“It’s over”, I told you, “So leave me alone. I don’t want to see you or talk on the phone!” Then you were a pest ’til I had no resort But to file a petition against you in court.

The judgment’s been issued to keep you away, But you’re playing dumb on the very first day. You drop by my house and you’re asking me whether I’ll do what you’re wanting and get back together!

“Look!”, I say firmly, “Get out of my house, ‘Cause you’ve seen the last of the treats in this blouse.” I add, even though you look rather defeated, “The judge gave the order, so you can just beat it!”

“What part of ‘No’ do you not understand?”, I ask while repeating the judge’s demand… “The order enforces restraint, so obey it!” You say I deserve it, so you won’t delay it!

You produce rope and I run toward the door. You capture me there, and I fall to the floor. I’m moved to the chair where you’re tying me tightly… My feet to the side and my legs parted slightly.

The judge, you are noting, demanded restraint, And you’re telling me that you have no complaint! The judge was appalled at my lack of decorum And asked you to handle this punishment for him.

You say you’re aware of my lack of perfection, And so, you are pleased to provide my correction! You tell me His Honor quite clearly instructed That I must be punished as well as abducted.

You have the OK from the magistrate’s court That my body, this evening, will serve as your sport! There aren’t any limits you have to observe, And the judge says to give me just what I deserve!

So you have approval to come in my house, And with that, you’re busy undoing my blouse. The mood of the moment’s becoming more haunting Since you have an OK to do what you’re wanting!

Now that my bust line is fully exposed, This evening’s agenda will now be disclosed. Checking a pocket, you’re set to proceed… You swear those two clothespins are all that you need!

And although we’ve played with these clothespins before, I fear that tonight, there’s a new twist in store. Several more seconds confirms I’m correct As you’re placing these clothespins right where I expect.

Since I’m a woman, I don’t need to mention How you have commanded my total attention! I get the gist of your total disdain, And, Babe, I assure you I’m feeling your pain!

- The End –

The leather mask he wore seemed to be seamless. The only breaks in the smooth black leather were slits for his eyes and holes to breathe through, no mouth. She could hear the whisper of his accelerated breathing as he bent over her prostrate, naked body.

Abigail noticed the definition of his musculature as his skin tight suit rippled with his movement. His biceps accentuated by the refraction of light as it bounced of the shiny material. Somewhat abstractly, in a corner of her mind, she thought he had to be extremely hot, trapped in the encompassing embrace of his costume.

His two accomplices were similarly dressed, but had carnival type eye masks. As with his suit, their breasts and form were there to be seen, not at all hidden by the material, but rather enhanced. The two female acolytes hovered closely, acting as aides to him, checking on her ritualistic bonds, that although were not terribly strong, served to restrain her in a classic spread eagle position over the cross shaped wooden altar. They were only in her peripheral vision, never staying in one place long enough for her to really study them. Not that she was very much interested in the two women; her attention was fully focused on him as he stepped between her parted and bound legs. Her neck was beginning to strain at trying to hold it up without support.

He had not touched her up to now; it wasn’t necessary, just the anticipation and implied threat were enough to have her quivering. The uncertainty of what was to happen, increased the nervous quickening of her heartbeat and each lungful of air was chased by another as if the first was unsatisfactory in volume.

Abigail was determined though; not to weaken and utter the agreed words that would stop the ceremony instantly. What was the word anyway? Amber, Amethyst? Something like that she thought, a semi-precious stone she was sure. Then she remembered; it was of course, her birthstone, sapphire. She committed the word to memory and then as quickly dismissed it because she had no intention of using it.

“Abigail, you can stop this at this moment or you can see it through. What is your choice?” The leather muffled his voice. She watched the mask move with the working of his jaw, but the question was clear enough for her to understand exactly what he was asking. She only nodded in answer and caught the movement out of the corner of her eye of the blonde acolyte as she wheeled a stainless steel instrument trolley to his left. “You desire the mark of your master?” Again she nodded her assent, mouth unable to form the words in the mixture of fear and excitement. Her heart beat a little harder and faster, knowing the moment was approaching quickly. “You remember the word?” Her mind wandered and distractedly, she watched the play of the strong spotlight on the shiny leather as it moved with his speech. It was as if she had switched off somewhat, a preservation of sanity perhaps, a detachment, so that she didn’t have to realize the enormity of what the change in her life would be. “Do you remember the word Abigail?” His disembodied voice sterner this time, as if not used to repeating himself. “Sapphire” She pulled the name of the stone up and repeated it to him as quickly as she could. “The next time you say that word, this will stop. You do understand that don’t you?” His voice had softened a little, but still held a timbre of authority that brooked no nonsense. “And you are prepared to wear the brand and mark of your master?” His questions seemed annoying more than anything, but she supposed he had to be sure, because once done, it was irreversible. “I understand and comply. Please mark me the sole property of my master.” It was the pre-planned and practiced response required in the ritual. She had learned the words and now repeated them verbatim. He nodded once and then turned to the instrument trolley that was within easy reach of his left hand. Idly and still in a detached corner of her mind, she wondered if he was naturally left handed. Abigail couldn’t keep her head up any longer and lay back to watch him in the mirror on the ceiling.

Her mind wandered again, remembering the time that she and Paul had met. Although it had been only eighteen months now, the time had flown in one sense and felt like a lifetime ago in another. He had entered the smoking room at the office, nervous and unsure of his new surroundings and the people he found himself in company with. First days had that effect on most; she liked his vulnerability and struck up a conversation. They had gone out for a meal or something; he was new to the area and had yet to find his bearings. She couldn’t be certain, but it was either the third or forth date that they fumbled around in bed, hardly a momentous occasion and somewhat less than memorable. It almost finished the relationship there and then, but they got to know each other and sex gradually got better. This was the story she had concocted and overlaid on the truth. It was a happier event and effectively blocked out the realities of her formative life.

It was accidental really, that they discovered her penchant for the stronger form of sex. She could picture clearly how it happened, an innocent clasping of her wrists together, above her head in one of his large hands as he pushed into her that evinced her first really devastating climax. That was all it took to set them on a voyage of discovery and truth towards the end result that was today’s ritual. They searched for and found some Sadomasochistic and bondage videos that were watched intently before copying the action, as far as possible, given the limited resources of his flat. Eventually and to take their sex to another level, they joined a private members club of like minded individuals, where almost anything went. The access to costume and equipment helped in the development of her sexual awakening and his earned mastery of her body and mind. The bond they wove was based on mutual respect for each other and a shared desire for her to blossom into fulfilment.

The club was fine, but had one drawback, as an unmarked slave; she was there to be used by anyone who wanted her and was too near her unhappy childhood. Being fucked, whipped or beaten by others had a certain thrill for both of them, but also started to drive a jealous wedge between them. They decided to explore her sexuality alone once more.

Her mind snapped back to the present, she realized she had missed nothing while she had been on her flight of memory. He picked up a cloth that was covering something on the tray of the stainless steel trolley. From her changed perspective, it was as if she were watching the preparations of a surreal operation, where the surgeon had swapped his green scrubs for leather. He laid the cloth aside, but only partially uncovered the tools of his trade below.

An attendant leather clad nurse picked up a large pair of scissor like clamps and gripped white gauze in their pointed jaws, locking the handles together on the ratcheted device. She passed them to him in his left hand that appeared to be his right in the mirror image. Disturbed, the aroma of surgical spirit pervaded the small room.

She gasped sharply at the coldness of the cloth as he wiped it over her mons, soaking her downy hair, making the dark blonde hair appear black, then it was manipulated into her vulva, cleaning and de-contaminating her sex. She watched his latex covered hands and thought, how slender they were, almost feminine with long thin fingers. The spirit stung a little at first as alcohol very often does in her most sensitive area, something she and Paul had discovered accidentally one day when he had gone down on her with alcohol in his mouth.

Her masked surgeon placed the used clamp and cloth on another trolley to his right, her left as she watched. The arrival of the trolley had escaped her, but Abigail didn’t miss the anticipatory lick of lips his attendant on that side unconsciously did. She wondered what was going through the woman’s mind and tried to imagine what the view she would have looked like.

Coldness made her gasp again and snapped her attention back to the main attraction. He was applying water from a kidney dish with another pair of clamps and a soft material that looked like cotton wool. Just as a surgeon, he held his gloved hand out and had an old fashioned soaping brush slapped into his waiting palm. He dipped it into the water and then into a soap dish, swirling it around until the bristles were laden with lather.

Carefully with a finger, he moved her labia to one side as he brushed the rich suds over her sex, taking extra care to make sure he caught the whole of her surface. Then he swapped hands and repeated the procedure, equally as careful to rub in the lather. Finally, he brushed her pubic vee and turned her dark haired pussy into white.

He held out his open palm again after placing the used brush on what was now obviously the discard side. A closed cutthroat razor was slapped into his palm. Each stage completed in practiced ease and total silence. Deftly, he flicked open the blade and turned back to Abigail’s sex. She had an irrational momentary panic that he would cut her, but it passed in a fraction of a second. Her muscles had tensed at the same time and relaxed as the panic receded.

The first pass of the cold steel removed a sliver of foam and the hair that had been worked into it leaving what looked like a scar to one side of her mons. He worked in silence, slicing of foam in sure passes, manipulating her lips to one side or the other as he removed the hair between her labia and inner thigh where leg joins torso.

Satisfied, he stood back to view his handiwork, peering through the slits of his mask to make sure all hair had been removed. Obviously from his placing the cutthroat on the discard tray, he was satisfied with the result. Abigail was not one of those who like to shave her pubic hair, preferring the natural look and the musk her sweat soaked hair produced on her fingers when she frigged herself. It was odd, looking at her recently shaved pussy in the mirror, in a way it made the experience slightly more disembodied, as if it were someone else on the cross shaped table instead of her.

Her nasal receptors registered the smell of surgical spirit as he again wiped her with a soaked swab between the jaws of yet another pair of clamps. It stung rather more this time as the spirit permeated into open pores recently exposed by the razor. She involuntarily tensed and flinched as the spirit burned. He looked up and into her eyes, watching for her reaction and pausing in his operation to see if she would yell Sapphire. Abigail raised her head and stared into his blue eyes, almost defiantly and clenched her teeth as the burning sensation slowly passed. She let her head fall back and continued to observe as a student might in a training hospital.

Content that she was not going to cry out the stop word, he turned to the tray and removed the cloth completely, placing it on a shelf under the top tray. Her eyes followed every movement, concentrating on the long thin, latex covered fingers. She realized that her mind was wandering a little, but his next movement had her attention in sharp contrast. He picked up a small wooden rounded tool that resembled a mushroom. It was transferred into his other hand when he picked up a wickedly curving sliver of steel, similar to a suture needle, but with no thread attached.

The attendant on his right approached and held the wooden tool while he pulled her labia forward, pinching out her clit to expose the hidden treasure. She placed the rounded end against the side of her teased out clit and waited.

Abigail knew she was leaking her feminine juice, any foreign touch to her female vestigial cock almost instantly had her creaming and his fingers pinching her most sensitive nub had her fluids flowing over her puckered anus.

He paused again and once more, looked at Abigail. This was her last chance to back out, but all it did was prolong the inevitable. No words passed her lips, but she signalled her consent with a slight nod of her head.

He knelt, his nose level with her open and soaked sex. With infinite care, he placed the tip of the needle on the opposite side of her clit to the block, still held in place by his aid. Abigail tensed in anticipation of the pain that she was expecting, but her determination did not waver in the slightest. This was her ultimate sacrifice to her master, the irrevocable wearing of his mark.

Trying to be dispassionate, she observed in the mirrored ceiling and waited for what seemed to be an interminable length of time for him to make the fatal stab. In the blink of an eye, he had pushed the deadly sharp needle through and against the block. Abigail waited for the pain, but it didn’t come. The second swab must have carried a localized anaesthetic or something. She watched as a bead of blood welled around the needle and was quickly wiped away by the other attendant.

Her hooded surgeon picked up a silver ring that was opened. Equally as carefully and considered as all of his movements had been, he pushed the end of the wire loop into a socket on the end of the needle and pushed both of them through her clit. He discarded the needle and locked the silver loop with a small snap as the two ends closed and connected with no obvious join.

Once again, he lent back to survey his handiwork while his aids put the instruments away and silently wheeled the trolleys out of sight. He nodded his satisfaction and stood up. Abigail was able to clearly see how she looked, manacled with her master’s ring in her most secret place. She liked the sight of her naked pussy and the way the silver ring shone in the reflected light. She was now and forever, his property, too late to back out now, even if she wanted to. The surgeon had made sure that the ring was far back on her clit, effectively pushing the nub forward and keeping her hood open. It looked fantastic and the culmination of hers and Paul’s desire.

But, it wasn’t to be the end of the ritual. Abigail had also chosen to be branded. Such was her dedication to her master Paul that she had decided to show him her devotion and service with the ultimate mark, his initials burned into her skin. Really, there was no choice though. Since she had met Paul and had been introduced to servitude and mutual love through their shared sexual practices, she knew that she would eventually show her master just how much he meant to her in this fashion.

They had discussed this ritual many times. The biggest problem they had experienced in the club had been her lack of ownership. Unbranded or marked, she was public property once passed the doors. Although they had enjoyed her debasement at the hands of some skilful masters and mistresses, they preferred to remain loyal and monogamous. Occasionally only, dabbling in group, or voyeuristic practises on their increasingly infrequent visits to the private club. They had seen the ritual in one of their collection of videos and fantasised her marking to the extent of buying a clit clamp and indelible markers to paint his initials on her breast.

The last time they had visited the club, Paul had mentioned their fantasy to someone who made the introductions to the Surgeon Master and after a few consultations they were now at this point.

She felt the heat of the brazier as it was pushed silently to her side. She had been pleasantly surprised by the lack of pain in her piercing, but knew this ordeal was going to be extremely hard to endure. Her resolve wavered a little and sapphire almost escaped her lips, but was stifled as she bit her lower lip. The surgeon noticed her trepidation and peered into her eyes, waiting to see if she would cry out the terminal word. He waited and was then satisfied that she had overcome the brief anxiety attack.

Wordlessly, he moved to her side and picked up the branding iron. She and Paul had had it made for them out of wire shaped into his initials PS that stood for Paul South. He inspected the lettering and then placed the iron in the hottest part of the white-hot coals to heat it up. In morbid fascination, Abigail watched the wire smoke a little as the protective oil was burned off. She watched as it went from black to cherry red into bright red as the heat of the brazier raised its temperature.

His fingers wrapped around the insulted handle of the iron and brought the glowing end up to his eyes, satisfied that it was hot enough; he turned back to Abigail and place one gloved hand on her breast and slowly brought the red hot end towards her white skin. She couldn’t look and turned her eyes away. Paul looked back at her through a glazed partition. Their eyes met and locked just as the intense pain of the burn registered in her brain.

She cried out, screaming his name through clenched teeth and saw his tears roll over his cheeks and the light of pride in his eyes. Her own eyes squeezed tightly shut and her muscles went into spasm, causing her to shiver violently. She desperately wanted the smell of her cooking flesh to pass, the shock and stink was making her feel sick.

She hardly noticed the removal of the brand or the slap of a cooling lotion and gauze over the burn. Gradually, the pain became bearable, but she was unable to see the result where it had been covered. Shamefully, she realised that her bladder had vented, the piss being mopped up by one of the leather clad acolytes.

“You have done well daughter.” His voice was still muffled by the mask, but clear enough for her to hear. Abigail could only nod in acknowledgement.

Paul rushed to her side whispering words of endearment. He wanted to throw his arms around her and take her away. He had watched the whole operation from beginning to end never taking his eyes from her throughout. “I love you.” He breathed into her tear soaked ear. Her bonds were removed and Paul was advised that the gauze should stay on for a day or two, but then should be removed so that a scab could form. Once that had fallen off, his initials would be forever emblazoned on her left breast, just above her heart and his silver ring would stay through her clit, forcing the sensitive nub forward to rub constantly on her clothing and make her perpetually ready for him. “I love you too Master. May I get down from this altar now?” He was thrilled that she had asked in the correct manner, but knew he wouldn’t have punished her, not now that she had given herself, body and soul to his desires.

To Be Continued…

As the last guests leave, we both sigh a little. It’s fun having people over, but it’s nice having the place to ourselves. Almost to ourselves. One guest is staying overnight. Will, a friend of a friend, in town for a couple of days was going to stay at a hotel, but we both insisted he stay with us. Devious intentions? Maybe. I watched you flirting with him earlier, the attraction obvious. He easily joined in when the conversation turned dirty, making his own lewd remarks, making you blush a little. I have to admit, the thought of sharing my slave with another master was a little exciting.. The three of us sat down and poured another drink, enjoying the music and the peace and quiet. I think Will had figured out our kink. He began by making references to our earlier conversation, soon zeroing in on the master and slave topics. You got up to get another drink, and half-jokingly asked if you could get your masters another one.

“Yes, slave.” I answered. “But your serving wench outfit must be worn.”

We all laughed as you left, but when you returned the laughter stopped. You had the drinks, but they were soon forgotten as Will and I drank in your outfit. A sheer gown revealed a black corset, black hose, and your special black bra with the rings surrounding your hardening nipples. We were speechless, but only for a minute.

“Your slave seems very obedient.” Will said. “What does she enjoy doing for you?”

Getting into the flow of things, I answered, “She enjoys sucking cock very much. And is extremely good atit.”

Will seemed to ponder this and then asked, ” Has she ever sucked two cocks at the same time?”

“Not yet, but I think we can rectify that.”

“Does she enjoy being tied up and spanked?”

“Oh, yes. She’ll squirt over and over.”

“Anal?”

“Absolutely.”

As your two masters discussed what they planned to do to you, your pussy was almost dripping, thinking about the torture to come. And the two cocks.

“Slave! Turn around. Now bend over and show our guest what he can look forward to.”

Shaking a little from excitement, you turn and slowly spread your legs, bending over. We both stand up and come over to stand closer to you, at first rubbing your ass through the sheer material, but soon taking turns spanking your ass, watching your cheeks turn red.

Two Masters spanking your ass at the same time. Both cheeks getting equal attention, getting redder and redder. But we had other plans too.

“Time to go into the bedroom, slave. Kneel on the bed with your legs spread and we’ll be right in.”

Obediently you went to the bedroom, kneeling down with your nipples rubbing against the bedspread. You wanted to rub your pussy so bad, but knew your Masters would make you pay if they caught you touching yourself without their permission. Oh well, I guess that’s the price I’ll have to pay, you thought. Your fingers reached down and spread your lips open, feeling the wetness coating your lips, wanting to rub your clit, but holding off as long as possible. You slid two fingers into your pussy, and slowly drew them out until they found your hard clit. Just then you heard the voice from the doorway and realized your two Masters were watching.

“Don’t stop now, slave. Show us what a slut you are. Rub your clit until you squirt for us.”

Oh, God. You weren’t sure which was making you hotter, rubbing your clit and pussy or having two men watch and make lewd comments. ‘I’ll give you a show you won’t soon forget,’ you thought. Making a ‘V’ with two fingers you spread your lips wide, exposing your hardening clit. As you felt your juices starting to flow, you brought the fingers of your other hand up to tease and pull on your clit.

“Man, I can’t believe how wet she is already. She won’t have any trouble taking two cocks in that pussy at the same time.”

“First things first. She’s got two cocks to suck. And I mean deep.”

Listening to this, your fingers sped up, rubbing your clit harder, knowing you were going to squirt any minute. Your two Masters realized this as well, and wanted to make it happen as much as you did.

“After she’s come a couple of times, I wouldn’t mind seeing her in bondage.”

“What about this. We turn her over and strap her arms and legs tight to the corners of the bed. She won’t be able to move an inch. We can do whatever we want at that point. Clip her nipples while we both rub our cocks on her face.”

The wetness was now seeping from your pussy, threatening to turn into a gusher. You started to press your clit between your fingers, while your other hand slid into your hot cunt. Your Master’s words spurred you on.

“How about this? I’ll kneel over her face, forcing my cock into her mouth, while I hold her legs open. You can fuck her as deep and hard as you can. Then we’ll switch. She’ll taste her own pussy juice all over your cock while I ram her as hard as I can.”

You could feel it starting. Your pussy contracting uncontrollably, getting ready to squirt harder than you ever have.

“Is her ass trained yet? Could she take both of us at the same time?”

Almost there.

“I’ve started her training, but she hasn’t taken my fist yet. Her pussy can almost take it all, but I haven’t taken her ass that way yet.”

“Shall we try tonight? If we go slow, I’m sure we could slide both of our cocks into her ass at the same time. And then come at the same time.”

That did it. Your pussy opened wide as you squirted hard. Both Masters could only watch in wonder as you ejaculated again and again, soaking the bed, making their cocks harden totally. And they haven’t even touched you yet.

- To Be Continued -

At fourteen years of age, Abigail had left the straight road, dropping out in a spiral of self-loathing, mixed with more than a small amount of defiance and rebellion. A heady concoction that took her to places only the truly down and out would ever visit.

At fifteen, she had turned her back on the education system. The rules and regimentation of an orderly day did not fit within her chaos of life. Resolutely, she refused to go to school, sparking off furious rows with her mother, who in exasperation, washed her hands of her daughter and threw her out of the family home and into the clutches of the welfare state.

The fights were not all about school. Two women in a small space with convergent ideologies is a match made in the suburbs of hell. Increasingly, the close bond that had been mother and daughter eroded until the inevitable crash. It was predestined that they would clash in spectacular style, their characters being so close that it could be thought Abigail was cloned from her mother; it was predestined as an outcome, but vastly hastened by the sudden departure of her father.

Neither mother nor daughter had any inkling of his intention to up stakes and run from their lives and not leave a forwarding address. What he left were debts that amounted to twice their annual income, the hangover of his gambling, a house part owned by the bank, an ancient car with more curiosity value than ability to run or realise any money and an envelope on the table with two words scrawled in haste on the outside; I m sorry.

He had left with all of his clothing, what money was in the house and Abigail’s piggy bank that might have had twenty pounds in loose change in it. Her mother’s paste jewellery had been tipped out of her box over the bed so that he could take his birth certificate and some commemorative coins that had been collected and stored with her rings. They never heard from him or had any idea where he might have fled. For the two women left behind, there was no closure, it was as if he had suddenly died, they were emotionally and financially destitute and, because he hadn’t died, had no income as such from a pension or insurance.

It wasn’t just their meagre valuables he took, just as effectively, he took from them the bond they had shared, leaving them bereft of even the ability to turn to the other in solace and comfort. They blamed each other and themselves simultaneously, drawing lines and barriers that neither had the tools or inclination to ever remove.

At sixteen, Abigail was on a fast track to oblivion. For some short time, a guy she met on the road someplace, had fed her, then introduced her to drugs and then put her to work. She had been popular at first, a nice fresh face, an unblemished teenager; blonde haired and firm breasted, she had been all the rage. It lasted for a short time at least, but then, as drugs always do, her body started to show the rigours of abuse and deprivation of food.

In a matter of months, Abigail was totally on her own, relying on handouts and whatever she could scrape from the back streets. Tricking where she could to raise enough cash for her next hit, then crashing wherever she stopped until the craving for heroine woke her and the process started all over again the next day.

That was how Paul found her. Alone in the street, soaked through by incessant rain that had steadily drizzled all day and hardly able to stand from enforced DT’s. He was pretty much the worse for wear himself; the party he had left a little earlier was taking its toll, or at least the amount of alcohol he had consumed. He weaved an erratic path through Bermondsey, blindly staggering his way to his converted warehouse beside the river.

It was not how Abigail liked to remember it in later times; instead, she concocted a story of how he had entered the smoking room at the office, nervous and unsure of his new surroundings and the people he found himself in company with. First days had that effect on most; she liked his vulnerability and struck up a conversation. They had gone out for a meal or something; he was new to the area and had yet to find his bearings. She couldn’t be certain, but it was either the third or forth date that they fumbled around in bed, hardly a momentous occasion and somewhat less than memorable. It almost finished the relationship there and then, but they got to know each other and sex gradually got better. A more acceptable story than the truth; She even got to believe in it and covered up the past effectively, but that is some way ahead.

She was curled up almost into a ball; perched on the kerb with her arms tucked around her knees. Abigail rocked slowly back and forth, waiting for the cramps to subside before trying to find some shelter and if she could, hook up with one of her street outlets for her daily trip to a less painful place.

Oblivious of the rain that had soaked through his jacket, shirt and everything else he wore, Paul sat beside the girl, even matching her rocking motion with his own. “Twenty pounds for French,” She informed him without looking up. “Or twenty five for sex; thirty for Greek.” “What?” “I said, twenty for French, twenty five for sex or thirty for Greek.” She still hugged her knees to her chest, but glanced at him, waiting for his choice and the exchange of money. She needed the cash. “I ain’t got a clue what you’re talking about.” “Listen mister, do ya want to fuck me, get sucked or what? It’s gonna cost ya whatever.” She impatiently asked him, pausing her rocking and reinforcing each syllable with a nod of her head. “Don’t want to fuck you.” He was somewhat confused and more than a little affronted at the same time, he was trying to make some sense of how the conversation had started so badly. “I don’t want to fuck you.” “Well if you ain’t here for business, are ya carrying?” He shrugged, both shoulders almost touching his ears in an exaggerated expression. It seemed a safe way to answer her question that he didn’t understand at all. “If you ain’t carrying and you ain’t here for business, you can fuck off. Okay?” She turned and looked at him full in the face, her lips curled back in a snarl as she mouthed the words.

Paul was almost sobered by the vehemence of her voice. But, more than the viciousness of the sound was her dead eyes. She looked at him, but the expression of her words didn’t reach her eyes. It was as if he was looking into two pools of dead, grey water. They stared back at him, utterly lifeless, but at the same time, unfathomable in depth. He realised that she might have been pretty once, but was now emaciated, her skin sagging like curtains around the sockets of her eyes and cheeks where the fatty tissues under had been used up by her body. Her hair hung in lank strands, dirty and uncut or cared for and he became aware of her smell for the first time. Involuntarily, he shifted away from her a few inches, shuffling his bottom along the quartz of the kerbstone.

If he were to be asked later, it would be quite likely that Paul would not be able to provide a good reason for his actions, but without any thought, he grabbed her arm, painfully aware at how his hands easily encircled her, then yanked her to her feet and began to drag her like a rag doll along behind him. She started screaming and feebly trying to tug her arm away from his grip. “I ain’t got no money, so it ain’t worth robbing me.” She screamed at him, spittle flying from her lips and adding to the rain already seeping through his clothes to his skin. Paul didn’t answer her, but just continued to drag her unceremoniously by the arm towards his home. If ya gonna rape me you bastard, you might as well do it right here and now and let me get on with things. But, Paul ignored this as well.

Eventually, they made it to his recently moved into apartment in the converted warehouse. She had continued to scream and rage at him loud enough to wake half of London. At three in the morning, anyone on the street was far more interested in their own private business and disinclined to intervene with what was probably a domestic spat, so their progress was completely unimpeded and not noteworthy.

He adjusted his grip on her arm to unlock the security deadlocks and punch in the numbers for the alarm. Then adjusting his grip again, he shoved her from under the armpits up the staircase and into his new residence. At the top of the stairs, Paul paused and took a second to think, now that he had her here, where to put her. Throughout the trek to his apartment, he hadn t given too much thought to why or what he was going to do with this skeletal girl, just a singular purpose of rescuing Abigail from the street.

Ho opted for the spare bedroom. It was unfurnished as yet and he could lock her in. There was an old loft access where the floor sacks were hauled up, but it was two storeys up and concrete below so escape was not feasible through there.

Unceremoniously, he dragged her to the room and pushed her inside, pulling the door shut even as she span to claw at the closing portal. The key turned and her yelling was muffled to a tolerable level.

So began her slow and painful break from the monkey. Days when Abigail couldn’t control her body, shaking and going into spasm. Unable to keep food down at times, even when she could be forced to ingest anything solid, what ever she swallowed was ejected from her, forcefully.

Abigail could not control her temperature, alternately shivering and sweating. She had no control of auto-functions and really, became child like or incontinent as an aged person might after their reasoning leaves. He threw away most of her clothing, replacing it from items bought in a charity shop then, throwing them away as well when she soiled them beyond redemption. He found that tracksuits were easiest to clean and lasted longer then pretty much anything else. He would remove her dirty clothing in the early days, dispassionately looking at her emaciation and the needle tracks in her arms, feet and groin. He was as far from sexual interest as it was possible to be, the sight of her body made him cringe and renewed his resolve to heal her.

After four or five weeks that seemed like years, she began to settle down, managing to take sustenance and process it in the normal way. Her violent moods subsided and, gradually, like the regeneration of scar tissue, she became a person again, even holding conversations with Paul, but always as a long-term hostage might talk to their keeper. She held back and would not open, even on mundane topics, giving only enough information to be an active party in the dialogue.

Paul still kept her locked in the room, knowing that at the first opportunity, she would bolt and be lost for ever with an inevitable outcome, one needle too many perhaps or a violent death in an alley. He still didn’t know why he was doing this for her, someone he didn’t know at all, a complete stranger. But, he recognised in her, something of the wounded animal that triggers an emotive response occasionally; he put it down to that.

Paul decided after eight weeks of captivity that she could be trusted to have the run of the warehouse apartment. He left the door to her room unlocked and open. Abigail didn’t emerge from the safety of her cot for two days, but then stepped timidly over the threshold at his encouragement. She still had something of the trapped animal about her; each step could be considered furtive or exploratory, keeping her escape route firmly fixed and ready for flight, straight back to the familiarity of her room with its cot and bucket.

The cold turkey was over to a degree, at least the physical part was, but deep mental scars take far longer to heal, if ever fully. Abigail was scared at a fundamental level, leaving her unable to rationalise or function properly.

They began to eat together. Simple food that he thought she would be able to digest; soups and pasta being their staple diet. There were beneficial side effects; Abigail began to put on weight, filling out bit by bit while Paul lost some of his excess and felt the fitter for it. But, often as with television or music, her attention wandered until she sat there, almost catatonic in a far away place, her food left to cool into a congealed mass. Over a period of weeks, the vacant spaces became less and less, while her cognitive state became longer. She chose to be in her room for longer times, but with the door open and not as any kind of barrier. Paul bought her a television and a radio so she could be on her own if she wanted. He bought books for her to read and allowed her to do as she pleased, but insisted that they eat together, cook and wash up.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that Abigail was a good cook, inventive and adventurous with everyday ingredients. She continued to regain the flesh over her bones.

She had been with him for nearly six months now.

Although they were sharing time and talking, Paul still didn’t fully trust her, believing that her full recovery was still a long way off in all probability that the emotional scars were only scabbed over and could be reopened at any time. He had to go to work. Each day he took great care in deadlocking the entrance door so that she couldn’t open it from the inside. It became something of a ritual, turning the key once, hearing the tongue engage then a second turn that locked the door and disabled the latch on the other side. So it was a shock for him to find his door wide open and swinging one day after work. Fearing that the bird had flown the nest, Paul ran into the building, yelling her name, with a sinking feeling, knowing she wouldn’t be there. Abstractly, his mind took in the fact that the lock or door hadn’t been damaged in anyway. His calls went unanswered; the apartment was alone.

For an hour or so, Paul wandered around feeling lost and a failure. She had been making such good progress. Her body had pretty much recovered from the rigors of drug abuse and the regular intake of food had regained much of her natural body mass and skin tone. He put the television on then turned it off again. Inserted a CD in the player, but didn’t press play. He couldn’t settle into any one place, his mind in turmoil; should he go out and look for her or stay and hope she came back?

Abigail had the advantage of him where the street was concerned. She would know the hidey-holes better than most of the city dwellers and certainly better than he would.

He was still dithering when the entrance door banged shut. Abigail’s tousled head appeared over the banister with a smile plastered across her lips. Wordlessly, Paul rushed over to her as she reached the top tread and threw his arms around her in a bear like embrace. Relief and other emotions coursed through his veins, mixed with a large helping of adrenalin.

I thought I’d lost you he managed to breathe into her hair. Then, without waiting for her to respond, he kissed her mouth, crushing her lips against his teeth and taking her breath completely. Paul picked her up from the floor, her weight easily distributed in his arms. He continued to kiss her, breaking only to gasp and then cover her with his mouth again as they traversed the floor to his bedroom.

Her head hit the doorjamb, but neither was really aware of it, the moment too consuming for external stimuli to have much effect. Her clothes were almost ripped off of her slender body as his hit the floor in a blur of motion and desperation to become naked. They collapsed on the bed in a mingle of arms, legs and hands that grasped and gripped. She wriggled and managed to lie on her back while manoeuvring him between her parted thighs.

There was no nicety about their coupling. Abigail thrust her hips forward in unison as Paul thrust into her body in a union that had one common goal. He fucked into her as she fucked him back in a riot of rhythm. It was sex in its rawest state that culminated in their respective explosion of orgasm, she first, then Paul, feeling her wetness splash against his inner thigh, shot his seed with a final pelvic thrust that had her head hitting the wall.

The act was completed in little more than a few minutes, but the intensity of emotion and urgency had made it an experience that left them bereft of the ability to talk for a while. Instead, they lay together, her head in the crook of his arm while he stroked her neck, shoulders and breast as they calmed down from the initial frenzy of lust and then they laughed. They laughed until laughter became a little crazy, resulting in hiccups that had them giggling all over again. What is Greek anyway? Paul asked after the expression she had used when he first met her popped into his mind. Abigail lifted her chin and looked into his eyes as she told him that Greek was in the ass and that it was something she had endured on too many occasions. It was time for her to bear her soul and tell him just what it was like on the street. Abigail let him know of the times she had been fucked by many men at once until cum was dripping out of every orifice. How she was used and abused then discarded like a Christmas puppy. How some guys liked to beat up on her or how they shit and pissed over her nakedness while her pimp looked on and applauded. Abigail told him that after a while, she didn’t care what they did to her, that pain hardly registered and her holes were only entries into her body that fed her need for more drugs. She told him of a pregnancy that was beaten out of her by the pimp. She told him all of it; the worst times and that all she had to look forward to was death from an overdose. Killing herself would have been easy, but the craving for heroine kept her alive for the next hit.

During her sad tale, Paul had stroked and caressed Abigail, soothing and supporting her as it unfolded. He paused as she concluded, his hands ceasing movement. She took it as rejection, thinking that he was too disgusted by the deprivations she had sunk to. She cried, tears coursing over her cheeks. She sobbed in despair, unable to articulate her utter desolation. But, then he resumed his caress and turned her head to face him. Gently and with great care as if she were a fragile doll, Paul kissed her mouth and drew her body to him. Relief flooded her; she clasped him and kissed him back, forcing her tongue between his teeth to explore his mouth. “One day,” She murmured, “we will do Greek and it will be the right time, but for now, I think French is the language of the day.”

With those words, she bit his lower lip and then shoved her self down, kissing his chest, stomach and then his cock. Paul relaxed back, tucking a pillow under his head so he could watch and pulling her blonde hair away from her face, studied her lips as they slowly parted and swallowed his shaft.

Abigail expertly sucked him into her mouth, drawing her cheeks in to create a vacuum as she lifted, then blowing them out as she descended again. Gradually, she increased the depth of his penetration, allowing a little more of him to pass her lips in a slow, tantalising rhythm, feeling him stiffen and leak small globules of pre-cum. She adjusted her position and sat on his legs so that he would not thrust, she wanted to make all the movement so that the exquisite sensation would be magnified.

Paul hardened at her insistence. The warmth and sucking of her mouth drew blood into his organ, building the pressure, but oh so slowly. It was almost a delicious pain between feelings of relief as she sank back down his shaft. He could never remember having a woman give him so much intense pleasure from fellatio before. It wasn’t a first for him, but certainly was a first in the delicious thrill it was affording his neural network.

By now, she had him in the back of her throat, still keeping the slow but insistent tempo, just longer strokes. She could feel his imminent release and ignored his feeble attempt to lift her off of his pulsing cock. Abigail was intent on taking him to the edge and beyond; she had every intention of swallowing his cum. The trick was to know exactly when he would explode and make sure it was on a down stroke that had him right at the back of her mouth. Paul made it easier for her to judge the precise moment, he groaned and mini thrust. Abigail lifted her head and then began a long descent down his shaft, feeling him dry heave first and then shoot the first of three or four spurts. She didn’t stop sliding him into her until his cock was fully down her gullet and her lips grounded against his pubic bone. She was rewarded by his final spurts that she swallowed comfortably. She lay still, keeping him in her mouth until his tremors subsided and he was totally spent.

So began their life together in a loving relationship. Their sexual partnership developed in a fruition of learning and awareness that progressed from the one-two-one sexual exploration to them joining a club.

The journey for them was not so long perhaps, but had many twists and turns until they had exhausted every conceivable position and scenario between two people. Abigail gave herself to Paul in love and implicit trust. Paul accepted her love and returned it as fully. Together, they set off on a voyage of sexual discovery.

- click here to continue… 

“Witch!”

“Adulterer!”

“Kill the witch!”

The trial had gone on for months. Citizen after citizen had come forward, accusing the young woman of bewitching them into committing lewd, lascivious acts. There were acts involving women with men, women with women, men with men, and one odd accusation involving three men, a goat, and a broomstick. That one even startled the numb, scared young woman who was chained to the heavy defendant’s chair.

At first the accusations, while indecent and malicious, were known to go on in the shadows anyway. Most of those involved inciting lustful looks and light petting between adolescents or otherwise married adults. When the blacksmith was caught ogling the preacher’s wife, he called witchcraft. He did the same, as did she, when he was caught with his head under her skirts.

As the trial progressed, the accusations became more numerous and more lecherous. Of course, “for absolute clarity and judgment”, the judge would have the “victims” recall everything in explicit detail, often having the women show the jury where on their persons something had taken place. Sometimes he would even have them show the jury any lingering marks from the encounter. The courtroom having been cleared of all women, being considered too delicate to be subjected to recollections of such vile behavior, crowds of “respectable” men would stare in astonishment at bruises, bitemarks, and broken blood vessels.

A half dozen women had stood before the crowd, bared to the waist, displaying their ill-handled breasts.

Two busty, bubbling blondes, known to be friends since birth, had shown how they had been witched into removing the hair from their nether regions before taking the clean flesh in each others mouths. To the amazement of the room, when the exhibition showed the girls’ obvious arousal, they both began crying ‘witchcraft’ as they began furiously masturbating. On the premise that disturbing either the witch or her current victims would convince her to cause permanent damage, the men gazed on as the girls pulled the rest of their clothing away and proceeded to orally pleasure each other to the point of exhaustion.

The judge then called a recess to calm the spirits of the audience, and a few men volunteered to carry the naked girls to a side room so they could have some privacy as they dressed and recuperated from the “attack”. Another round of “witchery” then followed as all that had entered the room had immediately stripped and fallen into a shameful orgy. The judge having been present, as well as sufficient witnesses, that only a brief mention was put on record, none of which was brought up in open court. The fact that one girl had knelt with one man taking her from behind as another fornicated with her mouth, while the other had impaled her anus on the judge as his assistant had fisted her, was left out. Also left out was the fact that all the men had ejaculated on the girls’ breasts and watched as they licked it from each others’ body.

The next morning it was reported that over twenty acts of witchcraft had occurred over the night.

Incidents such as this continued until only the most depraved were openly presented to the court, the minor ones simply included as numbers.

Helen had begun to seriously wonder why they bothered to keep up the pretense of witchcraft. She had been blindfolded, bound, gagged, and sedated from the moment the constable broke into her home to arrest her. Even if she had been a witch, her craft would have been severely hindered by her being unconscious. The original accusation was baseless, and those subsequent were just excuses for the village to descend into debauchery. The only reason she had become the scapegoat was because she had accidentally walked in on the preacher’s wife and two of the alter boys, who were in the midst of something Helen had not even known was physically possible. Having no family left after a sickness took her household, there was nobody to raise a defense for her.

She pondered this as she was led up the stairs to the gallows. The actual hanging was supposed to be the main even, but the torture beforehand was expected to be a spectacle that brought every able man to the town square. It appeared that a large group had even made the long trek from a neighboring town. Once again, the women were declared too delicate to bare witness, especially since this case had never been considered by the courts who wrote the town charter. This meant that the current ruling bodies could design their own punishment, and they were known to be creative. And perverted. The end result ended in two hundred men leering at her, shouting encouragement and ideas as Helen was secured in place, stretched, partially suspended in a vertical spread-eagle position.

“Witch Helen. You have been justly tried and convicted of heinous acts of witchcraft against this village. Do you have any last words before your sentence is carried out?”

The magistrate sneered his question as a collective snicker rose from the crowd. Helen turned her head towards his direction and snorted though the gag that still covered her mouth. In all this time, none had questioned how she could defend herself, or plead guilty to get it over with, while she was forcibly silenced. Her own civil defense had not even bothered.

“The witch does neither deny nor repent! You have been sentenced to a public spiritual cleansing according to your crimes, to be followed by one lash per innocent victim whose life you tainted. Only then will you be hung from the neck until you are dead.”

With that, the magistrate stepped to one side and gestured for the executioner to begin. A low cheer came from the crowd as the masked man stepped close behind her, pressing himself tightly to her back. His clear erection held against her small derriere, his rough hands moved up her front. Making no effort to conceal his open groping, he gave her breasts a hard squeeze before taking the fabric of her bodice and ripping it open.

Continuing down, the large man rent the dress from her shaking body, using a blood-spattered knife to cut the remains from her hands and feet. As more of her was exposed, the volume of the cheers increased, almost to a deafening level when the executioner paused to fondle her thighs, buttocks, vulva, and breasts. When he took several laps at her inner folds, and when he jiggled her breasts by her nipples, even his own ears hurt.

Once she was completely nude, feeling unimaginably violated and strangely excited, he drew a beam to the back of her thighs. Reaching to one side of the recently modified structure, he slowly turned a crank that spread her legs even further, and another that shifted her upper portions down and back. By the time he was finished, she was arched backward with her vaginal area on display.

The crowd had gone quiet in anticipation of Helen’s gratuitous humiliation, but buzzed as the barber strutted up the steps to his commissioned task. Straddling her flat stomach, he took a hot, wet sponge and moistened her, teasingly moving from her mound to her anus in long strokes. Taking the proffered implements from his apprentice, he covered the area in a thick lather, often spreading her wide to get in the cracks. Using a straight razor, his professionally steady hands stripped away the hair, lightly scraping over the sensitive points along the inside of the labia and around her anus. To the delight of the audience, upon declaring her fully shorn, he picked up the remaining bucket of lukewarm water and poured it over her to rinse away the remaining lather, leaving her dripping wet and shivering in the breeze.

Her condition was not aided when he picked up two spare buckets of ice water and doused her entire body, causing her skin to contract and her nipples to visibly harden.

“The witch will now be cleansed for her crimes of fornication!”

Looking almost giddy, the blacksmith carried a table and a small box onto the gallows. Setting the box on the table, he popped it open and picked up a large metal object, a long, thick phallus with a slightly rounded end. There were howls as he crouched next to the girl, running the head up and down her exposed slit, the irregular surface chafing the soft tissue. With a vicious grin, he plunged the phallus into her, forcing it in until it bottomed out.

Even though the gag, her screams reverberated through the plaza as her virginal blood was spilt, her dry channel torn raw.

The blacksmith waited patiently for the girl to cease her shrieking, randomly tapping the metal that protruded from her, making sure her tight muscles would hold it in place. Picking up another, slightly smaller piece, he returned to his place beside her. With another evil grin, he grabbed her cheeks and lifted her, moving his head underneath and coarsely forcing his tongue into her rectum. A heavy twitch passing through her body, she arched even more, unintentionally allowing a better view to the crowd as the man removed his tongue and replaced it with the second phallus.

Almost mercifully, when he thrust past her sphincter, he used slow, periodic motions, pushing it in an inch at a time. As he did this, he explained to the men that it would do no good to tear a hole in her organs, as she could easily die from blood loss long before the “cleansing” was completed.

Not that Helen would not prefer a quick death. Before being led out of the jail, she had been given a thorough enema and force-fed a strange compilation of herbs, which she soon realized had made her skin hypersensitive while keeping her incredibly alert. As such, she was now experiencing more pain than she had ever imagined, and was very aware of every little detail of the physical nature of her punishment. She was incapable of giving in to unconsciousness.

There was a look of awe on the faces of the men who were close enough to see the details of what was being shown them. A complicated looking bit, some of the handier recognized it as a miniature clamp, which was now being attached to the girl’s distended clitoris, having been pulled harshly by the executioner so that the blacksmith could fasten it with ease. Tightened as far as could be managed, the tip of the clit had already begun to turn purple from the constricted blood flow.

Once completed with that, there was mild applause as Helen was set back to a vertical position, her lower area crudely warped by the metal, ruined for any man who might have had plans for her before her death had become eminent. Even with her face mostly concealed, the look of excruciating pain on her face was plainly obvious as she tried to gasp through the gag.

The look of pain was quickly combined with terror as the blacksmith stepped behind her and bounced her breasts in his hands, tugging and twisting the nipples to a further peak. Two more clamps were then attached as her hoarse screeches resumed. Before collecting his supplies, he bounced them a few more times for the crowd, the clamps causing pain to jolt through her with every motion.

The look on the magistrate’s face resembled that of a cat that had been presented with a bowl of cream. His favorite part was up.

“The witch will now receive one lash for every innocent life she tainted. Having accounted for every person who was presented as a victim before the court, not adding in those who suffered multiple times under your twisted mind, you will now receive fifty- six lashes. May God have mercy upon your blackened soul.”

Smirking at the open salivation of the magistrate as well as some of the others in the crowd, the executioner held up his weapon of choice: a three-tailed whip. Cheers sounded as he moved into place. Raising his arm high, he waited for his call.

“ONE!”

CRACK

All three tails made contact with brutal accuracy, and the incurred force caused the metals embedded and attached to jump. The fresh pain ripped through her from each piece. Screaming had become a thing of the past.

“TWO!”

CRACK

Again, there came the twitch. The whip had been chosen for this, to cause as much pain with as little real damage. The tails were thick and soft, the material set to not cut through the skin. With so many lashes to be presented, it was preferred that it not be received on bare muscle and bone after less than half. The real damage was meant to be inflicted by the movement of the other implements.

“THREE!”

CRACK

After the motion was completed, the magistrate reached up and removed the blindfold. Blinking against the light, Helen was momentarily blinded. Ten or so lashes came down before she could finally see everything. Once she did, a deep flush rushed over her. With every crack of the whip, with every gut-wrenching ache, the men in the crowd, the men who had watched her grow up, who had been friends of her father’s, now looked at her with absolute lust in their eyes. Some of them looked downright hungry as each twitch caused her breasts to jiggle, her thighs to try to clench.

One or two who stood close openly stared at the blood that dripped from where her most delicate tissue had been destroyed. Where her entrances were stretched obscenely around the metal, some of the skin had begun to crack. When the magistrate tugged on the clamps on her breasts or shook the one on her clit, many of the men would cheer. When he forced the phalluses deeper into her body, to the point where the one in her rectum was completely consumed, a few even boldly offered to retrieve it for him. He just chuckled and clipped on a small chain that had been built into the design.

Once the executioner had completed the forty-sixth lash, the magistrate stopped him. Her back had begun to bleed freely. Helen’s relief was brief as it was declared that the remaining ten would fall on her front. The absolute terror on her face incited a loud roar from the audience.

When the whip first came down on her breasts and stomach, every man counted aloud with the magistrate. As opposed to concentrating on one area, everything except her face received at least one blow. She could almost sing praises as the executioner prepared for the final lash. However, with a bit of a flourish, he angled the whip from low to high, all three tails landing on the shredded flesh of her labia and anus.

Having lost all muscle control long ago, she barely noticed that she was being drawn back into a reclined position, or that her gag was being removed. The mild confusion as to why was replaced with encouraging whoops as the town counsel surrounded her. The six men, whose ages ranged from somewhat young to borderline ancient, had removed their penises from their pants and were jerking them with varying speeds.

As each climaxed, they aimed it directly at her upturned, lax form. Twitching slightly as the sensation of the warm, sticky semen landing on her skin, her hair, face, neck, and breasts were soon coated. As soon they were all finished and had moved back, the blacksmith called out that he would like his devices back now, they were one of a kind.

Nodding, the magistrate gestured for him to come and get them. Once again crouching next to Helen’s prone form, he grasped the chain that was attached to the phallus buried in her rear passage and jerked. Stuck tight, it required four sharp tugs to fully release it. When it finally came, he stuck a few fingers in and wiggled them around to show how the hole remained wide open.

He next took hold of the piece protruding from her formerly virgin tunnel and gave it one long, slow pull, blood and skin sticking to the rough surface. This time, instead of a few fingers, he pushed his entire fist into the gaping hole that remained.

In response to a few shouts, he stood and removed some of the pressure from the clamp on her clitoris. With a mischievous look towards the crowd, he took the mechanism in one hand and yanked.

The combined feeling of having her clitoris wrenched and the return of circulation to the destroyed area brought Helen back to the situation. Her throat having been ripped raw from the earlier screams, a series of hoarse blats emerged from her mouth. A raised eyebrow to the executioner, and she was shifted back to being vertical. The strange sounds continued as he removed the clamps from her nipples in the same manner.

Having finished, the blacksmith took a deep bow and gave her one final loud smack across the buttocks.

At the final physical humiliation of the “witch”, the audience gazed in lust and amusement. They wanted it to be their hand falling on the girl’s tight behind, their semen covering her face and breasts as if she had just sucked them off, their penises leaving her gaping open like a well-used whore.

There was a disappointed groan as the noose was secured around her neck, the bindings being removed to prevent them from interfering.

“The witch has been cleansed. She will now be hung from the neck until she is dead.”

For the crowd, it was over far too quick. With a passive gesture, the magistrate gave the signal. The executioner pulled the lever that released the trapdoor beneath her feet.

A single jerk from the impact, and Helen’s neck snapped, killing her instantly.

***********************************************************

“How did it go, husband?”

The blacksmith suppressed a smile as he slid into bed next to his wife.

“Nothing particularly interesting, just a standard witch killing. Now come here, you little vixen. There’s something I’ve been meaning to try ”

His grin was hidden in the dark of the night as he pressed a large metal object against her bottom.

The End

My name is Karen, I’m 31 years old, I am of Mediterranean decent, Italian, Greek, and Maltese. I am 5’2′ and weigh about 120 pounds. My skin is not quite olive, but it is dark, with shoulder length black hair. I have a lot of hair! I have always been considered beautiful by almost everyone. What I’m not is
skinny, though I am certainly not fat. My measurements are a 36 DD (yes they are real and they do not need a bra) with large dark aureoles and my nipples, when hard, are about an inch and a half long and very thick. My waist is 27 and my hips are 34. I have won all 3 wet t-shirt contests I have entered. My pubic hair is currently a narrow “airstrip”, when this first session began I had a lot of pubic hair.

My husband of 4 years is named Tom. He is 5 years older than I and very good looking. We have a great marriage mostly because Tom is a fabulous man. He is patient and very understanding of my bizarre sexual needs. You see I have always wanted to be a submissive sex slut. Tom has tried, but he is simply too nice of a man to abuse me the way I want. Not that our sex life is bad, it is just too vanilla for me. As a result Tom encouraged me to find a Master or Mistress online that I could submit to. One who would understand that I was never going to leave my husband, but still would take me for evenings or weekends and train me to be the slut that I always dreamed.

So I placed an add on a BDSM dating site. Within 72 hours I had hundreds of responses, (I used a close up photo of my face and a full body nude photo). I wanted someone close to home, so that let me weed out most of the responses. To make a long story short, I decided that Mistress J was for me. We emailed daily for about 2 weeks. She understood that my husband wanted to watch and that would make me feel better, though I was concerned his presence would inhibit me. She had a great solution; he would drop me off and pick me up at her place and all the sessions would be video taped. Every several hours she would have the tapes brought to him so he could see what was happening to me. I have limits that she respected, they were, no animals, no scat/pee, no permanent marks.

So we set a date for the upcoming Friday night for Tom and I to meet her, if all went well she would take me home and my training would begin. I was so excited!

Something about Mistress J, she is a tall 6′ black woman, who has a lot to offer. Her measurement are (I’m guessing 40 DD, 30, 40), long straight black hair and about 42 years old. She has been a Mistress for 20 years. Her husband is a Dom, and they have several part time sex slaves. Both Mistress J and her husband are bisexual. Mistress J picked me based on my desire to become her sex slut/slave on occasion. She knew I was married and we discussed what I was interested in, almost everything from light torture to gangbangs. She assured me that my dreams would become a hardcore reality.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Friday finally arrived, the email I was expecting instructed me to wear a white button blouse, no bra, with the top 3 buttons undone, short shorts, a small thong, and high heels (at least 4 inches high). We were to meet her at 8:00 at a club that is known for its lesbian clientele. She knew my husband would be there. The deal was if I was comfortable we would start that night and I would give myself to her. Tom was there to insure all went well.

Tom and I entered the bar at 8:00 sharp. I saw Mistress J almost immediately, she greeted us and invited us to sit with her at her table. She was very sensuous looking in the darkened bar with her long dark hair. I was immediately attracted to her. As we discussed things it was obvious we clicked. She enjoyed looking at me and after about 30 minutes of small talk she reached up and unbuttoned two of the buttons of my blouse. My blouse was now open to my bellybutton. She reached inside and cupped my left breast. I almost had a heart attack; my heart was pounding so hard. I looked over at Tom, he was so turned on by the sight I thought he was going to cum right there. She wanted to leave and go to her house, where she has a dungeon, and begin my training, but suddenly the reality of what I was doing scared me. I said I wasn’t sure. Tom immediately asked if he and I could talk. She excused herself and I melted into Tom’s arms almost crying. Tom reminded me that this was my idea and if I was ready I should.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tom walked to the bar and spoke with Mistress J for about 5 minutes. They were both smiling and when they walked back to the table. She said “Karen, I understand your hesitation, I have a deal for you. As you know I really wanted to train you without the presence of your husband. We agreed that your sessions would be taped and he would view them at home. So here is what I propose and Tom agrees with it. All three of us will go back to my house, you will ride in my car. Once at my place you will submit yourself to me. I will only strip you to your thong and put wrist and ankle cuffs on you. I will strap you to the bed in my dungeon and I will bring you to an orgasm by only touching your breasts with a crop. The deal is if you cum within 30 minutes, you are mine, no excuses. You will simply belong to me, mind and body until 7:00 Sunday night. Your sessions will be taped and your husband will leave. I will send him tapes every few hours. Your only limits will be scat, animals, permanent marks, and kids.”.

“Yes Mistress” was my only reply. I almost came just listening to what was in store for me, and I felt good knowing Tom would be there for the first part. He wouldn’t leave me anyplace were he wasn’t sure I would be safe.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The ride to Mistress J’s house was only about 10 minutes, once in her car she told me to remove my shirt. I was sitting totally topless driving through town.

When we arrived at her house Tom almost fell over as he got of the car he saw me step onto the sidewalk topless with my heavy, but firm DD’s out in the open for all to see. I was humiliated to perfection. Truth be told I was so wet I could feel it running down my legs.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Once inside her house she asked me if I had shaved or trimmed at all in last 2 months. “No Mistress, you instructed me to show up here with the maximum amount of pubic hair.”.

“Good girl”, she said as she pulled my shorts off. “Very nice, look at all the hair sticking out around the thong.” I would have had a lot hair sticking out no matter what panties I had on. I was hoping she was going to trim me up.

The cuffs were put on me and she grabbed my left nipple and led me to her dungeon. Once inside I was amazed, it was dark and sensual, with all manner of contraptions and equipment. She was smiling at my innocence when she put me down on the bed and strapped me in. I couldn’t move my arms or legs.

Tom was watching from the door as I closed my eyes. She pinched booth my nipples and commented on how she liked a large breasted woman with large nipples. She pinched and twisted until I moaned. At this point the mental part took over. Here I was strapped down helpless as this Amazon woman was preparing to beat my breasts with a riding crop. My juices were puddling on the bed. She smiled as she began to lightly tap my right nipple with the crop. It felt different beyond anything I have experienced, it felt wonderful. She increased the strength of the blows very slowly. Within 2 minutes I was begging her for more. She just continued smiling and beating my tit quite hard now. Not 5 minutes expired and I was cumming like no ones business. This is amazing as I always take a long time to cum, and always need direct clitoral stimulation.

As I calmed down, Tom was standing over me saying goodbye. As he left Mistress J just reached down and ripped the thong off my body! “You didn’t ask permission to cum bitch”, was all she said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She tapped on some buttons on a control unit and my arms and legs were moving. When the moving stopped my arms were straight over my head and my legs were a couple feet higher than my hips. In fact my hips were not touching the bed. My pussy was up and open. Mistress took a strap and began to beat my pussy, hard! I began to scream, as it really hurt, but at the same time I was getting wetter. Then someone was standing next to my head. It was another woman! She asked if I was the new white slut. “Yes”, was all I could say. She laughed at me and slapped my face. Then she put some clamps on my nipples. They felt great! (I discovered by this time that breast/nipple torture was wonderful) She pulled on them hard and I began to cum again! Now Mistress J was still beating my pussy as I exploded.

The two women took me off the bed and Mistress J was berating me for cumming a second time without permission. “Now you will learn, bitch. You will eat pussy and be beaten until you learn to ask to cum!” said Mistress J.

The second woman was introduced to me as Miss Wendy (she is a submissive that Mistress J owns, she is being trained as a domme) and I was told to kiss her nipples. I have never had any sexual contact with a woman before that night, but Mistress knew I wanted it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They lead me over to a bench. They adjusted the height so my hips touched the top of it. They strapped each ankle and each thigh to a leg at the end of bench where they positioned me. Miss Wendy pushed my shoulders down, as she did this Mistress J snapped open the bench beneath my breasts, so they fell through and hung down from the bench. Now my wrist cuffs were hooked to eyelets at my hips. I couldn’t move anything except my head. Mistress reached under the bench and I felt something hard touch my nipples then I heard a machine turn on. I felt my nipples being sucked extremely hard into long thin tubes. Next I felt Mistress put larger things on my dangling breasts. She clicked a switch and my breasts were being sucked into glass cones. They didnít fit in easily as my breasts were too big so Mistress turned the suction up higher! It felt like my breasts were being ripped off. I just moaned in painful pleasure. This is what I wanted and it was better than I ever imagined.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Soon she came and Mistress turned the suction off. My now very tender and swollen breasts were just hanging from me like pieces of meat. No rest though. Mistress was snapping another set of clamps on my extremely soar nipples. They hurt as the metal teeth on them bit into my enlarged nipples. Each nipple had been stretched to a length of 2 inches! Then I felt my virgin butthole being forced open by a butt plug, when Mistress pushed it really hurt. I was ready to cry out when suddenly it seated and my butt relaxed round it. I was stretched to the max. But Mistress wasn’t done. She had attached a little electrical box to the wires coming from the nipple clamps. She turned on the juice and the stimulation was horrific! It was pure pain and pleasure at one time. Suddenly the butt plug began to vibrate! I was close to cumming in a minute. I began to beg Mistress to allow me to cum. She just laughed and began to whip my exposed butt. She hit me over and over again as I tried not to cum, Mistress laughed at me, “This bitch is easily trained. She will make a fine little slut, and loves pain too. I will make her a pain slut and a sex slut. What do you think about that slut?”

“Yes Mistress”, I moaned submissively. Miss Wendy was getting me off the bench. At this point I knew I was in for a long weekend. Mistress J commanded me to lick her clit until she came. I fell to my knees and ate like starving puppy. She had an intense orgasm within minutes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She told Wendy to get me cleaned up. The tape was out and she wanted Tom to get his copy as promised. Wendy was smiling at me and said, “What will your husband think when he sees his good little white wife eating two black pussies and cumming as her pussy is whipped?”

All I could do was moan as Wendy led me upstairs by a hand full of my pubic hair. Walking was hard as the plug was still in my butt. Once upstairs she led me into a bathroom, “Youíre going to get cleaned up and fix your makeup, your night is just beginning”, and she really pulled the hand full of pubic hair hard. My knees buckled from the pain. She watched me as I got myself together and would occasionally pinch a nipple and or pull my pubic hair.

Just before we left the room she pulled the plug out of my butt. And she commented on how stretched open my hole remained. Again Miss Wendy grabbed a hand full of my pubic hair and led me back down to the dungeon. Once inside I could see Mistress J had two male slaves bound and she was torturing their cocks. They really seemed to like it. The white guy had a huge one! It had to be 9′ long and as big around as a fist.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mistress walked over to me and pushed me backwards up against a large wooden wheel. I was bound to it with straps across my waist, wrists, thighs, ankles, and my forehead. She then grapped my pubic hair (By now I have figured why they wanted a lot of hair on me, to use as a torturous way to move me around) and pulled me and the wheel around until I was upside down.

Mistress then began to whip me again right on my still tender pussy. She beat me until I thought I would explode from the pain. But hurt as it did, I still was incredibly turned on. My juices covered her whip and were flowing down my butt and even running down my belly. Mistress J just smiled and as she started to put clothespins on my pussy lips. It felt like she put 6 on my outer lips and 4 on my inner lips. I was biting my lips to keep from screaming. Then she snapped one right onto my clit. That was it I was begging Mistress J to let me cum. She warned me not to and began to knock the pins off with her whip. I was hanging upside down getting my pussy whipped again while she knocked the pins off my pussy and all I could think of was how much I wanted this feeling to never stop. I was becoming a submissive sex/pain slut.

After the pussy torture ended she walked over one of the male slaves and jerked him off until he came. As he started to explode she held a glass up to his cock and collected every drop of his cum. She squeezed and milked every last drop out of him and into the glass. She motioned to Wendy to turn me right side up. Again my pubic hair was the handle she used, I let out a cry as my poor pussy was on fire. Mistress walked up to me and said, “Open your mouth bitch, your drink is here.”

I opened my mouth and she poured the glass into my mouth and warned me not to swallow until she commanded. It tasted salty and bitter, holding this cum in my mouth was a torture! I didn’t like it at all.

“If you spill a drop out of your mouth you will regret it, bitch”, Mistress said. With that, she picked up the crop that had been used on me earlier and began to beat my breasts with it again. She was swinging so hard her feet were coming off the ground. After the fourth blow I screamed and the cum ran out of my mouth. Mistress stopped and stared at me. Now I was scared.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She didn’t say a word. She and Wendy just took my abused body off the wheel and laid me on my back on that bench I was on earlier. They cuffed my arms to chains on the floor so they were straight out from my shoulders. My legs were pulled wide apart, almost into a complete split (I am very flexible) and chained. My head was hanging off the end of the bench. I was completely and totally helpless. Mistress let the two male slaves loose and told Wendy to get her husband. While Wendy was gone Mistress put clover clamps on my nipples. Above my breasts there was a chain hanging from the ceiling, the chain went all the way up and over a pulley. Mistress clipped the chain onto the clover clamps and pulled it on it until my nipples were completely stretched out and my breasts were cone shaped. She then tied off the chain on the wall. She had pulled the chain so tight that my shoulders were starting to lift off the bench. I just dangled by my nipples, my entire body was on fire.

“You don’t seem to like cum. This is bad. It’s difficult to be slut without liking cum. I am going to train you to become a cum whore now. So these two slaves and my husband are going to fuck you in whatever hole they want as many times as they want. They are then going to cum in your mouth, you will not spill a drop. If you do the game is over and you will never be brought back here again. Swallow every drop and tomorrow night you will be the stage show at a BDSM club. Have fun Bitch.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She laughed as these three men walked into my view. One had a regular sized cock. I already told you about the big one, but her husbands cock was even bigger. Her husband pinched my clit really hard and I opened my mouth to scream but when I did a cock was shoved all the way in. Her husband (Master G) put the head of his 10′ cock at my opening and in one huge push, he shoved into me all the way. I started to cum immediately. I was helpless as these three men just fucked me. There was nothing gentle about it. I was being gang raped. They banged away at me with wild abandon all the while my poor breasts were being torn at by the clover clamps. I came four more times. I lost count of how many times they fucked me. I do know that my butt was done about three times, my pussy more than that and they came in my mouth at least twice each. After they finished with me, Mistress said I was a good little slut and drank every drop.

The next day I didn’t wakeup until about 2:00 pm. Mistress J had me fed and cleaned up. My whole body was soar. My nipples were very tender and my butt and pussy felt as if they had been stretched beyond repair. Mistress assured me that I would tighten right back up over the next few hours. We spent the afternoon lying around her backyard pool just talking. We learned all about each others lives. Just before it was time to get ready to go to the BDSM Club. Master G came outside for a BJ. As I sucked him off he pulled on my nipples and my pubic hair.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Later that night as we arrived at the club I saw Tom at the bar. He had a great view of the stage that I would soon be on. He smiled and waved at us. I couldn’t help but wonder what he thought about me after watching the two videos from last night.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mistress J took me backstage to get ready for the show. I was clothed in a sheer red body stocking and strapped to a cross. Mistress was wearing thigh high black leather boots, long black gloves, and a black corset. Her breasts were fully exposed as was her pussy.

The curtain opened and Mistress explained that I was Novice slave of less than 24 hours. She told how I would cum on command and loved a good pussy and breast beating. She began to beat my breasts with that crop again. Soon she could tell I was ready to cum and she commanded me to cum, which I did! I forgot about the audience until they cheered as my orgasm subsided.

She ripped the body stocking off me and began to auction off my pussy for a beating and fucking. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Tom was bidding for all he was worth but another couple paid $450 for the right to beat my pussy and fuck me! This couple came on stage and each chose a different whip. They began to crack my pussy, rapid fire with alternating blows. I was screaming to the cheers and delight of the crowd. Soon they tired and the woman grabbed a huge dildo from Mistress J’s table. It had to be 9′ long and 4′ around. She had her husband pulled my pussy lips open with his hands so she could give a good shove on the dildo. She shoved it all the way in! Mistress J nodded her head yes, as I looked over at her pleading with my eyes for her to allow me to cum again. I exploded on the stage as this stranger was ramming a dildo into my swollen and beaten pussy. After my orgasm ended the curtain closed. Once off the stage, Mistress was very generous with the praise on how well I did.

She said, “For your reward I have arranged for a Lesbian couple to torture you back at my dungeon.” I just smiled.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Once back at her dungeon the Lesbians met me at the front door. The big one was about 5′ 10′ and very fat, I’d guess a size 3XL. She had blonde hair and lots of tattoos. Her partner was a little smaller, 5′ 6′ and maybe a size 16. Both were very mean looking. The big one told me her name was BD (for Bull Dyke) and she was going to hurt me. I wasn’t sure I liked this, but saw the video camera being turned on, so I went with it. BD just grabbed a hand full of pubic hair with one hand and shoved her thumb of her other hand up my butt. I didn’t know what to do, but before I could think or react her partner (Gina) grabbed both my tits in her hands and they lifted me and carried me into the dungeon like this! It was intense pain, I just hung their limp and tried to breathe through the pain.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Once in the dungeon they put a spreader bar on me to keep my legs open and hung me upside down. They chained my hands to the floor over my head. They choose the clover clamps for my nipples and hung weights from them. Then they put a speculum in my pussy and opened me up. I saw that there were many candles burning in glass holders. It didn’t take long for me to figure that they intended to pour the wax into my pussy. Mistress J warned them that I was not to lose any pubic hair. They said I wouldn’t because the wax was going inside me to make a plug. These two women slowly poured the wax inside me. It burned like nothing I have ever felt. It took them over 20 minutes to get enough wax melted to fill my pussy. I could feel the wax cooling off inside me and hardening up. Soon I had a custom pussy plug. They laughed and had a great time doing this to me. I almost passed out from the pain. After they lowered me to the floor they took turns sitting on my face and making me eat them.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After they left, Mistress had a difficult time getting all the wax out me. She had to use a douche to get it all lose and out. I was exhausted. She told me I was a good little slave and she would send me home in the morning. She had me lick her to orgasm one more time and said she would call Tuesday.

To be continued.

- The End -

I was out looking for a woman to kidnap and make my sex slave and I decided to stop at a popular fast food place for a burger and fries. It was close to midnight and only the drive-thru was open. When I pulled up to the window to pay I was greeted by one of the most beautiful young women I have ever seen. I knew instantly I had to have her somehow. She is 24, has blond hair that is wavy and comes down to her shoulders, has sparkling blue eyes, stands 5′ 8″, weighs 125 lbs., has 34B tits that are just large enough to be a mouthful, firm, tight ass (slowly becoming looser thanks to being fucked and plugged by yours truely), and a very tasty and tight pussy.

Since I was looking for someone to kidnap I had my kidnap kit with me. The kit is equipped with 2 handcuffs, 2 anklecuffs (in case of a double kidnapping), a roll of 2 inch wide duct tape, 2 leather blindfolds, a ballgag, a penis gag, 4 scarves, a few lengths of rope, a steak knife, some plastic zip-ties, and a stun gun.

The goddess who was working the drive-thru, (her name is Kayla), asked me to pull to a parking spot in the parking lot and she would bring my food to me in a couple minutes (how little did she know how right she was!). The parking lot was dimly lit and I decided to take a chance and kidnap Kayla when she brought my food to me if there were no other people around. I did a quick scan of the area when I saw Kayla come out of the building and approach my car, picked up my stun gun, and got ready for the attack. When she got to the driver’s side door I open it up, jumped out and zapped her with the stun gun. She went down like a sack of potatoes. I grabbed her, opened the back door and tossed her in. I picked up the bag of food and got back in my car and quickly drove away.

I pulled into a vacant lot about 6 blocks from the fast food place and figured I’d best bind, gag, and blindfold my new captive. I cuffed her hands together behind her back, cuffed her feet together, used a length of rope to hogtie her, shoved the ballgag into her mouth and tightened it nice and tight, and placed one of the blindfolds over her eyes. Being unable to control myself I had to cop a feel of her tits and was pleased to discover they were nice and firm and the size I like, just big enought to fill my hands when gripped from behind.

It took 20 minutes of very careful driving to get to my house. I ate on the way. I wasn’t thrilled with the thought of a getting stopped by a cop with a bound, gagged, blindfolded woman in my backseat. As I pulled into my garage Kayla started struggling and screaming into her gag. She was struggling so hard I thought she would break the cuffs.

I lauhed at her and told her it was no use, she was now my sex slave. I turned off the car, opened the back door, untied the rope holding Kayla in the hogtie, and had to dodge an attempt by her to kick me in the head. I pulled out the stun gun and zapped her again so I could carry her into the house.

I have a nice full-sized basement, and in one corner, hidden by a false wall, is a 12 foot by 15 foot room I have made into a rape/sodomy/bondage room. There is a futon for the captive to sleep on (the head and foot frames are very useful when it comes to securing someone to the futon. I have a chain dangling from the ceiling to use if I want to tie my captives hands above her head. There is a small dresser full of various bondage equipment, rope, and duct tape. I also have a digital camera to record the sexual attacks of my captives. Kayla is captive number 2 since I built the house 5 years ago. I was a little too rough on the first one and she got used up way too early. I knew this time I would have to pace myself when it came to raping/sodomizing any future captives.

I dumped Kayla onto the futon, undid the cuffs, stripped her and myself and tied her face down with a pillow under her to raise her cute ass. I am a big fan of giving anal sex, so I decided to sodomize her first. She came around and tried to break free but had no luck. I told her to calm down while I explained what was happening to her. I told her she had been kidnapped to be my sex slave and that I was going to rape and sodomize her many, many times while she was with me. I told her I had no idea how long she would be my captive. It may be only a few days, or may stretch out to be a few years. I told her no one knew where she was and escape was impossible. I also told her she would always be gagged unless she was eating or giving me a blowjob. A blindfold would always be over her eyes, and she would always be bound in some fashion.

I told her it didn’t matter to me if she resisted or simply submitted to me, I was going to fuck her no matter what. Kayla screamed into her gag once more, tried to get free, then realized she was doomed and just lay there.

I told her the first rape would be of her ass, grabbed some lube and applied to the head of my erect cock, positioned myself behind her, put the head of my cock at her as opening, grabbed her by the hips and rammed my 7 inches of love toy home. Kayla jerked against the cuffs holding her to the bed so hard when I entered her tight ass I thought I heard bones in here wrists and ankles crack. I pumped her tight ass a couple times then stopped with my cock buried deep in her ass. I savored the feel for a couple minutes then started fucking her hard again. After about 20 minutes I let my cock explode and filled her ass with my hot cum. I continued pumping her until I was well spent, then pulled out. I sat back to recover while Kayla whimpered. When I had recovered I pulled the pillow out from under her, and told her to rest and I would be back for more later. I turned out the light, closed and locked the door and went upstairs to shower and go to bed.

To Be Continued…

She had been with her master for six months now. He had mentioned a number of times over the past month he would be doing something special to mark their six month anniversary.

He had told her they had an appointment at 12:00. She was to shower, shave as usual, and he had selected the clothes she was to wear. He had chosen a nice little outfit, short skirt, a tight little top and high heels. No underwear of course but no-one would know that. She was looking forward to the day as she dressed. She wondered what they would be doing, thinking he might be taking her somewhere nice for lunch. Maybe a bottle of wine, then back home to cuddle up in bed together and spend the afternoon making love.

He didn’t normally allow her the pleasure of being in his bed and making love. His usual treatment of her would be to have her naked at his feet to be treated as his pet dog. He liked nothing better than watching her cower as he brought his belt down hard across her arse, or seeing her splutter and gag as he put his cock in her mouth, laughing as he emptied his bladder into her mouth. But it was their six month anniversary and he had promised something special to mark the occasion.

They left home at 11.30, heading towards the city, then further north till they came to a small group of shops in a side street. She wasn’t sure where she was. There didn’t appear to be any restaurants nearby. “Come on my little slut.” I followed as my master hopped out of the car and walked a couple of doors down to a shop. I swallowed as I saw what type of shop it was – a Tattooist.

I knew better than to say anything as I followed him inside. But I hoped he wasn’t planning to give me a tattoo. I really didn’t like them on girls, and wondered how I could get out of this. Inside the shop a large biker type of guy was behind the counter, great big arms covered in tatts, bald head and long beard. He looked me up and down, focusing on my bare legs and short skirt. Smiling and nodding, he looked at my master, “So this is the girl you’d like your mark on. I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

I felt even more nervous after his comment. They had obviously discussed what they had in mind, and I wasn’t liking the sound of it. But I knew if I didn’t follow my master’s orders he would discard me and find a new slave and I didn’t want that.

“Through here.” The tattooist led us through a curtained doorway to a back room. A long narrow table was in the center of the room with a low stool at the end. The walls were covered in shelves, filled with a variety of evil looking instruments and different colored inks. On the table was a folder the tattooist picked up. “This is what I drew up after our conversation.” He took out some drawings, showing them to my master. I couldn’t see what was on them as the two of them discussed the different pages. After a few minutes of discussion, my master made his decision and placed on the table in front of me the drawing he had chosen. I felt a little bit of relief when I saw the result as it was quite small. Not much more than 1cm across, it was a small red circle outlined in blue. In the middle of the circle was the letter P also in blue. Obviously the ‘P’ representing Master Peter.

“I am having you marked so people will know you are my property.” My Master told me. “The tattoo is a semi permanent type which lasts 3 months. Therefore each 3 months you will be taken to a tattooist for a new mark. Now lie back on the table so we can see where to place my mark.”

The tattooist sat on the stool at the end of the table, and I was trying to push my skirt down as master pushed me back onto the table, knowing the tattooist would be able to see I wasn’t wearing any underwear. But my master slapped my hands away, and taking hold of my ankles, he pushed my legs to my chest, completely exposing my naked shaved pussy. I felt my face go red in complete embarrassment as the two men discussed the best position for my tattoo. Four hands pulling and prodding at my pussy lips, deciding how close to my labia my master’s mark was to be placed.

They finally agreed where to position the mark and the process began. I was ordered to lie completely still as I heard the whir of the tattoo machine turned on. I could feel the fat fingers of the tattooist as he pushed my labia aside to make a nice flat surface for his artwork. I could feel his hot breath between my legs as he leant over me, the pricking of the tattoo machine jabbing at my tender skin. Sometimes almost tickling more than hurting.

To my humiliation I began to become aroused as he worked. I could feel my cunt beginning to throb and I knew my juices were beginning to flow. I tried to think of something else to stop my arousal, but just then my Master twisted his hand through my hair. Pulling my head towards him, he unzipped his pants, and taking out his hard cock he began to fuck my mouth.

Moaning, I accepted his penis deep in my throat. I could feel my juices beginning to seep out now. The tattooist gave a deep laugh as he began to push his thick fingers inside me, still continuing with the tattoo with his other hand. The tattooist finished his work just as my master ejaculated his sperm down the back of my throat.

My legs were spread wide as the two men examined the mark of my master. I knew they would be able to see the glistening of my juices on my pussy lips as the looked at me. “It will only take a few days to completely heal. ” the tattooist said. “I suggest you use her back passage till then.” Someone’s fingers smeared the juices from my pussy down to my arse.

“We’d better pay you for your services and get going.” Master helped me up from the table, then smiling at me, he turned me round and pushed me forward across the table. Lifting my skirt, he spread my arse cheeks as I heard trousers being unzipped and the grunting of the tattooist as his hard fat cock was pushed into my arse.

- The End -

I drove up to her home and honked the horn. She was waiting as she was told to do. This was to be a little weekend odyssey into her perceived need to be totally subjugated. She was wearing a long cloak to cover the fact that she was absolutely naked under that cover. She is such a hot slut and gets so excited that I instructed her to bring a towel to sit on so that she wouldn’t stain the upholstery.

She had her toy bag with her and as we took off I ordered her to don her cuffs, both wrist and ankle, and to buckle her slaves symbol around her neck. It was a spiked collar, rather like they use on fighting bull dogs. As we climbed into the hills I ordered her to unzip my trousers, take out my cock and to put her head in my lap and suck me. She is quite talented and driving along with the moon roof open and my cock being sweetly licked while she gently massaged my balls made for a delightful spring outing. My cup runneth over.

We arrived at the cabin. It was rustic but comfortable and quite isolated. The nearest neighbor was over a mile away and not the sociable sort. I had her remove the cloak and take our things into the house. The first order of business was for me to set the tone for our little tryst. I had her come out into the yard and I chained her arms around the oak tree. The bark abraded her skin nicely and would do even more when she began to twist about to escape the lash. I pulled her ankles around the tree trunk and fastened them with a short length of chain so that she was embracing the tree with her arms and legs as if it were her lover. I laid out the toys I intended to use on her.

First I excited and sensitized the skin of her back with the rabbit fur. Very nice. Then it was time for the paddle. Softly to begin with, then with increasing intensity, I spanked her ample ass until it glowed pink and warm. When she was well warmed up I switched to the supple cane. This is quite severe, and I used it slowly on her quivering ass cheeks. Each cut left a weal on her vulnerable white globes. Delicious! She began to whimper. This brought out the cruel streak in me and I laid on the stripes in measured sadistic strokes. She began to ask for mercy, which made me even hotter, so I intensified the delivery. Aaahh. How sweet! It was now time for the “Wasp.” This is a flogger with seven [for luck] thongs attached to a handle. The thongs are about the thickness of a thin pencil. They have been soaked in brine and are quite hard. Now it was time to give the rest of her body some attention. The front would be taken care of at another session, but now it was the rear part that was being dealt with.

I began at her shoulders, just below her neck. The swish of the thongs streaking through the cool mountain air was music to my ears, but struck terror into her heart. Stroke after stroke struck her naked helpless back. From the neck the lashes proceeded to crawl slowly down her flinching back flesh to her waist and then thudded into her cruelly cane striped ass, then on to the sweet spot where the thighs meet the buttocks and on down to the back of her knees. She was crying now and pleaded for my mercy. I asked her why I should stop when I was so enjoying myself, and asked if she could think of anything she might be able to do for me that would persuade me to switch the method of my enjoyment. We had played before, and she knew of a perverted pleasure of mine. I asked her what, and she sobbed out that she would be willing to fuck my asshole with her tongue. I renewed the flogging, beginning at the top of her shoulders again and asked, willing? She understood immediately and cried, “Please, please Master darling allow me to show you my total submission by fucking your lovely asshole with my adoring tongue! Well, who could resist such a heartfelt plea? After I thought about it as I continued to work the lashes back down to the hollow of her knees, I relented. I released her from the tree, took her inside, went to the bed, knelt on it with my ass high in the air and my chest and face resting on the pillow, and allowed her to fulfill her promise. Life is sweet, and this was only the beginning!

Later we had a couple of martinis, a couple of steaks and a good bottle of claret. I got naked [she still was] and settled into the bedroom. I had her put a porno flick on the VCR to pass the time and continue my mood. I piled pillows behind my head and back, then had her lie on the bed at a right angle to me, so that we could both watch the flick between my feet. She took my cock into her hot wet mouth and suckled on me like a new born calf, and gently massaged my balls. The flick was a good one and I had to make her slack off a couple of times to save cumming too soon. I tend to lose my edge for a while after I cum, and I wanted to save it ’till I was ready for sleep.

After the movie, I had her get out the long flexible asshole probe with the knob on the end. As I previously mentioned, I have a very sensitive anus and like it rimmed and probed. So I’m a pervert. I thought we already knew that. She got on her knees between my wide spread legs and I lifted my hips off the bed so that she had access to the sweet spot and she eased the knob past my puckering sphincter and commenced sucking my cock and polishing the knob of my cock with her talented tongue while gently squeezing her teeth at the ridge between the head and the shaft. She squeezed and pulled on my balls. The darling started to frig me deeper and deeper with the probe and increased the speed of her bobbing head. I felt the ejaculate boiling up inside me. Oh shit! This was great! Faster and faster, deeper and deeper and then I had a spine wrenching cum as I bucked and spasmed to the rhythm of her mouth. After calming down I took her in my arms and kissed, soothed and petted her, and told her what a wonderfully generous and loving slave she was. It was time now for sleep, so I put on one ankle cuff with a lock on it so that she couldn’t release it while I slept. I put the key in the other room after attaching a long chain to the leg of the bed and the cuff. She could go to the bathroom during the night if she needed to. She would sleep on the floor. She would not sleep well, but subs are edgier and easier to cower when they are not well rested, and this was after all her weekend of service, bondage and discipline which she so much needed.

Keeping my subbie at her demeaning degrading task for e few minutes, I relented and straightened my knees so that I collapsed face down on the bed. I ordered her to go to the bathroom to freshen up. After all, her ordeal hugging the giant Oak, and having performed nicely at the odious task of ass fucking me deeply with her tongue earned her a little respite.

I know she really doesn’t relish the latter task, but it is a necessary ritual to properly set it in her own mind that she is truly and thoroughly committed to being my slave. Don’t misunderstand this. She is my equal in every way. I know that, but she is a masochist and I am somewhat sadistic, [although more on that at another time] so this is what it takes to fulfill each of us. She may writhe in agony, but down deep inside of her soul, she wants and needs this. When she returned to the bed, I had her lie down against me at full length, and I kissed and cuddled her and told her what a good girl she had been and how much pleasure I had taken in torturing her.

We rested for a while and took some refreshment. She was of course still naked and had recurred herself after her shower so that she was ready for scene two of the first act. We went back out to the front under the oak and I looped a chain over a lower branch which I then clipped to her wrist cuffs. I had her pulled tight so that my darling was on her tippy toes. What a wonderful sight. So utterly vulnerable. I had access to any portion of her wantonly displayed body with which I chose to devote my attention. To begin, I took a long piece of soft rope and commenced to imprison her tits. Round and round with the rope, tightly winding it so that the globes began to distend and stand out firmly. Tying this off, it was now time for the Japanese clover clamps. Taking each nipple between my thumb and forefinger I carefully set the bite solidly on each side of the nipple so that they were fully and painfully gripped. She began to whimper. These Oriental devices are fiendishly effective. Now I connected a short small linked chain to each clamp, thus yoking them together. I gave the chain a nice upward tug and the poor dear tried to rise even higher on to her toes. On to some more fun, I attached a window sash weight to the titty chain which kept a lot of tension on her swollen breasts and throbbing nipples. I next took a long length of rope and wound it around her waist as tightly as I could manage. It squeezed her waist like a wasp waisted corset, but far more tightly.

She is a big woman and has a lot of extra flesh at her waist, so the rope practically disappeared into it. I fastened the spreader bar between her ankles so that she was hugely opened. Next I inserted a vibrating dildo into her pussy. It is a a large one. Then came the butt plug. I lubed it well and slowly forced it past her sphincter and deeply into her rectum. A simple bungee cord attached at the waist in back, run down between her legs and the crease of her ass, then up between the lips of her sopping pussy and attached to the front of her waist to the rope, assured that the dildo and butt plug could not be expelled. I just let her hang there like that until she began to tremble and her muscles were starting to cramp. She was now ready for a proper whipping. Poor thing. I almost felt sorry for her.

This time I used a flogger that she herself had purchased. It was softer and heavier than the “Wasp” but nicely crafted to sting madly, but not heavy enough to cause damage even when applied to her lower back over her kidneys. I worked first her entire back from neck to heels, the down each side of her body. She was pleading for mercy now. We had agreed to give up her privilege of a safe word, and I think she was regretting it now, but I continued her whipping. I finished with the front of her thighs, her stomach and her distended tits.

I was finished, but had to ease her out of her bondage. First I removed the bungee and she exploded out both toys. Then the waist rope, next the spreader bar, followed by unwinding rope binding her tits. She was still hanging by her wrists and after one last loving look at her, I snapped off the titty clamps. This was over the top, and she screamed from the sudden lightning-like pain that shot through her tender nipples. I unsnapped her cuffs from the chain and eased her onto the grass. My darling was completely exhausted, but off in her private place, floating in a sort of daze. I helped her back into the cabin and gave her a good stiff drink. This was a very contented lady, but as she knew, this was only the curtain at the conclusion of act one.

Something woke me. My cock was thick and warm. I opened my eyes to see my weekend slave licking and sucking it. What a nice way to start the day. I highly recommend it to all of you. We had a light breakfast, then I donned some shorts and a T-shirt for a walk in the woods. I had subbie put on her wrist cuffs and a pair of shoes, otherwise she continued in her nakedness. I brought along the “Wasp” and some double ended clips in case the spirit moved me to engage in a little sylvan fun and games. We had a leisurely stroll along the wooded pathway. It was warm and pleasant. We came to the stream that runs through the property and to the pool that formed when I put in a little dam to form a small swimming hole. I stripped and she doffed her sandals and we had a nice dip. It was fun stroking her slick smooth skin in the water like that. I played with her titties and pinched her nipples to make them hard. I enjoyed licking the water off of her breasts. I put two fingers into her pussy and tweaked her clit between my thumb and forefinger. She rode my fingers to a nice little cum. Got to keep my pet happy you know. We laid out in the sun ’till we dried off and continued our stroll. We came upon a willow grove. How fortuitous. Willow switches there for the taking. I simply had to take advantage of this find, so I fastened her cuffs to a nearby tree and broke off several willow switches. I made a small bundle of five of them and whipped her back and ass with them. Wow! They made lovely stripes on the sweet white flesh.

When I had given her a sufficient whipping, we started back to the cabin. When we arrived there was another car there. It belonged to a friend of mine who came up from time to time to fish for trout in the stream. I hoped he hadn’t brought along his girl friend since she was vanilla and wouldn’t have understood us perverts. As it happened, he was alone so there was no embarrassment. He was aware of my proclivities, so no explanation was necessary. When we entered the cabin, it occurred to me that I might enlist his assistance in further tormenting my subbie. I asked him if he would mind, and he readily and eagerly agreed.

As I have mentioned my girl was big and so I needed some assistance with her coming ordeal. I placed a a hassock under the ceiling beams and put two chains over them. I placed them about six feet apart. I put the ankle cuffs on my sub, had her lie on her back under the chains, and fastened each cuff to one of the chains. We then hoisted her legs up high toward the ceiling, made sure the chains were taut, then carefully eased the stool out from under her so that her shoulders were resting on the floor and partially supporting her in this inverted position without damaging her. Quite a bizarre sight.

There she was, widely splayed, upside down, with her hands cuffed behind her back. My friend was getting very hot from all of this. I told him that I wouldn’t send him fishing frustrated, to trust me. There was a nice pool of hot wax in the jar in which I had lit a candle before we left for our walk. Being a good boy scout, I was prepared. ["Be prepared" being the Boy Scout motto]. My darlings pussy was nicely open because of her widely spread legs, so she was ready for my waxing session. I carefully tipped the jar just enough so that a small stream of hot wax dribbled onto and inside of her open pussy. This brought some delicious screams from her.

After I coated her crotch area with the hot wax, I had my friend spread her ass cheeks nice and wide, and drizzled a stream in there too. It overflowed some and ran down her back. More screams and a lot of pleading for mercy. How sweet it is!! With what remained of the wax, I poured on to her nipples. They were in a wonderful position to be waxed too. I then got the flogger and methodically whisked the hardened wax from her pussy, ass and asshole with well placed cuts. This brought some additional anguish and tears. My friend helped me get her down and he was in a high state of rut as evidenced by the prominent bulge of his trousers. My darling was on her knees, wrists still cuffed behind her.

I told my friend that the time had come for his reward for assisting me. I told him to drop his pants, step out of his shorts and present his rampant cock to my subbie for relief. He didn’t hesitate a bit. He stood before her, grabbed the hair on each side of her head and thrust his cock deeply into her mouth. He was a little rough, but not too much so, so she handled it nicely. He fucked her face vigorously and very soon had a tremendous cum! My subbie couldn’t contain all his juice and some dribbled out of the sides of her flooded mouth and down over her chin. I sent my pal to go about the fishing he intended to do, and I released my well abused subby so that she could clean herself up and rest.

- The End -

The three teenage girls stood close together as the subway slowed to a stop. The doors slid open with a hiss and they stepped slowly out onto the platform, looking around uncertainly. A man in faded jeans and a well-worn jean jacket got off the same car and stood watching them discreetly. He glanced over at another man leaning against a post wearing a black leather jacket and nodded almost imperceptibly toward the girls. The man in the leather jacket walked quickly to the stairs and disappeared up them toward the street above.

The man who’d gotten off the subway walked over to a group of benches near the back wall and stood there as if waiting for the next train, but never taking his eyes off the three girls. They were without question strangers to the city. He’d seen them get off a bus from the outlying suburbs and followed them into the subway. Of the three, two of them were pretty, although one was a little chubby, but not grossly overweight. The third, a leggy brunette with long, wavy hair, was absolutely beautiful. She was about five foot seven with long, slender legs and dark skin, suggesting she may have some Latin blood. She wore tight jeans that showed off her perfect ass and her open jacket revealed a small, but nice set of tits under a tight sweater. Like her two companions, she carried a backpack slung over one shoulder and a duffle bag over the other.

The next one was a little shorter, maybe five foot five, with shoulder length curly blonde hair. She had a pretty face, though not the knockout that the brunette was, and she showed off her nice figure with a pair of tight faded jeans that left little to the imagination. Her legs were slender and she wore a pair of white Nikes on her feet. She, too, had a backpack slung over her shoulder but he couldn’t tell what her tits were like as she wore a loose-fitting windbreaker that was zipped almost to her neck.

The third girl was about the same height as the blonde, but looked to be about twenty pounds overweight. She wore jeans that were maybe a little too tight to be flattering on her chubby frame. Her long, dirty blonde hair fell down her back in waves. Her jean jacket was open and she had the biggest rack of the three by far. Her face didn’t have any of the chubbiness of her body and she was actually prettier than the blonde. The requisite duffle bag and backpack were present, of course.

He judged them all to be around fifteen, although it was hard to tell with kids these days. They may be as young as thirteen. Their ages were of no real consequence. They looked old enough, and that was what counted.

He continued to watch them as they moved over to where a large map of the subway was superimposed over a map of the city. They pointed to it and talked amongst themselves for several minutes. The blonde appeared to be the leader. She pointed to a spot on the map. The others said something to her, then nodded, and they all headed for the stairway that led up to the street. He allowed them a small head start, then followed discreetly.

Katie, Debbie, and Carrie all stood in the busy subway station, looking around anxiously at the people rushing about.

“Over here,” Katie said and walked over to a large map on the wall, her blonde curls bouncing. Debbie shrugged and followed her, while Carrie, the tallest of the three, brought up the rear. They stood studying the map for a few minutes, then Katie groaned.

“Aw, shit!” She pointed to a spot on the map. “We took the wrong train!” She pointed to a different spot. “This is where we were supposed to get off, but we’re way over here!” She moved her finger to another point.

Carrie, the pretty brunette, spoke up. “Do you think your brother could come and get us?”

Katie glared at her. “He doesn’t have a car!” Then her face fell and she lowered her voice. “Besides, he . . . doesn’t exactly know I’m here.”

Carrie and Debbie’s mouths dropped open. “What?!,” Debbie cried. “I thought you said we’d be able to stay with him until we could get our own place!”

“I know what I said . . . and I’m pretty sure he’ll let us! I just haven’t . . . asked him yet!,” Katie replied sheepishly.

“Oh, shit!,” Carrie exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “Now what do we do?!”

Katie studied the map again. “Look! There’s a hotel only a few blocks from here that my brother stayed at when he first moved to the city. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s cheap.” She hitched up her backpack. “C’mon . . . we’ll get some sleep and I’ll call Jake in the morning.” They all started up the stairway to the street, completely oblivious to the two men who were keeping a very close eye on them.

Up on the street, the man in the leather jacket was standing by a phone booth on the dark street smoking a cigarette and waiting for them to emerge from the subway. In the alley next to him, a car was parked with the engine running and the lights off.

The girls came out of the subway and turned in the direction of the hotel. There were very few people walking and even fewer cars moving along the street in this slightly run down section of town. It wasn’t one of the more friendly neighborhoods, especially at night. The man let them get a small head start, then dropped his cigarette to the sidewalk, crossed the empty street, and began following the three teenagers. As he passed the steps to the subway, the other man emerged and followed a short distance behind him. Across the street, the car parked in the alley eased onto the street, keeping pace a few yards behind the men.

The girls walked quickly, somewhat aware that it probably wasn’t safe for them to be on the street at this hour. The car sped up and drove past them, then came to a stop at the curb a half a block down the street. They continued walking in the direction of the car, their thoughts only on reaching the relative safety of the seedy hotel. As they neared the car, its darkened windows revealing nothing of its occupants, the men behind them increased their pace to a trot and quickly closed the distance between them.

Carrie heard the running footsteps and turned to see the two men bearing down on them. They had come up on the car and before she could warn the others about the men, the passenger door swung open in front of them. A tall woman got out and stepped in their path, grinning maliciously at them. They tried to go around her, but she moved again to block them, the evil smile still on her face.

“Now, what have we here?,” she asked as the two men came up behind them and stopped. Realizing the woman wasn’t going to let them pass, they turned around to go back the way they came. The two men stood there, arms folded, and the same unfriendly look on their faces.

The woman spoke again. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is for three pretty young girls to be out at this time of night?”

Katie found her voice. “P . . .please! We don’t have any money or valuables! Just let us go, ok?”

The woman’s grin widened as she examined her fingernails. “Well, now, that’s not exactly true.” She looked up at the three terrified teens. “No money? Probably not. You wouldn’t have taken the bus and subway if you had money.” They stared at her, mouths open in surprise.

“H . . .how did you . . . ?,” Debbie stammered, but the woman cut her off.

“But you do have something valuable!” She opened the back door of the car as the two men grabbed them. As they wrestled the frightened girls into the back seat, the woman grinned again. “Very valuable!”

She closed the door. The man in the jean jacket got into the back with the girls while the other man sat in the front passenger seat. The woman sat behind the wheel, put the car in gear, and they roared off down the road.

The three girls sat huddled together in the back of the car while the man in the jean jacket sat next to them. The look in his eyes and the way he openly ogled their bodies made them even more terrified. When they stopped at a red light, Carrie, who was closest to the door, reached down and pulled the handle. Nothing happened. The woman glanced back at her in the mirror.

“That won’t work, honey,” she said flatly, and drove off as the light changed. Carrie sat back in the seat, watching the unfamiliar streets fly by in the darkness. They turned constantly and the girls quickly lost any sense of direction. After about twenty minutes, the car pulled up to a set of double doors at what appeared to be an old warehouse. The man sitting up front got out, unlocked a chain, and swung the doors open. They pulled inside the large, dimly lit space and the man pulled the doors closed behind them then walked over to the car. The woman got out as he got there and he pulled open Carrie’s door.

“C’mon! Out with ya!,” he yelled gruffly. The girls were tugged and pushed out of the car by him and the other man.

“What do you want with us?,” Katie cried. Carrie and Debbie stood clinging to each other, sobbing. The woman ignored her question and started up a long staircase that led to a door. The men shoved the girls after her and they all made their way to the top of the stairs. The woman unlocked the door and led them down several long hallways to an elevator. She retrieved a key hanging on a chain around her neck, inserted it into a keyhole next to the elevator doors, then punched four numbers on a keypad next to the key slot. With a clunk, the doors slid open and they were forced inside. The woman pushed a button and the elevator began its descent.

Katie glared at the woman, acting a lot braver than she felt. “Where are you taking us!?,” she cried, tears of fear and anger in her eyes. The woman only smiled calmly, fixing her with an icy stare.

“All of your questions will soon be answered,” was all she said. Katie, in a fit of helpless rage, raised a fist to hit her, but one of the men grabbed her arm, spun her around, and slapped her hard across the face. Debbie and Carrie stared in horror as Katie collapsed to the floor at their feet. They started crying more, which their captors simply ignored.

The doors slid open. Debbie and Carrie were roughly pushed through them by the woman into a carpeted hallway with several closed and numbered doors along it. Katie was picked up by the two men and half carried, half dragged out behind them. The woman led them wordlessly down the hallway and finally stopped at one of the doors. She unlocked it, swung it open, and motioned for the men to put Katie inside. They pushed her in, first removing her backpack. Katie stumbled to her feet and turned to run back out.

“No!,” she cried, but the door was pulled shut quickly, silencing her scream of protest.

The woman addressed Carrie and Debbie. “As you can see, these rooms are soundproof. And you’re four stories underground. Yelling and screaming won’t help.” She opened two more doors and in turn, Carrie and Debbie were relieved of their possessions and locked in.

Katie hammered on the door. “Let me out!!,” she screamed. After a few minutes she realized that wasn’t going to happen and looked around her prison cell.

It looked like a hotel room. There was a large bed, a dresser, a TV, but no telephone. A door next to the bed led into a bathroom, with a tub and shower. There was a large mirror on the wall next to the TV and two cameras mounted in the corners of the room next to the high ceiling. A piece of paper lay on the table under the mirror. She picked it up and read,

‘The room is soundproof. You will be provided with regular meals and clean clothing unless you are uncooperative. The TV is the only one you’ll get. If you choose to destroy it, or anything else, you won’t get another and you will be punished. Punishment will be severe. Do not think of escape. There is none. You belong to us. Do as you’re told, and you won’t be harmed.’

Katie reread the note. One line, ‘You belong to us’ sent a cold chill down her spine. She dropped the note and collapsed on the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

The other girls were placed in similar rooms with identical notes. Carrie sat on the edge of the bed looking at her reflection in the mirror.

“What do they want?,” she asked herself out loud. None of their parents were rich, so ransom wasn’t the answer. She picked up the remote control and turned on the TV. A porn movie came on, showing a pretty, naked blonde girl sucking a man’s cock. Carrie stared at the screen, simultaneously shocked and curious. Suddenly a thought came to her. No! They couldn’t want them for . . . that! She was only fourteen! But the more she thought about, the more it made sense.

‘Oh, god!,’ she thought, burying her face in her hands. On the TV, the man’s cum was running down the girl’s face as she smiled and licked his cock.

Debbie examined her room and read the note as she sat on the bed. She stared at herself in the mirror for a few seconds, then got up and walked over to it. Remembering a trick someone once told her, she held her thumbnail up to the glass. There was no space between the edge of her nail and its reflection, which meant it was a two-way mirror. She stuck out her tongue and raised her middle finger to it, then went back over and lay down on the bed.

On the other side of the glass, the woman chuckled. Her and the two men were in a room onto which several of the ‘mirrors’ backed, including the three that held their latest acquisitions. The men were seated at a row of monitors that showed the camera views of all the rooms.

“We have a smart one here,” the man in the leather jacket said with a chuckle. The woman stood behind them and nodded in agreement.

“She’s got the right look, but needs to lose about twenty pounds. Keep her on a strict diet and I’ll speak to Andrew about an exercise program.”

The man nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She moved over to Carrie’s room. She was watching TV. The woman smiled to herself. All the TVs in the girls’ rooms showed nothing but porn, twenty-four hours a day. “This one seems promising. Beautiful and slightly perverted,” she mused. Speaking to the man in the leather jacket, but continuing to watch Carrie, she said, “Bring her to the suite tomorrow. We’ll see what she’s made of.” The man nodded and smiled. Going to the suite with a new girl was always fun, but this one was a knockout!

They moved to Katie’s room. She was still lying on the bed and appeared to be asleep. “This one will need a little . . . special conditioning. We need to rid her of that attitude.”

The man in the jean jacket spoke up. “Shall I pay her a visit?”

The woman nodded, still watching Katie. “Yes. I think she would benefit from your talents, Dave.” Dave grinned and ran his hand through his thick dark hair.

“What time?”

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let her sleep for a few hours first.” As she turned and left the room, the two men grinned at each other.

“Wanna flip to see who breaks in the fat chick?” They both laughed and followed the woman out of the room.

Carrie opened her eyes. At first, she was confused. Nothing was familiar. Where was she? Then she realized she’d slept in her clothes and the previous nights horror came back to her. ‘Oh, shit!’, she thought, her hands covering her eyes. ‘I was hoping it was just a bad dream!’ She sat up and looked around. There were no windows and no clock. It could have been morning or night, she had no idea. The TV was still on and another porn movie flashed across the screen. She got up, turned the TV off, and looked at herself in the mirror. She was about to go into the bathroom when her door swung open. An elderly Chinese woman entered pushing a serving cart. She took a tray of food from the cart and set it on the table with a nod and a brief smile to Carrie. Then she placed some clothing on the bed, bowed politely, and left with her cart. There was a folded note on her food tray. She went over and picked up the note.

‘Eat breakfast, take a shower, and put on these clothes. You have one hour. If you’re not ready in time, you will be punished.’

She put the note down, went over to the bed, and examined the clothes. They consisted of a very short mini skirt and a tight, cutoff t-shirt. There was also a pair of red thong panties, but no bra. She sighed and dropped them to the bed.

She looked at her breakfast; scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice. Not wanting to risk ‘punishment’, she sat down and ate. It was actually quite good. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. When she was finished, she undressed and went into the bathroom and took a shower. There was a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo, and some basic cosmetics on the counter. She finished and came back out into the main room. As she picked up the new clothes, she noticed her own clothes were gone. She knew she’s left them on the bed, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Not wanting to be late for whatever they had planned for her, she put on the tiny thong panties and skimpy mini skirt, then squeezed the tiny t-shirt over her perky baseball-sized breasts. It was barely long enough to cover her nipples and the skirt just hid the panties. She looked at herself in the mirror and thought, ‘Christ, I look like a hooker!’

Just then, the door swung open and one of the men from the previous night came in. He eyed her approvingly and gestured toward the open door. “Come with me, baby.”

Tugging her skirt down as low as she could, Carrie stepped into the hallway. He took her by the elbow and led her down the hall.

After a few minutes, they stopped at a door. He opened it and gestured for her to enter. She slowly stepped inside, still very self-conscious in the revealing clothes, and her followed her in, closing and locking the door behind them.

The room was large with two sofas in the main room and a what she could see was a bedroom off to one side. The woman who kidnaped them was sitting on one of the sofas. She got up as they entered and walked over to Carrie, her eyes moving over her firm young body. Carrie suddenly felt naked under her gaze. The woman was dressed in a knee-length gray skirt with a white blouse and matching gray blazer.

She raised an eyebrow after checking Carrie out. “Well now, don’t you look sexy!” Carrie bowed her head, embarrassed.

“Now, now . . . chin up!,” she said. She placed her finger under Carrie’s chin and raised her face up to meet her eyes. The woman’s eyes were pale gray and seemed as hard and cold as steel. Her dark brown hair was pulled back and fell in a long braid down her back. She looked to be in her mid-thirties with a lithe figure and a pretty, but unsmiling face.

She gestured to the man who’d escorted her to the room. “This is Steve. We’re going to teach you a few things today.” Carrie’s eyes flicked briefly toward the bedroom and her stomach churned. Steve grinned at her as his eyes moved over her slender young body. The woman continued. “My name is Donna. And you are . . .?”

“C . . . Carrie,” the frightened girl mumbled.

“Carrie,” Donna said matter-of-factly, then turned to Steve. “Steve, meet Carrie.” Steve’s leering grin widened and he tipped an imaginary hat in her direction. Donna took her hand and led her to the sofas. Carrie sat on one, keeping her knees tight together, and Donna sat on the other, facing her. Steve took a seat next to Donna.

Donna smiled coldly. “Is everything ok in your room? Do you need anything?” Carrie shook her head, her arms folded across her breasts. The room was cool and her nipples were hard, something she didn’t want them to see. Donna winked at Steve and said, “Find something interesting on TV?” Steve snickered and Carrie felt her face getting hot. Donna reached over and placed a hand on her bare knee. “It’s ok, honey. But you do seem a little young to be watching that!”

Carrie looked up at her. Too young?! Look at what they gave her to wear! “I . . . I’m almost fifteen,” she said quietly.

Donna’s face lit up in a big grin. “Fifteen?! Really? You look older than that! At least . . . what . . . eighteen! Don’t you think, Steve?”

Steve ogled her like a starving man looks at a steak dinner and nodded. “At least eighteen.”

Donna clapped her hands together. “Oh, yes! At least eighteen!,” she exclaimed. “Tell me, Carrie, have you ever had a boyfriend?” Carrie shook her head. “Ever been on a date? Ever kissed a boy?” Again, she just shook her head.

“Hear that, Steve? Almost fifteen and never been kissed!” Steve made a kissing motion in her direction. Carrie turned away. “Unless, you prefer girls? Is that why such a pretty thing like you doesn’t have a boyfriend?”

Carrie looked at Donna, her face shocked. “No! Of course not! I’m just . . . shy around boys, is all.” Donna grinned.

“Well, my dear, we’re going to cure you of that!” Donna paused for a moment, then said, “You’re probably wondering why we brought you here. Well, I make movies and I need some new actresses for my latest film.” She smiled at the frightened teen. “Haven’t you always wanted to be a movie star?” Carrie didn’t respond.

“Now, Carrie . . . it’s rude not to answer me.” Her eyes darkened.

“I . . . I guess so,” she murmured.

“Good!,” Donna said, standing. “We’re going to do a little screen test. Just to see how the camera likes you.” She stepped closer and brushed her fingers along Carrie’s cheek, her eyes dropping to her tits, then locking on her eyes. “Steve, could you go over to the main set and get into costume? We’ll be along in a minute.”

Steve winked at Carrie, got up, and walked into the bedroom. Donna walked over to a closet and retrieved a video camera and tripod.. She started toward the bed, beckoning to Carrie.

“Come with me, honey.” Carrie followed her across the room, her heart in her throat. All the movies she’d seen last night were filmed in bedrooms a lot like this one and she was afraid that she knew exactly what they were going to ‘teach’ her.

Her fears were confirmed when she entered the bedroom and saw Steve standing there wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. She shuddered and felt her knees weaken as she paused just inside the door.

“C’mon! Keep moving!,” Donna said, slapping her lightly on the ass. Carrie stepped hesitantly into the room. Donna set up the tripod and camera at the end of the bed and motioned for Carrie to sit and face it. Carrie sat down, her body shivering with fright. Donna focused the camera on her and stood up behind it.

“All right, Carrie. First, I’m just going to ask you a few questions. Answer them all honestly, and we’ll go from there, ok?” Donna fixed her with a cold stare. “Understand?” Carrie nodded. Donna turned on a bright light and held a light monitor in front of her. She adjusted what looked like an umbrella by the light, then checked the meter again. Seeming satisfied, she put the meter down and turned on the camera.

“Ok,” she said. “What’s your first name?”

Carrie blinked in the glare of the light and said, “Carrie.”

“And how old are you, Carrie?,” Donna asked in a pleasant voice.

“Fourteen.”

“Have you ever had sex before?”

Carrie swallowed hard. “N . . . no.”

“Have you ever kissed a boy? Or a girl?”

“No.”

“Did that dirty movie you watched last night make you horny?” Carrie looked up at her. Donna was nodding.

“Y . . .yes,” she said quietly.

“I see. And would you like to kiss Steve?” Again, she was nodding. Carrie swallowed another lump and replied almost in a whisper. “Yes.”

“And . . . cut!,” Donna said, switching off the camera. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Carrie shook her head, staring down at her bare feet. Donna picked up the camera and tripod and moved them over to one side of the bed. She moved the lights over there as well.

“Now, darling, just relax for a few minutes while we set up the next shot.” She left the bedroom, leaving Carrie alone with Steve. She looked over at him but he was reading a Penthouse magazine and not paying any attention to her. A few minutes later, Donna returned with another woman carrying more lights and a man with another camera. She watched in mounting terror as they set up the cameras and lights, focusing them on the bed.

‘Oh, god!,’ she thought. ‘They’re really going to do it! They’re going to make me have sex with him and film it!’ Until this point, it hadn’t seemed real, but the people setting up the lights and cameras were acting very professional and it suddenly hit her. This was going to happen, and there was nothing she could do to stop it! She felt tears flooding her eyes. No, she scolded herself. She would get through this without giving them the satisfaction of seeing her cry!

They finished setting up and the other woman whispered something to Donna. Donna whispered back to her, both of them looking over at Carrie. The woman shrugged and stood next to one of the chairs by the bed. With a smile to Carrie, she began unfastening her jeans. She slowly pulled them off and tossed them onto one of the chairs. Carrie couldn’t help but notice that she was very beautiful, with dark, wavy hair, pretty brown eyes, and a perfect figure.

As she watched the woman disrobe, it suddenly occurred to her that maybe she wasn’t going to be in the movie. Maybe they just wanted her to watch how one was made today. It wasn’t much hope; she knew it would only be a matter of time before she’d be put in front of the camera, but maybe it wouldn’t be today! The dark haired woman removed her blouse, dropped into a chair, and began flipping through a magazine wearing only her bra and panties.

Donna beckoned to Carrie. “Carrie, come here, please!” Carrie took a deep breath and went over to her.

“Ok, honey. Showtime,” she said. Carrie’s eyes flashed to the nearly naked woman in the chair. Donna laughed. “Don’t worry! Linda will join you when it’s time!” Carrie’s heart sank. Donna beckoned Steve over and Carrie could see a huge bulge in the front of his shorts. He was grinning at her and she could feel the animal lust in his eyes. Donna stepped back behind the cameras and yelled, “Action!”

Steve moved closer and pulled her body tight to his. She could feel his hard cock pushing against her and smell the musky scent of his sex.

“Kiss him!,” Donna called out. Carrie looked up at Steve’s leering face only inches from hers. She closed her eyes and felt his lips touch hers, then his tongue as he prodded her to open her mouth. He did it gently at first, then with more force. Carrie eventually gave in and parted her lips. Steve pushed his tongue deep into her throat, caressing and teasing her own tongue. At the same time, she felt his hands move down her back to her tight ass and squeeze each cheek, pulling her body even tighter to his.

“Very nice,” Donna said. “Now, take off her shirt, Steve. Let’s see those nice little titties!” Steve broke off the kiss and pulled her tiny shirt over her head before she realized what was happening. He dropped it to the floor and she instinctively covered her tits with her hands, backing away from him.

“Cut!,” Donna yelled. She walked over to the frightened young girl. “Honey,” she said calmly. “I realize that this is your first time, but the idea is for us to see your assets.” She removed Carrie’s hands from her firm, round tits. Donna let out a low whistle as she stared at them. Carrie blushed and Donna let go of her hands. “Now, keep your hands away from them, ok?” Carrie nodded and Steve stepped up to her again.

“And . . . action!,” Donna called. Steve reached over and cupped her perky tits. He did it gently and she let out a small cry of pleasure when he started to caress her hard nipples. She closed her eyes and tried to enjoy his touch, trying to forget she was being forced to do it. She felt his hands leave her tits and slide down her sides to her waist. He unbuttoned her short skirt and began working down over her curvy hips. It finally dropped to the floor around her ankles and he kissed her again, holding her tight to him.

“Good. Very nice,” Donna said. “Now, Carrie. Drop to your knees and pull Steve’s shorts off.” Carrie looked up at Steve, then over to Donna.

“Cut!,” Donna cried angrily. “Don’t look at me! Look at the camera, if you must, but never at me or anyone else behind the scenes!” Her voice softened. “Now, when I say ‘action’, drop to your knees, remove his shorts, and suck his cock!”

Carrie’s eyes widened in fear and she looked at Donna. “Wh . . . what?!,” she gasped, horrified.

Donna sighed. “Take his cock, put it into your mouth, and suck! It’s not complicated!”

Carrie glanced down at the growing bulge in Steve’s shorts, then back to Donna. “B . . . but . . . I . . . I’ve never . . .,” she stammered. “I’ve . . . never even . . . seen . . . a . . . a . . .”

Donna rolled her eyes impatiently. “Look, honey. You must have watched at least a dozen blow jobs on TV last night. Just do what they did!” Carrie thought back to the movies; the huge cocks in the girls’ mouths and the thick white cum running down their faces and chins before dripping to their bodies. She shuddered at the thought.

As if reading her mind, Donna said, “I don’t want you to make him cum, just . . .” She smiled. “Warm him up a little!” Carrie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew she didn’t have a choice but she could do this. It couldn’t be that bad!

“Ready?,” Donna asked. Carrie took another breath and nodded. “Action!”

She slowly dropped to her knees and reached up for the waistband of his shorts. She pulled them down, watching his stiff cock appear. The smell was stronger now and it somehow seemed to entice her to keep going. As she pulled them lower, the elastic waistband slid over the end and it sprang straight out, almost hitting her in the face! After a brief pause, she pulled them to his ankles and he stepped out of them.

She looked up at the long thick penis in front of her face. The tip was thicker than the shaft and almost purple in color. The rest of it was rough, with a thick blue vein running down the length of it. A small drop of clear fluid oozed from the hole in the tip.

“Go on, dear,” Donna urged. “Just lick it to start if you want, but believe me . . .” Her eyes stared icily at her. “You will be sucking and fucking that thing before we’re done today, so putting it off won’t help!”

Carrie shuddered at her harsh words, but she knew it was true. She had no choice but to do as she was told. She swallowed hard and turned her eyes back to the nine inch long piece of meat hanging before her face. She stuck out her tongue and tentatively licked along the shaft.

“That’s it!,” Donna said. “Keep going!” She licked the entire length of it three times before Donna said impatiently, “Ok, that’s enough! Swallow that monster!”

Carrie drew back and looked at the huge purple head. She reached up and wrapped her tiny hand around the hard shaft. It was so thick her fingertips barely touched her thumb. She moved her face closer, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth wide. She felt the soft tip slide past her lips and onto her tongue. She could taste his salty precum as she continued to push her lips further down the shaft. She felt the tip hit the back of her throat and pulled it out so that just the head remained in her mouth. Steve moaned as she began to slowly work it in and out of her hot little mouth.

“Oh, yeah!,” he sighed as he began rocking his hips to her motions. “Suck me! Yeah! Suck my cock!”

After a few minutes of this, Donna said, “Ok, that’s enough. We don’t want you blowing your load too soon, Steve!”

Carrie gratefully let the thick shaft slip from her mouth. It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be. Steve helped her to her feet and kissed her again.

“Nice touch, Steve,” Donna said. She looked at Carrie and gestured toward the bed. “Now it’s your turn. On your back, sweetie.” Carrie felt her heart rise to her throat. She couldn’t imagine how that long, thick cock would ever fit inside her! Reluctantly, she lay back on the bed, wearing only the very skimpy thong, and prepared for the worst.

Steve leaned over her and started kissing her neck, then moved down to her firm tits and spent some time sucking on each nipple. Carrie surprised herself by wishing he’d keep it up. It actually felt wonderful! She rolled her head from side to side, enjoying his touch. She was disappointed when he stopped kissing and sucking her tits and moved down across her flat stomach to her milky thighs. He grabbed the tiny thong and quickly pulled it off, then spread her legs wide and kissed along her inner thighs. Carrie was caught up in conflicting emotions. Here she was, completely naked with a man licking her between her spread legs. Everything she’d ever been taught told her it was wrong, but it felt so good! Her pussy was getting wetter and she could feel cool air moving across her spread lips. He started kissing her mons, the light peach fuzz hair barely visible on her pubescent little twat. Lowering his tongue to the bottom of her tiny, virgin slit, he licked the full length of it, pausing to nibble on her clit before starting over again.

Carrie cried out in surprised pleasure when his tongue slid along her untouched pussy. The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before! She felt her pussy getting wetter and a tingling sensation started to grow deep inside her as Steve’s tongue licked and teased her swollen labia and erect little love button. She heard herself moaning in pleasure and her hands went to his head to hold it in place.

He kept this up for several minutes and she moaned as he unleashed strange, new feelings inside her young body. Suddenly, she felt her body stiffen as all her muscles contracted with her very first orgasm! She cried out as the wave exploded within her, a kind of unbelievable pleasure like she’d never imagined! She squirmed and twisted on the bed as Steve continued eating her sweet young pussy, sending her innocent young body through climax after climax until she lay quivering on the bed, too exhausted to do more than twitch and gasp with each successive orgasm.

Donna spoke up. “Are you trying to kill her with pleasure, Steve? Look at her! She’s practically unconscious!” Carrie couldn’t hear her words. She was lost in a world of exploding fireworks and blissful contentment. Even after he stopped, she could still feel her body buzzing and her mind was hazy, like she was only partially conscious. She was aware of someone picking her up and carrying her out to one of the sofas, then she must have fallen asleep.

She awoke to find herself still naked, but with a blanket over her. Donna was talking to one of her crew, but turned to Carrie when she saw her eyes were open.

“Well, welcome back!,” she said. “I guess Steve kinda overdid it! You were out of it!” She sat up. Her body was tired. No, beyond tired. She was exhausted. But she felt relaxed, satisfied. Donna sat down next to her.

“I think you’ve had enough for one day. We’ll pick up again in a day or two.” She stood up. “Get dressed. Linda will take you back to your room.” She nodded toward the pretty brunette who had undressed earlier. She was now dressed again and came over to them carrying Carrie’s skirt and t-shirt. She handed the clothes to Carrie with a smile.

“Sorry, I couldn’t find your panties,” she said apologetically.

“It’s ok,” Carrie replied. She was happy to have something to wear, and it’s not like the panties covered much anyway. She dressed quickly and followed Linda out into the hall. She’d gotten a reprieve, but she had the feeling it would be a short one.

- To Be Continued… –