Posts Tagged ‘torture’
House of Singing Wind
Chapter 1 - Now Comes a Wanderer It goes against my better judgment to talk to her, much less have her in this house. The decision is not mine, however. This is the work of Maelstrom. And as long as he is writing the checks that make my life possible here at Singing Wind, who am I to argue? It is a very good life. She is, young, perhaps late twenties, early thirties, blonde with perfect legs; feet on one end and ass on the other. The fact that her ass can only be considered a 9 ½ is only because I have never seen a true 10. Meeting her at the door to my study, I offer my arm to escort her in, the perfect gentleman. I purposely situate her body out of my line of sight. I want only to concentrate on her face. It is not a beautiful face. No, not beautiful, Beautiful is too bland an adjective. She is interesting, intelligent, and smooth. These adjectives work. . She is magnificent, utterly magnificent. Perhaps you think I exaggerate, but this is not the case. I have made a life study of women and fancy myself a connoisseur of feminine flesh and character. To put it in the vernacular of my trade, this is a five million dollar cunt. And this was the strangest recruitment interview I have ever conducted. “…and he told me I could count on you to fully acclimate me to the facility.” She told me in a flat tone, delivered with even a flatter look on her face. She was sizing me up and at the same time, trying to maintain her dignity. Dignity is a strange thing to women. This [...]
The Double Scissor Snip – Nice And Clean!
"If you loved me, you would do it." As I herd her words, I nodded in agreement. My lesbian lover had talked over and over about modifying me, starting with my hair. "I want you to be bald." She had said on so many occasions, "I love the thought of you walking down the street with me, with no hair on your head, people staring at you because you look so different, wondering why a woman would have no hair." "Please." She said again. I lifted the scissors and cut through my pony tail and handed it to her. Tears were in her eyes. "Thank you so much! Please let me go all the way." Now I had given in to losing the length of my hair I was not that bothered about the rest. "You can do it." She kissed me and jumped up, went and fetched a razor and plugged it in the wall. "Get on your knees!" She said excitedly. I knelt down, my eyes stinging with tears that she was too excited to notice, but as I bowed my head and watched the floor knowing I would see my hair falling away, I felt a swelling in my clitoris. I reached down to rub it. "No!" She said sharply, "You know you’re not supposed to play with it - remember what the doctor said!" (more...)
Fulfilling Her Dreams
The first time we’d actually met in person, it was in a quiet, empty, coney island on a cool fall evening. We’d been chatting for quite a while, almost 6 months I guess. I knew so much about the girl, everything about her really; what she thought, her every fantasy, I knew things about her that she herself didn’t know, at least not yet. She’d sent me a message online, she’d been 18 at the time, a good girl, a dutiful girl who never even thought of doing anything wrong or openly rebelling against her family. But deep down she knew she wanted to explore, to be controlled, to be used. Her email to me was the opening shot, or salvo, the first real attempt to find what she needed, but couldn’t fully admit to herself quite yet. It was almost a month before she finally admitted to me that she wanted to be raped, not that it would really be rape, because it’s what she wanted, but more than anything she wanted to be treated like she was just an object, devoid of control, to be used completely for a man’s pleasure and nothing more than a rag doll to be fucked and abused. Her name was Allison, but she went by Allie most of the time. I thought it was a cute, and perfect, name for her. She was attending community college nearby, looking to eventually be a nurse, or school teacher, though I wondered, if she was honest with herself, if her goal really wasn’t to find a Master, somebody to own and use her without mercy. My heart started beating the instant [...]
Super Bowl Torment
My name is Allura and the following is a journal entry that i wrote almost a year ago. i am owned and have been with my Master for about 2 years now. i am required by contract to keep a detailed, written account of any activities or punishments that my Master deems significant and wishes to recall. Master will read my journal regularly and check it for spelling and grammatical errors when He is in a particularly vicious mood and is looking for reasons to punish me; not that He ever needs a reason at all. When He goes away on business trips, Master takes my journal along as comfort and for His sheer pleasure. There have even been times when i am made to stand at “attention” in the middle of the room while my Master reads my very personal journal entries to his friends in order to humiliate me. At times, Master will read old entries aloud while i masturbate when He is in the mood to “play.” With Master Bill’s permission, i am sharing this punishment with you. Anything that is in parenthesis was added solely for your benefit and was not originally in my journal entry. February 1, 2009 This morning began just like every other morning. i woke up at 6 am and began my daily ritual of quickly showering, getting myself presentable, making breakfast and serving You in bed. I knelt quietly beside Your bed in my “in house attire.” (When i am home alone with my Master i am completely naked wearing only my two black leather wrist and ankle cuffs, and a thick black leather [...]
The Bartender and the Slave
I was a bartender. It was a job I loved. I could usually find the kind of woman I wanted to play with by talking to them and sniffing out their submissive sides. So many women who came into bars alone were looking not just for sex, but for really rough sex, and I could read them well. That’s how I found my slaves. I would engage them in conversation and eventually get them to talk about sex, what they liked. I would bring up spanking and bondage and if I saw that spark, I knew I had them. Sometimes I would play with them for a while just a little roughly and concentrated more on the humiliation side. I would tell them to come back to the bar dressed just so, sit on the barstool with skirt raised and naked underneath, spread their legs. I would make them lift their blouses and reach over the bar and play with their tits and nipples. Eventually I would take them home and hurt them, oh how I loved to hear them scream and beg for more pain. One day Sarah came into the bar and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was one of them, but she wouldn’t give in to it or to me. But she kept coming back anyway. Deliberately not sitting at the bar, trying to pick up other guys, but always looking back at me. So tonight I got another bartender to cover, and I walked over to her. I told the guy she was with that the bitch was mine and I grabbed her by the hair and took her to my van, threw her in the back and chloroformed her and took her home. Now I [...]
The Debt II
Bangkok, Thailand A man walked through the door of the building. It was a filthy establishment. He looked to the stage and saw a young woman - sixteen or seventeen by the looks - being raped. She was fighting it, but it was obvious that the men would have their way regardless of how she felt. The man approached the bar. He ordered a whisky and got it, in a glass so filthy he was almost afraid to drink it. "What the hell," he thought. "If this doesn't kill me, the damn cirrhosis will." Looking at the stage, he waved to the bartender. "I thought there were three sisters working here," he said in heavily accented Thai. "They are up next," the bartender said. "In about five minutes from the look of it." The girl was choking. One of her rapists had shoved his dick too far down her throat and was having difficulty getting it back out. As the audience watched, she turned blue, went into convulsions, and died. To the man's amazement, at least half of the audience was clapping politely. This definitely was a strange culture. After the stage was cleaned up, three young women came out. According to the MC, they were sisters. They were Elizabeth (20 years old), Melinda (18 years old), and Amy (18 years old). Other than the man, they were the only white people in the Asian-filled building. The oldest one waved at someone off-stage and a man came out leading a horse. After tying reins to a ring in the floor, the man left. Elizabeth immediately sunk to her knees and [...]
Griselda
Discovery There can be few places as deceptive as Nether Slype. The churches are well attended and the all children say their prayers. Such presumably innocent pleasures as the fete, the sack race, and the village pantomime are milestones in its calendar. There are also summer and winter sports gatherings, though all these events, I later learned, are curiously unique to the village. There are two pubs, a school, two shops — one with a post office — a tea rooms where the old ladies gossip, and a Saturday market where you can buy anything from a home-made cake to an antique grandfather clock. The village garage takes forever to fix your car, the mobile bank comes once a week, and the small library boasts the 1974 edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. The few Saturday-night drunks are harmless; there is no vandalism and no rowdiness, which is as well, because Jack, the village bobby, couldn't handle more than the mildest altercation. Nether Slype nestles among wooded hills, and the woods encroach into it. It is a place of nooks and crannies, green shades, cool shadows, high hedges, privacy, and footways. There are bridleways where big-bottomed, bouncing-bosomed girls ride their ponies and other things besides — very vigorously. The long, curling, hedge-rowed lanes are overarched with heavy branches of wimpling leaves. The river murmurs under the mediaeval bridge, flowing fresh and clean, down from the higher hills on the Welsh borderland. [...]
Brothers and Sisters: A Revised Episode
Page 1. More than half an hour had passed since the last of her daughter's whimpering had subsided which was an hour after her screams were at their fiercest. I finally permitted her mother, Nora, to stand outside the unlocked bathroom door where Kitty hid inside. Hid inside from any further abuse from me, their kidnapper and her earlier tormentor. Nora knocked ever so softly. 'Kitty. Kitty, it's your mother. I want you to come out.' There was complete silence as we both waited for a response, me in heightened anticipation. Such mother daughter moments were precious and irreplaceable. Nora knocked slightly louder and faster. 'Kitty, please come out. Come out or I'll come in instead.' Kitty objected quickly. 'No, Mom, no. Don't come in.' 'Why? Why not sweetheart? Why?' 'Please Mom, please, because, because I don't want you to see me. Not this way. Is he still out there? Is he out there with you? I don't want you to see what he did to me.' Nora directed her mother's instinctive fury my way. 'You bastard. What did you do to my daughter? How did you make her scream? You filthy bastard. What did you do to her? Why doesn't she want me to see her?' I was prepared for her anger, for her resistance, in that I had my trusty twenty-two pistol in hand, the one I'd used to kidnap them with several hours earlier and two hundred miles removed. I'd grabbed them in the underground parking garage of a swanky hotel where they were attending a benefit for Lymphoma, a form [...]
Zara: Pierced and Branded Slave
Part One Zara had no idea what she was getting into. She had agreed to go out with Bret only because her agent had asked her. Zara was your typical straving actress desperate to get ahead in Hollywood, and desperately in need of that elusive first break. She had to literally wrestle with Bret, just to get him to stop kissing her. Another casting couch affair, Zara muttered to herself. At least Bret was a different producer than most: he called her a cab and gave her fare to get home. But that was six hours ago. The cabbie never had any intention of driving Zara home; he was another lackey on the payroll of the producer Bret. And he had been instructed to drive into a dark alley and incapacitate poor Zara. Having worked these jobs for Bret before, the "cabbie" was more than a match for the pretty young thing. When Zara regained consciousness, she immediately felt a tremendous throbbing in her head where the cabbie had landed the handle of a gun. She meekly opened her eyes to find that she was in the center of some meticulously adorned prison cell. It was basically four gray walls with a wide range of assortment torture devices. Zara recognized only a handful, and of the others she would have prefered to have been ignorant. "Well, I see, my proud little plaything has opened her eyes again," Bret said as he opened the steel door; the only way in and the only way out as far as Zara could tell. Bret was still wearing the suit and tie combo he [...]
ZERO – the training of a slave
CHAPTER ONE Introduction to Slavery The girl woke with a start. She could not see a thing and realised that she was wearing a blindfold. She tried to take it off and found that it was locked in place. She realized that the blindfold was the only item of clothing that she had on. She was totally naked. She was beginning to panic. No one had seen her naked body besides her Doctor since she was a little girl. Where was she? She tried to stand up and quickly realized that she could not. There was only 4 feet of head room. As she tried to explore she realized that she was in a cage that was 4 feet in every direction. As she put her hands between the bars of her cage she realized that the cage must be suspended in midair as she could not feel a floor beneath the cage, nor any solid walls. She felt the cage rock as she moved. She tried to think. How did she get here? The last thing she remembered was celebrating her 18th birthday with her boyfriend Stan McManus. Stan was handsome, rich and handsome, the star quarterback on the football team and guard on the basketball team. She loved to watch Stan play basketball when seeing his well muscled frame brought a tingling feeling between her legs. She loved Stan, and he loved her, enough that he even joined her in taking a vow of chastity until marriage. She felt it was important to save herself for their wedding night and Stan, rich handsome Stan, went along with her on this, as he did on so many other things. Of course she was [...]