----- Prisoner's Dilemma
This pretty young lady is walking down a street when she suddenly finds herself hemmed in by some very mean looking teenage boys with knives who hustle her off the street and down an alley where a number of their fellow gang members are hanging out. After displaying her, sometimes by forcing her to strike poses, sometimes by tugging her about and making her stand on tiptoes by pulling on her long hair; and feeling her up, roughly, they decide that this should be shared with the rest of the gang. So they make her sit in a cardboard box, blindfolded but not bound, and tell her that they are going to find the rest of the gang and bring them back so the whole gang can train her. If she cooperates, they won't hurt her more than they need to when they rape her, and they'll let her go when they finish. Cooperating includes staying in the box, keeping the blindfold on till they come back, and keeping quiet.
But if they have to track her down, they're going to all rape her, then they'll skin her alive, then pour alcohol over her and set her on fire. She then hears the gang leaving.
So what does she do ? Is she being watched ? Are they waiting at the ends of the alley ? If she stays she'll be gang-raped, but she may - may, for she doesn't really trust her captors - survive; if she leaves, or even removes the blindfold or asks if anyone is there, and it's observed, she's going to die a horrible death. They will certainly catch her again if she or the alley is being watched.
What does the lovely prisoner do ? Take a chance that it's a mind game and she can walk out unharmed, knowing what will happen if she's wrong, or wait for them to come back, with the certainty of horrible suffering and a possiblity of death ?
Surrender, Dorothy !
Dorothy is working late one night, as she often does. She's alone in the office, everyone else having left on time. Her phone rings, and when she answers, a female voice says "I have something you need to hear, Mrs. Gale. It's very important that you stay calm. Now listen". Next she hears her son saying "Mommy, this is Ryan...", only to have the phone snatched away. "He's fine for now, Dorothy", a male voice says. "He isn't the one we want; you are the one we want. If you want him to stay fine, you'll put the phone on you desk and immediately go to your car. Don't stop for anything. We want no one else involved; if you want you son to stay healthy, you'll call no one and say nothing to anyone. If you aren't outside in two minutes you probably won't ever see your son again, and if you do see him, you'll wish you hadn't. If you say a word to the anyone you'll never see him again. There will be more instructions at your car. Now get your pretty ass in motion". She's panicky, but still in control, and drops the phone, graps her coat and purse and runs for the exit.
She's out the door barely in time and hurries past the gate, rudely ignoring the guard's "good night". When she gets to her car she finds instructions to drive to a remote phone booth, and wait for a call. It will be a long time. She's to stand by the phone but not touch it until it rings. She drives to the spot and scurries to the phone. It rings, and she pounces on it. A third voice, also male, says "Take your coat and jacket off; we're going to be watching you and checking for surveillance and tails for a while before we call again, and we want something pretty to look at". "Ryan...", she says, but the phone clicks. She leans against the booth, trembling, her hands tightly gripping the receiver, for a time, then walks back to the car and deposits her grey raincoat and tweed jacket, and goes back to wait by the phone in her light pink blouse, short black skirt, and shiny black high heels (didn't the nuns teach her about those; however, her feet move too much as she stamps and turns and paces anxiously around the phone for any of the binoculars or the rifle scope following her to get a good enough look to prove the point. As the hours pass the pleasant autumn afternoon passes to a chilly autumn night, and Dorothy stands shivering in the chill, but dare not put anything on. The spot where she stands seems to be the only lighted spot in blocks; the moon is dark tonight, all the other streetlights are out save the one above her, and this desolate section contains nothing but darkened factories and warehouses. So odd to find a working phone here; it looks like it was recently repaired. The hours passed with Dorothy alone in her tiny circle of light, knowing that they were out there, knowing they could be quite close, somewhere close by in the deep dark that surrounded her, and still no contact, as Dorothy's tension grew and her breathing became tight and her heart pounded, and she started to cry in fear and frustration, and the phone rang.
"Shut up, bitch", the woman's voice said. "You ask no questions, you just obey if you want your son to live. Drive into the park; there will be an envelop with instructions taped to the pillar near the entrance". She ran to her car and sped to the park, where she found the instructions telling her to drive a distance into the park, then get out and walk. Following her directions, she drove to the spot, then started walking through the park, which was empty after dark, hoping desperately that she met no muggers or rapists who would detain her. She came at last to a public restroom, long closed but it's locked doors busted open by the druggies who often came there to smoke and shoot up. An unexpected light came from the building, which had probably frightened off those who would normally be using the spot. Entering the space, she was struck by the filth and odor, the building having several layers of dirt on the walls and floors, the smoke stains and ashes of many fires, and a considerable accumulation of piss, shit, and jizz mingling with the garbage and needles littering the floor. Save in one spot, where the garbage had been swept aside (though the dirt remained), and four rings placed in the floor, each with a cuff and chain attached to it, with a black bag laying on the ground between them.
There's a hanging from a hook on the way, running off a battery to which is taped another envelope with "Dorothy" written on it. She snatches the envelope and reads the instructions. "We'll collect you tomorrow morning; you will wait here until then. You will remove all your clothes, light the fire prepared on the wall to your right, and set the timer on this generator to ten minutes. You will then take the dildo gag out of the bag and fasten it in your mouth, sit down, lock the cuffs on your ankles, lock the left wrist cuff about your wrist, put the bag over your head and pull the drawstrings, then find the other cuff and lock it on your right wrist. Once the light goes out the druggies will begin to arrive; they probably won't try to help you, refuse their help if they do. Some of them will try to rape you; do not protest. If anyone asks to fuck you, say yes. Don't worry about disease; when we fuck you we'll use condoms, and you'll die when you no longer react amusingly enough to our tortures".
"We are watching the building, but no one will interfer if you leave; we'll even gurantee you that no assailants will bother you on your way back to your car, which we've been watching, so it will still be there. You can leave safely and we'll not bother you again. But if you leave, we will skin Ryan alive, cut off his fingers, toes, and penis, then cauterize the wounds so he doesn't bleed to death, and impale him on a spit, then roast him. We'll send you his digits in the mail. A Gale is going to suffer a terrible death; we'd rather it was you, but you make the choice".
As she read the note, Dorothy slumped against, then slid down the wall, oblivious to it's filth. She sat on the floor, trembling, curled into a ball knees pulled up and head down, the note clutched tightly in her hand as she wept and struggled with her choice.
The Walk
The woman walked down the empty streets on her way home from work. Her second shift job kept her till after most people in her little town are in bed. As she walked down the empty street a van drives along, slowing slightly as it passes her, then speeding up and turning at the next corner. A few minutes later a van very much like the first one passed her, very slowly, then turned a corner. She was a little spooked by this, but when nothing happened for the next several minutes she relaxed a bit. Being scoped out is annoying, and sometimes a little scary, but someone as pretty as her had it happen too often to waste much energy getting upset about it.
Then she heard wheels on the quiet road behind her, and turned back to look and her heart jumped to her throat as she sees the same van stopping a half block behind her and four men getting out. Four males actually, boys rather than men, but each of them bigger than her. She started walking faster; telling herself not to look back, don't look scared, don't appear like an easy victim, but she couldn't help taking quick looks back. Two of them were matching her speed on the sidewalk behind her; the other two ran across the street and with dismaying speed were walking parallel to her. The van drove slowly up the street, almost stopping as it pulled alongside her, but then speeding forwards. This time, before it turned the corner, two more teenagers got out, and started slowly walking towards her. Glancing at the others she saw that the two behind her had sped up and closed the distance on her. She was boxed in; God, how she wished she had a weapon. When the two across the street started to cross it, she saw they'd converge on her simultaneously. Six to one, and all six bigger than her. What to do ? No one would answer a door at this time of night; if she screamed long enough someone might call the police, but she knew they'd be on her in a minute if she screamed and they'd silence her before anyone would react. No place to run, unless - yes, she was coming up on an alley, they wouldn't converge on her before she reached it, the little bastards had screwed up, she had a chance.
Reaching the alley, she turned quickly and bolted down the dark alley, running as fast as her feet would carry her, so thankful she wasn't in heels, listening to the echoes in the alley and surprised to hear only her own footfalls. They weren't pursuing ! She'd escape !
Then she was caught in the glare of headlights that switched on in front of her, nearly blinding her, but she could tell, to her shock and horror, that they came from a van which blocked the narrow alley, and that it had started rolling towards her. She looked back to see the six boys advancing on her from the other direction. Franticly she looked around; no doors, no way out - then she saw a drainpipe, and ran to it and jumped up and started climping it, as curses ripped through the quiet night air and running feet pounded the pavement and the door of the van scraped against the wall of the alley, but it was too tight and precious seconds were gained before someone came out the back of the van and ran across it's roof to jump for the drainpipe, but she had too big a lead and she was going to get away.
Until the drainpipe, unable to hold the weight of two people, pulled away from the wall and lurched over the alley, leaving her clinging to it as the boys below her laughed and jeered and tried to look up her skirt, then tugged on the pipe, causing her to crash to the pavement, where she lay stunned as they gathered around her and several removed their belts and she tried to bolt but they caught her and soon had her on her back on the ground, with a belt looped around her neck and choking off her cries while her arms and legs were held and other belts were tied around her wrists and encircled her knees and abdomen, trapping her arms against her body, then they picked her up and placed her on her feet in the headlights of the van, the better to admire their prize.
As they laughed and boasted of what they would show her, she observed that none of them appeared more than half her age, a bunch of ignorant drunken schoolchildren, but schoolchildren who had raging hormones, and who had her. As she stood there sickened, lost in her ugly anticipations, they laughed loudly, and picked her up and passed her over the top of the van and deposited her behind it. They pulled down her skirt, and took a rope from the van. They tied it around her waist, the pulled it between her legs, bringing it snuggly against her crotch, then tied the other end to the van. They stuffed a towel in her mouth and taped over her mouth, then piled into the van and started driving away slowly, as their prisoner, pulled along by the crotch rope, shuffled her feet as quickly as the belt around her knees would allow. She followed the van down the alley and out into the streets, where she she walked for what seemed like miles. The few cars that passed this illicit parade had no idea what to make of it. None stopped. Some did call the police after they got home; by the time anyone went looking the van had pulled off the road, and when the police arrived at the address where the van was registered was when it's owner first learned it had been stolen.
The police quickly found the discarded van. The woman was harder to find, until the buzzards showed the way.
The Plank
The woman (taken from her bed by silent abductors in black robes and masks who had seized and bound her, her furious struggles doing nothing to awaken her SO, and brought her bound and blindfolded to an unknown place, where she was closely chained to the walls of a pitch black room and held for many hours) is taken from her dark confinement. Her wrists are bound behind her, a short hobble placed on her ankles, and a bar placed below her elbows and fasten to them, and her escorts hold the bar and force her slowly forward, ignoring all her demands, questions, and pleas. At last they come to an elevator, and go down a floor to a large, dimly lit room with a long plank on a swivel and a number of dark pits in the floor. She's led on a slow circuit of the room, lamps used to reveal the contents of the pits: ravenous dogs, sharp spikes, snakes, boiling oil, acid, flesh eating insects (the last two are demonstrated for her by lowering large chunks of meat into the pits); several have netss at the bottom, and one of those has a conspicuously open door.
The woman is brought to the steps that lead to the plank and forced up them. Standing before the plank, her bare feet are slipped into some very high spiked heels, and ankle straps buckled to keep them there. Througout this event, her's has been the only voice heard. Before being being forced onto it, sharp spikes rise from the floor under the plank, and she's allowed to watch the plank make one complete revolution, and observes that it's end passes over all the pits. Then she's blindfolded and prodded forwards with long sharp pikes. As she hobbles forwards, taking the tiny steps that are all her hobble will allow and trying to keep her balance in her ultrahigh heels, the plank begins to move, aggravating the difficulty in keeping her balance. She knows that the only chance of survival is to reach the end of the plank and step off it into one of the pits with the nets (though, as she thinks of what is in some of those pits, the idea of falling onto the spikes below her and to a comparatively merciful end is alluring, but she fights it off). Keeping her balance becomes even harder as she goes further and further out on the wobbly plank. Her tiny steps mean she has some inkling when her toes have reached the end of the plank and now poke over empty air. Now, if only she knew which pit she was over, but the dogs are trained not to bark and the sudden sound of eerie music blaring from unseen loud speakers obscures any sounds the snakes or insects might make, and she struggles to stand on the edge of the plank, too scared to jump into an unknown and possibly terrible fate but knowing she has no alternative, until fatigue and the growing instability of the plank finally causes her to fall, screaming into one of the dark holes.
Her fall is broken by a net, and shortly her blindfold is removed to reveal a group of black robed people, perhaps her abductors, she couldn't tell if it were another set, surrounding the net in which she lays. Two seize and hold her head, while another points to the open door before a cloth is pressed over the woman's face and blackness surrounds her.
She awakens trembling in her bed, her SO sound asleep beside her, and dreadful images in her sleep clouded mind. She stumbles to the bathroom to splash some water on her face and try to shake the after effects of her terrible nightmare. Leaning over the sink, she pushes back her pajama sleeves to fill her cupped hands with water, and stops in stunned horror as she looks at the rope burns on her wrists.
Desert Decision
She knew better. The young woman knew not to drive with her car doors unlocked. And yet she hard, and two men had appeared from nowhere while she was stopped at a red light and forced their way into her car. They drove into the desert and laid her naked on the the sharp sand and spent the night repeatedly raping her, turning her over again and again to use one hole and then the other, nearly abrading a layer of skin before their lust was spent. Then they drove off in her as the sun rose car, leaving her bound and naked under the scorching desert sun. A few hours later two cars drove up to where she lay, still bound despite vigorous struggles, and resigned to her fate. Or she had been until she heard the cars approach, and had looked up hopefully to see her own car followed by another. The police must have caught them, she thought ecstatically, and were coming to rescue her. Her head dropped to the ground as she wept tears of joy and relief, and as footsteps approached her she opened her eyes, and looked up into the faces of her captors, and screamed in shock before her heart sank in despair.
"We didn't want to leave you without a sporting chance", one of them said, as they rolled over the helpless woman and made cruel, deep piercings of her breasts, then put thick rings through the piercings, before they untied her legs and pierced her clit, and put a ring through that piercing as well. Then they slowly worked three rings into a large ground rock and ran chains from her rings to those in the rock. When done that, they took a torch and welded her rings so they couldn't be removed, and when they revived her (she had passed out from the heating of the metal that now resided in her delicate flesh), she was no longer bound, and they tossed her the keys to her car.
"It's full of gas; there's also plenty of food and water and a chest of ice, and a first aid kit. If you can get to it you'll live. If you can't, well, at no time of the day will there be an inch of shade where you are now, and the sun will kill you. Getting to the car is simple; just tear out your rings. Without chain cutters there's no other way to get free. If you're strong and brave enough to tear them out, you'll survive, though your sex life may not. If you aren't strong and brave enough, you'll die, and you'll deserve to die".
With those kind words, the two men got in the other car and drove away, and left the woman to make her decision.
A story idea that will have to wait till next year (12/31/94)
It wasn't until much too late that I began to consider an idea for a New Year's Eve post (it was also much too late when I got "A Visit from St. Nicholas to a Kink Household" done, but at least that was posted the day before Christmas Eve).
I don't have much more than the bare bones (but I've got a year to worry about that; maybe telling a bunch of people about it will push me to be sure it gets written), but it will involve a New Year's Eve party at which a lot of kinky play goes on. One special party favor: a number of people either submitted their names (or their slave's names) into the pool to announce the New Year. This was done with much bravado the year before, but not everyone who was so brave then is brave enough to show up tonight.
Since it's nearly a year away, I too can be brave and can be ambitious about the story, which I hope will start with a lot of unspecified tension among, and unexplained attention towards, some of the female guests and their escorts, making the first couple hours of the party somewhat unfestive (of course, the fact the party begins so early, at 6:00 PM, contributes to people not being ready to play yet). Then, after the drawing, everyone (well, almost everyone) will be feeling relief and the partying can begin. The drawing will come about 8:00; that allows about an hour to get the subject in place. It would be so gauche to rush her - but people will be guarding the locked doors and windows against any attempt to leave. Everyone is of course very sympathetic, but a promise is a promise, and if one couldn't handle the consequences one shouldn't have made the promise.
So by 9:00 they should be ready. The physical situation mandates the timing. The ballroom of the private home in which the party is taking place is 30 feet high. The table, slightly adjustable to allow for variations among those who are in the pool, will be 4 feet high, and the apparatus requires eight feet. It will also need six seconds for a complete lap, 172 minutes and 48 seconds to cover the necessary distance. This gives the selected one 7 minutes and 12 seconds to wait in place for the procedure to begin.
At 9:07:12 local time, a lever is pushed, and the countdown towards the New Year begins. The chosen one is unmoved. Not surprising, given the elaborate restraints tightly crisscrossing her spreadeagled and nearly nude form (a stiff corset pushing up and holding her breasts is her only covering) to assure that she doesn't move a fraction of an inch, lest the timing be ruined. Her head is free and while gags are at the ready, should they be required, everyone hopes that they won't be needed, and they aren't. She knows that nothing she can say will alter anything, and her dignity matters to her.
The partying begins in earnest now, but as engrossed as people become in their scenes, no one can forget, at least not for long, the main scene being enacted tonight. The rules allow light play with the selected one up until 11:59, but no one wants to approach her. Her escort is nowhere to be seen, although word spreads he's in a room getting drunk; everyone understands, but everyone's opinion of him plummets, as she lays alone on the table. She'd like someone to talk to, even an enemy to taunt her, anything to pierce the solitude that engulfs her, but it's as if an invisible barrier surrounds the table, keeping everyone away from it. She might ask someone to bring her a drink, just to get someone close to her for a moment, but she remembers that all those in the pool were instructed to take no food or drink after 7:00 and to take an enema that afternoon. The others are eating and drinking now - some took several drinks just after 7:00 - but nothing is permitted her.
The hours pass, both painfully slowly and much too quickly, as the party goes on around her, loud and raucous and rowdy, though no one seems to be having fun. Lot's of people are choosing to be flogged long and hard, and some of them actually do manage to forget for awhile. As midnight approaches, the play tapers off, though some people by the bar continue to party hard. Most of those who can still see are watching her, though only a couple do so openly. She asks, in a calm voice barely betraying her tension, for her escort. A few people go to look for him, but no one wants to tell her that he's passed out drunk, and her requests for him become calls for him that take on a rising urgency and in the last minutes of the year the dignity she'd struggled so long and well to mantain begins to crack as she cries out his name as the tears begin running down her face, and for the first time she struggles against the bonds that have held her all night. She knows the futility of the effort, but it's just too much to be so brave when she's so alone. A few people's eyes rise at her struggles, other's drop.
At midnight, just as the chimes begin to ring, exactly on time. She screams as the blade touchs her nipples. For a time, she screams every three seconds, as the blade passes again, a tiny bit lower each time, cutting a bit deeper into her large breasts. After a few passes she's screaming continually; some of the guests are wet or hard, some are desperately wishing she'd pass out, and some are both. As it cuts deeper, blood and flesh are hurled onto the plastic panels erected to catch them; everything is occuring like clockwork. The blade begins to slow as it cracks and cuts her ribs, and the mess gets worse, but if the visuals are worse the audio is better, as the last scream passes her bloody lips, and at last the blade of the pendulum stops, a fraction of an inch short of the valuable oak of the table. All had worked exactly as it had been planned.
Plans work to perfection so very rarely, one would think that so special an event working so exactly as it was designed would be an occasion for celebration. Yet as the pall of silence descends on the room, those minds not yet too numb to think ponder the old saw about being careful for what one wishes.
Reprising Rape
There was once a serial killer who preyed on a family over a long period of time. This was a family with a wealth of daughters, ages 8, 10, 12, 14, and 17 when it began. The mother was abducted, and subjected over a period of several days to cruel torture and repeated rape, the results of the former recorded in photographs, the latter recorded on audiotape. The records of the event were sent to the family, along with a notice of the date and time of the mother's death (but the body was never found).
A few days short of a year later, the oldest daughter, then 18, disappeared, and the photos began arriving showing her progressively more tortured body. A message arrived reporting her death exactly one year, to the minute, after the death of her mother.
Nearly a year later, the family was in a state of terror as the date approached, but nothing happens. But in the course of the next year, the oldest surviving daughter turned 18, and on the anniversary of her mother's abduction the young woman was taken, and subjected to the rite of passage for females of this family.
By now the pattern was clear. The family moved, hoping to escape this curse. The next year passed without event, but all knew that the oldest girl was still too young. Her eighteenth birthday was a particularly tense and joyless event, and the tension and sadness rose to unbearable levels as the dread date approaches. The family had heavy police protection during this time, and for a couple weeks after the date. But it couldn't be continued indefinitely, and so when the dangerous period is past, the protection was lifted. A few weeks went by, and the family relaxed just a bit, even allowing themselves the luxury of thinking that it's over.
And then daughter number three didn't make it home one day, and the packages started arriving. This time it was much more drawn out, the girl was kept alive for many months. Time passes slowly for the poor young thing, trapped in her private hell and suffering unimaginable torments day after day. But she does not lose track of time; her captor makes it a point of being sure she knows what the date is of each passing day, so she can track the approach of the day. She's never told what will happen then, but she knows. When it happens, she's glad it's finally over. And when the family opens the long expected note, though none will say it, they too are glad it's over, for now.
And the two surviving daughters know what they have to look forward to.
The family left the country, and lived under assumed names in a foreign land. They tried to cut off all contact with their past lives, hoping to remain untraceable. But that's not as easy as they thought it would be. They spent the date barricaded in their remote home. But the father can't stay in there forever, and when he returns with supplies he finds his 16 year old daughter tied to a chair, "YOU'RE NEXT" written on her forehead in lipstick that, if he were more observant, he might realize was his wife's shade, and his 18 year old daughter gone.
His eighteen year old daughter at that moment was shivering despite the tropical heat as she looks in horror at the family reunion to which she's been brought, her mother and her sisters's bodies floating preserved in large clear containers of fluid (it having been too hard to locate a walk-in freezer similar to where they had kept). The containers add a new touch, as the wounds on her mother and sisters can be pointed out before they are inflicted on her, and as they can be kept in the dungeon with the prisoner (keeping the prisoner in a freezer would have been counterproductive). The girl was quite insane before the date arrives, which is in some respects unfortunate. But being able to mail a family picture, mother and daughters floating in fluid, makes up for it, as the last act begins.
Unfortunately, the long planned grand finale never took place. On the day before her 18th birthday, the last daughter hanged herself. A couple weeks after the funeral, the father stopped to leave flowers at the grave. His scream brought a groundskeeper running. He found the man twitching on the ground by his daughter's open grave and shattered, empty casket. He's not moved or said a word in the years since, though the staff at the institution know that brainwave activity continues, so he can't be said to be vegetative.
I wonder what he dreams.
Stop
The woman sat on a wooden chair, her arms pulled through the bars that formed it's back, wrists handcuffed and elbows cinched. Her ankles were bound to the legs of the chair, spreading her legs for anyone who might wish to look or feel beneath her short skirt. Blindfolded, and with headphones over her ears repeating endlessly a tape recording of several different women being individually, and quite cruelly, whipped, she had no idea who might be in the room with her. Nor did she know where she was, or who had brought her there, or how many hours she had been captive, or why she had been abducted (though each time she heard a new woman's voice on the tape and heard the crack of the whip on new flesh and the screams and pleas of the victim, she felt more sure of what was to come).
Suddenly she felt hands untying left ankle, then slipping a cuff around it. Tying a rope to the cuff, the rope was then pulled back, pulling her ankle with it, and then tied to the back of the chair, leaving her foot dangling. The same process was repeated with her right ankle. Then hands fondled her breasts through her blouse, then the blouse was ripped open, and then... nothing. More waiting. Squirming in the chair from tension and fear as well as discomfort. Time passed; 30 minutes, 300 minutes, she couldn't tell anymore, her only measure of time was the torture tape she was listening to, and someone changed that too often for her to adjust.
Then the sound stopped, and her high heels were removed. "When you want it to stop, say so", a voice said, and skillful hands began tickling her right foot, making the ticklish lady squirm and scream and quickly cry out "Stop !". And the tickling stopped - and the voice repeated itself, and a riding crop crashed down on the sole of her left foot, then struck again, and again, and again, and she shouted 'Stop" and the tickling started again and she instantly screamed "stop" then screamed again as the crop cut across her foot, and now she understood what was happening, and said stop, again. As the tickling started again, she kept quiet, reasoning that the less destructive torment was better. But she hadn't counted on her ticklishness or her captor's talent, and no matter how she madly she twisted her foot on it's short leash there was no escaping the torment and soon she was weeping and screaming as the agony became unbearable and her pleas went unanswered and at last she screamed "Stop" and the crop struck again and her new screams merged with her old and she knew there was nothing she could do to avoid or mitigate her suffering.
This went on for - well, she had no idea how long it went on. But when they slipped a garrote around her neck, and the voice said once again, "When you want it to stop, say 'do it' ", she was almost grateful, though still not ready.
A few cycles latter, screaming and squirming and sobbing from the tickling, and dreading another stroke on her horribly beaten foot, she said "do it", and the steel collar began to close, and soon her struggles came to a stop.
A simple pleasure
The black pump jerked upwards, tugged at the taut cord that linked the ankle cuff to the "O"-ring in the floor, rotated a little, then stomped back to the floor as the blonde victim glared at me through her teary eyes. As many times as I'd seen that action repeated, it never failed to excite me, so I suppose I couldn't fault my captive for repeating it over and over again when the single tail whip touched her thigh. By now she knew that the bounds that kept her long, slender legs spread would not be effected by her strongest efforts, but her appendages responded as involuntarily to the pain of the whip as did mine. In the hours that she had stood there, naked save for her black high heels, leather ankle cuffs, steel handcuffs, the steel thumbcuffs fastened to an overhead chain that kept her arms high above her head, and the tongue clamp that held her tongue out of her mouth and prevented her from speaking but did nothing to muffle her screams (and, coincidently, made the prim and elegant lady unable to control her drooling) each shapely thigh must have been hit at least fifty times, changing the smooth white surface of her thighs to an intricate and multicolored pattern of angry welts, and each time her foot jerked at the cord holding it as if this time it might give. It never did, of course, not then, and not when the whip bit across her flat little ass and she did that funny little dance where each foot alternately stomped several times. I was glad I'd put the tile down around the "O"-rings, the sounds high-heels made stomping on tile were much nicer than the sounds they made on concrete.
She'd gotten a little smarter about her responses to the crack of the whip across her smooth white back, which, not yet so densely marked as her thighs and ass, was currently my favorite target, as I could appreciably alter the pattern by adding another angry stripe (a pity these "canvases" can never be shown, they beat any Pollack). But I couldn't resist occasionally whacking those thighs again from time to time, even if it was adding a stripe over a stripe, for I did so like to see those high heels jerk and twist. It had been fun watching her shoulders shake back and forth when the whip bit into her back, but her wrenched thumbs now hurt so much whenever she did so that she'd begun exercising some restraint when the leather touched her back. Silly of her. Any restraint I wanted I'd apply; I wanted her to respond to the whip. If she was strong and brave enough to hold still when the whip kissed her bare back, there were other places to stroke to my pretty plaything.
She did a fair job of holding still when the tip of the whip ripped her ribs, but when it struck her tender tits she went into a most satisfying dance, shoulders shimmying, breasts bouncing, hips swaying, feet stomping, and head wildly shaking, as if the thousand and first time she said "no" was going to be the charm. Her eyes were now too moist to read well. At different times during the hours that I'd been torturing her I'd seen resolution, anger, calculation, pleas, confusion, and terror in those eyes. She'd never been able to speak, having been gagged when she was abducted and her tongue clamped throughout this ordeal, but I'd been able to see the offer in her eyes, the surrender of what she thought I wanted in exchange for an end to the pain. As lovely as she was, at other times I'd have melted to see that in her eyes. But I could have that whenever I wanted, I could have anything I wanted from her, and what I wanted from her was pain and despair. The pleading changed to confusion (so surprised was she at the rejection of the offer of what she expected men to want) and then to terror as she began to realize she had no control over her fate, and that the pain could go on indefinitely and there was nothing she could do to end or mitigate it. And as the whip kept seeking out her soft spots, making her squirm and dance despite herself, unable even to control her own body's responses, sweet despair slipped into her lovely eyes.
Of course, I didn't stop then. She had discovered depths of agony she didn't know existed, but there was still much more to show her. She was already at the point of "I'll do anything", but all I wanted her to do was suffer, and as she thought it couldn't get worse, to let her know that, yes, it can get worse, and it would, and it would get worse after that, and the pain would be worse than anything she could imagine, and it would get worse than that, until every nerve was screaming and there wasn't any place left to put any more pain and the pain filled all her thoughts and absorbed her consciousness and all that existed in the universe was pain.
But we had plenty of time for that. That point had to be approached slowly, lest she pass out or die or find a way to retreat into a shell in which she could block the pain, and none of those would be permitted her. She'd be slowly pushed forwards and slowly filled to the brim with exquisite agony. We had plenty of time; we had the rest of her life.
"Crack EEEEYYYY". I really loved it when her legs buckled and she hung there by her thumbs. Eventually she'd not be quite so sensitive to the whip's exploration of her most private parts, so that pleasure was best not overindulged. After a little while the pain in her thumbs and arms helped her find some strength for her legs. Good, she didn't need a recovery period just yet, not while she had a little strength left to stand on those elegant feet.
The whip flew , and the black pump jerked upwards, tugged at the taut cord that linked the ankle cuff to the "O"-ring in the floor, rotated a little, then stomped back to the floor.
I really like that.
Slow ride
Her eyes are scared. She's looking down at me, trying to get some idea what comes next. Her back and buns and breasts and legs have all been whipped, she's got pins under her fingernails, her toenails are gone, and the bells hanging from the pins inserted underneath each nipple are jingling pleasantly as she sways above me. She is, one could say, dying to ask what's going to happen next. But the shotgun barrels in her mouth don't make it very easy to talk, and the harness that I put over her head and locked around her neck won't let the freshly oiled barrel slip out of her mouth. Bad way to treat a good gun, but I'll take real good care of it afterwards. The barrels do slip in and out as she undulates, so the blood-red lipstick I made her put on has marked the barrel in several places, but that would come off. Worse has.
She's doing real nice. A smart girl, I liked that. Doing enough to keep me happy, but going slow to keep anything from happening soon. Trying to delay the end, at least until she knows how this scene ends. Until she knows whether, when I put this harness on her - one originally designed to hold a shoe in a slave's mouth, but that I'd modified to hold something with more kick - and told her to mount me and ride me till I came, and said that would be the last thing I'd ask of her, I meant to release her alive, or to release her from life. Whether when I shoot one load I'll follow with another. Another two, actually. My head will be a little messy when she's done, but nothing like what may happen to her's.
She's moving slow and smooth and it feels real good. Neither one of us wants this to end. Tough job for her, make it feel good enough that I don't want to get it over with, but not so good I can't wait for it to end. And all while trying to work her hands free and hoping I'm too distracted to notice. I don't mind; she won't get loose, so I can admire her for trying. Smart, cool, brave. Oh, and a real good fuck. I like her.
I always like a simultaneous release, lust and lead gone at the same moment. But maybe I'll keep this one alive. Though that would be such a cruel thing to do to such a sweet thing who's already suffered what no one deserves to suffer.
Maybe that's why I like the idea so much.
Rube de Sade ?
A woman lays spreadeagle on a large bed, naked, her wrists and ankles in locked leather cuffs attached to the bedposts by taut chains. Her breasts and belly and flanks and crotch and thighs are covered with rows of cruelly tight clothespins linked by nylon cords running through holes drilled in the handles. The rows are in turn attached to an "O"-ring hanging from a chain about six feet above the bed, the many cords running from the ring to the woman giving the impression of a giant spider web. The chain runs over a pulley to a large tub precariously balanced on a large, strong spring, and kept in place by a thick hemp rope tied to one side of the spring and running tautly up and through one handle of the top, over the top of the tub, through the other hand, and to the other side of the spring.
A hose hangs over the tub and trickles water into it, slowly increasing it's weight and even more slowly compressing the spring, causing the tub to lower, pulling the chain and raising the ring and painfully pulling on the prisoner's pins. She protests, but her pain being quite private the process continues without regard for her plight.
As the spring sinks, it at last lowers a lever that fans a flame (from a burner fastened to pole fixed to the floor) that rises to warm the closed end of a glass tube tied to the tub. The open end of the tube is blocked by the rope responsible for the tub's remaining balanced on the spring. As the tube's temperature rises, the rodent determines that despite the food which had kept him content till that time it was best to depart, and begins to gnaw at the rope. The water continues to drip and the spring to sink and the prisoner's stretchable parts to be prettily and painfully pulled as the rodent rips at the rope, until at last it snaps, and as the rodent runs from the tube the tub to which it is tied wobbles, then slips off the spring, falling several feet to the floor and causing a sudden, sharp pull on the chain which raises the ring and rips the pins off the prisoner.
Taking a Spin
She was so, so sorry that she dared to raise her voice non-orgasmicly. But her master was merciless, and so she *would* be punished. But not until he'd enjoyed her pleas for a time, and so the kneeling woman wept and begged for forgiveness and pleaded for mercy until her pleas became repetitive, and he said "Enough" and proceeded with the punishment.
He had a new device to use, one he'd been anxious to try (the difficulty of keeping it ready to use had dictated that she would be found guilty of *something* this weekend). First he had to show her the partioned room: one part filled with snakes, one part with rats, the last part with large spiders. Then he made her strip, flogged her, front and back, then had her buckle on a pair of sandals with very high spiked heels, and lowered her into the tube that was the hub of the partitioned room.
"Your punishment is quite simple, slave. This tube will spin a few times, then stop, and the door will open on one of the partitions. Which one, chance decides. You just have to walk through across the room, open the door, and leave. The door won't be locked, and you've become quite skilled at using your hands even when they're tied behind you. Really nothing at all", he said before closing the hatch and sealing her in the completely dark tube. In which she waited, and waited, and waited, and then waited some more.
At last it began to move, very slowly. It turned around again and again, very slowly, as she wondered when it would stop, and which fright she would face. Then it began to accelerate, and soon was spinning at a great speed, and kept spinning and spinning until it came to a sudden crashing stop that bounced her off the walls, and then the door opened and something thrust her out of the tube.
The change from the total darkness of the tube to the powerful lights in the room - which had been dimly lit when she been shown it - that it blinded her, and as she staggered dizzily from the tube, barely balancing on her high heels, she realized she had no idea which partition she was in or which way the door was. But as she wobbled and fell onto a squirming mass of snakes the first question was answered. She tried to rise to her feet, but was still too dizzy to manage that feat, and fell on her ass on some displeased reptiles. As her pained eyes began to adjust to the light, she could see enough to tell that there were a lot more snakes here now than when she'd first seen this partition, the floor was covered with them, in some places it was several snakes deep. Most were small and she didn't see any that were poisonous, but their teeth were sharp enough as some angrily bit this rude intruder, and somewhere over all the hissing and the sounds of snake slithering over snake she thought she heard multiple rattling sounds (she did, via records piped into the room at several spots). Forcing herself to her feet, still dizzy, nauseous from dizziness and fear and the pain of her multiple bites, she wobbled unsteadily towards the door, the moving floor on which she walked making her movements her more unsteady, her sandals providing no protection from the wrath of the creatures on which she stepped, and soon she ceased to feel any guilt when she felt her sharp spikes cut into some unfortunate and heard it's screaming hiss of pain. Becoming a bit more steady, she was able to sweep her feet before her as she made a slow progress towards the door, the reptiles taking somewhat more kindly to being shoved aside then to being stepped on, but with each sweeping step she sprayed blood from her many small wounds across the floor.
At last she reached the door, swept clear a space before it, stomping anthing that attempted to enter that space, and turned so she could look over her shoulder as she reached for the doorknob to open the door - and her fingers slipped off the smooth, and heavily oiled, brass doorknob, and so she stood there for several minutes, struggling with the slick knob, distracted by the continuous slithering intruders, weak from her nausea and getting weaker from the continued bleeding and getting more and more afraid that she couldn't open the door, her legs becoming weak, more rubbery by the second it seemed, and she knew she couldn't stand much longer and if she didn't keep her feet she'd have no way to open the door and then her knees failed and she slid crying frustation and fear to the floor and sat leaning by the door, cursing and kicking and being bitten in return, and weakening, realizing there was no point in resistance and laying still as the lights dimmed and the blowers poured cold air into the room and the snakes slithered over her warm naked body, and only hours later did the door open so the pale and now unconscious woman could be dragged from the room and a broom clear the snakes from her body.
Sliding Along
The prisoner - hands cuffed behind her, blindfolded and gagged, stumbling a bit in her heavy legirons - is brought into the room, simultaneously dragged on the leash about her neck and driven by the prods and strokes of the cane by the person behind her. The leash is chained to a ring hanging from the ceiling, and she's left to listen to the sounds of torture as a few other slaves are worked over in various ways, all of them quite cruel (the sound system is excellent, so the playback is extremely realistic). She's occasionally cropped or caned or slapped or felt up by people as they pass, but she's mainly left to stand and wait and worry and wonder what has happened to her life. To think about how just a few hours ago she left work to go home, thinking about a long list of things it was so important that she get done, worrying so intently over the weekend's schedule of housework, yardwork, shopping, and kid schlepping that she didn't even notice the van she must have walked right past, and then a bag dropped over her head and a couple people seized her arms and threw her into the van and after a short, futile, struggle she was laying chained and helpless on the floor of the van and being driven to who knows where. To this place, wherever it was, listening to a woman screaming and begging as she was mercilessly whipped and burned. To a place so very far from her life that when she got here she was sure it had to be a bad dream, and so far from that life that now grocery shopping seems like such an unreal activity, and the importance of washing the porch before the neighbors notice it's gotten dirty becomes more and more incomprehensible with every crack of the whip, every scream, every minute she feels the steel on her limbs. Only her husband and kids still seem real, and she misses them all so much, and she's so sorry she couldn't take the where they wanted to go last week and had to put it off to this weekend (why was that ? what was it that was so important, she can't even remember it now).
The sounds of torture slow and stop, and she stands waiting, shivering and sweating and more than a little sick with fear. Finally she hears footsteps near her, and her skirt is raised, and two canes deliver a series of short, severe, strokes to her stockinged thighs, and her tears are leaking out from under her blindfold, and she's gagging and unsuccessfully trying to breath through her now blocked nose, and turning a pretty of purple when a stick is shoved under her arms to hold her up, her legs have failed, and the gag is removed and for a few moments, she sucks in delicious air, everything else forgotten for the moment. After a short time, she's largely recovered, though the support is removed and she has to stand wobbily on her own she realizes how weak she remains. And notices that the leash has been lowered a little and isn't taut any longer.
"No matter what you are told to do, believe one thing - if you disobey, it will be worse", a woman's voice says. And then she feels the legirons being removed, followed by the handcuffs. "Take off your clothes", another voice, this one male, orders, and while once, such a short time ago in another life, she would have refused such an order, now she meekly unbuttons her blouse and takes it off, then unzips, drops, and steps out of her skirt, and stands, waiting. "The rest of it", the woman says, and the prisoner unfastens, removes, and drops her bra, then pushes down her slip, slips out of her shoes, and slides off her pantyhose, and stands naked. "Put these on", she's told, and is handed her dress pumps, the ones she put in a bag to carry home when she changed to flats before leaving work, and she raises one leg, and with a little trial and error, as she can't see the leg she's bent back to receive the shoe, puts on one shoe and, then the other, and then her wrists are pulled behind her and the handcuffs replaced.
The leash is unhooked from the hanging ring, and she's led across the room, and with one person on either side of her, she's positioned, legs spread, and ordered not to move, a cane tap on her thigh reinforcing the order. She hears someone trot across the room, and then in a few moments feels something touching her crotch, something cold and round and smooth. It's moved back and forth and up and down a few times, then she hears loud clicks behind her and fainter ones before her as the pole is locked in place, and in a couple moments her legs are being pushed together and light ankle cuffs, with a chain about a foot long, are placed on her ankles.
"Walk", she's ordered, as she's prodded between the shoulders, and she takes a couple hesitant steps, then stops, fearful of what may be ahead, and she's prodded between the shoulders, but this time the poker is red hot and burns her bare flesh, and she jumps and screams and the voices say "WALK" and scared of what may be before her but more scared of what she knows is in back of her, she starts walking, slowly, slower even than the short chain requires, but steadily enough to avoid another poke. The long pole over which her pussy is sliding as she walks seems very smooth, like highly polished wood, which in fact is what it is, and it doesn't feel all that bad as she walks along it. In another time and place, when she wasn't terribly frightened and feeling a fresh throbbing burn on her back, she might have found it pleasant. Today though, her only feeling is relief as she makes another step without being harmed, and enormous relief when she gets to the end without any further damage.
Quickly her captors remove the ankle cuffs, turn her around, and replace the cuffs. One trots to the other side, and she hears the locks open, and feels the pole turn beneath her, then hears the locks close again. Then her blindfold is removed, and she finds herself looking at an odd, jagged, multisided piece of metal that an elegantly gloved hand is holding in front of her face, and when the hand drops from her face she sees a man in leather pants and mask with a bag and a small hammer working his way over the thoroughly scarred length of the pole, tapping the bits of metal into random spots on the pole. Then her blindfold is replaced, and she listens to that faint tapping sound for what seems like forever, and then it stops, and she stands waiting for what seems an even longer time, and then the voice of an aroused woman loudly whispers "Walk", and when the prisoner doesn't move, a whip begins biting into her back, the blows fast and furious, but the frightened woman doesn't move, she just keeps say, between sobs and screams, "No...please... please don't... not this, please don't make me do this...", and then a long, hot pin is stuck in her left breast and left there to keep burning her, and she screams and shakes madly to dislodge it, but it doesn't move, and another is thrust into her right buttock, and she screams, and a somewhat choked voice says "Walk if you don't want to be a pin cushion", and she starts walking, even more slowly this time despite the urgings of the whip across her back, wondering where the first one was and how much it would hurt, and then she steps forwards and felt the burning feeling as her crotch was cut, and jumped and shrieked as much from the anticipation of the pain as from the pain of the short, shallow cut, and she back up into a branding iron and screams again and steps forwards, cutting herself again on the same piece of metal. "If you like getting cut twice, back up again. You are going to walk the length of this pole, and it's going to hurt more than you can imagine. But not nearly as bad as some of the things we can imagine, and if we have to do terrible things to you to make you walk it, *GOOD*. What's best for you is to just keep walking; what's best for us is for you to keep resisting. Your choice, dear. Now, in case you've forgotten, the order is 'WALK'". And as she feels the heat approach her skin, the captive takes another step, one without pain.
One of the few without pain.
Equestrian Games
The four teenage girls loved riding, but were becoming bored with the bridle paths on the riding academy grounds. Sure of their mounts, sure of themselves, and full of the energy, impetuousness, and the giddy recklessness of youth, they departed the paths for a hard ride over the open countryside beyond the academy grounds. They didn't think much about whose land they were on, even as they raced past several postings warning that this was private land and tresspassers were unwelcome. But there was no one around, and they weren't hurting anything, so what harm could there be in riding over miles of empty countryside ?
Valuable countryside that had yet been left undeveloped and nearly unused, quite deliberately, to keep neighbors and their eyes far away, and to provide a vast space for screams to get lost within.
But while undeveloped, the grounds were not unkept. Certain traps were carefully maintained, lest anyone leave the grounds without permission, for both entrance and exit were by the courtesy of the owners. Not that anyone had ever managed to escape the main facilities, but it might happen someday. As might, and had today, occurred an unauthorized entrance, though as the girls bounced along on their mounts and the concealed cameras focused on them, they were not quite unwelcome visitors.
As the girls galloped along in another race, taut nets appeared chest high in the paths, knocking the first two riders to the ground. The others were able to stop their steeds in time, but were knocked from their mounts when hit with heavy furled nets swung like whips. Not quite so badly stunned as the first two, these girls jumped up, and as riders appeared out of nowhere, the girls tried to run for the cover of some heavy bush, but were run down far short of it, the one girl lassoed, the other nicely entangled by a weighted net expertly thrown. Trying to run away was a serious offense for any woman on these grounds; the visitors could hardly know this, of course, but one takes one's chances when one tresspasses. The net was quickly secured so the petite and pretty young thing within the net could neither open it nor stand up within it. Attaching the net to the pummel of her saddle, a rider lead her horse off at a trot, dragging the young woman inside the quite sturdy net over some rough ground as she was taken to the main house.
Her running partner had her blouse and bra cut off, her hands tied before her, and was dragged on her belly (well, she started that way, though she turned over a few times intransit) to the main house, her route a bit erratic as the riders never seemed to miss any sand or pebbles.
The two girls who were mannered enough to remain on the ground and offer no resistance had combination gags/mouthpieces applied, their crossed wrists lashed in front of them and placed on their heads, and their booted feet tied together, with a rope run from the saddles to the boots, so the girls could be dragged, on their clothed backs and by their strong rider's legs, back to the main house. Their journey was the longest both in time and distance, as the leisurely trip took a route that went mainly over stretches of deep, soft grass.
When they reached the house, sore but otherwise unhurt, their friends were already there. The arrived in time to see the badly broken but still living body being removed from the net. Too badly busted up to be of much use, the captors stopped a slave drawn wagon and threaded the broken girl's shattered limbs through the spokes of a wheel and tied them in place, and the wagon went on it's rounds, the unfortunate young lady spinning in place, her long red hair alternately flying through the air and whipping the ground, occasionally being caught under the wheel, but never quite enough of it to break her neck and end her misery. Internal bleeding eventually accomplished that, but she remained on the wheel for the rest of the day, a stark warning to anyone who thought to protest the cruelty of the keepers.
Their other friend was in - medically speaking - better condition, more aware, and not suffering life threatening injuries, though a lot of her upper body was painfully scraped and lacerated. She was, however, messed up sufficiently that she didn't seem an appealing plaything, and so other uses had to be found for her. As she was a rider, the riding school seemed appropriate, so she was carried to the school, with her friends dragged along to observe her fate. At the school, she was stripped and tied spreadeagle on the ground, and horses and riders that were being trained in the art of prancing over a helpless slave practiced on her. A common punishment for minor offenses, considerable skill was required, for the object was to frighten, not damage, the precious property beneath the hooves. Considerable training and practice was required on less valuable objects, such as hapless tresspassers, whose trampling was of no consequence. The young woman was used for practice by accomplished horse and rider teams for several hours until an errant step killed her, at which time she ceased to be as much of a challenge, as her squirms and screams no longer needed to be accomodated, and her body was then used for introductory training until she was thoroughly crushed.
Her friends only say the beginning of the first practice session, at which point they were taken to the dungeons for the beginning of their training. The riders followed a route that passed the polo fields, where they stopped to watch a game in progress, the riders chasing a nearly naked slave (the helmet, kneepads, and running shoes were an aethestic offense to many of the players, who preferred that the ropes holding the slave's hands behind her back be her sole accouterment, but the gear kept slaves in play longer, therebye permitting more frequent games, so it was grudingly accepted). The slave was driven forwards and back by the whips of the riders, occasionally knocked to the ground by horses blocking her path (blocking was permitted, though charging was a (rarely called) penalty) and whipped till she rose and ran again. She was nearly driven into one of the nets used as goals, but a defenders bola enwrapped her legs and brought her to the ground, stopping play until she could be disentangled and taken back to the center of the field and play resumed. It went on only a few minutes before a block knocked her down and broke a hip, requiring a new slave, as confirmed by a judge, who signalled to one of the sideline sharpshooters that this one was not recoverable, and she was shot; her body would be recovered after the game so as not to delay play. Another slave was moved to the sidelines on a line from the fallen slave, and as riders waited at the prescribed distances, a referee whipped her onto the field, and the riders went into pursuit.
But the custodians of the young ladies had things to do, and couldn't remain to watch the rest of the game. So the trespassers were delivered to the dungeon for initial training in their new capacity of organic toys, and the riders took the tresspasser's horses out to a nearbye swamp and drove them through enough of it that when the riderless horses returned to their stables, the searchers naturally scoured the swamp looking for signs of the poor lost girls, but the swamp swallowed up many a mistake, and at last the search was given up, and the girls were considered drowned and dead.
They actually survived quite a long time in captivity. Perhaps that was because of youth and vigor, or perhaps the daily prayer they were required to say contributed. Whether or not the prayer helped, it so amused their captors to hear them say "and forgive us our tresspasses".
The Greatest Intimacy
The look on her face as she read the document was intriguing. Curiousity changing to shock and anger, and then to humor as she became sure it was a joke, to worry as I didn't return her smile, to utter bafflement.
"You know I can't sign this. It repudiates things I've worked for all my life, it rejects my deepest values, it condemns people I've worked alongside for years and organizations to which I've long been dedicated. I couldn't even sign this and lock it in a drawer. I can't possibly sign this for submission to a legislative inquiry, it would set back what I believe in and betray my friends and, most of all, it would be a betrayal of myself".
"Yes, I know", I told her. She was a most dutiful and submissive slave. It had become quite hard finding hard tests for her. This was by far the hardest thing I could have asked of her, harder, probably, than if I had ordered her to take her own life. Ending her life would probably be easier than repudiating it. I wasn't sure if she'd agree to it, but the test was a no-lose situation for me. If she did as I directed, I would know that my ownership of her mind and heart and soul was complete. If she refused, I would have the pleasure of overcoming this rebellion.
Actually, it would be much more than that, for this was no minor preference, nor even a major one. This issue went to the core of who she was, and I knew there was no way she would give in on this. To bend her to my will, I was going to have to break her, completely, and reassemble her again, but without this resistance. This would be difficult and dangerous for us both, but the challenge was far more exciting than frightening, for there is simply no intimacy greater than that between tormentor and prisoner in a duel to the psychic death. In breaking her completely I would have to destroy the shell of will and belief that held what she was, that kept all her thoughts and feelings and experiences and desires in the shape they now occupied, and, exposed to the raw data of her soul, I would know her as no other person ever had known, or *could* ever have known her.
"I knew this would be hard for you", I said, quietly. "That's why I ordered you to do it. An order I'm repeating now. Sign the paper", I told her, calmly.
She wasn't quite so calm. She looked pretty torn up, actually, knowing that she had to obey, and knowing that she couldn't. I let a long moment pass by, and then asked her, "Are you going to sign it ?". She looked at me, her face twisted in pain, barely restraining her tears, and tried to speak, failed, then shook her head "No" before she managed to choke out a "I *CAN'T*... I'm sorry... please forgive me".
"I understand, dear, I really do know how dreadful this is for you. But you know my position. I own you totally, without limit or reservation. You must obey *any* order I give you. And you *will* obey any order I give, while your are mine", I said as I rose, seized her by the hair behind her had, and dragged the crying woman into the hall.
"To your left is the door to this house; if you are no longer mine, walk through it now, and do not return. To your right is the door to the dungeon; if you are mine, walk through it, and I will deal with this rebellion", I directed. She was trying to say something through her tears, which I made out after a couple failed attempts to be "what".
"What will I do ? If you are not mine, the point is moot. If you are mine, it is not your concern what I will do. So the question is irrelevant. Make your choice, now. If you will not obey me and make a choice, then I must assume you are not mine, and I will push you out of this house. Make your choice", I said, calmly and quietly but with no hint of flexibility. Though I was almost certain what her response would be, it was with enormous relief that I saw her turn to the right, and slowly start down the stairs to the dungeon. I did not often gamble with with anything so precious as her as the stakes.
I left her alone in the dungeon for a few minutes to compose herself before I followed her down.
"Sit in that chair", I directed, pointing her to a straightbacked metal chair bolted to the floor, but lacking spikes, electrical wiring, or a space in which to slide a drawer full of hot coals. In short, the most comfortable piece of furniture in the dungeon. As she sat down, I began chaining her to the chair, inescapably but not particularly uncomfortably, and, I'm sure to her surprise, without removing any of her clothes.
"Alright, my dear, you wanted to know what I was going to do, and now you shall know. This rebellion is unacceptable. You are pledged to obey me, and you shall. It is far from adequate that you be punished, however severely, and still not obey. Before you leave this room you will have signed that form, and given me your most solemn vow to adhere henceforth to the positions it reflects. I hope you will do this because you recognize that you have no right to ever refuse or resist any order I give you. I will still punish you quite severely for your failure, but it won't be anything you can't bear. If I have to overcome your resistance, I'm sure you understand that it will be by means that you *cannot* bear".
"I'll be back in an hour", I told her as I put a hood over her head. "I want you to think very hard about what you want to do, and I do hope you will understand that what you want to do is irrelevant: you will, eventually, do as I instruct you to do". At that I turned and walked out, leaving her hooded and helpless in a room the horrors of which she knew very well, to contemplate her choices, or lack thereof. She might possibly recognize the uselessness of suffering horribly before doing what she must eventually do, and recognizing, that fact, decide that she must honor her pledge of obedience and do as I told her. That would be much easier on both of us.
But I didn't think she would, and as I left her to her thoughts, I realized how desperately I hoped that she wouldn't.
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