanding as she whispered, “Yes....Master.”

 

“Good.”  After a further moment of silence, I walked over to where I had tied the rope off on the wall.  I asked, “Are we going to be a good girl now?”

 

Rebecca was still silent as she nodded her head quickly a couple of times.  Huge visible tremors ran through her thighs and knees as I untied the rope, then let go suddenly.  Rebecca's legs buckled; a human puppet whose strings had been cut.  She collapsed into a pool on the floor, silently, gracefully, efficiently---inexorably.  It was as if someone had removed every bone in her body. 

 

She lay partially on her right side.  I waited a moment and listened to her soft, evenly spaced sobs, then rolled her onto her hip and removed the handcuffs.  Her hands now free, I rolled her onto her back.  Her misshapen egg-plant colored breasts stood up defiantly, the golden nipple rings literally glowing in the angry, swollen flesh.  Most of the women that I'd bagged in the past had immediately cradled their aching breasts, desperately trying to release the pressure.  But not Rebecca.  Her right arm was still partially pinned against the floor under her back and hips; she didn't have the strength to pull it free. 

 

I slowly lifted each breast and undid the loop that bound it.  Cruel red rings had been cut by the metal deeply into the flesh at the base of each breast; and even though now unbound, her tits were still discolored and hugely expanded, over-filled with trapped blood that had not yet had time to be re-absorbed.

 

Her left hand twitched, but never left her side.  Rebecca moaned once and began a small back and forth rocking motion; it was clear that circulation had begun to return to her breasts.  Her pink tongue appeared as she licked her lips one more time.  Eyes shut tightly, she was however finally able to speak. Rebecca whispered something so softly that I could not make it out.  I leaned over and put my ear next to her mouth as I ordered her to repeat herself.  She whispered again in a soft, dry begging voice, “Please.  Master.  Can I go back in the box now?”

 

I kicked her side and hips casually three or four times and pushed her with my foot until she was able to gather enough strength to roll over onto her stomach and climb up onto her hands and knees.  I watched her slowly crawl across the room from the back and could see the first semen draining out of her vagina onto the insides of her thighs.  Her bruised and aching breasts drooped towards the floor as she crawled, hanging down much further than normal.  Her breath rattled harshly in her throat as the beautiful, arrogant Rebecca slowly, painfully crawled back to her makeshift coffin.  I gave her naked ass one more contemptuous kick with my foot as she climbed inside to wrap herself in its dark, cold comfort. 

 

Rebecca lay on her back in the coffin, both breasts cradled in her hands.  Her eyes were closed and she was rocking back and forth, crooning to herself.  I looked down and said, “Who does your ass belong to woman?”

 

She stopped the rocking motion and lay still for a second.  “It belongs to you,” she finally answered. 

 

“Say it the again.  Say it the way I want to hear it,” I commanded again.

 

“My ass belongs to you, Master.” 

 

“And your tits?” I continued.

 

“My breasts belong to you, Master.  I belong to you.  Everything belongs to you, Master.”

 

I shut the lid and locked it.  I heard the crooning start up again, then suddenly there were soft sobs as she cried.  She was mine and would soon know it in every fiber of her being. 

 

***

 

I remember crawling back to my box and the blessed darkness, then nothing.  But now somebody was stroking my hair with icy fingers.  I opened my eyes to a dim white light from near the bed casting shadows over me.  Somehow, at sometime, I vaguely remembered him taking me out of my box and putting me on the bed.  The room was cold and white and it felt like Santa’s Workshop….the place where a wicked little elf waited to pound me into someone’s toy.  At the same time, it felt like a morgue too because of the silence and the chilled air.  And I found that I was still naked except for my collar, but the pain was a multitude of sharp fists pushing into my body, all over from the neck down. 

 

He gave me drugs.  I felt them as they sailed through my system, hydroplaning, but they didn’t last long enough to make me sleep.  I couldn’t move.  I tried to lift a hand, it twitched and the sheet fell open, my right hand always cuffed to the head of the bed.  The frosty air against my skin made the swollen areas around my bruises come alive.  I lay there for what seemed hours, feeling the blood rush through my skull and the burning throb from my breasts and kidneys and bruises along my back.  Occasionally, a muscle spasm would cause me to straighten in pain.

 

My breath sounded loud.  After a moment, I realized that I was crying.

 

The most useless thing. 

 

But it must have been the pain and the drugs, because it passed, like everything.

 

The door from his bedroom banged open, throwing light over me in shards.  I squinted.  It shut, and footsteps approached.  A man’s voice said, “You’re awake.  Good.  That makes everything easier.” 

 

He gripped my shoulder.  I couldn’t help myself.  I flinched and jerked to the side, uncontrolled, one flop like a fish.  The movement kicked me in the gut.  All movement was nothing more than extended abuse.  He unlocked my wrist and then made me sit up on the edge of the bed.  I tried to say something but my voice was raw, my words like little icicles, falling to the floor.  Shattering in syllables.  He leaned down, grabbed my arm and tugged on me to stand up.  Instead I ended up slumped against his shoulder, his hand gripping the back of my hair to get my face away from his neck.  And I recognized his clean male scent. 

 

He pulled me off the bed and my legs tangled.  Blood ran down my legs, but from the inside this time, swirling circulation and pain through my nerve endings.  He yanked me to my feet anyway, holding me up.  His grip around my chest found the hard aching grooves of my ribs, pain washing through me as he did so.  They were so tender where he'd kicked me that it felt like he could have just reached in and touched my guts, poking all my life away. 

 

Struggling with my near dead-weight, he planted my hands on the side of the bed and I felt the edge against my shins.  I shook, but stayed standing even though I couldn’t much sense my legs.  Finally, he led me over to the cycling machine.  I tried to lift my feet so that I didn’t walk like so much of a cripple.  He forced me to sit on it.  I grasped the handle bars and looked at him mutely, my body aching in the quiet of the room.  He just looked at me in silence. 

 

I knew that I could sit here with my pain pooling at my feet and refuse to move.  If I had enough courage, I could have made him kill me now or maybe the next time, and maybe that’s the right fate for piled on months and years of mistakes.  I should, I could, but at the same time, my mind asked, if he'd wanted me, why hadn’t he come and stopped me years ago?  Stopped me from doing what I'd done, becoming what I had become.

 

But I knew that I never could face up to him again in that way.  My courage was gone; gasoline poured on it and burned to the ground.  He was so quietly confident as he stared; it was then that I had an epiphany---we both knew he would win, just not when.  We were both aware that I would fight him in this, but also that he would always be willing to go so much further in his actions than me. 

 

There was no fight left in me and soon I started to cycle, leaning forward onto the handle bars, legs moving slower than you would expect from a cadaver. 

 

A slave has to follow her exercise routine, don’t you know?

 

****

 

I looked at myself in the mirror.  I moved slowly, carefully, too worried about breaking something if I moved more swiftly.  My face was unblemished, and although encircled with angry red lines and still aching, my breasts were unbruised; but my body below the neck collar felt a hundred years old, a landscape of orange and green and blue.  I saw the golden rings hanging permanently from the tips of my breasts and the one through my nose.  They caught the light as I turned.  It had been a week and a half since the piercings and I still was not used to the sight.  The inside of my right leg burned.  Stiffly, I reached down and parted myself there to look at his mark of ownership.  Much of the crusty black was gone now, the moist pink underneath freed of any cooked debris...he had cleaned me there while I was unconscious. 

 

I gently felt the rings through my tits, then cupped my breasts and cradled them in both hands.  They were tender, feeling much warmer than the rest of me.  There was no seepage now from where I'd been pierced, but I knew they were still infected---I needed to continue the antibiotics for a little while longer.  I was still incredibly sore from the beating he'd given me and my insides hurt.  When I first staggered to the bathroom after my beating, I discovered my urine was a dark brown color.  He'd bruised my kidneys. 

 

That was the last time that I overtly and aggressively challenged his mastery.

 

***

 

It's been over a week and a half since I took his collar, three days after my beating.  He seemed less angry now as I began my formal training.  He told me what would be involved; how to walk, how to talk, how to look at him or any other man, and more importantly, how not to look at another man.  How to serve him food and how not to bring him a drink; both tiptoes and clenching.  How to put on makeup and what is too much or not enough, how he likes my hair and what are my best colors.  Not one facet of my life seemed too small for him to have either an opinion or a demand.

 

***

 

I was lying in my bed facing the wall.  "OK, you rebellious whore.  We do it my way tonight," I heard from behind me.  I could barely move, but rolled over anyway and looked up to find his cock staring me in the face.  I didn't know what he meant, we always did it 'his way'.  "Lick it, baby.  Get it nice and wet, the wetter it is, the less it gonna hurt," he said to me with obvious satisfaction.  Full of fear, tongue suddenly dry, I opened my mouth and obeyed.  I began to use my tongue on his purple shiny knob, and although my mouth was dry as the Mohave desert, I worked up all the saliva I could and soon his cock was wet enough for him.

 

I felt myself being rolled over and my hips lifted, then suddenly he slammed into me from behind.  He had me on all fours and I was mounted like a dog, taken from behind like I was a bitch in heat.  He plunged into me like a mad man, grunting and panting like a dog.  The shock of his attack was wearing off.  I shook my head and screamed, then began to struggle.  I fought, wiggled, tried to crawl forward to get away from him. 

 

His huge cock was penetrating my vagina deeper than any man had ever before.  He was hurting me so much that I screamed and bucked and fought him.....but nothing could save me.  His hand went around my neck and pressed from the side.  Suddenly, I felt weak, and nothing mattered anymore; it was all I could do was stay on all fours.  He rammed into me until he suddenly pulled back on my hips and jammed himself up against my cervix.  I felt him begin to cum inside me.  A huge, burning hot gush of sperm filled my vagina, then squirted back between the ravaged walls of my pussy and his erection.  But nothing seemed urgent to me.  I felt weirdly lethargic and I was dimly aware of my thoughts; this can't be happening.  My God, why me?  I'm going to be pregnant.

 

I heard faint squirting and gurgling sounds as it flooded out of me.  My body hurt everywhere and I'd almost passed out from the pain, remaining on my hands and knees only because of his tight grip on my hips.  Then I felt wonderful relief as he slowly pulled his throbbing, still hard cock out of my bleeding vagina.  I collapsed on the bed, but he still kept my hips raised in the air.

 

***

 

I looked down on the limp, semi-conscious cunt-bitch.  As I held her up by her hips with my left hand, I looked at her pussy.  I looked at the wet-pink, gaping hole as cum and pussy juice leaked out and ran down the inside of her thighs.  Then I looked at her gorgeous ass and thought to myself, why not?  Every other part of her body belonged to me too.  Why not this too?  And she deserved it.  My cock was still slick from her pussy, so I slowly moved until my re-hardening tool just about touched my slut's rear door.  I stroked myself and waited until the anticipation of the next fuck had me hard....then using my right hand as a guide, I lunged forward.  My cock slammed into her wrinkled rosy-brown hole, and opened it until there was nothing but a tight pink circle stretched around the head of my circumsized rod. 

 

I was only partially inside Rebecca when she went berserk.  My left hand was wrapped around her belly and I grabbed a handful of hair with my right.  Even though she continued fighting me, it was easy to dominate her with these points of control.  She had a tight hole and I knew I was hurting her.  She scrambled wildly beneath me, pawing at the sheets in an attempt to get away from what she  knew I was trying to shove inside her.  Finally, I'd had enough of her violent resistance and with one move of my hips, I drove Rebecca off of her knees and flat on her belly.  As she hit the mattress, I continued driving with my hips and pushed even harder, finally popping through the cunt's sphincter and ramming myself up her ass, burying all 8 inches of wrist thick cock in her rectum.  I had drilled her ass totally, completely, absolutely. 

 

Rebecca's head snapped up and a blood curdling scream ripped through the White Room.  I held on tight as she bucked and fought, clawing the bed like mare in heat as she tried her best to escape the burning, ripping pain in her ass.  It must have felt like she was being raped by a baseball bat.  I was sheathed in heaven up to my nutsack, and while my new playmate may still dispute my right to occupy her body for a little while longer, there was nothing she could do now to stop me.  She could react, but not prevent.  She screamed again and her arms and legs flailed about as she tried to gain purchase on the bed and climb back up on her hands and knees in order to buck me off. 

 

I could hear myself grunting as I lunged into her hyper-stretched anus again and again.  I'd already cum once, so we both knew she was in for a long ride this time.  Rebecca screamed and struggled for five minutes, but I easily controlled her bruised and beaten body.  I kept my weight balanced on her back and Rebecca's struggles eventually grew weaker and weaker.  After four or five minutes, the pain must have lessened or she was exhausted, because I was able to take everything I wanted.  I was in ecstasy, but Rebecca's only reactions now were a few gasps or groans.  A shudder would run through her body every now and then after a particularly vicious or deep push into her rectum. 

 

She begged and cried, but I felt no mercy---I WANTED her this way.  All she could do at the end was lower her sobbing eyes onto her folded arms and let me have my way with her---as if she could have stopped me anyway.  Her head snapped up once again as she gasped in pain.  I could feel her rectal muscles involuntarily strain as they tried to expel me.  This last was too much for me and I slammed into Rebecca's sweet buttcheeks and began to pump one last load of sticky, honey thick cum inside her body.

 

At the end, I lay panting on Rebecca's sweaty back.  She lay stiffly with her forehead resting on her left forearm as she sobbed softly.  When I finally had my breath back, my shrinking cock had already slid out of her still tight asshole.  I wanted her to know how much I had appreciated her offering.  I leaned down and pulled the hair away from her neck and kissed her softly, tenderly, gratefully.  Rebecca shook her head weakly, trying to deny me any satisfaction I might have obtained from her body.  But we both knew she belonged to me now. 

 

I was finally sated.  At least for tonight.

 

***

 

I lay on the bed afterwards and all I could think was, how dare he?  How dare he do these things to me? 

 

And here he was again.  What was it, ten or fifteen times that he'd raped or sodomized me?  Twenty?  Thirty? 

 

You bastard, you seem to enjoy this.  You about killed me this time.  You’ve gotten better at keeping me your captive, at working me through your training.  You clearly don't want me.  You want a caricature of me.  No more, I told me.  No more would I cooperate in any way.  In the thundering silence of my mind, I told myself time after time that I'd yield to no more physical coercion, physical or sexual blackmail would no longer be a threat.  But you've changed somehow.  A week or ten days ago, I could fool you with my “cooperation”.  But not now---somehow you’ve learned, you know me too well.  Even so, I warn you, by God.  You'd better take me seriously.  One day you'll forget to cover yourself, or to restrain me tightly enough, or lock enough of your locks to stop me.  And when that happens, you'll find out what a sneaky, devious bitch I can be.  But for now, I have to go along with your game.  But I warn you, let me get free once and you'll not be sleeping too well afterwards.

 

I'd said nothing to him, nothing aloud.  I felt sick to my stomach with my looming defeat.  Stop kidding yourself, I screamed inside.  Somehow, even then, I knew I was whistling in the dark as I walked past the death of my future, my hopes, my dreams.

 

***

 

It was the weekend and she was still suffering from my beating.  I continued boxing Rebecca during the day and training her at night.  Part of it was professional; I knew she still ached everywhere, but I had no sympathy.  It might have seemed merciless to some, but she needed the discipline.  And part of it was practical; I had her on the ropes and couldn't afford to give her time to recover. 

 

I noticed that by now the stubble had grown out to an alarming degree on her body, so I ordered her to shave the next morning when showering after her morning workout.  I shouldn't have had to do this...but it was one of her less subtle ways of fighting me.  As Rebecca assumed a submissive posture in front of me after exercise and her shower, but before being fed breakfast the next morning, I ran my hands over her body in the asexual way that a furrier might use to check out a horse after he’d shoed it.  It was then that I discovered that her legs, underarms and between her legs were grained like coarse sand on a beach...she said she'd forgotten.

 

Ordering her to stand at attention, I walked behind her and without warning put Rebecca in a painful wrist lock that forced her up on her toes.  She cried out once in surprise and pain, but said nothing.  I asked her why she had disobeyed me; she just closed her eyes and just shook her head; we both knew there was no satisfactory explanation.  Realizing this, she finally begged me for my forgiveness; it would never happen again, she promised.  But I frog-marched her over to the equipment corner and handcuffed her wrists behind her back.  Once she was bound, I removed her slave collar and replaced it with a heavy, three inch wide punishment collar made from thick leather.  This collar forced her chin up and reduced head movement to a fraction of normal.  Next, I clipped a thin chain to her left breast ring and ran it up through her nose ring.  I pulled it tight enough that her chin was forced down firmly against the punishment collar and then clipped it to her right breast ring.  Eyes tearing in pain, she stood absolutely still waiting for me to finish.  She was a beautiful sight; chin down against the discipline collar, the tips of both breasts pulled up slightly by the chain that went through her nose ring. 

 

Once I knew that she had accepted her new collar, I dragged the beautiful woman over by the door that led to the outside patio.  Here I had leaning against the wall a three by three foot square plastic tray with one-inch wide turned-up edges.  I was sure that she'd noticed the tray, but I'd given her little opportunity or incentive to explore and she apparently had thought nothing of it.  I pushed her to the side and laid the tray on the floor.  As she faced the wall, I picked up the small plastic bag had been on the floor behind the tray and emptied about half a pound of uncooked white rice onto the tray.  I then grabbed the woman by her hair and after I positioned her with her back to the corner, I forced her to kneel on the rice. 

 

She gasped in pain and began a weak struggle to get to her feet.  Taking care to not rip out her nose ring, I grabbed her hair and forced her to her knees again.  As she continued to fight me, I lifted my hand to slap her face; she closed her eyes and quickly stopped struggling.  If I'd slapped her with the taut chain going through her nose ring and then to her breasts, it probably would have torn the ring right through her nose cartilage.  When no blow came, Rebecca finally opened her eyes and looked beseechingly at me.

 

As I looked at her face, I could see her eyes tearing up again.  Christ, she had turned out to be a weepy woman.  “Now,” I said.  “Learn to obey.  You act like you’re a volunteer in this and can quit any time, but I warned you---you gave up everything when you walked through that door.”

 

Now my tone became more commanding.  “Put your knees together.  Tighter!” I finally yelled as she slowly complied, her face wincing as her knees scraped over the loose rice.  “This is for not shaving.  And this is how you'll always find yourself when you need….the lighter punishments.  Always.  Is there anything about this that you don’t understand?” I asked. 

 

Since her escape attempt, I had increased my discipline over minor infractions.  She was a tough bitch and I knew that her first tears were not from pain---not much yet anyway, but rather more from anger and frustration; and the humiliation of being treated like a young child.  She couldn't know yet that once I'd moved past my initial anger at her stupidity of a few days ago, I valued her as an object with great potential; but currently possessing the abilities of a novice, at best.  And although she was of magnificent promise, she still was nothing but feminine flesh that needed to be shaped and trained and guided—one whose previous beliefs and values needed to be completely exposed before I could replace them with something that was more pleasing to me. 

 

And yet…..and yet she needed to be protected at the same time.  Even as I used the legitimate authority and control I had usurped to critique the ‘old’ Rebecca, allowing me to softly remove the thickly armored layers of her mind's defenses one thin rind at a time, I also hoped to gently awaken the potential of which she was unaware.  This, of course, was until she pissed me off.  Then all bets were off until I was cool again.

 

She had no way of knowing that as her Top, I had originally planned on keeping her on her knees for about fifteen minutes as a first-time punishment.  I knew that the rice was a little uncomfortable; a superficial pain at first, one that initially didn’t seem too bad.  I also knew that it would in a short time assume an almost delicate, yet superbly intense level of pain that was suitable for training even the most obstinate woman without serious injury.  It all depended upon her attitude.

 

***

 

I looked at him from a distance and a rogue wave of childish, un-ironic longing for my old life suddenly welled up in me, rushing over me from I didn't know where and swamping me with melancholy before I was ready for it.  God, what was wrong with me?  All at once, I was overcome with by self-pity---I was just embarrassed, but I couldn't stop it, I just had to let it happen.  Empty tears washed down my cheeks.  For the past few months with my husband and my job, it had seemed like time was standing still, but now it was rushing past me with gale-force speed, like the wind from an atom bomb that tore down everything and whirled the pieces off to parts unknown, palm trees, roof tiles and all.

 

In the days and weeks and months to come, I would look back at these earliest moments of my new life.  I would remember the quality of the light in the White Room, the copper metallic taste of blood in my mouth from where I'd bitten the inside of lip, the full blossom of pain my breasts; I would wonder how different things might have been had I made the harder choice to face the freezing rain that night, rather than stay.  If I had played my life by the rules and not thought that I could do anything I wanted.

 

I shook my head silently in answer, openly crying now as I knelt on the rice.  The pain had become exquisitely intertwined with every bone and muscle in my body.  How could this hurt so much?  Why was this happening to me? I asked myself.  I wasn’t a bad person….I'd done some things that I sincerely regretted, but hadn’t we all?  I’d drank a lot when I was younger, but I'd only been drunk a few times in the last seven years.  I didn’t do drugs anymore except for Extra Strength Tylenol when I had especially bad period cramps.  I knew that I was intelligent and probably a little smarter than the average.  I knew that I was pretty and not beautiful, and that I liked small animals, especially cats.  In other words, I felt I was pretty normal; so why me?  Why had he picked me?  My whole future hung like a dead weight around my neck, dragging me downward.  I had so much more left to experience----why was it that MY life had to be over and not someone else's?  I only had one life to live, and I wanted it to be---it had to be something else, something other than this.  Terror surged inside me.

 

I couldn't let him see how close he was to winning.

 

***

 

She was learning, but I needed still more from her.  My head hurt; it felt as if someone were sawing it in half from the inside.  I pushed the pain to the back of my mind and focused on function.  I was still angry.  I needed to finish getting her on the bed, then get the equipment ready.  I was going to hurt her for the next couple of hours and looked forward to seeing how she took it.  The two inserts and the air tank, they all promised an enjoyable evening.  In only another couple of minutes, she was finally ready; bound and exposed the way I wanted.  The evenings' entertainment was about to begin and I was feeling pretty fucking functional again.

 

The rice punishment had only worked for a few minutes; she'd quickly become her old feisty self again and things had become a little physical when I put her on the bed.  The right side of her face was red and might bruise.  The back of my right hand hurt where I'd had to backhand the bitch to get a little cooperation.  I sucked on my knuckles.  I was a little pissed it'd gone this far and felt a subtle satisfaction in what I had in store for her.

 

I got a lot of pleasure using the old low-tech ways; tried and proven over thousands of years.  But I had to admit, some of the newer equipment opened up totally new avenues for fucking the ladies.  I called these two beauties Hector and Manuel, the “air pimps.”  They were air pimps because they ran on air and once they had a woman, they owned her ass.......body AND soul.

 

***

 

The chain running from my nipples through my nose ring was gone, but it was still difficult to breathe because of my position.  I wanted to be angry, but it had happened too quickly and I hurt too much.  My hips were in agony.  I was naked and bent double.  I'd fought him until he hit me and almost knocked me out.  My wrists and elbows were tied below my hips to the sides of the bed and my feet had been forced up by my ears then spread wide before being tied to the bed frame.  I was helpless, my buttocks raised off the mattress and my vagina open and exposed; offered to the world as if in some sort of pagan ritual. 

 

I shook my head in horror.  He held a black rubber cone in his hand that was about five inches long and maybe two and a half inches thick at the widest end.  From there it narrowed to a thin flexible looking neck that was about one and a half inches in diameter, then widened out again to a flat looking base plate that was over three inches in diameter.  It sort of resembled an arrow-head except that it was blunt on the thick end and it was connected to a thin flexible line or hose that had a metal connection and small gauge on the end.  The oddly disturbing shape glistened with lubricant in the blindingly sterile light; the thoughts of what he might do filled me with fear.  But nothing stopped him as he moved smoothly to my hips and began to press it into my rear-end.

 

In horrified understanding, I tried to fight him.  I tried to wiggle my hips and said through my clenched teeth, “No.  NO.  You can't do this---I forbid it!  Noooo!”

 

He looked at me quickly, then started laughing.  “There are some things you need to learn before we go much further.  Your ass is mine and I can do anything I want to you.  Two; you are a fucking mobile vagina, created specifically for my use.  Finally, I don't always have a reason for doing something.  I do some things because I like to watch my women handle the mind-fucks I give 'em.”

 

“This,” he said as he continued working on me, “is how we catch our breath between acts.  No more training for now.  Enjoy.”  He looked at me and smiled.

 

Sweat was running down my face as I panted for air.  My breath hissed through my clenched teeth as I begged him, “God.  Not that.  It's too big, it's too big.  Please, I beg you not...ughhhh...aaahhhHHHH!”  My begging quickly turned to moans and a final cry of pain.  The continuous pressure he applied was quickly sufficient as my already stretched and wearied anal sphincter struggled for less than ten seconds before it completely accepted everything he offered. 

 

I know I howled as my anal ring stretched as it accepted the monster's fat end; my screams were heartfelt and came from deep within my belly.  Then there was some relief as the plug was pushed deeper inside me, allowing my sphincter to clamp down around the more narrow neck of this hideous thing. 

 

But somehow it wasn't really me that had this inside her body.  It must have been some other unlucky woman; please God, let this be a dream---let it be another woman.  My prayers remained unanswered; this man was doing terrible things to me all over again.  The feeling in my bowels remained distant, yet immediate.  Far over-distended......I was his ass-candy; I knew what it meant now and it was a violation with which I'd become intimately acquainted.  I felt the familiar onset of abdominal cramping, the never-ending, incredible heaviness that heralded the need for an impending massive bowel movement.  My body wanted to, needed to push this thing out of me, but my sphincter had locked onto it and refused to part again.  I bucked with my hips once as I tried to move, but it hurt too much to do a second time. 

 

“It's too much, too soon.  Please, no more.  Please,” I begged him.

 

He just smiled as he reached down and picked up another black rubber piece.  His voice tried to be reassuring as he said, “You'll learn to like it; you'll get used to it.  Trust me. ”

 

“Come on......relax,” he smiled as he showed me what he held.  It looked like a hard black rubber sausage.  It was about five inches long and perhaps two inches wide; like the first piece, it too had a plastic tube that ran from one end and which ended in a metal connection and small gauge.  It too glistened in the light with lubricant; he leaned over, separated my labia to expose me and began pushing it into my vagina.  It felt huge and I tried to clamp myself tight against him, but it hurt my rectum too much; it was no use fight him.  He always won.  God, it never did any good fighting him.

 

He ignored me, never looking at me as he efficiently worked on my pelvis, always looking down at his task, manipulating me, opening me.  He'd greased his second tool enough that with his fingers separating me, it went inside easily and disappeared.  I looked down my belly in horror at the plastic tubing that exited my vagina, then snapped my head back and closed my eyes as I prayed for a second. 

 

I began begging him again.  “Please.  Master.  It doesn't have to be this way.  I'll be good.  I promise I'll obey you.” 

 

He ignored me as he lifted a small tank of compressed air onto the bed by my side.  Furious now, I began to rave and rant at him; a move I came to regret.  My life was like this now, almost schizophrenic in the emotional extremes I visited one after another.  Docile and submissive one second, furiously screaming threats at him the next, not caring what he did to me.

 

“You bastard.  You crazy, fucking bastard.  I'll see you in jail for a hundred years for this.  Let me go, you fucking maniac.”

 

The air tank had a rubber line running from it that ended in a Y, two separate lines; each with its own metal ending.  Ignoring my ranting, he methodically began connecting the two rubber hoses that ran from my body to his container of compressed air.  I ranted and raved as he did this, but for him it was like I didn't exist.  Finally ready, he turned a small valve on the tank and then the valve by the gage that connected the line to my vagina.  I could hear the sound of hissing air and suddenly feel the rubber bladder inside me begin to come to life.  It writhed, then felt like it turned somehow inside and began to expand. 

 

“Soon,” he smiled, “you're going to feel like grenades have just gone off in your pussy and your ass at the same time.”

 

“Oh God, no.  No!”  I clenched my jaw and shook my head.  “No.”

 

Finally, it was beyond my control.  I screamed as I felt the muscles of my vagina begin to fight back against the foreign body now filling me from the inside.  I began struggling on the bed, but the way he'd tied me ensured I remained helpless.  I finally had to stop fighting just to breathe again.  The hiss of pressurized air in motion continued however, and it had only one place to go---inside me.  I could feel the rubber changing once more as the compressed air gave birth to a new shape; in my shocked mind, it went from the size of a tennis ball to suddenly feeling like a bowling ball had somehow been pushed inside me.  But the flow of air continued and the rubber bag changed shape once again; the maximum length of what felt like six or seven inches had been reached and now it began to expand in diameter.

 

My mouth open in a silent scream, I lay bound on the bed in shocked silence as he stopped the flow of air and then gently, almost tenderly began to untie my ankles from the terribly uncomfortable position in which I'd been bound.  My wrists and elbows were still tied to the bed, but I could finally  breathe.  He carefully lowered one leg, then the other onto the mattress and gently straightened them out a little.  I had to keep my knees raised and spread wide just to accommodate the pain his massive toys caused between my legs.  There was no way I could close my legs, not with what he'd pushed into my body. 

 

This can't be happening, I thought to myself.  This can't be real; it's wrong, its just not fair.  Uncaring, he went back to the valve and opened it again. 

 

“Enough.  ENOUGH!  That's too much already.  Stopstopstop.”  I couldn't help myself; I squealed in pain as I felt my vaginal muscles gripping the rubber ball, grappling with it, fighting it, but still yielding ever so slowly to its inexorable expansion.  It felt like my pelvis would explode.  I couldn't take anymore; I arched my back and shut my eyes as I inhaled, then screamed as loud and long as I could. 

 

He just started laughing......then gave me more air.  The thing inside me was enormous now.  It would literally rupture me if it grew any further.  I was speechless, gasping like a fish in the bottom of a boat.  He finally shut the air off and looked at me for what felt like an hour, but was probably only a minute.

 

“That my lovely Little Slave, is how it feels to have a man's fist inside you.  You're going to learn to appreciate so many more new sensations now that we're together.”

 

He now switched his attention from the line that came out of my pussy to the one that ran out of my butt.  As he turned the valve open on that line, I could feel the thing inside my rectum begin to grow.  It become longer, much longer and thicker.  I screamed and screamed in agony as it expanded.  The neck my anal ring had grabbed, the thing that had seemed so huge before, now felt tiny by comparison with what filled my bowels.  Room for this monstrosity didn't exist inside me; I knew he would rupture me.  My pelvis had already been on the verge of cracking open, no human woman could contain both of these things inside her.

 

I think I must have passed out for a second.  When I came to, my vagina still  felt huge, swollen; but he must have let out some of the air.  For even though it was tender with a pain that radiated from center of my belly, I didn't have the feeling of immanent rupture that I'd had before.

 

I panted for air as I looked at him incredulously; he looked into my eyes for a second and I could see that his pupils were huge, making his eyes look almost black.  I felt I was looking into the eyes of a shark; the perfect predator, a primitive organism that had no sense of right or wrong, no feelings of mercy, just a need to do what it did---survive. 

 

Finally, he leaned over and touched my belly.  I thought I could actually see where this thing was pushing up against my abdominal wall.  He put his hand on me and pushed lightly.  The sensations were indescribable; horrific pain in my vagina, a bloated sense of pressure and terrible pain in my rectum as both rubber pieces vied for room in spaces that were not meant to accommodate either.  I know that he took pleasure in my shocked expression, for he slowly smiled.  Finally, he moved away from my belly and a tiny sense of relief washed through me.

 

I raised my head and looked at him in what could only be horrified wonderment as he picked up my left foot and rubbed my calf and the inside of my knee.  Then he leaned towards me as he caressed my arch and put the sole of my foot against his cheek.  In one of those memorably odd moments of perception when your mind is under total stress, I noticed how the nail polish I wore showed beautifully against his skin.  I desperately wanted to kick him in the face, but I couldn't move my legs.  I literally felt paralyzed from the waist down from what he'd just done.  He looked confidently down on me.  He'd been too smooth, too quick.  He'd developed this expertise over time with many other women; how to give me just exactly enough air to make my legs and hips feel helpless, powerless to move, but not so much he caused permanent damage.

 

Suddenly, he kissed the sole of my foot, then my toes.  Finally, he put my big toe in his mouth and began sucking on it softly.  He took my toe out of his mouth only long enough to reach down and turn a final valve.  Then he began to work on my toes again as he caressed my ankle and calf.

 

“I'm a leg man,” he said.  “I like my women to take care of their feet.  I like sexy feet.  I want your skin soft, your nail polish always perfect.  I expect continued maintenance.  Is this going to be an issue?”

 

I shook my head wildly as I guaranteed my cooperation.  I felt suddenly exhausted after I'd laid there for another minute.  I could feel the thing in my vagina getting smaller as air hissed free.  But it didn't matter, the lassitude came on in an instant and floored me, like I'd been idiotic enough to turn my back to the ocean and had ended up getting flattened by a twelve-foot curl of breaking indolence.

 

Soon, my pussy felt almost empty, even though it was still full of this monster's loathsome thing.  It was only by comparison to what I had felt before that I could feel so hollow and barren now.  But at the same time, the terrible thing in my bowels seemed to be growing even larger.  I began crying as it reached a point where I knew my intestines would begin to rupture; there was nothing I could do.  I was helpless, paralyzed.  He never said a word, just looked down on me with a small smile as he caressed and kissed my foot, then sucked softly on my toes.

 

With a mechanical click, everything seemed to reverse.  With a hiss of free air, the thing in my rectum began to get smaller, while the rubber bag in my vagina began to grow again.  The thing grew and grew until I screamed my pain and frustration.  I felt so small, so worthless.  This man was using me as his toy; my only value in life was to be used as another's plaything.  Helpless; hands tied to my side, my legs paralyzed, my hips feeling like they would explode into a million pieces, all I could do was lay on the bed with my legs spread wide, soaking up the incredible pain he gave me and watch him make love to my foot.

 

The huge thing filled my vagina for about thirty seconds, then with a hiss, the whole procedure reversed itself.  Air began to escape from the line that ran to my pussy, while air under pressure was driven into the bag that filled my rectum.  I was inundated, awash with sensations.  The incredible filling, ripping pain shifted back to my bowels one more time.  This too lasted about thirty seconds, before it switched again with that awful, metallic click.  He caressed me for almost ten minutes as this went back and forth, whipsawing my body between the two extremes.  Even half a minute's relief was enough to discover that the pain upon renewed assault was fresh, ripe, original.  I screamed anew with each change, each outrage assuming a searing immediacy that blotted out any memory of the one that had preceded it.  As a woman, there was no way to fight this, it was irresistible.  I prayed for the release of unconsciousness, but even in this he won; awareness never left my tortured body.

 

Towards the end, he switched to my other foot.  He never said a word, just caressed me and kissed me, sucking softly as he watched my face.  I learned to dread the mechanical click that announced my current torture was finished and I was about to meet an old friend again.  I began to count the seconds between each period under my breath, trying to make my mind focus on something other than the things he did to me.  I think he realized that my mind had finally gone into a gray zone where the pain existed, but it existed for some other poor woman, not me.  He finally put my right foot down and turned the machine off when my vagina was filled.  He picked up my left foot again and suckled for a second.

 

“That,” he said, “is what it feels like to be fisted in the ass and pussy at the same time.  It's an incredible feeling, I've been told.  Incredible.”  He seemed to roll that last word around his mouth as he said it.  Savoring it, measuring it; measuring the understatement it represented.

 

Still gasping for air and covered in sweat, I said bravely, if foolishly, “I'd love to introduce you to the reality.  Once I can move, I'd be more than glad to help you feel it.”

 

He laughed, “That's not for me to experience.  Unfortunately however, you aren't done.”

 

I tried to move and failed.  My hips felt as if they had somehow been operated on; my pelvis felt oddly numb, yet fragile and terribly sensitive at the same time, resisting any attempt I might make to move as if I were now wrapped in layer after layer of bandages. 

 

“You've never had a child, have you?  Well here's another new sensation.”  Then he pushed my knees further apart as he said, “Come on Little Slave, your pussy's full, so push it out.  We'll be done with this when you push it out onto the bed.”

 

I was helpless, thighs spread wide apart, totally exposed to his gaze and knowing for the first time the feeling of total domination by a man.  I hated feeling like this.  I hurt too much for this to feel erotic in any way.  But I knew I was this maniac's personal sex toy, lying on my back in this position, paralyzed legs spread wide, open, wanton, giving him an unwilling display. 

 

He took my toe out of his mouth and said, “I am not kidding, woman.  Push on it ; push it out of you.”  I was incredulous.  The thing he'd put inside me felt like it was the size of watermelon right now and he wanted me “......to push it out?”  If I hadn't been in so much pain, it would have been funny.  I laid my head back on the mattress and tried to blink away my tears and the sweat that was running into my eyes.  I licked my dry lips again.  He didn't seem to be in any rush; I know he was enjoying what he was doing to me.

 

He put my foot down and grabbed the air line that ran from my vagina.  He tugged on it once softly, then grabbed it and gave a strong steady pull.  It felt like he was pulling my insides out through my vagina.  I screamed again at the pain I felt ripping at my vaginal muscles. 

 

“STOP!  Ican'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan't”  I was huffing for air.  My hands were writhing in their bonds and my body was suddenly drenched in sweat.  My pierced nipples stood erect as thrills of terror ran down my spine; I was a mess.

 

“I'm begging you.  Stop.  I'll try, but just let me catch my breath.  Please, just a second; that's all I ask.  Please.”

 

He stopped pulling on this thing and looked at me with a smile.  He was enjoying toying with me, having me in this position, open and dominated, unable to do anything to stop him.  After a minute, I lifted my hips as best I could and began to strain against the monstrous vaginal bag that plugged the inside my body.  I clenched my teeth and pushed.  I know I howled in pain as my rectum expanded as I pushed; it was attempting to expel the black rubber monster that had invaded it too.  I had to stop; I needed air, I had to breathe again.

 

I looked at him as sweat ran down my forehead into my eyes.  He looked back between my legs and shrugged his shoulders, “Nothing.  Nothing but tight, beautiful flesh.  Push.”

 

After two quick breaths, I clenched and pushed again.  My body was arched and my neck muscles straining.  It felt like what I imagined giving birth must feel like, except here I was pushing with my vagina and my ass.  Finally, I had to stop again.  He took a long look and said, “I see a little rubber, woman.  A little black's showing.  Come on, you can do it.”

 

I lay there panting for a moment, then he reached down and let a little more air out of the bladder that filled my vagina.  Just enough that I could definitely tell the difference in size.  Then he began to pull on the black air line that ran out of my vagina as he said, “Come on.  You know you want it out.  Push, bitch.  Don't make me do all the work.” 

 

Suddenly fearful that he would stop helping by pulling on the bag, I arched and pushed again.  I was screaming as I strained.  I could tell that it was coming out.  God, it was HUGE!  It hurt so much!  My abdomen was cramping and my flesh was tearing.  It felt like a Mack truck was pushing my labia apart as his monstrosity finally parted the lips of my pussy and began its journey to freedom.  Even though it hurt terribly as it stretched the entry to my vagina, I had to stop to breathe again.  I heard myself moaning, but I couldn't stop. 

 

It felt like I was close to success.  I took one final breath and held it as I arched my back and gritted my teeth.  I pushed with all my might as he pulled.  It felt like the monster was made of concrete, but I know the rubber must have had some give, because suddenly it was out!  It didn't look nearly as large as it felt; but it was still huge.  My vagina ached and throbbed; it felt torn and stretched.  But at least the abdominal cramps were slowly going away.

 

It was then that I realized how much my anus hurt.  I'd been straining with my rectum as much as my pussy, but the thing that blocked me in the rear was immovable.  It had almost come out; I was sure of that.  But at the end, I'd run out of strength and my body had pulled it back and locked it into its original position.

 

He looked at me with a smile as he put his vaginal toy away.  Then he spread my knees and reached down under my hips and began tugging on the end of the anal plug.  He put his hand on my pelvis and told me to “relax,” as he began pulling and suddenly it came free with a slurping sound.  God, it felt heavenly to have those things outside of me.

 

I hurt everywhere.

 

I wanted back in my box.  It had become a place of comfort, rather than being a punishment.  But instead, he made me sleep on the bed.

 

***

 

I was woken from a dead sleep.  It was early morning and I lay on my bed, right wrist bound to the bed.  I'd been woken from a dead sleep by a slap to the face.  Before I knew what had happened, he'd pinned my left wrist with his right hand and begun choking me with his left.  I tried to struggle, but it didn't do any good.  My eyes were bulging and I needed air.  Just before I passed out, he stopped choking me enough that I could breathe just a little.  I was scared to death of his unpredictableness, but I was slowly learning that often the erratic behavior he displayed was my fault.  He told me over and over that I couldn't do anything right and brought this anger down on myself---I deserved this, he said.  Then he started berating me.  It was my fault this time.  I'd been told time and time again to sleep with my legs spread wide, learning to always make myself available to whichever man I happened to be with. 

 

His punishments happened time and time again.  God, he angered and scared me at the same time.  But I soon learned this lesson well.  Eventually, it became just as ingrained as sitting primly erect with my knees together.

 

***

 

Not quite two weeks now and more than ever I realized that Rebecca was a woman that needed to be motivated to do her best.  She still fought her training in a multitude of tiny clever ways, claiming that she had misunderstood my commands, thus allowing me little rational recourse.  She rebelled in stupid ways by openly ignoring my demands and forcing me to punish her.  Tonight she was to be punished for one of her more stupid moves.

 

Ginger figging is something that I’d wanted to do to a woman for a long time.  I'd not however, possessed a woman with the appropriate potential ‘appetite’ until I'd collared Rebecca.  At the same time, I'd quickly discovered from the beginning that she was not particularly comfortable with anal games---not yet anyway.  This was why the chair had been so effective in the beginning at breaking her down. 

 

And so I prepared; I've studied this and found that a few in the past have claimed figging was only an anal discipline during Victorian times.  But others have claimed that in addition to ensuring feminine restraint and obedience, figging also guaranteed the utter humiliation of a woman, preventing the clenching of her buttocks while being either caned or birched.  I didn’t know what the truth of the matter might be, but I was willing to experiment with the volatile oils of a ginger butt plug and how they reacted with Rebecca’s mucous membranes. 

 

Two evenings ago, I had purchased some uncut White African ginger root in a local holistic medicine shop.  The ginger hand was large enough to ensure a nice-sized plug, and having been grown in the West Indies, I was assured that this represented the strongest and most aromatic of the available herbs. 

 

As ordered, Rebecca was sitting naked on the side of her bed when I came in.  She was doing much better now that the infection had mostly been cleansed from her system.  Still weak, her strength was coming back slowly.  She'd just gone off the antibiotics I'd obtained, but I continued having her rub in both a topical antibiotic and a steroid to get rid of the redness and swelling.  Her breasts were doing fine, the skin was milky white again except for the faint blue spider web tracing of veins immediately beneath the surface and the two small pierced areas on either side.  There, the skin was still a little red and swollen, but it shouldn't scar up as had been my biggest fear. 

 

The beautiful Rebecca had shown few initial insecurities at being without clothing and now only reacted with a "cover" reflex when startled.  Smiling, I gave her the ginger hand; she didn't recognize it, but immediately wrinkled her nose at the strong herbal smell.  This would be delicious; she obviously had no idea of the various uses for ginger root.  Next I gave her a small paring knife with a one-inch long blade that had been purposely dulled and ordered her to trim as long a piece off of the root's "hand" as was possible; I loved the wonderful irony of having her prepare the ginger that she would later be using. 

 

She looked at me speculatively when I gave her the knife and I stared directly back into her remarkable eyes. "Think you're strong enough to try your luck, Little Slave?" I asked.

 

The impasse must have lasted about fifteen seconds before she looked away.  She was submitting to my will, but ever so slowly.  I knew that she just HAD to be scared of what she faced, but she did a good job most of the time of hiding her fear from me.  She always seemed to be able to maintain some kind of a barrier between us, using virtually anything to hide her emotions.  It would take a little while, but I knew I could break it down since the branding and the piercings had both been effective and just the beginning. 

 

She'd been a dominating, hardass woman in her previous life.  But it wasn't entirely her fault.  Many modern women are caught up in the confusion between the need to maintain control over their personal and professional lives and the inevitable loss of control necessary to maintain a relationship like the one she should have had with her husband.  In my experience, the more attractive they were, the more often they were messed up in this way.  She was the type that had viewed compromise with males as a weakness, yet no relationship like the one that she truly needed could be sustained without the push and pull that she'd refused.  Well, I smiled grimly to myself; her days of choosing were over now.

 

I'd put the ginger hand in the refrigerator the night before and it was now cooled and ready to be shaped.  Working under my direction and unaware of my ultimate goal, I had Rebecca cut the largest possible finger from the ginger, extending the cut up into the hand itself to ensure maximum length and thickness.  Rebecca’s particular Waterloo was a little over six inches long and about an inch in diameter at the thick end.  I had her remove the skin, taking care to leave none behind---I didn't want anything to get in the way of the full effect.  I wanted this thing to fit snugly into my Sub, so I told Rebecca to take her time as she sculpted the finger, ensuring that the tip at the thin end was well rounded, and that the finger was smooth and all bumps had been removed---I was sure that she would appreciate this thoughtfulness later, but said nothing at the time.

 

Up in the thicker part of the sculpture that had been the ginger hand, I now had Rebecca cut out what would be the most important part for her.  About half an inch from the thick end, I had her lightly carve into the finger a small indented one-quarter inch wide moat.  I called this ring a moat even though she would have no defenses against it.  This would be the means by which she maintained the butt plug in place---it would give her anus something to lock onto, just as the sphincter locks around the tapered portion of any manufactured butt plug. 

 

She bent over her naked lap, peeling and whittling away.  When she had a nice-sized finger carved and peeled, I took the ginger pieces and knife back without a word and headed out to the kitchen after locking her in the White Room.  It was her afternoon exercise time, and even though she was still sick, I had her stretch out a little.

 

***

 

Later that evening, I walked back into the White Room.  It was one of her few free periods and Rebecca was sitting on the edge of her bed with her legs spread wide and right foot up on the mattress; her labia pulled away from the inside of her right thigh.  She'd just finished picking newly dead skin from around her brand and was now scrubbing lightly on it with a tooth brush as I'd ordered.  The tooth brush removed the dead skin and kept the new skin pink and fresh as the brand slowly healed.  It also had to hurt like a mother-fucker. 

 

Forcing her to hurt herself like this was another way to instill discipline.  She kept her face blank as she slowly arose.  I waited patiently through her disrespect---her punishment would be coming soon.  The military have a term for what she did; "dumb insolence".  It's a way to be disrespectful, yet without saying anything that can be construed as showing a direct lack of respect. 

 

Earlier, I had planned the whole sexy thing, stockings, garter and heels, everything---hammer her ass, then fuck her brains out.  But I'd changed my mind.

 

She looked at me wearily as she got to her feet.  Even though her hair could use a brushing and her face a little makeup, she was still beautiful in an untamed, white goddess of the jungle sort of way.  I looked at her standing in front of me without apparent fear, her beautiful breasts jutting out arrogantly.  The nipple rings that I had buried so much deeper in her tits than normal gleamed in the soft light.  Her long shapely legs, tiny waist and womanly hips drew me in; she was truly beautiful.  I tossed Rebecca a pair of padded wrist cuffs and told her to put them on.  She hesitated for only a second and then put them around her wrists as I locked them together in front of her belly.

 

"You try to hide it, but you are still an arrogant, disrespectful bitch.  Even though it would be smart to try, you still make no attempt to understand the rules of your new life.  But soon you will.”  Even though I had already fucked her up pretty good, the need to exercise her free will was buried deeply inside her, and it came out in either open, fuck you---in your face disobedience or by pretending in a passive / aggressive sort of way that she didn't understand my commands. 

 

It seemed at this point that she'd not initially possessed a natural survival sense---a feeling of when to fight and when to go along.  She'd done her best to push my buttons at first and only obeyed in the end because of my superior strength.  But in just the few days that I'd had her, she'd finally begun learn the value of going along.  That, and the fact that she knew that if she fought me, she'd still be punished and her punishment would be a hundred times worse than what she had tried to avoid; we both knew that in the end, I would always have my way with her.

 

I pushed her towards the foot of the bed and ordered her to stand behind the bed's footboard.  I grabbed each of her feet one at a time and velcro'd soft ankle cuffs around her bare ankles, then fastened them to opposite bed posts.  I was kneeling in back of her when I was finished and her ass was right at face level.  I allowed her a shower every day and when I was this close, she had a clean female smell.  Although there were still a few light orange and blue bruises, her buttocks looked firm and wonderfully inviting, ready to take any punishment I had planned.  As I stood up, I reached between her legs and cupped her nakedness for a second.  Rebecca jumped as I touched her in this most intimate area, but she couldn't do much else.  Now I told her to lay down on the bed.  The only way she could do this was to drape herself over the footboard, which was exactly what I wanted.  The position was uncomfortable, but what did I care?

 

I repeated myself with a little more emphasis, "Lay down on the bed and hold your wrists out."  She hesitated for a second and I said, "You and I both know that you're going to do exactly what I tell you to do.  But if you make me force you, I'll fuck you up ten times worse.  Now lay down on the bed and hold your wrists out!"  And she did slowly.  I had a nylon strap attached to the head board.  I looped the strap around the chain that connected her wrists and velcro'd it back on itself, stretching her body taut on over the bed.  Rebecca was helpless, bent provocatively over the footboard with her legs spread wide and naked ass perched straight into the air.  Her torso had an attractive bow in it as her hips were forced into the air, but her belly still rested smoothly on the mattress.  I think that she thought I would sodomize her again.  Not tonight, Little Slave, I smiled to myself, not tonight.

 

"You don't understand that your whole life has changed.  You've acted like a spoiled child, being forced to go along on some new adventure.  But you willingly chose this life by coming through that door, even though I warned you not to.  Now you regret that decision---you resent every minute of it and you don't try to hide it.  It just stews out of you.  You don't try to hide it at all.  In fact, you seem to glory in your little perverse acts of pride and defiance.  Fine.  Well, here's the honest truth; you act like a child here and I'm going to treat you like one.” 

 

“It's a new game we're beginning right now and here are the rules.  No matter what happens, you don't get to say a word.  You have the rights of an animal, so you can grunt like an animal, but that's it.  Tonight you start to learn some discipline and you take it all without a complaint.  You say a word, I'll have to punish you.  The more you say, the more I hammer your ass as punishment.  Very simple game; very clean, elegant rules.  And everything's ultimately under your control.”

 

I waited a minute to build up the anticipation, then I walked out to the kitchen and returned with the cold, wet ginger finger she had made.  She had the left side of her face resting on the mattress, so I placed the dish where she could see it.  "You, my dear, carved this little jewel yourself.  And here's how it's going to go."

 

I walked up to Rebecca's ass with the ginger finger and spread her cheeks.  At first she didn't move, but quickly she began moving her hips trying to make it harder for me to backdoor her.  Her rim was a nicely healed soft brown pucker, since I hadn't had an opportunity to spread her there in the last few days.  I rubbed the ginger finger around her anus for a few seconds, then began pressing it into her.  She tried to stifle a gasp and began fighting and bucking. 

 

It was a beautiful wedge shape, thick at one end and nicely pointed at the other; the geometry alerted everyone that she had no chance at all.  The blunt, pointy end of the ginger soon defeated Rebecca's best efforts and disappeared.  She groaned and her hips froze, as if she were afraid to move.  "God," she moaned softly, both outrage and disgust evident in her tone.   I “Tsk'd, tsk'd” at the sound of her voice, but was rather pleased.  We both knew she'd broken rules before the fun had even started.  She knew she'd already earned an escalation in the night's games.

 

I waited about a minute and shoved it in the rest of the way, right up to the point where her sphincter locked onto the little collar she'd unknowingly carved for her own use.  Where the off-white of the ginger snugly disappeared inside her ass, it also distended and stretched her beautiful rosy-brown rim in preparation for receiving its gifts.  She made several deep grunting noises like a pig that'd just found food.  Suddenly, Rebecca went nuts, screaming and raging at me.  Then, like a clock that had run down, she stopped, and even as I watched, she began to unconsciously react to the ginger's pervasive oils.  Slowly, Rebecca began breathing harder and moving her hips in a slow, grinding circle as if she were trying to dislodge the piece I'd pushed up her ass.  Her tongue darted out in wonder and she licked her dry lips again and again.  In another minute, she was grunting and groaning in both discomfort and a profound, awful amazement.

 

I looked at her with a sad expression on my face.  She'd only said a few things, but they were enough to justify my next step.  “You knew the rules.  You'd been warned.  You said way too much.  You've been a bad girl, now you need to be punished.”

 

Rebecca was begging me continuously now, saying, "No, stop it, please.  What are you doing?  Not that!"

 

“Little Slave, I've only really spanked you one time, and that was on the board.  There've been a few other times, but nothing really bad.  And so, you think you know about spankings and being spanked.  Well, you know nothing yet.  Tonight you learn the real difference between spanking for fun and spanking for real."  I walked back into my bedroom and returned in thirty seconds with the same leather belt I'd used on her a little over a week ago.  I slapped the belt into my hand as I walked around her bare bottom. 

 

"Spanking for fun is when you get a little buzz on your skin from a few love slaps.  Maybe with a wooden paddle or a tiny leather belt or even a thin cane.  Then, after we've both gotten what we want, we play kissy face and make up a little."  I walked around her ass some more, slapping the belt into my hand several times for effect.  Every time I did this, she would jump and clench her buttocks in preparation for the first blow.  She was about ready. 

 

"But punishment spankings are a different kettle of fish altogether, my Little Slave." 

 

She cried out again, and this time fear could be heard in her voice.  But it wasn't fear of the belt.  "It's getting too hot.  It's burning me.  Please, take it out, it's getting hotter."

 

Without answering, I smiled as I stepped back to get room.  The first blow brought a scream of pain from my enslaved beauty.  She bucked and went up on her toes, and because I watching for it, I saw her cheeks clench in a protective mode.  That lasted for about thirty seconds and then she relaxed her buttocks with a soft, puzzled cry of pain.  At that exact moment, I laid another shot across her ass right on top of the red marks of the first; out of control, she screamed and bucked and clenched again.  I waited another minute and changed my position.  As I did, I counseled her on her behavior and attitude.  I was tired, I told her, of her attitude.  She must learn to accept discipline now.  Just as when she had been a child, spankings were now a part of her life again.  When she was disobedient, she would be spanked.  And it would hurt.  But when she was good, when she had earned affection, she would get that too---in the form of love play.  She would get spankings then too.  But they were, I reassured her, totally different and she would soon learn to look forward to them.  Now though, it was time to address her bad behavior.

 

And it was also time for me to address her ass again.  This time, I laid the belt along the crack of her ass going from top to bottom.  The end of the belt wrapped itself up between her legs almost to her belly.  Rebecca screamed and her body arched off the mattress, out of control now as her hips began bucking again.  Only now, she was bucking constantly, rhythmically.  I wouldn't hit her like that again for fear of breaking off the small piece of ginger that stuck out of her ass.  I knew she'd just push the rest out eventually, but I didn't want to mess with it right now.  I saw her ass clench one more time, then just as quickly relax as the burn became too great. She was crying now like a little girl, her body covered in sweat as she begged for relief from both the ginger and my belt between her sobs. 

 

It went on like this for almost ten minutes.  She was quivering all over her body and I had hit her a total of perhaps ten or twelve times.  Her buttocks were bright red and raised welts criss-crossed her firm ass cheeks. 

 

"Why are you doing this to me?  Please stop.  God.  Stop.  Please take it out!"  Her sobbing and begging was music to my ears.  The most interesting part was that while there were definite tones of revulsion in her voice, they were clearly overlain by what could only be horrid fascination at the same time.  Rebecca had no idea what was happening with the ginger; this was totally beyond her experience and she was experiencing feelings that she couldn't integrate; feeling sensations and the need to react in ways that she didn't know how to handle.

 

I'd whipped her ass pretty good, but her attention was focused on the burn from the ginger as much as on my belt.  I leaned down and ran my middle finger inside her vagina as I cupped her trembling flesh in my hand.  I knew she normally hated being touched like this when helpless, but she was....well, helpless....and could do nothing about it.  Her vagina was steaming hot and slick, soaked from what could only be pussy juice.  The insides of both thighs were wet from a love overflow.  I was a little surprised at how wet she was, but I was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.  I wasn't sure yet, but perhaps she might turn out to be one of those women that were really turned on by having a nice large piece of fiery herbal root buried in their ass when they were spanked. 

 

I continued to cup Rebecca and the smell of a pussy on fire was overwhelming, filling the air with its own distinctive musk; yes, absolutely, she was definitely one of these women.  I manipulated her clit as I cupped her again and she reacted instinctively now, grinding herself hard into my hand despite her unwillingness to actively cooperate.  I smiled to myself as I touched her.  The female clitoris is the most wondrous organ in the totality of humanity; it contains twice as many nerve endings as the male penis, the uncanny ability to produce multiple orgasms and has no known purpose other than pleasure.  And it was working overtime on my beautiful captive woman.

 

"Come on, baby.  You want me.  You need a man and you want me.  You've got an aching hole here that needs to be filled and you know you want me.  Tell me how much you want it."

 

"No," she cried out.  Then she whimpered, "Please, leave me alone.  Take it out, it's burning me.  Get it out of me, now.  NOW!  Please.  PLEASE!"

 

This was a woman with a lot of will power.  I stepped back and picked up the belt I'd laid down beside her.  "What," I asked, "have I told you to call me?"

 

"Please," she sobbed in pain and fear, "don't hit me again, Master."

 

"You," I replied, "are a little late with that, cunt."  And I laid into her with the belt again.  Forget about the psychology, forget about the training.  Suddenly, I just wanted to hurt the bitch and teach her not to play games with me.  I hit her three or four more times, really hard.  She screamed in pain with each blow and sobbed as she waited for the next.  Suddenly, I stopped.  This was wrong, beating her when I was angry.  I laid the belt down beside her and touched the Rebecca between her legs again.  She was even hotter and wetter than before.

 

"You're a slut; deep inside you know you love being spanked and you love having a man fill you.  Come on, admit it."

 

Rebecca was crying softly now, sobbing with her face buried in the mattress.  The belt had finally overwhelmed the root for the moment and she was in real pain.  But the sensations must have been almost equal in intensity, because soon she was grinding her pelvis against my hand again.  But she didn't answer me and that was wrong.  She would have to learn to always answer her master when he asked her a question.  I stood up and used the belt one time more a little more lightly than before, telling her exactly why she deserved this last blow. 

 

Then I moved back between her legs as I cupped her again and began to manipulate her engorged feminine nub.  "You want me.  You want me to fill your crack and fuck you.  Admit it, you whore."

 

I coaxed her this way for another couple of minutes, then curved two fingers and began to work her G-spot.  I counseled her to tell the truth, but she always replied with soft, sobbing words of denial, even as her hips swayed, grinding her pussy harder and harder into my hand---everything about her telling me yes, yes, yes.  Finally she couldn't take anymore and whispered something softly into the mattress.  Rebecca was a woman that would normally rather die than admit to being beaten by something like this.  I couldn't hear her so I left my position by her hips and put my ear by her mouth.  "What did you say, Little Slave?"  Rebecca hesitated for about half a minute, then with her eyes closed she whispered in a resigned tone the four little words that let me know I had won this round.

 

"Please don't hurt me," she whispered, begging and imploring me at the same time.

 

I walked back to her hips and began working her again.  First I put two fingers inside her pussy, then three and finally four.  Four fingers was about right; they filled her up pretty good and still allowed me to get inside her up to my knuckles.  With my other hand, I began to rub her clit.  She let out a wordless cry after a second.  "You know you want it from me tonight.  You are absolutely wet for me and your pussy is steaming hot; come on baby, you're breathing like you've just run a marathon.  Tell your Sir just how much you want it.  Come on, baby, you know you want it, so beg for it."

 

She remained silent so I reached down and pressed her ass cheeks together for her.  Rebecca cried out in pain. 

 

"Beg for it, baby.  And if you don't want to beg, then I'll stuff more of this shit up your ass and keep it there until you talk to me.  I figure you can take maybe one more piece of ginger, but no more."  Now I lied to her.  "And I've got two more pieces just waiting for you.  Now, beg me to fuck you, bitch."  And after a minute of silence, finally she did.

 

"I....I.....want you to fuck me."  She barely whispered this between sobs, as if by saying it so softly, it wouldn't be real.

 

"Not loud enough, woman.  Louder."

 

"I want you.....to fuck me."  This was a little better, but she still wasn't giving me what I wanted.  I needed to goad her just a little more.

 

"What do you call me?"

 

"Please, Master."

 

"Very nice, I said, "now finish it."

 

"Please, Master, I want you to fuck me."

 

"Nice Little Slave.  Very nice.  Now say it one more time like you really mean it." 

 

And she did.  She was finally there, at least for now.

 

I freed her wrists from the head board first and even though she still wore the cuffs, she immediately tried to remove the ginger from her swollen asshole.  I stopped her and then freed her ankles.  "Get on the bed, bitch."  She didn't really hear much now, but rather just reacted to what she thought I wanted.  Her face flushed with embarrassment, Rebecca wouldn't look me in the eyes as she slowly climbed on the bed and laid on her back.  She had finally stopped crying as she spread her knees and brought them up towards her chest.  This was the position that she had first taken when I had first fucked her a week ago---definite vanilla tendencies.  Give me a couple of months and she'd be a knowledgeable slut, able to anticipate whatever a man desired. 

 

Her ass must have hurt terribly from the spanking and the ginger must have still had some zing left in it, because she groaned again and closed her eyes as she waited for me with her knees spread wide.  Her naked vagina gaped moistly in this position; but even beaten as she was, Rebecca was still gorgeous.  Her labia were distended, inflamed with the need for a man (or perhaps it was because I'd hit her there with the belt) and her clit was red and turgid, swollen and hard with what could only be need.  After I looked at my beautiful slave for a moment and admired her, I tied her wrists to the head of the bed so that she was still helpless. 

 

I could feel the blood pooling heavily in the tip of my cock and I knew I was definitely ready for her.  But I wanted to torture her some more, so I began manipulating her pussy again.  She cried out at first, then finally screamed in her frustration and impatience at the need for a man, but that was part of the training.  After I manipulated her gaping, scalding hot pussy for a couple of more minutes, she was so ready for sex that she'd have fucked a dog if I'd had one in there.  Even as weak as she was from being ill, all she wanted was the pleasure of having her pussy filled and her brains fucked out.  I slowly removed the ginger from her asshole, then gently lowered her right leg and straightened it out.  I walked down to the foot of the bed and tied her ankle to the bed's footpost.  With that I turned and began to leave.

 

At the door, I took one last look at her.  She had raised her head and was looking at me in disbelief.  Tied the way she was, Rebecca could not give herself pleasure.  We both knew that she would spend the night in torment, wondering what had just happened to her. 

 

“Tomorrow,” I said, “we start your training for real.”  As I turned the light off, she gave out one piercing scream of anger and need and frustration, her still raging desire left unfulfilled.  But the best part was that we both realized that each of these were only complex overtones that covered the real emotions she was feeling---humiliation and degradation and total loss of control; we both knew  that she had just unwillingly offered me something precious---and I had refused her offer.

 

I smiled as I left.

 

***

 

I struggled for a second, but it was no use.  I lay on the bed for a couple of minutes without thinking.  He was right.  God, was he right!  All I could feel was the tremendous heat and the need between my legs.  It felt like the outsides of my vagina had swollen together, while the inner part had ballooned out, leaving me with only the throbbing ache of unfilled promise.  My clitoris was painfully erect; my inner labia had swollen with blood to the point that they spread apart my outer labia, opening me up for any man and leaving me just begging to be filled. 

 

I felt consumed.  I couldn't stop what was happening; I didn't want to.  I needed a man right now in the worst way.  Or a vibrator or anything!  I needed to be filled.  All I could think of was how desperately I wanted a man pumping me; one that I could grab and fuck like a maniac, and be fucked by a maniac in return. 

 

***

 

I lay on my back in the dark an hour later.  My hands were still cuffed to the bed, mindlessly clenching into fists and then releasing.  A woman's perception of sexual arousal was very much dependent on context, whether her brain believed it was appropriate and desired; I still didn’t understand what had just happened.  The back of my legs, buttock and lower back throbbed from his beating.  I now understood the very real difference between spanking for fun and pleasure and play, and that for discipline and punishment.  Not perhaps in a formal sense, but certainly by experience.  I immediately came to fear his punishment spankings. 

 

My rectum ached and burned like the crater of a volcano filled to the brim with molten lava.  My body tingled all over and I still felt an overwhelming sense of sexual frustration.  But I was also filled with a delicious sense of….satisfaction?  And my body somehow felt thick and encased, as if I were lying in a bed filled with blood-warm honey.

 

What.......in hell…had he…just done…to me?

 

I was an adult woman.  I was experienced in sex; I thought I knew my body.  The truth was, I'd always used my body and my sexuality to control men, but I refused to allow them to control me through my body.  I hadn’t had a real orgasm in years, not even when I had been with my husband.  I didn’t want one and those few times when I was with an experienced and sensitive lover, I refused to indulge myself.  But then this---this whatever it was---was inside me, I was helpless before it.  Time after time, like an avalanche always building, never slowing; sweeping me out of control before it, always getting bigger and hotter and ever more consuming.  I'd never had a series of orgasms like this before.  Never.  Then, when he’d taken me to the very edge, teetering on the biggest one yet, he'd abandoned me.

 

Even though he was right in a lot of ways when he called me a cunt, I also knew that when a woman allowed herself to be taken to completion, arousal and orgasm, it was a process that involved the entire person, inextricably connecting body AND my mind.  I knew the human mind received sexual stimuli from the body and based on past learning and experience, allowed the body to respond---or not.  But while able to experience sexual arousal separately, the mind and the body cannot experience orgasm separately.  Orgasm requires both the mind and body to work together.  All the sexual stimulation and arousal may originate in one or the other, but orgasm takes place in both. 

 

For me to maintain control, it had always before been important that I basked in the physical stimuli, but somehow interpreted it in a manner that while it might be sexual, it was never......sufficient.  This was the trick I used to avoid orgasm; short-circuiting one of the two essential paths of erotic stimuli.  But if this was so, then what on earth had I just responded to? 

 

In the deepest, darkest corners of my soul, I was afraid I knew.  It was the final resolution of the game I'd played with men for many years, and it was inspired by pain and loss of control---domination AND degradation.  I had never been to this man's place before he kidnapped me, but I'd been in others like it with other men that were a little like him.  But never with a man that had so totally taken control of every part of my world.  I didn't want this, and the mere thought of him having the freedom to do this to me brought tears to my eyes.  How I had gotten to this point in my life, I wasn't sure, but I knew that I had never before felt so alone and so utterly afraid.  How bad could it be?  I knew the answer now.  I looked back on the last six years with a clarity that can only be reached when the journey is over.  When you have told yourself there is no going back.  Would I ever be allowed to escape him?

 

I was exhausted.  I was drained and confused and tired of analyzing my feelings.  Now I felt a wonderful sense of warmth all over my body and all I wanted to do…was……sleep.  My rectum continued to burn for hours and it felt like something huge still resided there. 

 

I missed my husband.

 

 

A LOVE STORY, TO BE CONTINUED