Silent Suffering

I had been patiently waiting for what seemed like an eternity, watching as the lights in the house gradually cut off; first in the childs bedroom, then the living room and kitchen, and finally the master bedroom. I knew the routine by now. I had been studying her for a week and very little ever changed.

I knew that in about 15 minutes she would come back out of the bedroom and sit down at her computer. She took the time after her husband dozed off to explore her darker fantasies on the internet, and that was what I was waiting for. When she logged on tonight, I intended to show her just how dangerous those dark fantasies could get. My breathing and my groin both got a little harder at the thought. I was going to show that little tease what real pain was all about.

I lost myself in my own dark fantasies while I stared through my binoculars, waiting for the dim glow of the computer monitor to highlight her face. I knew it would only be a matter of time before she was flushed and sweating, squirming in her chair and wishing her vanilla husband would come out and punish her for all the nasty, perverted things she was reading about... fantasizing about doing with him.

But that was her problem. He was vanilla and she so wanted cinnamon or ginger or even just strawberry. I was planning on something way past cinnamon.

The tell-tale glow of the monitor summoned me back from my daydreaming. I watched as she logged in to her favorite site and began to check her mail. It didn't take her long to open the one from me. I'd kept her entertained for quite some time with charming innuendo and subtle flirtation and she had gone so far as to tell me she touched herself sometimes while she read my notes to her. Tonight that wasn't going to be necessary.

I got out of my car, grabbed my bag off the passenger seat and closed the door quietly. If I timed things right, this was going to be the most amazing night of her life. Even if my timing was off, it would definitely be memorable for her. Right now she should be reading the erotic story I sent her describing exactly how I was stalking her and how I was going to break into her house and have her while her husband and son slept on, unaware of what we were doing only a few dozen yards away.

I crept quietly around the house to the back door, hoping she was enjoying all the tension in the story and knowing it was building up her frustration. I pulled my homemade lockpicks out of the pocket of my backpack and cracked the deadbolt in less than a minute. It always amuses me how safe people think they are behind a tumbler and a few springs.

I turned the knob and slipped inside and listened for a moment. The only thing I heard was the distinctive tap tap tap of a computer keyboard. It couldn't be any more perfect.

I tucked my lockpicks back into my bag and then slipped my black handled straight razor from my pocket. With a gentle flick, I opened it and held it so the edge glimmered in the faint moonlight creeping in through the door behind me. The fun was about to begin.

I moved slowly across the kitchen and around the corner to find myself standing right behind her as she gazed intently at the computer, completely oblivious to my presence. I could read the tension in her body even by the dim light of her computer screen and I could hear her rapid breathing. Something was certainly stimulating the poor girls imagination to say the least. I couldn't help but smile wickedly as I slid up behind her.

I held the straight razor out wide to her left and struck like a viper, wrapping my free right arm around her throat, nestling her trachea in the crook of my elbow. In the shock of the moment she gasped and I flexed my muscles against her, cutting her off before the whisper of sound could become a scream. Then I moved my razor into her line of sight.

"You really don't want to make any noise," I whispered into her ear, through her shoulder length brown hair. "And fighting me probably isn't the best idea either. After all, I'm just here to give you what you've been asking for."

She whimpered... such a sweet sound. I felt myself getting hard.

"We're going to play some games, you and I, and I think you're going to enjoy them. You like games, don't you?"

Again, the sweet little whimper, but this time it was accompanied by a nod. I looked down over her shoulder and saw that her nipples were sticking straight out under her white T-shirt. There was no doubt that she was enjoying the fear. I rested the back of my razor on her collar bone and slid it down her breast, over her erect nipple. I got the shiver I was hoping for.

"As long as you don't make any noise, I won't do any irreperable harm. Do you understand? You're going to live up to your nickname and suffer in silence."

Another nod.

"Good girl. I think we should go outside. It is a nice warm evening, after all and I doubt anyone will see us way out here in the country. Now stand up and lets go have some fun."

Slowly, unsteadily, she rose to her feet. I understood... after the initial adrenaline rush, it was no surprise her legs were a little jell-o like. I wasn't in a particular hurry anyway. Besides... the taste of fear on her was so sweet it was worth a little patience.

I released my arm from around her neck and placed a gentle had in the middle of her back and gave her a gentle shove towards the door. If she only knew what was coming next, I doubt her legs would have carried her all the way on her own.

She stepped out into the humid Georgia night air with me practically breathing down her neck. The smell of her... fear, shampoo and desire, was poetry to me. I was about to wash away the vanilla in her and show her how liberating that fear and desire could be.

Again, I pressed my hand into the small of her back and guided her to an open spot on the lawn.
"Here."

We stopped and I dropped the bag from my shoulder and handed it to her.
"Take out the blanket and spread it on the ground, then stand in the middle, facing away from me. And remember... you suffer in silence tonight."

She did as she was told, but I could see the glimmering trails of tears down her face in the moonlight. It warmed my heart and my groin to see what turmoil she was in. Finally the fantasy she had wished for was hers, but she was unsure if she could pay the full price. The two most beautiful things in the world are a woman full of confidence and a woman full of doubt.
After admiring the curves of her body and her thick brown hair for a few moments I decided it was time. With a violence born purely to inspire fear, I strode forward and grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck, pulling up to make it hurt as much as possible.

I leaned down to speak directly into her ear to make sure she would hear me over the turmoil of her own thoughts. "I'm not going to tell you not to be afraid. I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to hurt you a lot... but I'm not going to break you. I want there to be enough of you left to beg for more later."

I let go of her hair and took a half step back to give myself a little room to work. With a deft flip of the wrist, I settled the haft of my razor comfortably between my thumb and middle finger of my right hand and lifted the tail of her T-shirt with my left. I gently dragged the flat of the blade sideways across her back, just above the waistline of her panties, letting the cold kiss of steel tell her exactly what was happening behind her back. She shivered again, and moaned deep in her throat, a sound full of despair and longing. She was already losing herself to me.

I pulled the blade back from her skin and dropped the tail of the shirt. Then I put the cutting edge against the cloth, just below her collar and pulled gently down her spine... delighting in the look and feel of the fabric parting as if it were being unzipped and knowing that I could do the same to her flesh if I wanted to.

Once her shirt was open from collar to tail, I carefully folded my blade away and reached into the pack lying on the ground at my feet. It took only a few moments of groping in the darkness for me to find the familiar leather handle of my whip. I smiled as I lifted the cat o' nine and combed my fingers through the tails to make sure they hadn't tangled.

I settled the whip across my shoulders for a moment as I grabbed the collar of her abused shirt and yanked viciously, tearing the last bit of cloth apart and choking her at the same time. I held the pressure for a few moments, my elbows and forearms pressed into her back, bracing her against the pressure at her throat. I could almost feel her pulse pick up as she realized how little stood between her and darkness. I chuckled to myself as I released her collar. She was going to be an absolute delight to play with.

"Take those rags off," I growled, knowing she was struggling to regain herself. "Your bra, too."
She fumbled with the shirt, trying to pull it over her head, not realizing in her muddled state that wasn't necessary. Laughing heartily I walked in front of her and grabbed the front of the shirt and pulled it clear of her body. She shivered as she felt how exposed she was to the night air... and to me.

I walked around behind her again and undid the clasp on her bra then shoved the straps down from her shoulders. She let gravity take its course and the bra fell to the ground to land atop her ruined shirt. At last I had a naked canvas before me, prepared to accept whatever I chose to create... or destroy.

I wrapped my fingers firmly around the handle of my whip and dragged the tails slowly across my neck, savoring the kiss of leather on my skin, knowing that same leather was about to taste other flesh entirely. I measured the distance between myself and the woman carefully and a sadistic smile lit my eyes as I drew back my arm to deliver the first blow. Hopefully the first of many.

Possiblities

“Where are we?” Beth asked, looking at the battered garage and the run-down house.

“Just some place I thought might be fun,” Jeff answered, opening the trunk of the car and pulling out a duffel. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a plain white t-shirt and a tattered pair of jean-shorts. “Your costume.” He said, winking as he tossed the clothes at her.

Beth looked around nervously, then slipped her sun-dress up over her head. Jeff enjoyed the view of her pale skin in the dappled sunlight of old oaks. She slipped the T-shirt on, with a sardonic smile for his obvious appreciation of her body. She turned her back towards him so that he had a better view of her firm buttocks as she bent to pull the shorts up her long legs.

“Satisfied, you perv?”

Jeff chuckled. “Not yet, but if this works out as I intend, we both will be. Ready to play?”

Beth nodded and let the smile fade from her lips. Playtime was serious business.

Jeff's face changed even more dramatically, from charming to sinister in a flash. He reached behind his back and pulled a six inch hunting knife out of the waistband of his pants. “Good. You can start screaming then, if you like.”

Beth looked at the knife and then back to Jeff's face as he advanced slowly. His eyes locked onto hers and the predatory stare was hypnotizing. She began to back away from him towards the broken down old garage, seeking some shelter to hide her from this animal. She knew he was too close for her to simply turn and run... the instant that spinning around would take was too long. If she tried to break for it, he would have her.

She kept backing up awkwardly. She was too afraid to take her eyes off of him to see where she was going. Suddenly, she felt the press of a chain-link fence against her buttocks. As she tried to slide sideways along the fence, her feet tangled in a branch laying across the abandon driveway and she stumbled... and that was all the opening he needed.

With astounding agility, Jeff grabbed her outstretched arm just above the elbow and yanked hard, pulling her farther off balance. He used her momentum to spin her to face the fence that had so recently foiled her escape and levered her arm painfully up behind her back. She felt him step into her, his pelvis pressing against her lower back, his breath in her ear now.

“I thought you liked to play games, little girl,” he growled. “We're just getting started.”

Beth could feel her heart racing as the tip of Jeff's knife traced the line of her hip, the curve of her stomach and came to rest under her breast. She could feel the cold metal even through the shirt she wore. It made her ache.

“Under other circumstances, I'd take my time about this... but I have things to do.”

He jammed his knee against the arm he was holding behind her back. In an instant she heard a strange clicking noise and felt the press of cold metal encircling her wrist. Before she could even react to what was happening, Jeff pulled her arm up over her head and wove the handcuffs now attached to her wrist through the chain links. “Put your other arm up,” he growled into her ear.

She moved her arm slowly, reluctant to submit herself to him. She felt the pressure on the knife under her breast increase.

“Whatever you might be thinking, stop. You don't get to think now. Just do.”

She clasped her hands together over her head, face pressed uncomfortably into the chain links while Jeff latched the cuff around her other wrist. She let herself sag a bit, testing the strength of the fence. She was too close to the post for it to give much at all. All she succeeded in doing was making the cuffs dig into her flesh uncomfortably.

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

“Whatever I damn well please.”

“I'll scream!”

“I'm kind of counting on it... you noticed I haven't taped that pretty mouth shut.”

Beth spun around slightly to see what Jeff was doing, twisting against the cuffs. He was standing at the front of the car they had arrived in, spreading a towel across the hood and laying out various implements from his duffel in neat rows. Soon the car looked like the workbench of a medieval inquisitor. Clamps, clips and fittings in dozens of variations; needles arrayed neatly in there cellophane wrappings; a variety of artificial phallises and leather... an astonishing assortment of flails, floggers and spanking implements.

“You can't possibly think you're going to use all of those on me,” Beth gasped.

“Of course not, my dear... some of them are for me.”

So saying, Jeff selected a barber's straight razor and a leather strop from one side of the towel and began to walk slowly back towards where Beth was standing. With a calculating look into her wide eyes he applied the razor to the strop with an unhurried precision that did nothing to ease the tension building rapidly in her.

Jeff clipped the strop to his belt and then stepped in so that she could feel his groin pressed against her lower back. It was obvious that he was enjoying himself already. With the back of the razor, he traced a line down the back of her arm, starting at the cuffs encircling her wrist and following it gracefully to her elbow, then her shoulder, then her throat. She felt the urge to shiver, but she knew better. With a quick flip of his wrist it would be the hot blade itself kissing her skin, not the cool metal of its back.

Jeff's free hand made the same trip down her other arm to her neck and then clasped her throat... she could feel his thumb pressing firmly into her flesh, slowing the flow of blood to her brain, but accelerating her heart rate. The straight razor slipped inside the collar of the plain white t-shirt she was wearing and whispered through the cotton as if it were merely a strand of spiders web dangling in the summer breeze. The lack of blood flow was making her lightheaded.

Once her back was exposed to the open air, Jeff released his grip on her throat... she felt a momentary pulse of pain as the pressure surged back into her skull. She didn't bother to look as she heard his boots scuff through the gravel back to the hood of the car. She tried to gather her thoughts, but her mind was racing feverishly through the myriad of possibilities her makeshift dungeon opened her to.

Sketch Artist

"Shitty day, shitty day, shitty day."

Huddled down in her jacket, digging for her keys, with a stack of canvas under one arm, she spilled the soda... of course. One more breath before tears. On more year. It's going to happen... one more year.

Finally the ball of keys worked itself loose from her pocket, and in a miraculous mind saving moment, the apartment key was right between her thumb and index. Hallelujah for the little victories.

Burst through the door in a flurry. Mind trying to organize. Costume party tonight. Absolutely no idea what to wear. No way that Eddie would have thought to get a costume for both of them. None of this was making the headache go away. Drop everything on the island in the kitchen, deep breath, positive smile. No more hints of tearing up.

Up the stairs, turn the corner to the bedroom and screeching halt.

Eddie is laying on the bed, dressed as a goddamn ringmaster from the circus... and a sexy clown costume... a fucking GORGEOUS sexy clown costume... was laid out beside him... cute new panties and all.

"I know you look forward to this... and I know you've been busting your ass trying to sell that art work," Eddie mumbled. Words weren't his thing. "So I thought I'd surprise you... but its a double edged surprise. Special costume, special rules of engagement for the evening."

Eddie rolled off the bed, looking ridiculously graceful in the brilliant red jacket and top hat. With a flourish, he whipped out his ever present smart phone and a brilliant red clown nose.

"My phone is programmed to respond to the sound of the squeeky nose. silly little app I wrote. The nose squeaks, my phone sends a signal to..."

A dramatic pause? Eddie was really getting into this and it was sexy on him. Eddie continued with a dramatic flair and somehow pulled off enough slight of hand to produce her remote butterfly vibrator. OH SHIT!

"Every time the nose squeaks, my phone changes the setting on the butterfly... and you're going to keep it on you all night."

Tucking the toys back in the outside pocket of the tux jacket and then pulled a joint and a lighter out of the inside pocket.

"Smoke up and get in the shower. We're going out to play tonight, baby."

Puff... puff... puff.... these clothes are light enough, drifting off to the soft pitter patter of the shower. Bouncing water droplets, glorious, bone deep warmth... weight of a thousand gallery deaths and gory rejection letters drifted up past the steam.... and cleaning all her special places in anticipation of evening activities that would leave her in a puddle in the mattress without her body a burden...

Damn, that was some good weed... Thank heavens Eddie was a sober partier... Strange bird that he was, he thought the show was more interesting than the ride... just another reason to love him. He was so devious some days it made her heart ache. Lex Luthor with limited ambition.

The tiny little flounced skirt of black and white diamond barely covered the curve of her ass, and left her delightfully aware of the exposure. Her societal reflexes, carefully honed by mother, kept tell her to pull the fabric down, but she knew better. Halloween is, after all, about breaking taboos. The cleft of her bosom was scandalous by any measure... and this outfit was amazingly flattering. Eddie had nailed it. The brilliant red nose was just ridiculous enough to keep her ego in check.

Reveling in the relaxed feeling of knowing the bills were paid and the power was on, the lights of oncoming traffic faded into a mindless hum of light noise accompanying the thrumming of the stereo. The headache faded into aching strains of vocal acrobats and steely strings... the pain left, the music stayed. A hand on her thigh and a burning awareness that she was being quite naughty helped her cast off the drudgery of the day to day.

Inside the club, Eddie discovered the flaw in his plan. The live band for the night was so loud the sensor couldn't pick up the squeak of the nose. She didn't care. She lost herself in the music and the buzz and the liberty of a masked party. She floated through the night... hands on her body, lighter than air. Sweaty, hot, primal and ridiculous. In love with every part of it.

Eddie was smart enough to stay off the dance floor. He had his little games, but nothing about him glittered under hot lights and heavy music. He sat contentedly and chatted with the endless flow of customers near the bar. His eyes rarely left her and she could feel it. Her mind reeled with delight that she had permission to do it all on the dance floor from the only person whose opinion mattered to her.

She bled her life away under the bass line, grinding on a string of legs and pelvises... every passing moment thrilling her whole being. Music used her body because her master said it could... and that was all that mattered. Total peace. Total trust. Totally gone in the moment. She knew her body would be exhausted when they got home and she knew he was going to make her remember every inch of flesh she touched on the dance floor once the bedroom door closed.

Every leg she touched reminded her of the moment she knew was coming before the end of the night. She fantasized on the dance floor about a guy standing in the corner. Every man who touched her thought he had won the jackpot for the evening until she drifted away to rub her curves on the next. She was lost in the thought of Eddie spreading her out on the bed and doing that thing to her body that made her squirmish and sullen for hours afterwards.

All the posers and hoes and dancers and prancers were one long stream of imaginary people she masturbated with while in her heart... he just stood there and waited for her to get off on him when the time came. He loved her... and loved that she loved things he could never touch. So they shared an intimacy on the dance floor that no one ever saw... and he fucked her stupid every time the foreplay ended.

Another Case

Lil shivered and rubbed herself with her arms in that moment between the terrycloth and the surface tension on the tub, her nipples taught in the October air. The drafty bathroom was a relic of brighter imaginations. Crumbled with the weariness that comes with reality. It wasn't the rooms fault. Sometimes time refuses to stand still while reality dissolves into flowers, like it should. So the chips in the tile were reminders of anger and shock and burns and blisters and every anguish... and none of it was getting brighter with age.

Two words had weighed on her mind for so long that if they had fallen out of her head they would have cracked the discolored porcelain.

"Another rape."

They had actually said that to her. The police had fucking OUT LOUD, to the whole goddamn world, called it "another rape."

Lil put her foot into the scalding water... the burn was nice.  A razor would have been nicer. The voice in her head... the goddamn cassette tape.... the mp3.... no innovative technology had come up with a way to pump SOMETHING into the quiet moments in her life where all she could hear were those two words.

"Another rape."

She stooped down so that the scorching water kissed the meat of her ass. It was a nice burn. It didn't clean any of the wounds. The alcohol hadn't cleaned them. The cocaine hadn't numbed them. Time hadn't changed the feeling. The sound echoed. The neighbors had stopped asking what was wrong... that was a plus.

It wasn't her screaming.... that wasn't what woke her at night. It was something else. wait... why am I awake. They have pills for that. The blood and soot was starting to rinse off, softened by the heat.

Slide deeper into the tub. Drift. Drift. The warm water and the pills are loosening her muscles. The voices in her head are screaming something about 911. The cops burst through the door as her head begins to slide under the water. La la is fading into the landscape and it all gets...

Interrupted by a hand, pulling her out of the water by her hair. The shock is worse than anything... the light had been so close this time and this giant monstrosity wrapped in black with bug eyes had the audacity to pull her the fuck away from all that warm gooey...

Sputtering, hardly capable of rage at the S.W.A.T. team leader holding her by the scalp, La La wondered who had survived. All the faces were fuzzy and the baton coming at her face was probably not going to improve the situation. A bright flash and the lights went all together wobbly... she felt, more than saw the second blow. There was no fighting to be done. Six of them. Batons.

No one was angry. Everyone involved was beyond angry. The station was burning. Cops were dead. This was going to be an obscenity of law.

Her arms and legs were shackled before any of them shoved anything into her holes. They broke her jaw, before they used her mouth. Her jaw didn't have the strength to bite their filthy cop dicks off. She wanted to pass out... she thought she had, but somehow it kept happening.

They cut her... laughing as they used her blood to lube their batons. They fucked her... harder than the rapist who had started this mess. The laughter of the cops... it wouldn't stop, even now. Then they did it again with their cocks. The sick fucks fulled her ass and tazed her so they could feel her twitch. Her vagina had been stretched beyond reason, forced to hold a tactical boot after they had tired of the batons... the same boot had stretched her cheeks. There was blood everywhere. There were bruises everywhere... there was mercy nowhere.

When they were satisfied, they dumped her in the tub and closed the door. The house burned around the floating corpse...

Bolting up out of the cooling water into the scorching cold air of the bathroom Lil screamed... it wasn't her scream. It was just another rape.

Ahead of the Game

"Let me get this straight... you actually get off on pain?" Incredulous, Rodney started looking at his daughters browser history again. "You're into this sort of thing?"

"Daddy, it isn't.... it isn't ABOUT that... the getting off," Cally's 16 year old eyes liquefied him when she teared up like that, but the list of sites he was staring at terrified him.

He watched porn. He liked porn. This wasn't what he could consider porn... this was torture. He clicked another link and a video started. He watched his daughters eyes flick over to the screen. There was a hungry look that disturbed him.

On screen, a woman was tied down to a stainless steel table, stark naked. There was a massive red ball gag in her mouth, and twining streams of mascara stained tears rolled across her temples. Her nostrils flared while someone off camera held a cattle prod in front of her face.

The camera followed the path of the bifurcated metal rod as it touched the side of the restrained woman's neck. The muscles in her neck convulsed in anticipatory response to a shock that never came. The hand guiding the prod traced the girls collar boned and started down the curve of her breast, coming to rest on the bar of metal piercing the woman's right nipple.

You could hear the whimpering intensify and then the click of the trigger and the whimper turned to an agonized scream. The table shook and its metal feet scraped across the concrete floor as the victim convulsed in pain.

Rodney tried not to stare with the gape jawed horror that he felt. He didn't want to alienate his daughter, but none of his mother's parenting advice had prepared him for discovering Cally was into... whatever it was that she was into.

"You want to be... like that?" he asked. On the television, the cattle prod had moved from the right nipple to the left. The victim had tiny A cup breasts... almost boyish. Nothing about the scene appealed to any part of Rodney's sexual fantasies. It was all wrong. Drool was dripping out of the girls mouth around the ball gag, her eyes were adrenaline and panic wide.

Cally scrunched her eyes for a second, opened her mouth and then said absolutely nothing. "Give me a sec," she finally whimpered. "I wasn't expecting to have this conversation yet."

The camera moved so that you could see the full length of the restrained girl. Off screen there was some quiet chatter. The camera man and the torturer coordinating perhaps. Rodney was distracted by the chatter from his daughters Android. She looked questioningly, he nodded and paused the video. He needed time to think as much as Cally did.She daughter pulled her phone out and responded to whatever important text event had just occurred in her world. 

"Be supportive, ask intelligent questions. Be supportive, ask intelligent questions." The mantra his mother had taught him when Cally's mother had passed 2 years after giving birth to her. Cancer had taken his mother just  a year after that. S and M... those weren't part of ANY of the millions of possible futures he had struggled to prepare for once the reality of single parenthood had set in.

He had never seen any signs of cutting... no bruises... what signs had should he have been looking for? how did things get this far off course? On screen, the cattle prod had disappeared. Instead, a cane was being applied to the soles of the girls feet.

Cally was texting fast and furious with several people apparently. She looked stoic and determined about something. That set of her jaw she got when she knew she was right about something. The one that always got her in trouble when she was 3.

His heart broke. Was his daughter submitting herself to this kind of abuse? Was there some sick fuck out there hurting his baby girl? He struggled not to let rage take him over the cliff. He knew that the last thing his daughter needed to see was her old man screaming and slobbering about her horrible choices in her love life.

Her love life... those were the battle fields he had prepared for. Stupid boys trying to get in her pants. Pedophiles. Molesters. Rapists. All those horrible fantasies had been lived through in Rodney's mind before Cally had learned to play X-box.

"Research. I need to do some research," Rodney stood up. "Sorry. I didn't see this one coming."

Cally watched him rise and got a look of relief on her face. She bounced up off the bed and hugged him. "You are the best. Go. Read your googly insights and come back, armed for congress."

Rodney hugged her back fiercely, chuckling at her choice of adverbs.

Just then, there was a knock on the front door. Cally's eyes flashed mischeviously and she grabbed her dad's hand with both of hers. She started tugging him out of the room and into the living room, towards the front door. "Before you do, I need you to meet this person. Trust me."

She dropped her dad's hand to open the door with a flourish.

To Rodney's total dismay, the girl who had been on the table in the video was standing there, on the doorstep to his apartment, cute as a button and wearing a spiked collar with a leash attached.

Cally grabbed the end of the leash and pulled the girl into the room without so much as a cursory greeting. "This is Robin. She's my... playmate. I'll pay you back for the cattle prod once the site takes off."

Filth

The scent of clean concrete and the rough feel of the cinder blocks was like an old friend, reaching out to her in silent greeting. She knew what came next without having to think about it... the pressure of his knee in the middle of her back as she knelt with her face against the wall, squeezing the breath from her lungs; the feel of his fingers tangling in her hair, and the unsettling jerk of her head before he asked the question... always the same question.

“Did you keep your promise?”

His voice was rough and low; a bestial growl that inspired no fear in her, only awe. Her whimpered response died in her throat. There was no point in lying... no point in saying anything. Her silence was answer enough.

She felt the pressure on her back evaporate to be replaced by hands under her arms, and she was suddenly flung away from the wall to land face down in a shallow pool of water. It wasn't an act of violence, simply expediency. She knew she was nothing more than luggage right now. She had failed to keep her promise.

“Strip.”

No patience, no emotion other than perhaps a faint trace of disgust.

“Strip. I want to see.”

She rose slowly to her knees and began to unbutton her blouse. She had gotten no farther than the third button when his impatience with her trembling hands manifested itself. Again, without violence, he spun her to face him and ripped the blouse open, sending the buttons flying across the concrete floor. She let the ruined shirt slide from her arms to the floor where water slowly darkened the red silk to a more sanguine shade, somehow appropriate to this place.

She undid the single button holding her skirt to her hips without any of her previous clumsiness. His aloof attitude galled her. She had anticipated, even hoped for some anger to be kindled in her tormentor, but he gave her only a sort of ruthless efficiency that left her unsatisfied. She realized suddenly that she feared him for a different reason than she had thought, and her hands began to shake again as she slid the zipper down her hip to let the skirt slide to the floor. Her failure thus exposed, she bowed her head and waited, her bra and panties faint protection from him.

“I said strip.”

Her head snapped up and for a brief moment she fixed him with an outraged glare. This was something he was not entitled to demand of her; this crossed the boundaries of their relationship. He couldn't be serious.

But the look in his eyes left no doubt as to how serious he was. There was no lust, no pleasure at all; simply more of that same cool efficiency. That coldness started an ache in her she hadn't expected. She had a sudden desire to break through his iciness and find out what lay in the cool depths of his dark eyes; a desire she had no idea how to fulfill.

A sharp click snapped her from her distraction, but she realized too late what the sound meant.

“I haven't got time for this,” he mumbled, as he grabbed hold of her panties with one hand and cut them off with the knife he held in his other. The cold pressure as the back of the blade pressed into her skin for a brief moment made her knees shake. Then her panties pulled up into her as the serrated edges pulled at the fabric before it gave way. She gasped involuntarily.

She wanted to cover her shame with her hands; not her sex, but the livid lines of dried blood that striped her upper thighs, scabbed and red from chaffing. She wanted to desperately but she knew better. She clenched her fists at her sides, nails digging painfully into her palms as he stuck his foot between her legs and shoved them apart.

“You broke your promise.”

Still no anger. Still nothing but cold. She raised her eyes, expecting to find him staring at her thighs, but unexpectedly she found him looking directly back at her, and for the first time she saw something moving beneath the ice that made him. Something that cast her eyes away from him in desperate search of something more familiar... less animal.

What they found to latch onto was perhaps not what most people would call comforting. Mounted between two cement block columns were two parallel metal pipes. There was a mass of chains and cables running haphazardly from both of the pipes, but there was no question as to the purpose of the design... a purpose she lived in constant fear and deep longing for.

“NO!” his voice fairly crackled with anger. The sudden charge of emotion in him shook her to her core. “You haven't earned that. You broke your promise.”

He grabbed her auburn curls and yanked her head so she was forced to look into his eyes again. This time there was nothing masking the beast that had hidden beneath the ice... his anger was unleashed wholly.

“You are MINE. Do you understand what that means?”

The question was clearly rhetorical.

“It means that when you cut yourself, you damage MY property. You hurt something of mine.” His tone was nearly that of a stern father lecturing an unruly child, but there was an edge to it that told of something deeper. “When you break your promise... when you hurt something that belongs to me...”

He pushed her legs farther apart with his feet and then grasped her inner thigh with his rough, strong hands. “I feel like you don't respect me. Do you respect me?”

He pinched the flesh of her thigh in a crushing grip, breaking the scabs over her cuts. She felt the blood begin to slicken his grip. She also felt a fluttering in her gut she found exciting. This was what she had wanted... to see the animal so casually contained by this man. Now that she saw traces of the beast revealed, she wondered if perhaps she had overestimated the strength of her will. Then, in an instant, his composure returned and she was penetrated once again by his uncaring, icy stare.

Without a word, he released her from his grasp, then swiftly, deftly, he slashed upwards with his knife, between her breasts... severing the elastic of her bra with barely a kiss of the blade against her skin. She let the ruined undergarment slide to the ground to join the rest of her clothing on the damp floor, biting down on her lip as she considered what might be coming next. To her dismay, it was almost anti-climactic. He simply grasped her shoulders and spun her to face the far end of the room from that which she had entered. Hidden in the shadows there was a small tiled stall with a smoked glass door. He shoved her more gently this time, but there was no more patience than before.

“Go. If you want what you came for, you will have to earn it. You owe me for the damages.”

Her gut wrenched. Utterly without protection of any kind, even without the familiar sense of clothing to hide her, real fear began to seep into her mind. What could he possibly demand of her? What did she have to give that would be enough to pay for what she had done?

She walked slowly towards the stall and reached for the handle of the door, hearing the faint plop of water droplets on the far side. Before she had grasped the door he spoke again. “When its clean, then I will see to you. Don't come out until it is done,” With that he turned and headed back towards the way they had come, stooping down to gather her clothing on the way.

She pulled the door open and was nearly overwhelmed by the sight and smell before her. The tiny shower stall reeked of mildew and something less pleasant still. She fought back the urge to vomit and stepped cautiously onto the sickeningly slick floor, feeling the filth there ooze between her toes. In the faint light trickling in from overhead, she glanced around looking for a brush or a rag to begin wiping the fetid filth from the walls. She was mortified to discover that the stall was absolutely bare of anything but grime and mold.

“He said not to come out until its clean,” she whispered. She ran a finger along the wall in an attempt to dislodge some of whatever it was that encrusted it, but her efforts were useless against the clinging grime. She tried scratching it with her nails, but soon realized her fingers would be shredded to the quick long before she made any noticeable progress. Frustration grew, competing with her yearning to finish the task and receive her reward. She couldn't disappoint him a second time in one day.

With near panic in her heart she knelt down to search the floor, hoping that somewhere in the shadows she would find a sponge, a rag, anything to make the job before her possible. Her hasty search yielded nothing more than more of the scum clinging to the walls. The stench was so bad near the floor she struggled to keep her stomach contents intact, feeling the bile rise at the back of her throat.

Rising quickly, she slapped her open hands viciously at the wall, slinging to the stinging tingle and burn like it was the hope of a new day. She would NOT be beaten so easily. She wouldn't let her prize slip through her fingers. She took two steps back from the wall in front of her, only to find herself smack up against the other. She slammed her head backwards into the filthy tile hard enough to see a bright flash. Unconsciousness would have been easier to deal with. Having failed was easier than failing. Waking up to failure wouldn't leave the hollow desire... just an emptiness.

Tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes, and she sniffed at herself, almost a laugh in spite of the sense of failure. As she scrubbed the back of one hand against her face, a thought struck her. She leaned close to the wall and grasped a handful of her dark hair. At only shoulder length, she nearly had to press herself against the wall, but at last she maneuvered the hair into reach and scrubbed vigorously for a moment. She pulled herself away from the wall to look at the results and felt a fierce sense of satisfaction.

Without thought she flipped on the water and was rewarded with an ice-cold spray that tore the air from her lungs. She jammed her hair under the stream to soak it quickly then turned off the water as quickly as she could, shivering violently from the drenching. With a more tentative touch, she reached for the warm water handle, only to have it spin freely in her grasp. A wave of disappointment overwhelmed the satisfaction she had felt only moments before, but she gathered herself and began to scrub diligently at the muck on the walls with her hair.

At first she hummed to herself. There was a sense of congratulating herself in the wordless song. She would please him. She would exceed his expectations and astound him. She would make him appreciate what she was, how much she needed him. She would make him want to do the things she needed. No matter what he asked her, she would be worthy of him... of the gift he gave her.

As the scrubbing went on, her optimism began to fade. It was taking too long. He wouldn't wait for her to finish. Her hair was crusted and sticky. He wouldn't touch someone as filthy as she was. She wouldn't be able to get the shower clean enough. How could she possibly get all that slimy scum off the walls in the dark? He would see her failure. He would know how dirty she was. He would no she couldn't hope to please him.

Her fears and her hopes warred with each other as the muscles in her neck and back began to tense and knot from the unnatural use she was putting them to. Her legs were cramped from crouching and kneeling and bending. Everything about her ached, her heart not least of all. She struggled against her rising insecurity and tried to think only of the reward. She pushed her mind ever closer to the sweetness of release that she was working towards. Her mind pushed back with the possibility of disappointment. The simple chore of scrubbing became an epic battle of will.

Finally, hours, days... it didn't really matter... passed and she looked at her work with a sense of pride. He couldn't expect more of a shower in a 5 star resort.

She turned the shower on, one last time to rinse as much of the filth and grime from herself as she could before she pressed timidly against the door, peering, mouse-like, past its edge. She gasped to find him leaning against the shower right beside the door... inches from her face. Her eyes traced the line of his arm from where it crossed under his sternum, up to his shoulder, his neck, until at last she found those icy eyes, gazing at her dispassionately.

“Is it done?”

She nodded, afraid her voice might fail her in her surprise.

He leaned down and grabbed a bottle of shampoo, a rag and a bar of soap and passed them to her.

“I won't touch filth. Clean yourself.”

He pushed the door shut on her.

She cleaned herself as vigorously as she could remember in her life, scrubbing with the rag until her skin fairly burned even under the freezing stream of water. She despised the time it took to wash her hair thoroughly, but she new better than to tempt fate when she was this close. She ran her fingers through her recently abused tresses again and again, trying to pull loose every bit of the filth she had scrubbed away from the shower. The irony was not lost on her.

Unfullfilled

I had been wandering through the stacks, mindlessly reading the covers of books I pulled off the shelf, inspired by some word or phrase written on the spine.

A feminine clearing of the throat, clearly directed at me, led me to place my most recent cull back on the shelf and turn slowly.

"Looking for something in particular sir?" she asked, now that she had my attention.

I turned my slow spin into a move like a cat going for prey and snatched a handful of her red hair in my grip. My other hand reached, as of its own volition, into my pocket to pull out my knife. Almost as if I had practiced it, I pulled her body in towards me and flicked my wrist outward. CLICK I slid the knife up under the back of her untucked shirt.

"15 fucking minutes late! I ought to take you right here in the store. No... not me... I'll take you up front and bend you over the counter and let every man here have a turn with you."

She gasped at the cold touch of metal on her back and shivered at my words.

"Maybe you can help me... I'm looking for a book on knots," I said, quirking my eyebrow.

She gave me a knowing look and a small chuckle. "I don't know much about knots. I think you can find some books about them in the arts and crafts section though. You must be Vin... I'm Seven."

She offered her small hand in greeting and I shook it firmly. "Great to finally meet you face to face. Traffic must have been a bitch today."

"Yeah, sorry I'm late."

I squeezed down hard on her hand as she tried to pull away. "Sorry?! Sorry?! You don't even know what that word means yet, bitch."

"Sir! It hurts!"

"Of course it hurts. Punishment is SUPPOSED to hurt."

I squeezed harder, driving her to her knees and staring into her eyes, letting every tiny bit of my raging demons shine out so she could see them... so she knew what to fear.

"Don't worry about it. Shit happens. Shall we grab some coffee and chat?"

She glanced around nervously and then looked back at me. "Sure, I'll meet you there... I need to wash my hands." She turned and strode off towards the restrooms at the back of the store.

I followed close behind her, my hand still wrapped in her hair, knife against her spine. When we stepped into the ladies room I shoved her up against the wall beside the door and flipped the lock. Returning my attention to my captive, I yanked her skirt up over her hips and pushed her panties aside, sliding a finger into her sopping wetness.

"You are such a good little whore sometimes. Soaking wet already? Must be the knife... or was it the thought of being bent over the counter for any asshole in here to use?"

"Both, Sir," she moaned, grinding her hips against my fingers.

I thrust my three fingers into her so hard I nearly lifted her from the floor... she whimpered as she tried to hold herself up on her tip toes. I closed my knife and slipped it back into my pocket, then I wrapped the fingers of my free hand around her throat and squeezed, catching the carotid artery under my thumb... her heart was racing.

"Both! What a delightful little slut you are," I snarled as I began to fuck her with my fingers. "I bet you're going to cum, thinking about that fat, bald man at the register eating your pussy... or maybe you had your eye on that freak looking at the D&D stuff back there. Which one would make you scream, do you think?"

She looked up into my eyes and squirmed against me. I could see the lust, almost taste it. "Neither, sir."

"Neither? What? Do you think your too good for them?" I slid my thumb across her clit.

"No, Sir!"

"Do you think you have some sort of magic pussy that they don't deserve?" I let go of her throat and twisted one of her nipples through her shirt.

"No, Sir!"

"Maybe you think they'll get that tight little pussy of yours all stretched out and used up?" I pulled my fingers out of her cunt and put them in front of her.

"No, Sir!" She leaned forward and sucked on my fingers, licking her juices off of them, eyes half lidded.

"Then why don't you want to fuck them?"

She moaned as she pulled her head back. "Because I want you to fuck me, Sir!"

"Then go bend over the sink, and pull that skirt up. I want you to see what you look like when you cum."

She swallowed nervously and did as I instructed, pulling her skirt up over her hips and bending forward over the sink so that her breath was fogging the mirror in front of her. I walked up behind her and slapped her ass, delighting in the warm red hand print that formed.

"Take off those fucking panties," I growled... but before she could move to do so, I grabbed the fabric nestled in her ass crack and pulled it up hard. She moaned and climbed to her tip-toes again, trying to releive the pressure. I reached into my pocket again. CLICK In one smooth motion the knife opened, the panties were destroyed, and the knife closed again.

"Hope those weren't to expensive," I chuckled, knowing full well they had been. I slapped her ass again, a good, burning sting erupting against my palm. She squirmed and wiggled her hips, thrusting back towards me.

Knowing she wanted to cum, I crouched down behind her beautiful heart shaped ass, and began to bite and lick my way from the curve of her pelvis, down the spine and into the center of her ass crack. At the same time my right hand was sliding up her thigh, pinching and massaging, soothing and groping until I found her moist lips again and slid two finger into her at the same time as my tongue found her puckered little anus.

I felt her muscles tighten and heard a faint whimper as I began to rythmically stroke my fingers in and out of her while my mouth worked feverishly across her backside, leaving little bite marks and spots reddened from the suction. The longer I tormented her, the more frequent and rythmic the whimpers became. Sensing her impending climax, I started to massage her leg and inner thigh with the hand not occupied in her sopping cunt. As I squeezed the muscles of her thigh she let out a low moaning wail.

"Sir, I'm gonna cum."

"I know you are. Go ahead. Watch yourself."

She started panting and her whimpering became rapid and ragged. I squeezed the fleshy inside of her thigh again, hard enough to make my hand ache. I saw her raise her hand up to cover the scream she wanted to let loose and she leaned forward so her face pressed against the mirror.

"Look at yourself!" I growled. "I told you, I want you to see yourself cum!"

She pushed up away form the mirror, let out a quick, gasping scream and her body shuddered in release. I stood up immediately and pulled her shoulders to me, taking the weight of her from her weakened knees and began to run my fingers through her red hair gently.

"Thank you, Sir" she whispered as she nuzzled my chest.

"Sir, here's your change. Thank you," the young woman at the register said. From her exasperated expression, it was probably the third or fourth time she'd said it.

I took the change and walked over to an open table and waited for Seven to come back from the restroom.