shoes

It’s stupid, you think to yourself.



You have a good life, a good home, a faithful hardworking man and a family. You have everything that you ever wanted and longed and hoped for. You man is gentle, faithful, loving, successful and attentive to you and your needs. He’s a good provider and a better lover. He’s just slightly kinky in the bedroom in what should be just the right amount.



You should be happy. Any normal person would be happy with this.



So why do you feel so dissatisfied?



You think about this while you pedal the bike at the gym. The wheel spins and so does your mind.



What is wrong with you?



The dreams keep coming. They keep haunting you. They aren’t nightmares. They’re something else.



You’ve been dreaming for a while about being trapped somewhere. It’s a dangerous place. There are violent, evil men there, and you’re hiding from them. But they always find you. Always.



And when they do it starts, your clothes are torn away, and you’re forced down, made to obey, to serve in horrifying and brutal ways. You can’t remember all the things they do to you. It seems too punishing and violating to recall.



Yet when you wake up from the dreams you’re always beyond aroused. Your loins are slick with your own passion and twice you’ve awoken with your own hand inside you.



The first couple of times you rolled over and nudged your husband until he woke up to the happy prospect of spontaneous sex. And like a happy, wonderful husband he complied and you spent a few minutes making the sheets sweaty and sticky and after he’d thrust into you a few dozen times he climaxed and was spent.



Unfortunately you were not satisfied or spent. So he’d doze off happy and you’d be left laying there aggravated, wet and sticky with a set of sheets that you’d need to wash tomorrow.



After a while you stopped waking him up. He was gentle and caring and attentive and apparently not at all what you needed.



You took to surfing in the evening when you should be sleeping. You’d surf around various risqué sites and look at things that should be disturbing to you but were titillating instead.



Eventually, that wasn’t enough either. You couldn’t just look at them, you started to touch yourself as you looked at the pictures. And as you did so, a pattern emerged.



The more degrading and humiliating the pictures were, the more aroused you became. And if there was an aggressive man in the picture, using the bound and helpless and sometimes suffering woman, it was all you could do to not scream in passion as you released the urges you were feeling.



It felt weird. Only sad, lonely guys sat in front of their computers and masturbated to this pathetic, degrading… pornography. But you weren’t a sad lonely guy. You were a mature, beautiful woman with a family and a sleeping husband two rooms away with a very serviceable libido.



It was making you crazy.



And then you made it worse.



You stumbled on a site that featured all sorts of writing. And the writing, naturally, was about sex.



Most of it was drivel. Pathetic, ham fisted masturbation fantasies composed by what you assumed were more sad lonely men most likely living in their parents basements.



And then you found the story.



That fucking story.



You thought about it as you peddled away on the exercise bicycle and you felt your pace pick up. It was par for the course.



It had been on a list in the BDSM section (naturally…) and it had been pretty highly rated by everyone else. So you took a look at it and the story just… owned you.



Two characters, two normal, flawed human characters connecting in a way you could barely conceive of and doing the things that you were literally dreaming of.



You couldn’t stop reading the story. It was ridiculous how you obsessed on it, how real the characters felt, how deeply, utterly *erotic* the sex scenes were.



It was also completely absurd that the author hadn’t finished the story yet and left you desperately looking for more. What was worse was that he’d left it on a pseudo cliff hanger with no resolution and you anguished to know what was next.



The gearshift on the bike whined with the strain as you peddled harder. It was hopeless. This stupid story got into your head and you kept fantasizing about it.



You reached out to the author and he sent you back a completely banal reply telling you that he appreciated your feedback and he was working hard on the next section.



You could strangle him for that, the ridiculous prick. How dare he make a story that compelling and just throw it out there unfinished?



As you contemplate hideous violence against this man you have never met, a drop of sweat slides down your nose and splashes on the odometer on the bike. It rolls over onto forty three and the little tenth of a mile markers spins rapidly as you realize you’ve been frantically pedalling for forty five minutes now.



Slowly you dial down the pace until the tenth of a mile marker languidly circles the dial and you stop and immediately grimace as your thigh muscles scream their displeasure at you.



You’d hoped that exercise would give you respite. Instead you couldn’t stop obsessing on your dark dreams and that stupid story and your leg muscles feel like you ripped them from the bone.



‘Nice job Arianna, you dipstick.’ You mutter to yourself as you stagger to the change room. You plunk down on a bench and try to get your heart to stop pounding. It takes a little while, but you gradually slow your breathing and pulse down to normal levels.



You look around, and the change room is mostly empty. A slim, young university student strides out of the shower area and slips off her towel and starts dressing in her modest street clothes.



You sigh as you quietly eye her. She’s tall and lithe and her body has no stretch marks or scars like yours does. You take a little solace and note that her long, lean runner’s body is as flat as a board and nobody will ever accuse you of that.



You feel oddly deflated and yet proud at the same time as you wander into the shower and try to blast away this obsession with high pressure hot water. You emerge ten minutes later pink and clean and still obsessed.



As you comb out your long dark hair you eye yourself in the mirror. The tiny, pretty girl with long, almost midnight black hair trailing down to her waist stares back.



God her eyes are hungry.



How is your husband not seeing how desperate you are? Is he completely oblivious to this? Can he not sense your screaming *need*?



You press your hands to your face. It feels like you’re going insane. You can’t think about anything else. You’re walking around in a hazy perpetually aroused state and nothing at all seems to satisfy you.



The gym has been a bust. Maybe on the way home you can stop in at that sex shop you spotted the other day and purchase a disturbing dream in a can. Or a heavy duty vibrator.



‘Wait..’ You say out loud to nobody in particular.



Maybe that could help. An intense, powerful vibrator. Maybe that could get your mind off… whatever this obsession is.



This new idea compels you, and you rapidly towel off your hair to a light level of dampness and then slip back into your clothing. A snug pair of jeans and a tight little t-shirt mould over your tiny black underwear and you eye yourself approvingly in the mirror.



You smile to yourself as you preen just a little in front of the large pane of reflective glass. You do look pretty hot. It’s nice that you still got it.



Your eyes still look hungry though.



You sigh and head out to the car.



The sex shop is less than you hoped for. It’s in a strip mall with little parking so anybody watching can clearly see you walk into the storefront clearly labelled ‘XXX’ and there are two male shoppers wandering around the endless racks of porn DVDs.



This place isn’t erotic. It’s depressing.



One of the male customers eyes you and licks his thin lips. You can see furtive movements at his waist level and you realize it’s creepy here too.



You’re unsure later on if the clerk spotted the man fondling himself or if she saw the horrified look on your face, but whatever the reason the result is the same. She marches out from behind the counter armed with nothing more than a little white can and confronts the pervert pleasuring himself under his soiled overcoat as he stares at you.



‘Trevor! We talked about this!’ She barks.



‘What?!’ The man protests, his left hand hidden beneath the jacket and little movements making clear that he’s continuing with his self gratification.



‘Out! Out now! You can’t do that in the store!’ She barks.



‘Aw c’mon Morgan! I just.. ‘



She holds up the little white can in front of his face.



‘Awright! Awright! I’m going!’ He surrenders weakly and moves toward the door. You’re glad that he’s leaving, but he’s heading right for you.



Awkwardly you back away from Trevor and his creepy leer until you back into a wall stocked with jingling items and phallic devices in cheap cardboard boxes. Trevor gives you a disturbing and longing gaze as he passes and you force yourself to glare at him like he was a piece of mobile pond scum as opposed to a creepy guy in a trench coat that makes your stomach clench up.



He oozes out the door and it clicks shut behind him. You make a mental note to disinfect your hands when you leave if you touch the handle.



The clerk wanders over to you and begins to apologize.



‘Hey, listen, I’m really sorry about Trevor. He’s normally not that… disturbing.’



‘No problem. I’m fine.’ You reassure her as you wonder if you should take a second shower just for being in his vicinity.



‘No really, I’m sorry. I’d ban him if the owners would let me. He’s gross, but he spends a ton of money on porn.’



‘Somehow I do not find that incredibly surprising.’ You say wryly. Morgan laughs out loud when you do.



‘Ha! I like you! What’s your name?’ She says gleefully as she smiles at you with a ridiculously broad smile that is marred by one gold tooth.



‘I’m Arianna. Just… just call me Ari.’



‘Nice to meet you Ari!’ She says brightly as you look up at her.



Morgan is unique, without a doubt. She has shoulder length, bright pink hair and she’s shaved the sides of her head bald. She has a septum piercing and she’s wearing funky but not really punky clothing and ridiculous striped stockings that would look stupid on anyone else but look quite charming on her. She’s tall and lean, even thinner than the runner girl you were eyeing/envying at the health club, but she radiates a little aura of absurd good humour that sets you at ease.



She seems born to work in a porn shop. It isn’t that she seems cheap or perverse, more that she’d take this sleazy little place and spin it into a thousand hilarious stories that would keep you giggling for hours.



You like her. Her demeanour is calming. And with this dark obsession you haven’t felt at ease in a while.



Morgan shakes your hand and gives you the grand tour of the store. The grand tour of the store consists of her pointing at one half of the store, making a grand gesture and saying ‘The porn’s over here!’, then turning and making an equally grand gesture to the other half of the store and saying ‘The sex toys are over here!’



You giggle. She really is funny.



‘So… whatcha looking for Ari?’ She says with a broad smile.



‘Do you always give this level of personal service Morgan?’ You ask.



‘Only when there’s another girl in the shop, so about every four years or so.’



You laugh again.



Morgan grins at you and waits for you to stop snorting. You almost get back to calm and then you burst out laughing again.



‘Wow Ari, are you nervous?’ Morgan says with a smile.



‘Heh… a little bit.’ You say. ‘I’m looking for a personal… uh… a personal…’



Your voice trails off and you blush. It’s hard to say it.



‘A vibrator?’ Morgan asks with a small smile.



‘Oh god. Yes I am.’ You’re certain you’ve turned bright pink.



‘This way Ari.’ Morgan says with a broad smile and yet another grand gesture and she leads you over to the sex toy section of the store.



And then she shows a mind boggling display of vibrators and dildos to you. Large ones and small ones and ones that have attachments and controllers and things you don’t even recognize. All designed to bring you to glorious, intense orgasm as many times as you can bear.



It’s a little intimidating. You eye a black monster with an appalled look and Morgan grins.



‘I think that one’s just for show.’ She says with a chuckle.



‘It’s bigger than my arm!’ You squeak.



And as you look at it in horror, you see something hanging on a peg to your right and you stop and stare at it.



It’s a pair of handcuffs. A pair of shiny handcuffs with a short chain and a pair of circular keys and a little paper tag stating a price of thirty nine ninety five.



And just like that the urge is back, more powerful than ever.



You zone out for a minute and imagine yourself on your knees, the metal bracelets tight on your wrists and a similar set on your ankles and nothing else covering your skin. You look up at the dark figure and all you can see is the whip dangling from his hand…



Morgan snaps her fingers in front of your face.



‘You ok Ari? You zoned out on me pretty good there!’ Morgan says with another broad smile and just a hint of concern.



‘I… uh… I’m sorry Morgan. Sorry. I just… I … can I buy the handcuffs?’ You babble like a confused child.



‘Those?’ Morgan turns and looks at the shiny metal bracelets. ‘You don’t want those. They’re shit.’



‘What do you mean?’



‘They’re made in china knockoffs. You could snap the chain with a strong tug. Well, I did anyways…’ Morgan trails off, blushing a little.



‘Wait, you wear the handcuffs?’



‘Yeah. Occasionally. When I’m feeling switchy.’ She tussles her hair and grimaces, embarrassed by her oversharing. ‘I had a pair on like that last weekend at the Darkside and the chain snapped the moment I put some weight on it.’



You stare at her, ravenous for more information. She’s living the life you’ve been dreaming of. Morgan and her pink hair and gold tooth and ridiculous but oh so cute striped stockings. Morgan who casually breaks handcuffs… at the Darkside.



‘What is the Darkside?’ You ask, and your voice trembles with desperation and need.



Morgan tells you all about it.



It’s a bar, a bar that sits on the seedy side of town. A bar that caters to a special crowd. A bar that has a special back room and if you know the right people you can go back into the special room and things can happen to you.



Dark, disturbing…. Things… can happen to you.



You look up at the non descript placard hanging outside the door.



‘Darkside – bar and tavern’ is all the sign says.



You know they offer more. If only you could find the strength to go in.



You look up at the sign and at the door again. You clutch at the black plastic bag that holds the extra strong handcuffs and the sleek, black vibrator that Morgan says gets good reviews and is too intense for her liking.



Too intense seems to be exactly what you’re looking for.



You look up at the sign again then back at your car. This really is a shitty section of town. You shouldn’t hang out here. Bad things could happen.



Yes, bad things could happen.



Abruptly you open the door and enter the dark, dingy bar. It’s certainly not much to look at. There are a lot of beaten up tables and chairs and more than a few televisions around the room showing a random science fiction movie that you don’t recognize. A large wooden bar takes up the one side of the room and someone obviously loves it because it’s polished and shiny and beautiful. Gleaming brass rails polished to dullness and then polished all the way back to shiny circles the bottom of the old school wooden bar.



A large selection of liquor sits behind the counter with plentiful glassware and a reasonably large selection of beers. It’s a little odd when you look around at the empty bar and see that quiet would be a massive uptick from the silence you hear now.



How is this place even in business?



‘Can I help you Miss?’ The rough voice says behind you and you nearly jump out of your skin.



You spin and see the wiry, hard looking man reclining on a chair in the corner. A tall glass of dark beer sits next to him. He’s wearing a simple black t-shirt with blue jeans and a pair of expensive looking sneakers that are well broken in. His face is stubbled and his shock of whitish blonde hair is cut short and spiky. A small scar creases his right cheek. He wears a pair of spectacles that clash with the rest of his look.



You sense he cares little for how he appears.



He eyes you critically. The way a spider looks at a fly.



Suddenly you feel very small.



‘Miss?’ he says again, still reclined on the chair.



‘Uh… I… was talking with a… friend and she told me… there… there…’



You feel incredibly awkward. Why is this hard?



‘There what?’ Says the man relaxed on the chair.



‘She said there’s a special room here. In the… back.’



The man snorts and gives you a disdainful look. You wince a little at that. You don’t know why.



‘And what would this friend’s name be?’ He asks casually.



‘Morgan. Her name was Morgan. She has… pink hair.’



‘I know who she is.’ He states dryly.



He picks up his glass and takes a long pull of the black liquid. Then he sits back and sizes you up again.



He doesn’t look at you like the pervy guy in the sex shop does. This is a different look. Before with Morgan, the creep looked at you with pure lust. This gaze is different. You feel like you’re being measured, evaluated… judged.



Who is this guy to judge you?



‘What are you looking at?’ You demand of him.



He snorts again.



‘Morgan is losing her touch.’ He says cryptically.



‘What does that mean?’ You question him again.



‘What it means…’ He says with a smirk as he sets the glass on the table. ‘… is that if you want to see the backroom it’s twenty bucks.’



You glare at him, then fish a twenty of your pocket and set it on the table. He looks at it and smiles at you.



‘There’s a two drink minimum.’ He says with a sly smile.



‘How much are drinks?’ You ask calmly and try not to roll your eyes.



‘For you? Ten bucks each.’ He says with that same annoying smirk plastered across his face.



You grit your teeth and fish another twenty out of your pocket.



The man looks down at the two twenties, and then looks back to you with a completely deadpan look on his face.



‘No tip?’



‘Are you going to show me the back room, or not?’



He grins, and then stands up. He’s taller and thinner than you imagined.



‘Absolutely short stuff. Follow me.’ And he walks towards the back of the bar.



‘My name is Arianna, thank you very much!’ You say with some frustration. You cannot believe how rude this man is being to you. This gangly, wiry annoying prick walks in front of you and into the shadows…



The plastic bag with the handcuffs and the vibrator clatter onto the floor as you stop dead. You’re seen this before, when you were having the nightmare that wasn’t a nightmare.



He’s tall and wiry and mean looking and he’s wrapped in shadow in the back of this dingy little bar. He stops and looks back at you. He doesn’t look concerned, he looks annoyed. His face is hard.



‘Move it shorty.’ He growls at you. ‘You wanna see the back room or not?



‘Yes. Yes I do.’ And you walk forward through the door with him.



You look around the room and catch your breath. It’s everything Morgan told you it was, and more. There are cages and chains and restraints and… things you do not recognize.



‘What is that?’ You point at a wooden triangle standing upright. Chains and manacles protrude from it.



‘It’s a horse. You ride it.’



‘How do you ride it?’

‘Usually with a lot of tears and gritted teeth.’ He says calmly. You look at him with irritation and realize that he’s not being sarcastic.



He returns your gaze then shakes his head.



‘What are you doing here anyways girl?’ He asks calmly with a bored look on his face..



You don’t know how to answer that, so you turn away from him and keep looking around.



You run your fingers over a cage that seems too tiny to hold someone. It looks cramped and confining and terrifying. You feel yourself getting damp as you caress the cold metal.



There’s a gynaecological table in the corner. At least you think it’s a gynaecological table, if there are gynaecologists in hell.



You continue to wander through the room, touching things that you’ve both dreamed of and never conceived of with trembling fingers. The man that let you in the room stands by the door and watches you with a bored look.



You find your words again as you pass in front of a large wooden ‘X’ complete with manacles on chains.



‘Do you… play back here?’ You ask him. Your voice cracks a little. You can feel your pulse beating in your neck, pounding out a rhythm of fear and lust.



‘Of course I do. I own the bar.’



‘Who do you play with?’



‘Whoever the fuck I want to.’ There’s that growl again.



You run your hand over a manacle dangling from the wooden X and look back at him.



You know what you want. You do. You’re just afraid to take that next step.



He takes it from you. Calmly he strides forward and firmly pulls the manacle out of your hand. He towers over you, his six foot plus frame nearly a full foot taller than you are. You stare up at him and are frozen, like a rabbit looking at a wolf.



‘Do you want to play with me girl?’ He asks you. As he does so, he clicks the latch on the manacle and it pops open. He closes it with a click, then pops the latch and it creaks open yet again.



You open your mouth but are oddly unable to speak. You carefully nod.



He glares at you then leans over and takes your chin between his fingers and looks you directly in the eye.



‘Use your words little girl. I want to hear you say it.’



Your mouth is incredibly dry all of a sudden. You swallow and lick your lips. Then you say the words that commit you to everything you want and everything that terrifies you at the same time.



‘I want to play with you.’



‘Are you sure?’ He says calmly. You watch fascinated as he slides the manacle over your wrist and locks it in place.



‘I’m sure.’ You whisper.



The manacle clicks shut on your other wrist. The chains draw tight against the cross and you are forced to back up until your arms are drawn high over your head and held in placed and your back is against the cross.



You swear you can hear your heart pounding. His hand grips your chin again and he turns your face left and then right and you get the sensation that he’s measuring you again. He purses his lips, then nods and turns back to the door and walks out for a moment.



‘Where are you going?’ You shout after him. You suddenly feel frightened.



There’s no response, but you see the lights flicker and shut off out front and then he walks through the door and back to you. He gives the door a light shove and the hinges creak as it slowly closes and then slams shut. The locks snap in place with a sense of finality.



What the fuck are you doing?



You feel panic rise up in you as the man approaches you again. This was a bad decision.



The man stands in front of you and runs his hand over his chin, deep in thought, then he inhales and speaks to you.



‘Right. Here is how it is.’



You listen intently.



‘I don’t give a fuck about what you need or want. We do what I want to do. I’m not interested in your dreams or your limits. I play hard, I’m a mean bastard and I’m not here to negotiate or deal with your bullshit.’



His words are harsh but measured. He’s said this before.



‘We’re not going to be a couple. If you’re lucky I’ll claim you as property. If you’re too much of a pain in the ass I’ll toss you aside like garbage.’



He steps forward and his hands grip the waist of your jeans and he pops open your pants. You squeal as you feel him shove the cloth down your legs. A moment later your black panties are around your knees as well.



‘My name is Padraic, and if you’re looking for me you can ask for that name. If you ever call me anything other than ‘Master’ or ‘Sir’ I’ll punish you.’



‘Ok Padraic.’ You respond snarkily.



He cocks his head and looks at you with disbelief. You don’t know why you did it, but you did.



‘All right, clearly we need to set the tone.’ Padraic says calmly.



CRACK.



You reel. Your cheek burns. He slapped you!



CRACK! CRACK!



Your head spins and you see stars. This hurts! You feel him gripping your long hair and he jerks your head up and then his hand slaps your face back and forth again and again.



CRACK! CRACK! SMACK! *CRRAACCKK*!!



The last one leaves your ears ringing. Tears well up in your eyes and you can feel the coppery taste of blood in your mouth.



‘Now, go ahead and say my name again. I fucking well dare you.’ He growls in your ear.



You gasp oxygen and sniff. It’s hard not to burst into tears after that.



But you keep it together and shake your head.



‘No thank you sir… I… I’m sorry.’



He snorts again. Clearly that was the right answer this time.



‘Shall we continue?’ He whispers into your ear. It’s oddly intimate and strangely intimidating at the same time.



‘Yes sir.’ You mumble.



‘Good. I’m glad we got that straightened out.’



His hands grab your t-shirt and he roughly pulls the front up and over your head, leaving your arms trapped but your breasts contained in your black bra. They’re only contained for a moment though, because he reaches inside the lacy cups and pulls first one breast free then the other.



And then you’re completely exposed to him.



He steps back and studies your body. He leans forward and runs a finger across your skin. His relentless touch explores your skin, leaving no scar or blemish unexamined. He runs it lightly across line on your stomach and asks you a casual yet degrading question.



‘You’ve been bred?’



You shudder at that harsh word for what you went through. But you know better than to not answer him. Your cheeks still feel fiery from your last insolent moment.



‘Yes sir.’



‘Good. Breeders have higher pain tolerance.’



That frightens you a little.



He reaches forward and tugs on your pubic hair.



‘This had better be gone the next time I see you.’



You nod your head.



‘If I see you again.’ He says casually.



‘You will sir.’ That popped out of your mouth fast.



‘Yeah, yeah… we’ll see.’ He says with apathy.



He calmly raises a foot and places it on the crotch of the panties and jeans around your knees and pushes them down to the floor. He bends over and pulls the jeans off your feet and plucks out the black panties. You feel his hand running along the inside of your thigh as he straightens up and abruptly you feel his fingers between your legs and the lips of your sex.



Your jaw drops and you gasp at the rough violation. First one finger, then two slide inside you and probe your astonishingly wet sex. You chest heaves as he casually twists his fingers around inside you and then slowly withdraws his fingers. They deliberately drag across your clitoris. Your body shudders involuntarily at the intense and all too brief sensation.



‘Wow, you are one wet little bitch.’ He says casually as he looks at the slickness on his fingers.



You cheeks flush with heat again, not from a slap this time, but from him stating the obvious truth. A few slaps, your hands restrained and your clothes pulled away and you are so inflamed with lust you’re astonished that your need isn’t dripping down your thighs.



He leans forward and wipes his fingers under your nostrils, literally rubbing your nose in it. You cringe at this bitterly personal humiliation as he paints your face with your own lust.



His head dips down, and he whispers huskily in your ear.



‘You want it don’t you whore?’



Even his words have impact. He degrades you so casually it’s unnerving. You never felt less in control in your entire life than you do now. He’s so casually vicious that you’re concerned that you just let a serial killer lock you up in a private back room. Nobody even knows that you’re here.



‘Y… yes sir.’ You stammer. His hand slides down your body, tweaking a nipple as it does. It drifts down your belly and cups your sex, his fingers spreading your lips open again as you realize that you are subconsciously spreading your legs wide apart for him.



His fingers drift in and out of you, dipping into the silky wetness inside you and coaxing desperate, needy squeals from your lips. You buck your hips and bite your lip as he toys with your flesh. You feel it growing inside you, building like a fire and getting hotter.



And suddenly he’s no longer inside of you. His hand travels up to your face and he seizes your hair firmly and tilts your head back. You groan at the forceful grip and at disappointment for what he stoked in you and is now diminishing.



‘Did you actually think I was going to fuck you cunt?’



‘Yes… yes sir. Please don’t stop.’ You whimper at him.



‘You haven’t earned my cock you little fuckpuppet. It’s not that easy.’



‘No sir. It’s not.’ You whisper and resist the urge to grind your hips against him.



‘I think I want to play with you now cunt, you don’t mind do you?’ He asks.



‘No sir. Please play with me.’ You whisper at him again, certain your words are literally dripping with lust.



You feel something rough slide inside you and you squeal. His fingers tuck it into your dark place and then slowly pull it out. He casually holds it up in front of your face and smiles at you as you stare at the now damp and slick panties you casually put on a few hours ago.



‘Open your mouth whore.’ He orders, and you cringe. This is awful.



Your hesitation irritates him, and his strong hand seizes your nipple and gives it a vicious twist. You yelp loudly and he takes that moment to cram the damp panties dipped into your lust into your mouth. You squirm on the wooden X as he jams them deep into your mouth so that you can’t shove them out with your tongue.



You stand there for a moment and gag on the salty fabric jammed against the back of your throat and don’t realize that he walked away from you again. You see him digging through a small closet and he pulls out a couple of items and sets them on a table.



There’s a long, thick strap of some sort, a small, black plastic device and a roll of black tape. You’ve already guessed what the tape is for even before he starts tearing off strips and securing the sodden intimates in your mouth. The electrician’s tape he uses is rubbery and clings to your skin and hair in an unpleasant way. He finishes off by pressing a strand of the thick, black adhesive against your mouth and then wrapping it around your mouth several times.



When he’s secured it firmly, he turns your face left and right and nods when he’s sure that you can’t expel the fabric from your mouth and you can breathe easily through your nose.



You know this for fact when he casually pinches your nose shut with his fingers and holds it until you start to thrash futilely on the cross and you face starts to turn red. He deliberately keeps you from breathing until your vision starts to spin and you feel like you’re on the verge of blacking out.



He waits until you’ve nearly fully lost conciousness and then releases your nose. You snort air desperately; grateful that he finally let you have oxygen. As you suck air through your nostrils you feel something hard lock around both your ankles.



It doesn’t impede your breathing as you slump against the huge wooden X, so you really don’t care.



You care more a moment later as he pulls on a chain and a pulley system suddenly yanks your ankles into the air until you hang from both sets of chains with your legs spread wide. He walks back around in front of you and your recent oxygen deprivation and the humiliation of having him gag you with your own damp panties has made you less aroused and more afraid of him.



It seems like he knows that. His eyes get a little more feral as he studies you.



He picks up the black plastic device from the table and holds it up.



‘Do you know what this is cunt?’ He asks calmly.



You shake your head negatively. You don’t recognize it.



He presses a button on the device and blue sparks shoot and crackle from little metal prongs. A buzzing hiss fills the room and when he flips the switch again to turn it off you smell ozone.



‘Now do you know what it is whore?’



Fearfully, you nod your head. It’s a small cattle prod of some kind.



You feel flushed, like you want to throw up. You don’t know if you can take that if he uses it on you. He walks toward you and you begin to tremble like a leaf. You start to whine through the panties taped into your mouth as you feel him spread your lips wide and then you shrilly scream as you feel the hard plastic scraping against the walls of your vagina as he forces it inside you.



It takes about ninety seconds for him to violate you with it. It feels like it takes an hour. Once it is inserted, you can’t believe how raw and abraded you feel at the painful penetration.



He gives it a little tug and it slides out a little accompanied by a loud complaint from you as it scratches you yet again.



Satisfied, he goes to the table and picks up the heavy leather strap. He smirks at you yet again and taps it against the palm of his hand. He swings it to get a couple of loud cracks to intimidate you with it and the last one is too hard. A loud CRACK fills the room and he abruptly starts shaking his hand and cursing.



‘Fuck!’ He roars, still trying to shake the sting out of his fingers.



It’s amusing for a nanosecond until you realize that just slapping it on his hand stung badly enough for him to lose his composure in front of you. How will that feel on your skin?



Still muttering to himself, he picks up the strap that he dropped when he accidentally punished his own hand and glares at you.



‘Was that funny whore?’



No. Absolutely not. You vigorously shake your head.



He glares at you for a second. Then he sighs.



‘Hmmf. I think the moment is lost. Is it lost fucktoy?’



You really want to tell him yes. You shake your head no. That raises his eyebrows.



Why did you do that?



He stares at you with hard eyes. You’re uncertain if you fucked up or not. Does he think you were mocking him?



Was there even a right answer there?



Why are you so fucking aroused when you should be completely terrified?



He walks around to your side and sets the strap on your stomach where it lies in silent threat. His hand slides around the back of your neck and grips the long dark brown strands of your hair. He leans in and looks directly into your face.



‘Are you telling me you want to keep going girl?’



Carefully, you shrug your shoulders.



‘You know I’m about to beat you, right?’



You nod.



‘And you want to keep going?’



You nod again. A quiet part of you notes that he’s dropped the demeaning insults. You have his full attention.



You can see his mind spin, twist, evaluate. He’s measuring you again.



‘You’re interesting.’



You see the gears shifting behind his eyes. His hand slips up your ribcage and squeezes your right breast roughly.



You moan a little bit. Your body still throbs with need, despite, or possibly because of the disturbing things he’s done to you. His hand slides down your stomach, across the little strip of pubic hair that you maintain and taps on the end of the little black box he shoved inside you.



You squeal. He slides a finger over the button and you plead with your eyes.



The wicked grin returns. He presses the button.



You don’t quite remember what happens after that. After the stars leave your vision you realize that you’re still hanging limply from the same chains. There’s an acrid smell in the room now and your vagina feels incredibly tender. Your stomach twitches and you suddenly realize that the bastard pressed the trigger on the cattle prod and shocked your insides with it.



You can’t feel it shoved inside you now. Apparently you either squeezed it out when your body was gripped with spasms or Padraic pulled the cruel little device out of you after you zoned out from the sudden surge of pain.



‘Welcome back.’ Padraic says as he eyes you. You feel him unwinding the tape around your head and slowly he peels it away from your face until the last sticky strand pulls away. You feel his fingers reach into your mouth and he calmly, slowly pulls your soaked, sodden panties from your mouth.



‘Nggghh….’ You whimper. The undergarment drops from his fingers and hits the floor with a splat.



You think he’s being gentle, but then you realize that he’s lowered the chains you’re suspended from to about waist height and he’s now pulling his manhood out.



‘Oh god.’ You moan.



‘Do I need to tell you what to do?’ He asks.



You shake your head no and open your mouth. He slides between your lips and you spend ten long, awkward minutes servicing him with your mouth and your tongue until he grunts and fills your mouth with hot, thick semen.



He holds you there for a minute and then releases your hair and pulls away. You gasp, and cough and thick white ropes spray from your mouth and drip down your chin.



You expect to be punished for that, but he doesn’t say anything to you. He merely steps behind the large wooden X and pulls a lever.



You abruptly drop three feet with a choking wail and smack into the floor. Your rear takes the majority of the impact and you lie on your side and rub your aching behind. You continue to rub for a moment and then he returns from the rear of the large bondage rack and crouches down to look at you.



You look up at him with anger. He’s been so cruel to you. His behaviour is borderline sociopathic. He’s bound you, violated you, tortured you, humiliated you and used your body for his own satisfaction while ignoring both your own pain and pleasure.



None of those things explain the vague feeling of disappointment you have that you seem to be done for the evening.



‘Put yourself back together and get dressed. There’s a washroom out front if you want to wipe the come off your chin.’ He tells you flatly.



Then he walks away from you, unlocks the heavy door that let you both in here and strides back out front.



Feeling groggy, weary, overwhelmed and being filled with a sense of deep, lingering arousal makes gathering up your scattered clothing harder than it should be. Your shoes were kicked off to one side. You panties still lay in a wet lump on the floor. Your jeans are draped over a… something. It’s wooden and there are circles and slots and locks and you have no idea what it is.



It’s a bondage pants hanger at the moment. You pull them down and look around for your t-shirt for a minute or two then realize that he never pulled it off you; he just jerked it up over your head.



Your brain is still so overwhelmed you clearly can’t process things just yet. You slide your breasts back into the cups of your bra and move to pull the black t-shirt down over your face but you realize that his seed is still plastered all over your chin and cheeks.



You fret for a moment then decide to go and take him up on his offer to use the bathroom. You contemplate your panties, but they’re slimy with your saliva and you can’t bring yourself to pick up the cold, wet lump of what used to be a surprisingly sexy undergarment.



Quietly you pad out the door to the main bar. Padraic is running a count on the till and washing a few glasses. Another pint glass of beer sits next to him on the bar as he runs numbers through the machine and ignores you.

You wait a moment and see if he’ll acknowledge you.



The machine clicks and rattles as it spews out a long white strip of paper for him. He doesn’t look in your direction.



You shuffle your feet, embarrassed. He was just violently intimate with you. Now it’s like you don’t exist.



You feel a flush run down your body. This is humiliating.



He glances in your direction then points over to the corner.



‘Bathrooms over there. Get moving. I’m locking up in fifteen minutes.’



That takes the wind out of you. You stare at him as he continues to ignore you and do his count. Hurt, you turn towards the bathroom and walk in the door of the ladies room.



It’s dingy and dark in here and you wish you’d put on your shoes first because the floor is a little sticky. You wander over to the mirror and look into it over the greyish sink.



Your face is puffy and flushed and shiny from where his seed splashed across your skin. You feel disgusting just looking at it. Abruptly you turn the water on and splash searing liquid across your face and try to scrub away this humiliation.



You can’t believe he did this to you. Tied you up, stripped you naked, played with you and gagged you and used your mouth with…



You feel queasy for a moment. Your tummy does a little flip flop as you recall the last hour of violation and shame. You try and suppress the feeling, but you can’t.



Are you angry that he used you so brutally?



Or are you angry that he stopped?



You look in the mirror at the pale, confused and aching girl in the mirror. She looks straight back at you with no compromise. Her eyes still look hungry, so very, very hungry.



‘Are you done washing up?’



You jump, startled at the sudden words. Padraic leans against the door that he somehow silently opened as you tried to process what happened. His bored look has returned, and you hate him just a little bit right now.



You glare at him for a moment and then snap at him.



‘Can I get a little privacy?’ You say fiercely and then turn back to the mirror.



You hear a dry laugh, and then he walks towards you and slides behind you in the tiny bathroom. His hand casually slips into the long dark swath of your hair and twists it around until your feel it yank on your scalp hard and you’re pulled back against him with a little squeal. His other free hand slips around you and yanks down the lacy black cup of your bra. Tough, calloused fingers seize your suddenly hard nipple and twist and pull it up until you stand on your tip toes.



He twists the nipple hard until you emit a little animal squeak. Any resistance or anger drains out of you, replaced with fear and searing adrenaline that snaps you out of your befuddlement.



Christ he’s mean. Actually, he’s more than mean, he’s vicious. He hurts you casually and just brooks no resistance from you.



And as you stand on your tip toes and emit frightened little animal sounds you realize that you’re even more aroused than before.



This is so wrong. This is beyond wrong. No person should want this.



But as he holds you there, wobbling on your toes, you glance at the mirror again. The tiny little girl grimacing in pain looks back at you. But the hunger is gone from her eyes now. It’s been driven away by lust.



‘Still feel like mouthing off?’ He says casually.



‘No… no sir!’ You whimper to him.



Abruptly he releases your nipple and hair and you collapse forward onto the counter clutching at your now throbbing nipple.



You lay there for a moment, and then you feel him unzip his pants again.



‘Spread.’ He orders you. You look up at him in the mirror and his eyes are hard.



You swallow and then spread your legs open. You feel his manhood nudge against you and then he pushes inside you. You’re so aroused by his manhandling of you that he’s deep inside you in just seconds.



You gasp like a fish as he impales you. He’s thick and a little longer than average.



The counter is surprisingly cold on your cheek as you lay there and feel him penetrate you deeply and with little concern for you. Your fingers tremble on the counter in front of your face. His hand grips your hair again and he yanks you back up against him so that your back is pressed into his chest and you have to stand on your tip toes again to accommodate the difference in height between you.



‘I’m gonna fuck you now. Don’t you dare fucking come. Got it?’



He has to be kidding. He’s insane! You’re impaled on him, aching with need, processing humiliation after humiliation and the after effects of harsh restraint and he wants you not to have an orgasm?!



You look into the mirror at his hard face and harder eyes and you know that he’s not joking.



‘Yes sir.’ You say in a tiny little voice.



He presses your face back onto the grimy counter next to the sink. His hand grips your hair and holds you in place. His member starts pounding into you relentlessly.



You feel the explosion building in you. You fight it. You don’t know what he’ll do to you if you disobey him but you’re certain that he’ll make you regret it. You sink your teeth into your lip and bite down hard. You twist your own nipple, you buck and try and keep him from directly stimulating your own clitoris.



Eight, long, hard, sweaty, exhausting and painful minutes pass. Finally you feel him tense up and you feel a warm sensation inside you.



You tremble as you realize that for the first time in years, someone other than your husband just came inside you. As you lie on the counter and pant you get the taste of copper on your tongue. Apparently you’ve bitten your own lip so hard that you’re bleeding a little.



He slides out of you and you’re thankful. Not that he’s finished, but that he’s going to stop stimulating you. You nearly failed him a couple of times and only vicious twists on your now incredibly sensitive nipples kept that at bay.



‘Clean me off girl.’ He growls.



You groan and then pull yourself up off the counter. It takes more effort than you expect and you feel weak in the knees. You slowly crouch down until you’re face is level with his pelvis and his member is resting against your cheek.



You look up at this ruthless, cruel bastard with wide, awestruck eyes. He doesn’t give one fuck about your needs or wants. He just takes from you. He takes and punishes and violates and shames you.



Where has he been? Why did it take you this long to find him?



‘Get to it girl.’ He snarls at you.



You hesitate for a moment, and then you open your mouth and take his still mostly erect penis inside your mouth. You taste your own passion mixed with his seed and you carefully run your tongue up and down the thick, hot shaft of flesh.



It only takes a few moments to lick him clean, but you make sure that you do a good job. This vicious man intimidates you, and you’re certain that he’s just looking for an excuse to do other more cruel things to you.



‘Enough.’ He says gruffly and he slips his member back inside his faded blue jeans. You look up at him with trepidation and slowly rise to a standing position. The back of your hand wipes away saliva and small drops of semen that he smeared across your face yet again.



‘What are you doing?’ He says with a growl.



You look away, suddenly afraid to meet his eyes. His hand grabs your chin and forces you to look him in his greyish blue eyes. He stares you down hard and you finally break and ask what you did wrong.



He points at the floor. While you were cleaning him with your tongue, a small pool of his semen dripped out of you to make a couple of tiny puddles on the floor. You look down at them in confusion and then he crushes you with three little words.



‘Lick. It. Up.’ He snarls.



You cringe and try to shrink inside yourself. This can’t be happening. He can’t really want you to lick his semen off a dirty floor.



He sees your horrified hesitation and then says the words that make you realize that whoever this sadist is, he owns you now.



‘Don’t make me ask you twice girl.’ He threatens you.



You nod obediently, and only the lone tear that trickles down your cheek reveals your revulsion. You drop to your knees, press your face to the floor and you begin lapping up warm semen mixed with your own moisture from the dirty bathroom floor.



And as you do so, you are intensely aware of how your own body betrays you by becoming beyond aroused. Your insides are so slick that you’re afraid you might start to drip.



The floor is gritty and cold and disgusting. The little pools of semen are bitter and thick and hard to lick up. You think this can’t possibly be any more degrading until he kneels down in front of you and takes a couple of pictures with his cellphone of you cleaning semen off his bathroom floor with your tongue.



When you’re finished, you’re so appalled that you can’t even stand up. You just press your forehead to the filthy floor and try not to let him see you cry.



Nothing you have ever done has been this disgusting or shameful or degrading. He’s completely obliterated every shred of self respect you have.



‘You can come and see me in the lounge when you finish blubbering.’ He says casually. The door drifts shut behind him and you’re left alone in the dirty bathroom with the surprisingly clean small section of floor.



You don’t understand why you can’t resist him. Every time he speaks to you, you feel mesmerized. You can feel his reckless arrogance radiating from him and his words carry a tone of absolute authority that you can’t help but to submit to. And you know now that when he was sizing you up earlier and he started playing with you he was watching you and your body react and you told him as plainly as writing specific instructions what your weak points were and how he could bend you to his will.



And worst of all, on some level you’re thrilled about this. You feel exhausted and degraded and disgusting, but that driving, intense hunger has vanished.



Now you just want sleep.



But he wants to see you. And he wants to lock up. So you force yourself to stop crying, wipe away your tears and slip into your clothes. You check the mirror quickly and wipe away some streaks of grime from your unorthodox floor cleaning method.



Finally, you flip your hair over your shoulder and head back out into the lounge.



He’s sitting at a lone table in middle of the room. His long legs are stretched out and he’s watching a TV again with another glass of black beer next to him. The bag with your handcuffs and the new vibrator sit on the table waiting for you.



That would have been incredibly embarrassing a few hours ago. Now it barely registers.



Another leather satchel sits next to the plastic bag. You don’t know why it’s there. A small shot glass filled with clear liquid sits next to both bags.



You approach the table. He looks up at you and gestures at the chair beside him.



‘Sit.’ He instructs you. You do.



‘Drink this.’ He orders you. You look down at the shot glass and back at him.



‘What is it?’



‘It’s Peppermint schnapps. I thought you might have a bad taste in your mouth.’



You look down at the table then pick up the glass and toss down the strong and intensely flavoured liquid. It burns on the way down and you shudder, but it does take the foul taste of the bathroom floor out of your mouth.



‘I close on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Pick one and that’s your night.’



‘What do you mean?’ You don’t know what he wants.



He turns and looks at you with annoyance. You flush involuntarily.



‘You just spent two hours getting defiled by me. You didn’t scream or run away or try to call the police. You just took it. Clearly I have something you want. I’m moderately interested in playing with you and training you. Pick your day.’



‘How do you know I’ll come back?’ You ask him.



He rolls his eyes and gives you that look again. He knows you’re coming back and so do you.



‘Tuesday. I… I can come on Tuesdays.’ You say quietly.



‘Be here at 11 pm. We’ll start when I’m ready to start. Make sure you have an excuse for your husband while you’re slutting around with me.’



‘But how…?’ You stammer. He’s done incredibly degrading things to you but you’ve barely talked to him at all about anything.



He leans forward and taps your wedding ring. You blush and feel like an idiot.



‘The bag has stuff that you’ll need for next week. I recommend you use that equipment. Start with the little pink one and when you come back next week you should have the fat black one inserted.’



You peek inside the bag. A small pink, a medium blue and a large back anal plug sit in the bag along with a bag of lube and a couple of disposable enema kits.



‘But… I never… I mean I… I don’t…’ you stammer as you look at the deeply intimidating toys.



‘You’ve never taken it in the ass girl?’ He asks calmly.



‘No. No I never have.’ You say in a tiny voice.



‘Well then, next week will be a brand new experience for you then.’



You look into the bag again and then look back at him in terror.



‘I don’t think I can use… these. Sir.’ You plead with him.



‘You don’t have to use any of them.’ He says with a shrug. ‘But next week I am going to strap you down over something and fuck you in your asshole. And you are going to lick me clean when I finish. So it’s up to you as to how painful and disgusting that will be.’



You shudder. God he’s cruel.



‘Oh, and you don’t masturbate any more. You don’t have any orgasms but the ones that I allow you to have.’ He says calmly.



‘What?’ You squeak. That was the only way you could get through tonight, the thought that as soon as you were out of range you could relieve yourself. Now he’s just told you that you aren’t allowed to do that anymore.



‘But…’ You protest and he cuts you off.



‘Yeah, I know. I can’t watch you twenty four hours a day. Do you think I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying to me though?’



Your mouth opens and closes. He seems to see right through you.



‘What about my husband?’



‘He can fuck you in any hole he chooses. You just aren’t allowed to come then either. Oh and don’t think you’ll be cutting him off either. You’re to give him as much sex as he wants as often as he wants it.’



‘You… you can’t… I can’t…’ Your brain won’t even function right now. The thought of not climaxing as your husband makes love to you is maddening.



‘You. I. We… shut up girl. You came to me. You clearly need what I have and these are the rules. Break them at your peril.’



You stare at him in horror. He’s figured you out. He knows what you need and how badly you need to have it and he’s using it to completely fuck with your mind. His sadism is pure and unrelenting. You’re afraid of the things he’s going to do to you, but you’re even more afraid of making him angry now that you’ve found him.



He points at the door. You look at the glass pane and then back at Padraic.



‘Get out girl. It’s 2 am. I’m going to bed now.’



‘Yes sir.’ You say meekly. And you rise to your feet and walk with him to the doorway. He hands you both of the bags on the table and walks you outside.



You look at you car, then at him. You feel like you should do something.



You turn to him to say good night but he cuts you off.



‘Open your mouth.’ You hesitate for a second and then do what he tells you.



Padraic produces the soggy, slimy panties that he obviously plucked from his floor and stuffed into his pocket. You whimper quietly as he jams the disgusting and cold cloth into your mouth and causes you to gag.



‘The next time you leave a pair of disgusting, wet panties on my floor, I’m gonna shove them into a different hole, and I’ll shove them in really deep. Got it girl?’



You nod your head.



‘Good. Go the fuck home. Leave that in your mouth until you pull into your driveway. Don’t be late next Tuesday or you will regret it.’



You nod your head. The wet panties that he reinserted into your mouth make speech impossible now.



‘Good. Now go home. I’m going to bed now.’



And he turns and walks through the door. You watch him lock it and then he walks back into the darkness of the bar and disappears.



You stand in the doorway for a moment, still too shell-shocked by everything that happened.



A while later, you’re almost all the way home, running on autopilot as you get home on instinct and memory as you try and process everything that happened tonight and the ways that your life just changed. Your sensible sedan cruises into the driveway and you step outside the car and immediately pluck out the wet, gross underwear that he jammed into your mouth tonight and hurl it into the darkness.



You shudder. He’s going to be hard to deal with. He makes little things into cruel torments. He doesn’t hesitate to degrade or violate you and he’s clearly able to read your body language and interpret what you want, don’t want and are terrified of.



It’s unfortunate that you’re officially deeply obsessed with him now.



You sigh and wander into the house. Your gym bag gets dumped out into the laundry room and after a moments reflection you pull off all your other clothes and throw them into the washing machine. You hardly wore them but you keep remembering everything he did to you and they seem filthy.



You feel filthy. You quietly walk to the bathroom, flip on the water to a degree south of scalding and proceed to scrub yourself raw and pink. Finally, you slip out of the glass booth filled with steam and hot spray. You wrap a towel around yourself and slip into the bedroom where your husband lays sprawled in the bed, the sheets akimbo around him.



You slip the towel off and try to slip into bed naked without waking him. You were gone a long time and you feel incredibly guilty about what you just did.



You’re just starting to settle when he stretches, rolls over and then half opens his sleepy eyes.



‘Hey baby.’ He says with a groggy smile. ‘You were gone a while.’



‘Sorry sweetie. I got carried away on the bike and then went and got a coffee. Just too wound up to come home.’ You whisper the little lie to him.



‘No biggie. I was just a little worried.’ He mumbles groggily.



‘Sorry baby. I should have called.’ You murmur.



‘Hey, if you’re all wound up, we could, you know…’



You groan to yourself. The last thing you want to do right now is have another penis inside you when you can’t come to a climax.



You start to scramble for an excuse or a reason to beg him off until tomorrow. Then to your horror, you remember what he told you.



‘You just aren’t allowed to come then either. Oh and don’t think you’ll be cutting him off either. You’re to give him as much sex as he wants as often as he wants it.’



‘Sure sweetie, I’d love to!’ You say with your jaw clenched. You hope he’ll take the hint.



He doesn’t.



After a few minutes of foreplay and gentle loving kisses, he climbs on top of you and you spread your legs to accommodate him.



‘Wow, you’re really turned on!’ He says as he slips inside you. He grins a huge smile at you.



You smile back and hope he’ll be quick.



He’s not.



He’s still sleepy but he’s good and hard and eager for your touch. You groan and try not to enjoy it but he knows you too well. He nibbles and kisses just the right areas and moves his hips in the way that he knows you love.



It’s agony. You bite on your lip and push the palms of your hands into your eyes and you try to spread yourself wider than normal so you make less contact with him. None of it helps. He adores you and he loves having sex with you and he wants you to climax.



You run out of tricks. Your lip is raw and your head aches and your nipples throb from all the pain you’ve inflicted on yourself to fight it off. And he’s still on top of you, thrusting away and determined to see you come.



You play your last card.



‘Please baby, please finish. I can’t take any more…’



His lips find your neck, pushing you even closer to the brink. Those same lips trail down your neck, kiss the skin over your collarbones, work down to your now hyper stimulated breasts. His lips encircle your nipple and then he slowly, deliberately drags his teeth over your nipple.

And the whole time he relentlessly thrusts into you.



‘I can’t… you have to… finish…’



‘It’s fine baby! It’s fi… ngh…gah!’ You squeal as he adjusts the angle of his hips and starts sawing his manhood across your most sensitive flesh.



The battle is over. You’ve lost. You clutch the man you love to you as you ride an intense, powerful orgasm. Even after you loudly squeal and spasm and pull him to you, your husband keeps gently thrusting inside you for a few minutes, dragging what was a savagely intense orgasm into one long, absurdly pleasurable climax.



Your husband cuddles with you for a few minutes. He really does adore you and you both enjoy these little intimate moments. You’ve learned to cherish them since you started your family.



Yet the moment he slides back over onto his side of the bed and then tucks himself back into his bed, you begin to panic.



You came. You came hard.



Despite Padraic’s order not to.



Oh… you’re going to pay for that Ari, you think to yourself as you lay there in bed. Not only did you break the rules, but you broke them scarcely an hour after you left his bar.



‘Break them at your peril.’ He said.



You’re boned.



Your dreams are ugly, terrifying things. Deformed beasts and creatures chase you and corner you and then brutal pig like men drag you to a stone table and pin you down.



Your clothes are torn away as they chain you in place. Then another, darker form approaches carrying a tray of instruments. You can’t make them out, but they seem sharp, cruel and sadistic.



The dark form sets the tray on a nearby shelf and takes one off the tray. It looks like someone combined an insect with a spool of barbed wire. He approaches you as you struggle in futility against the chains holding you in place.



‘The rules have been broken…’ It hisses at you.



You sit bolt upright with a shriek. Your heart pounds in your chest. You pull the sheet to you in the semi darkness and tremble.



You know exactly what scared you. You broke the rules. You really, really tried but you failed.



On cue, your husband slides his hand down your back. You jump again and he tries to soothe you with his voice.



‘Sweetie! It’s me! Shhhh. I got you.’



And he wraps his arms around you so that he can comfort you. You let him, because right now your dream has placed you in a state of raw fear and the adrenaline coursing through your bloodstream is making you shiver.



He’s warm. He’s like a smooth muscular furnace and his arms wrap around your tiny frame like a warm blanket.



You realize the dream has made you uncomfortably wet. You shift uneasily. It would be perfect to slide on top of him and grind away your fear, but if you broke the rules twice Padraic would…



What? What will he do when he finds out?



You’re not sure you want to find out. That was the most intense, terrifying, abusive, punishing sex you’ve ever had. And that was when he was just getting to know you. What will he do now that you’ve already violated his rules?



Maybe you should just not go back.



You think about that for a minute. Do you want to go back? Padraic seems borderline insane to you. He just seems evil and sadistic to the core.



That’s it then. You’re not going back. It was a mistake.



You throw your arms around your husbands neck and kiss him hard. It surprises him a little but he begins to kiss you back passionately and before you both know it he’s hard and deep inside you.



This time you don’t fight it and you encourage him to plunge deeper and faster. He gleefully does your bidding and in moments you’re restraining your voice as he takes you again and again to climax so that you don’t wake up the rest of your tiny family. Your man humps away on your petite little frame eagerly until you feel the warmth of his release inside you and then he wraps you up in a big hug and kisses you on the face and neck.



‘I love you baby.’ He whispers in your ear.



You press your lips to his face and tell him the same thing, you just don’t use words.



Morning comes swiftly, and you feel wonderful. You feel relieved that you won’t be going back to that bar or to see Padraic again.



You celebrate by cozying up to the hubby and enjoy a morning quickie with him. He’s delighted to see you this amorous this early in the morning and you take great pleasure in crawling on top of your man. You couple quickly and vigorously and he enjoys watching you moan and writhe on top of him.



You deliberately ignore don’t think of Padraic or the rules. Whenever you start to remember what happened at that dingy, ugly little bar you block it out. At one point as the memories start to come flooding back you deliberately lock the bathroom door and pleasure yourself relentlessly until you climax twice.



You delight in your freedom. Your husband enjoys your newfound aggression in bed too.



It lasts for more than a couple of days. You deliberately refuse to think about what you were ordered to do and what the rules are. You’re not going back. Screw that guy!



But on Saturday night, the dream comes back.



It isn’t the monsters this time. It’s the tiny, dirty bathroom. He’s behind you, hurting you. He makes you spread wide. He doesn’t take no for an answer. His hands are on you and in you. He humiliates you, violates you and fills you with shame.



He makes you submit.



He makes the hunger and the ache stop.



You sit bolt upright in bed. The sheets are damp with your sweat. Your hand has pulled up the little lace nightie you wore to bed and your fingers are touching that most sensitive part of you.



You’re incredibly aroused. You look around in the darkness and are greeted only by the prone form of your husband as he gently snores.



‘Just a dream.’ You mutter to yourself.



Sleep eludes you the rest of the night.



The following days are no better. The memories come flooding back. You remember it all with crystal clarity. The sex and the violence and the shame keep replaying in your head and you relive those moments.



And the horrifying thing about these memories is that they… aren’t horrifying.



You think about how Padraic used you in that dingy bathroom. How he took control from you without mercy and how he used you like a common whore. You remember what it felt like to have him inside you.



He was merciless with you.



The tipping point comes on Sunday morning. You’re still wrapped in a haze when you tumble out of bed and wander into the shower. The water begins to spray down and you step naked into the pounding deluge. High pressure droplets of water smash into your shoulders and you run your hands through your long hair and luxuriate in the water.



You remember what it felt like when he gripped your hair. How he used your mouth. You remember how scared you were when he taped your mouth shut and pinched your nostrils closed. You felt so dizzy, so scared. You were completely at his mercy, utterly out of control and you had never been that aroused in your life.



Abruptly you realize that your fingers are between your legs again.



‘Dammit!’ You shriek and slap your hands on the wall of the shower.



You’re not going back! You’re not! Fuck him!



You stay angry with yourself and slam off the water. The curtain jerks back and you yank the towel off the hook and angrily start to blot the water off your skin. You stay angry with yourself until you stat vigorously drying your tangled mass of hair and you glance over into the mirror.



You don’t look angry.



You look hungry.



‘I’m not going back.’ The words seem less certain now.



The girl in the mirror stares back at you. She clutches the towel to her chest. You don’t feel confident or cocky any more. You feel the need again.



You drop the towel and plunk down on the toilet. Your long, dark hair hangs over your face and eyes and you sit naked in the bathroom and try to think of a way out of this.



You can’t come up with anything, because you keep finding yourself in a different bathroom. You’re on your knees, at his feet. You debase yourself in the most disgusting way possible.



It should nauseate you.



It does something else entirely.



Tuesday night comes and you tell the husband that you’re headed off to the gym. He gives you a big hug and asks you to pedal a few miles for him too. He’s warm and gentle and he loves you.



He’s also not what you are aching for. You tell him you might catch a late movie with a friend after working out and he just nods and tells you to call if you’re going to be late.



You walk out to the car. You’re unnerved at how easy it is for you to lie to him and it gnaws at you.



The gym is quiet at this time of the day, and you can pick a bike near the back of the gym and try to pedal away your anxiety.



It doesn’t work. All you can think about is how many rules you’ve broken and whether it will be better to just confess to him or to try and hide it.



You’ve lost count of your orgasms. You masturbated a couple of times, once specifically to deny him. You pushed your husband away a couple of times when he wanted sex.



In short, you’ve defied him on every direction he gave you.



The chain hisses on the bike as you pick up your pace. An older gentleman a couple of rows down looks over and watches you as you wrack the gears on the stationary bike.



You breath is starting to come in wheezes now. Your nervous tension is getting the better of you.



You look over at the clock. The minute hand ticks a little past nine forty two.



You think for a moment about peddling the whole night. That could work. You could ride desperately until you become dehydrated and confused and pass out. And then you’d have no dreams to worry about.



You’d have no dreams, except for the ones that you have every night. And the ones that now creep into your daydreams.



His hand grips your hair and he forces you to your knees. The chains around your wrists hold you tight and as you look up at him in terror he smiles a cruel smile at you.



Like the one you’re having now.



You stop peddling. You can’t run away from this. You can’t ignore it. You found what you were looking for. You found what you’ve been aching for. He filled the hole that was inside you. He quieted the dreams and locked away the shadows.



And he owned you. There was no doubt. Any attempt to resist him he crushed instantly with cruel words and pain and sheer force of will.



The bike wheel spins slower, the hum of the chain getting quieter as the momentum bleeds off the machine.



You step off the bike and stumble. You’ve pushed yourself so hard that you’re borderline exhausted. A quick glance at the clock tells you that you’ve only got about an hour to get ready and drive to the Darkside. You stop for a quick drink at a fountain in your only concession to the gruelling workout you just subjected yourself to and then stagger into the change room to get out of your damp and sweaty workout clothes.



You take a quick shower, or at least it was supposed to be a quick shower and then turns into a fifteen minute deluge as you try to organize your now scattering thoughts and make a plan for dealing with all the rules you’ve broken.



You dry off quickly and then grab your bag and then you realize with horror that the leather satchel that he gave you with all the toys is still there and you have not done one ounce of preparation for this evening.



‘You don’t have to use any of them.’ He says with a shrug. ‘But next week I am going to strap you down over something and fuck you in your asshole. And you are going to lick me clean when I finish. So it’s up to you as to how painful and disgusting that will be.’



‘Oh god. Oh god.’ You frantically paw through the bag and look desperately for what you know will be there. It has to be there. You have no doubt that he’ll make good on THAT promise.



After a few terrified moments of scuffling through the bag, you find the kits that he put in there for you. It makes for an odd moment in the toilet later as you violate yourself twice to ensure that someone can sodomize you with comfort.



But these things take time, and as you look up at the clock, you realize that you’re running out of it. You hastily get dressed and slip your bag over your shoulder and nearly sprint out the door to your car.



You roar out of the parking lot and move as fast as you can to the place you desperately want to be at but are terrified to arrive. Naturally, you seem to catch every red light and slow driver in the universe as you try to travel eight blocks.



Finally, you turn down the dingy little side street and pull up next to the Darkside.



You slam the car into park and dart out the door, clicking the car locks as you go.



The door pops open easily for you and you nearly sprint inside. You look around quickly for Padraic and you spot him over in his corner. His feet are up on a stool, and he’s relaxed and watching the television. A half empty glass of dark beer sits on the table next to him.



‘I’m here.’ You say quietly.



‘You are. Indeed.’ He says without looking at you. Then he holds up a gold, antique pocketwatch and looks at the face.



‘And you are three minutes late.’ He says calmly with a chilling finality.



‘I’m not… I’m…’ You stammer. Your stomach twists. He hasn’t even raised his voice or looked at you or left his chair but his cool tone cuts through you like a knife.



He turns his head and looks at you and your mouth closes. Your hands tremble as he stares at you and… judges.



He slowly raises his hand and points towards the back room.



‘Go. I’ll deal with you in a minute.’ He says with a calm finality that chills your bones. And then he uncoils himself from his chair slowly and stands up. He seems taller and thinner and harsher looking than you remember, but he’s still wearing jeans and comfortable running shoes and a neat black dress shirt.



You turn and trudge towards your fate in the back room. You’re not certain if you should feel terrified or excited.



Padraic takes his time getting back to you. You hear him closing and locking the front door and then he shifts a couple of chairs back into place around the room.



You look around the dimly lit back room. He’s moved some of the gear off to the side and there’s a table and a pair of chairs in the center of the room. A simple metal box sits there, with a steel latch and an open padlock and nothing else.



You shuffle your feet quietly and look around, and you’re startled as the door creaks open behind you. Padraic moves silently into the room. You look up at him and his pale gray eyes that are hidden away behind his spectacles and you feel almost mesmerized.



‘Strip tiny girl. You’ve already wasted enough of my time.’ He says calmly.



Your hands fumble with your clothing and you slide out of your shirt and bra quickly and place them on the table. The jeans slip off your slender legs a moment later and it isn’t until you’ve sliding the black lacy panties off that your eyes widen and you realize that you never shaved off your pubic hair like he ordered you to.



You look down at yourself in horror and then look up at him.



He does not look amused. He spins his finger in a classic ‘speed it up’ gesture.



You whimper quietly to yourself and slide the flimsy garment down your legs and then place it on the table with the rest of your clothes.



Padraic watches you casually and then he moves to the table and opens the box. His hands produce a pair of odd looking shoes, almost like ballet slippers, a ball of netlike substance and a looped up length of rope.



After he produces the items, he calmly takes your clothing and purse and places it inside the box. The lid closes, the latch slips into place and then the lock clicks shut over the latch with finality.



It takes a moment to process that he just locked all your clothes, your cell phone and your purse into a metal box and you have not seen any key.



While you process that, Padraic eyes you.



‘Three minutes late, and ungroomed as well. This is turning out to be a disappointing evening.’ He says with an irritated tone.



You wince.



‘Yes… yes I… I’m sorry. I just…’



‘Just what?’ He demands.



‘I ran out of time. That’s all. I’m sorry sir.’ Your stomach tightens. You know this is not a good answer.



He places a hand on the table and his fingers drum on the metal top. His eyes narrow and he glares at you.



‘Was I unclear last week?’ He asks. Each word is snapped off like a bullet.



‘No sir, you were clear.’ Your voice cracks a little as you say it. It’s clear that you made a mistake.



He glares at you then shoves the mesh and odd shoes towards you.



‘Put them on whore. Don’t think we’re finished discussing this.’ He manages to make a promised conversation sound like a threat.



You kneel down and pick up the mesh and unravel it. It’s actually a pair of fishnet nylons. You’re clearly not the first person to wear them as they smell of sex and sweat and fear and rough use has made them tattered. They slide up your thighs until the lacy tops grip the top of your thighs. You smooth them out and glance over at Padraic. He watches you quietly but with an air of menace.



You look down at the tattered fishnets and wonder how putting on a piece of clothing can make you feel even more naked.



You pick up the shoes next, and they confuse you. They resemble a pair of ballet slippers, but they’re constructed of leather. A thin strip of wire connects to a locking metal bracelet on each ‘shoe’ and instead of a lace a thick electrical wire runs through the footwear. You slip on each shoe and slide the bracelet over each ankle. You pull the wire taut and the leather grips your foot tightly.



You look up at Padraic, unsure if you’ve put them on correctly. He nods and you exhale, happy to have at least satisfied him once. Your celebration is short lived however as he picks up the rope on the table and says ‘Come here.’



You clamber back to your feet awkwardly. The shoes are surprisingly tight and the leather is slippery. You cautiously move towards him and watch as he twists the rope around itself to make a little loop and then feeds it back into a strand until he has a firm starting point.



‘Give me your hand.’ He commands and you immediately raise your left hand to him.



You wonder if he notices that your fingers are shaking.



If he does, he doesn’t care. The loop slips over your wrist and he draws it tight and then loops the rope over your thin limb several times. He turns you around and pulls your right hand behind your back and you feel the rope bind your limbs together at the wrist.



He loops the rope again and again until he’s satisfied and it’s all you can do to wiggle your fingers. You think he’s done binding your arms until you feel the rope slip around your elbows and then pull them together and cinch tight.



You cry a little complaint as he draws your elbows taut against each other and proceeds to bind them securely. Your shoulders start to ache almost immediately. And you whimper and fidget as he completes the punishing tie.



Then you feel him slip the rope around your neck, and as you feel him brush aside your hair to place the cord against your skin you start to panic a little.



‘What are you doing?’ You ask, fear pitching your voice high and scratchy.



‘I’m binding you. What do you think I’m doing?’



‘I don’t know.’ You whisper.



‘Does that frighten you girl?’



‘Yes. I’m pretty scared right now.’ You squeak.



‘Good.’ Is all he says to you.



You start to tremble a little. This situation is so far out of your control it’s terrifying. Your body responds the same way it always does when you feel like this. You feel your tummy tighten and you feel that hollow ache inside you that only one thing seems to fill. You grow slick and wet between your legs as your body demands you deal with this screaming need. You squirm as coil after coil of rope slips around your neck until he slips the end of the cord in among the coils and his nimble fingers lodge it securely.

His hands slide down your shoulders and he turns you around and inspects his work. He tugs on the loops in place and you can feel the rope tighten and release. Then he grips it firmly with his fingers and twists it hard and abruptly the rope tightens drastically around your neck. You squirm and arch up on your tip toes to try and take the pressure off and catch a breath.



He holds you like that for a long forty seconds, and then releases the tension on the rope. Air returns to you and you gasp it in. You emit a little whining whimper and try not to shake. You look up into his eyes and they’re hard merciless and gray, and he’s simply measuring you the way a butcher measures a slab of beef.



‘So let’s talk about your defiance girl.’ He says calmly. He’s less angry now that you’re angry, bound and helpless. You sense that your frantic demeanour is also setting him at ease.



‘I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to defy-URRRK!’ He twists the rope around your neck again and drags you up on your toes as you struggle for breath again.



‘No excuses. I was very clear on what I expected from you. You were late and your cunt is not shaved. You had ample time to prepare for both of those things.’ He snarls into your ear.



He grips the rope and pulls it slightly higher and you make choking sounds as you balance on the very tips of your toes. Abruptly, he releases the tension on the rope and you fall to you knees, retching and gasping as your chest heaves. His hand moves from the rope to your hair and pulls your head back.



‘Now you are going to explain yourself to me you little cunt, and you are going to do so now.’ He snarls at you.



You look up at him, chest heaving and throat burning. Your shoulders throb, your feet are starting to hurt from the shoes he’s bound you in.



You have no power here at all. None. He’s stripped it all away from you as easily as he took your clothes. He’s unwilling to take excuses and he punishes you whenever you try to struggle or fight back or be defiant.



This would probably be the most terrifying day of your life if your body hadn’t dropped into a state of extreme arousal from the binding and manhandling. Your mind spins, unsure with what to say to him. Should you lie to him? Will lying make it worse?



‘I… I didn’t think… I…. was coming back sir. I didn’t know.’ Your voice sounds tiny, like a little girl



‘And yet here you are whore. So what happened?’ He drops to one knee and hooks his free hand on the rope coiled at your throat. It tightens slightly in, the threat implied in the action obvious. If he doesn’t like your answer, you’ll be fighting for air.



‘I just… I …I … I…’ you stammer.



Good God this is intense. Your heart feels like it is literally going to pound out of your chest.



‘Answer me!’ He snarls into your face.



‘I wasn’t coming back! Ever!’ You squeal loudly.



‘And yet here you are.’



‘Yes sir.’



‘So what happened?’



‘I started to… to think about what you did to me. And…. And the things you made me do… and then I started to have dreams about it. And… and…’



‘So when did that all start?’



‘Sat-Saturday. I started on Saturday.’



‘So… you decided to not come back… which was actually a smart decision girl…. And then changed your mind on Saturday.’



‘No sir… I didn’t decide to come back until Sunday. I started having the thoughts and the dreams on… Saturday.’



‘All right. That actually makes a little sense. You decided this was too much for you and you weren’t going to come back.’



‘Yes sir.’



‘And what made you decide that you weren’t coming back?’



‘My husband wanted to… to…’



‘Fuck his wife?’



‘Yes sir.’ You’re blushing now. Why are you blushing?



‘And that made you want to not come back?’



‘Well, not that, I just was trying to not…’ You trail off, afraid to tell him what happened next.



‘And you came while he was fucking you.’ He finishes the sentence for you.



You pause for a long time. He’s looking right through you and getting irritated at your lack of answer. You can’t bring yourself to speak until he starts to tighten the rope around your neck.



‘Yes! Yes sir! I tried not to… but he knows… he knows me…’



The rope loosens around your neck and you pant audibly. He’s still eyeing you critically, but he doesn’t seem quite so angry now.



‘So he made you come, and then you decided not to come back?’



‘I decided that the next morning sir. I just… I was happy. I didn’t think I’d need to come back.’



‘I see. But you changed your mind on Sunday.’



‘Yes sir.’



‘So the question really is… did you obey any of the orders I gave you?’



You cringe. And then you regret it as you see his eyes harden.



‘So that would be a no then. You broke every rule.’



You scrabble around for words and can’t find any of them. He didn’t even give you a chance to lie or evade, he just asked the question and let your face and body answer him.



‘Yes sir.’ You whisper.



He releases the rope and your hair and stands up. You wobble on your knees and struggle to maintain your balance. He doesn’t look angry; he just looks deep in thought for a moment. For some reason that pose is even more intimidating to you. It’s like he’s calculating his next step.



He turns back to the table and pulls out a gold key from his pocket. It slides into the padlock and releases the lock with a quiet click. You watch him as he rustles around in your belongings.



‘What are you doing sir?’ For some reason this is deeply alarming to you.



He pulls your cell phone from the box, then closes the lid and closes the lock over the latch. Calmly, he walks back to you and then kneels in front of you. The cell phone springs open in his hand and he smiles a warm smile at you.



Your blood chills.



‘What’s your husbands name whore?’



‘Please sir… please don’t. Don’t do that.’ You can feel all the blood draining from your face and your stomach knots up.



‘You don’t have to give it to me. I can just go through your contact list until I find him. I’m sure that there are all kinds of people on this list that would be extremely interested…’



‘DON’T! PLEASE DON’T! I’LL DO ANYTHING!’ You scream at him.



He looks at you and then snaps the phone shut. He slips it around and then shoves it into his back pocket.



You both stay still for a moment, but you know your life just irrevocably changed.



You can’t decide if this is good or bad. It’s probably bad, but that doesn’t explain the throbbing need that you feel in your abdomen and pelvis right now.



‘I feel that you lack commitment whore. I do.’



‘I don’t sir…’



‘SHUT. UP.’ He growls at you. And you do.



‘This is what we are going to do whore. We’re going to go for a little walk back to my place and I’m going to use your body in every god damned depraved way I can think of. You’re going to spread your legs wide and keep your mouth shut unless it’s wrapped around a cock. If I sense one fucking IOTA of resistance, I’m calling your husband to come and get you. Exactly like this.’



You cringe again. You don’t know how your husband would take that. It would be a savage betrayal to him. Your marriage, your family, all of it might crumble. You don’t know if you could bear that.



Why couldn’t you just stay away? What’s wrong with you?



‘Yes sir.’ You whisper.



‘I’m not done. All the rules are back in place. You don’t have any orgasms but the ones I give you. Your body is available to your husband at any time. Am I clear you insubordinate little fuckpuppet?’



‘Crystal clear sir.’ You say in a tiny voice.



‘Splendid.’ He snarls, and then he reaches down and pulls a loose strand of rope from the coil around your neck. He tucks it and adjusts it and after a couple of moments of fiddling he has a little rope leash to guide you with.



You struggle back to your feet when he tugs on the rope and then he frowns at you.



‘Stand up on your toes.’ He orders. You do.



He kneels beside you and places a hand on your leg. His fingers are hard and icy and your skin prickles with goose bumps. You feel him twist the metal bracelet around your ankle and it tightens with a couple of clicks. He repeats the process with the other bracelet and it locks tight around your ankle as well.



‘You can relax now.’ He says and you start to ease your feet down to the floor. The metal bracelets bite into your Achilles tendon however, and you wince and then stand back up on your toes. You look over at Padraic with confusion and he smiles grimly at you. The bracelets force you to keep your foot extended and almost in a permanent en pointe position.



‘Now you’re ready for a walk.’



You shiver. Taking a walk has never sounded torturous before.



Padraic gives the rope around your neck a gentle tug and leads you towards the back of the room full of sadistic toys. He opens a door that leads down a hallway illuminated with only a flickering light bulb and then out to a metal door. You’re so focused on staying on your toes and keeping up with him that you’re literally out the door and standing outside of the building in a back alley.



The door slams shut behind you. The lock clicks with finality.



You’re bound; naked, wearing bondage shoes and standing in a dirty back alley with a man you’ve apparently just pissed off intensely. Your head swivels in panic as you look around with wide terrified eyes. You desperately want to protest, and you know that you can stop this at any time.



But he’ll call your husband to come and pick you up. You can’t even bear the thought of inflicting that on him.



This is too much. Your eyes grow watery and a tear slips down your cheek.



And Padraic doesn’t seem to notice. If he does notice, he clearly doesn’t care. He calmly walks down the alley with your leash in his hand. You struggle to keep up with him as you focus on nimbly walking over garbage and refuse.



Your toes and calves are starting to throb.



You get about two blocks down a back alley and he finally notices you sniffling and whimpering as you suffer just trying to keep up to his pace. He stops for a moment and let’s you catch up to him. You struggle to stay on your toes and try to fight back the tears that are threatening to flow.



‘Do you need a break?’ He asks calmly.



‘Please.’ You whimper.



‘Kneel. We can take a moment.’



Gratefully, you squat down and clumsily take the weight off your toes as you collapse onto the ground. A moan of relief escapes your lips and before you can stop it you whimper a feeble complaint.



‘I d…don’t know if I can do this.’ The words come out hard, and your throat feels constricted as you struggle to hold it together.



‘You don’t have to. I can call him right now.’



‘Please don’t do that sir. Please!’ You say with a little shudder.



‘Then get up. Enough mewling.’



You struggle back to your feet with difficulty. Your arms bound behind you and the sadistic shoes locking your foot into a full extension made just standing an exercise in determination and pain tolerance. Finally, you stand back up on trembling legs and he nods and begins walking again.



You barely get forty feet and someone calls out to him. To your horror he stops and you cower behind him.



‘Paddy boy. Can you spare a few bucks lad?’



A battered homeless person sits at the end of an alley. A couple of empty bottles roll on the cardboard beside him. He sits in his own filth and you can smell him from where you are.



‘Have you eaten today Roy?’ Padraic asks and he saunters down the alley.



Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod. Please don’t let him see you like this.



‘Jus’ some eggs and toast this morning down at the mish.’ Roy says with a voice that sounds like barbed wire and gravel, and then he breaks into a coughing fit. Padraic watches him for a moment and then reaches into his pocket.



‘If I give you a five Roy, will you eat?’



Roy hacks and coughs a little more, but he nods his head. Padraic leans forward and hands him the bill and Roy smiles at him.



‘Thank you Paddy. You’re a good guy.’



He frowns as he spots you. You shiver. The disgusting, stinking homeless guy is eyeballing you now.



‘Izzat a new girl Paddy? She’s a fine looking filly.’



‘I wouldn’t call her a girl Roy. More like a cunt.’



Your skin flushes bright red. You resist an urge to bolt that would probably end with you face down in a pile of garbage twenty feet from here. These shoes were built for punishment, not escape.



‘Well, she’s a pretty cunt then. I like her. How come you never give me a turn with your toys Paddy?’



‘C’mon Roy, I just got her. I’ll tell you what, you go take a shower and get something to eat and if you’re sober on the way back tonight you can pick a hole. All right?’



‘Sounnz good to me.’ Roy slurs.



You feel the blood draining from your face. He just promised the homeless guy a turn with you if he took a shower and sobered up.



‘Are you… we… were you…’ You stammer as you struggle along on your toes.



‘Have I lied about anything else?’ He says bluntly. ‘You better hope Roy decides to crawl into a bottle tonight or you’re gonna be getting porked on that sheet of carboard he calls a living room.’



‘Oh god.’ You say in a tiny voice.



The rest of the walk to his place is short, although it feels close to a thousand miles to you. Your calves are actively trembling from muscle strain and you know that tomorrow they will simply throb, as will the bruised and battered toes on your feet. The leather does a great job of binding the foot, but not a very good one at protecting your tender little feet.



As you mount the steps to his second floor dwelling, your left calf gives out and you stumble. Before you can fall forward and smack your face off the metal stairs he catches you. You fall limp in his arms and moan, your aching legs and feet overwhelming you.



‘Stay with me whore, we’ve barely started yet.’ He comments to you as he places you against a chilly black guardrail. The metal is cool on your skin and you feel a little more aware as you look around at the neighbourhood Padraic lives in.



It’s a run down area of town, and Padraic lives over some kind of shop. You glance at the sign and realize it’s actually a butcher’s shop of some kind and you find that oddly fitting considering the way he eyes you like a side of meat.



His key slips into the lock and then the door pops open with a creak. He slips a hand around your hip and pulls you inside. You stagger and fight to keep on your feet, and before you know it the door closes with a loud ‘THUMP’ of finality.



‘Home at last.’ Padriac says with a smile.



You smile weakly back at him. Why is it when he’s calm and smiling like this he’s even more intimidating than usual?



‘Bathrooms there girl. Take a squat. You’re gonna want to piss now before we get started.’ You look over at the tiny bathroom. It was once pretty and nice but now it’s clearly a bachelor’s bathroom. A couple of rolls of toilet paper sit on top of the grimy white tank. A couple of razors and some shaving cream sit on the sink and a towel lies folded over the glass door leading to the shower.



You struggle over to the toilet on your tip toes and turn awkwardly. Carefully, you bend over and then plop down on the toilet seat. The release of pressure off your toes and calves makes you literally moan with pleasure.



Paddy doesn’t close the door. He just makes a spinning ‘hurry it up’ motion with his finger and you hang your head in embarrassment as he watches you release your bladder.



As he watches you, he flips out his own cell phone and makes a call. You don’t catch it at first, but after a moment you hear him talking to someone.



‘Right, right. I’m home right now.’



He pauses.



‘Yeah, I’ve got beer and entertainment. Come watch the game with me.’



You look up at him. What did he mean by entertainment?



‘Right, see you in fifteen.’



See who in fifteen? What is he doing now?!



Padraic sets the phone on the counter and then he crooks a finger at you.



‘Get over here whore. You’ve had more than enough time to piss.’



You groan and struggle back to your feet. It just keeps getting harder and harder to walk in these shoes. You’re afraid to see what shape your toes are in now.



Padraic starts to slip out of his clothing as you stumble wearily out of the bathroom. He gives you a little shove in a different direction and you stagger down a hallway, fighting against gravity as you careen in the direction he shoved you.



‘Sit your ass down on the couch. I’ll be in to start working on you in a minute.’ He calls down the hallway.



You stumble against the wall and brace yourself upright. Carefully, you mince down the hallway trying to take pressure off your toes and feet as you do so.



A drop of water splashes on your collarbone, and a moment later a second one drips onto the top of your breast and trickles down the sensitive skin. It takes you a moment to realize that you’ve started crying. You sniffle and rub your face into your throbbing shoulder, unable to even wipe away the tears.



Slowly, you limp into the room that Padraic shoved you towards and as you eye the room, you freeze. A large leather or pseudo leather couch sectional takes up the center of the room, and it faces a large screen TV mounted on the wall. A fridge quietly hums in the corner of the room.



But none of those things concern you.



The four cameras stationed around the room terrify you however.



He can’t be planning to film this. He just can’t. If this ever got onto the internet, that would be the end. Of everything. Your friends would know, your colleagues at work would know, your family would know and your own little fledgling family would cease to exist.



You start to shake violently. Your left leg cramps up suddenly and you fall to your knees hard and cry out. You feel your breathing get more rapid and your chest tightens up as you start to hyperventilate a little bit.



‘I told you to get on the couch cunt. Are you deaf?’ Padraic growls behind you.



There is no denying the tears as they pour down your face now. He can’t ignore them as he looks at you.



‘P-p-please sir. Please don’t do this to me. I-I c-can’t do this. Not like this.’



He just smiles at you.



‘Get on the couch.’ As he says so he lifts a remote and red lights flicker on in all four cameras.



‘Please Sir! Please!’ you sob and press your forehead to his leg.



He waits a moment and you pray that he’s willing to show an iota of mercy, and then you feel his hand gripping and twisting your hair. You wail as he jerks you back to your feet by your long black mane. The one hand holds you up, the other grips the ropes around your neck and twists them tight. You gurgle and gasp for air, but he has all the leverage and he just strangles you for what feels like an hour but was probably less than a minute.



Then he releases the ropes and calmly speaks into your ear and gives you a damning choice.



‘Get your ass on the couch, now, or I’m going to go make a phone call. You won’t like the person I call.’



Still snuffling and dizzy, you nod your head.



‘Yes. Yes sir.’ You say with a feeble little whimper.



He shoves you again towards the couch and you stumble towards it. The pain in your feet and shoulders is forgotten now. It’s been replaced with blind fear and a drive to obey. You have to obey. Have to. Your family is depending on you.



Maybe if you’re depraved enough, or enough of a complete slut, you can talk him into not doing anything with the video. Maybe.



The seat of the couch is cool on your behind and the ability to finally sit is a small but unbelievably needed mercy. You don’t have any idea how you can possibly walk back to the bar in these shoes.



Padraic walks around you and then flops down on the couch as well. He’s removed all his clothing from his thin but muscular frame and you can see his pale skin. You can especially see his long thick manhood jutting out.

‘Time to get to work fuckpuppet. Get over here and mount up.’ And he pats his thigh.



You look at him in despair, and then you crawl to him. It takes a moment to drape your legs over him, but the brutal and abusive manhandling he’s given you over the last half hour have you in a state of raw fear and lust. He brushes up against you and then you slide him into you with no resistance.



You try to ignore the fact that it feels incredible. You’ve impaled yourself on him and you can feel his scrotum pushed up against your most sensitive flesh. You’d arch your back, but the punishing binding he has your arms and elbows locked into already has you at a full arch. Your mouth pops open and you close your eyes and shudder.



After that brutal walk, this is much better.



Abruptly, you feel the rope tighten around your neck again. You gasp for air but Padraic grips it firmly. You thrash and twitch as he chokes you and he holds the rope for a good long time. You feel ready to pass out when he suddenly releases it and you frantically gasp air like a beached fish.



As your chest heaves, he growls in your ear.



‘Little reminder cunt, you don’t get to come. You’re here for our pleasure, not the other way around.’



‘Y-yes sir. I understand.’



‘Good, now start humping me. You get to grind on me until I come into you.’



You nod your head and then start shifting your hips up and down, sliding up and down his manhood. He’s good and hard and he occasionally bucks back against you. He feels good inside you but you strain against your strong desire for pleasure because you know he’ll punish you for that.



And that is really the problem when you get down to it. You want him to punish you. You don’t care if he strangles you with the rope or if he slaps you in the face or if he pulls out another little black device and shocks you, you’re dying for him to be aggressive and violent with you.



And so you bounce up and down on him vigorously and try to ignore the ache in your shoulder and feet and seriously try to ignore the incredible urge to break the rules and climax. You want him to punish you, you’re just afraid of what he’ll do.



‘Whoa dude, who the hell is this?’ You hear someone say.



Your head pops up and you stare in horror at the tall muscular man in the doorway.



‘Hey Travis. I’ve been expecting you. You like my new toy?’ Padraic says with a grin.



‘Damn dude. That is a hot girl! Can I tear a piece off that?’ Travis grins a toothy smile at you.



‘Of course Travis. I saved you your favourite hole. Grab some lube and a couple of beers out of the fridge and come on over here.’



Travis laughs and you hear him pull the fridge door open. He grabs a couple of bottles and walks over to the couch where you are impaled on Padraic and wearing a horrified expression.



Padraic pulls you closer to his face and then questions you.



‘Did you do any of the prep for your ass that I told you?’



Oh god. Oh Christ. Oh fuck. WHY DID YOU COME BACK?!



‘I… I … used the kits. The kits. I m-made sure I was clean.’ You stammer to him with wide eyes.



‘But you didn’t use the plugs?’



‘No. I… I didn’t…use…’ Your voice trails off in horror.



‘Well then, this next part is probably going to hurt then.’



You open your mouth and try to protest, but nothing will come out aside from a tiny wail. Travis appears around the side of the couch and he sets two beers and what looks like a metal syringe with no needle on the table.



He starts to slip off his clothes eagerly, and you watch him with trepidation. Padraic is tall lean and wiry. Travis is a few inches shorter, but his muscles are rock hard and he looks like he works out aggressively. Those thoughts vanish from your mind however when he strips off his pants and his erection springs forth. He’s large in every sense of the word. He’s long, thick and broad.



You can’t help yourself. You beg. You don’t think you can handle him. Not back there.



‘Please sir, I-Iurggghhh.’ The rope squeezes tight and your words trail off as he gives you barely enough oxygen to breathe but not enough to speak. And as you sit impaled on him with hands bound and legs spread wide, you feel Travis come up behind you and you feel an icy cold sensation on your rectum as Travis spreads some lube there manually. His finger gently penetrates your little hole and then withdraws. Then you feel the cold metal of the metal syringe slide inside you and a torrent of icy cold slickness starts to fill you.



You shiver against Padraic and he smiles at you.



‘You know whore, I thought about breaking your ass in myself, but I wanted to watch this instead. I wanted to see your face when some guy you’ve never met takes your last virginity.’



He sneers at you as you lay against him. A week ago you had never been with anyone but the man you loved for years. Now you lay bound and sprawled over one man that had already used your body in horrifying ways while a second prepared you for that most savage of violations.



He’s hot against you. Your skin is pressed against his skin and this should feel intimate. It’s not; you shiver as the lube chills your insides and your adrenaline tears through you. You know this is going to hurt. You know that Padraic is going to whisper devastating insult after insult into your ear as it happens.



And you know that’s exactly what you want. You would never make that phone call. You would never hurt your family. But Padraic has taken you to this private place and inflicted pain and shame and suffering on you with no mercy in a way that your husband never could.



Travis sets the metal syringe on the table and then walks back to you. You feel wet and slippery inside and you hope that will be enough. A strong hand sets down on your hip and holds you still. You feel him pressing against you. It’s a gentle pressure at first, then with more insistence.



‘Oh God.’ You say in a tiny voice. This is actually happening.



The pressure become stronger, until finally the tip of Travis’s erection pushes past your clenched anus. You give a horrified little wail, but nothing else emerges from your wide open mouth. It doesn’t so much hurt as it stings as he pushes deeper into you and forces you wider and wider to accommodate him.



Travis takes his time, and it’s obvious he’s done this before. However he is still a large man, and it takes him a few minutes to push all the way inside you. Padraic stares up at you the whole time, his manhood deep inside you as well. He watches ever shiver, every squeal, every wince as Travis forces himself deep inside you.



‘I wish I’d recorded that.’ He says with a smirk. And then he pulls you closer to him so that he can whisper in your ear.



‘Oh yeah. I did. How does that make you feel Ari?’



You can’t speak. You can only make an animal sound from your still distended mouth.



‘That’s what I thought.’



‘Damn this girl is tight!’ You hear Travis say behind you. You shake, because now you do feel literally impaled. With both men deep inside you, you feel as full and as violated as you have ever been.



You wished it felt wrong.



‘It’s her first time Travis, go slow. Loosen her up.’



‘No problem dude. I’ll take the little bitch for a good, long riiiiiide.’ He says, and he slaps a hand on your ass hard. You squeal at the sting, and then you feel him start to saw in and out of you.



Padraic starts using your body as well. And for a long time you lay pinned between two cruel men and let them use you with ferocity. Travis starts slow at first, but slowly your body starts to unclench around him and he starts slamming into you with aggression. Padraic uses you from the other direction, plunging his manhood in and out of you with gusto and using the ropes around your neck for leverage and occasionally cutting off your air when he feels like it.



It’s the most intense, brutal, punishing sex you’ve ever had. You feel less like a person and more like a piece of meat caught between two machines. Their hands are on your, they’re deep inside you and Padraic whispers humiliation after humiliation into your ear.



You don’t know when the tears really started. You’d cried a little before, but now it’s a torrent. This act, this guttural, ruthless act has torn something free inside you. You feel released from something, free now.



At first you don’t know why you did what came next, but when you reflected on it later, you realize that you had to. It was in your nature to be defiant.



You lean forward and hissed at Padraic.



‘I th-thought y-you were going to f-fuck me a-asshole.’ You spit the words out at him.



Padraic stops cold for a moment and his eyes go wide. Travis keeps thrusting away into your behind, oblivious to what just happened.



Padraic cups your face in his hands and then wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs.



‘You sure girl?’ He asks.



You nod. You want this. You want everything they have, as hard as they can give it to you.



They deliver. Padraic grins up at you and then he tells Travis to stop being gentle and Travis just gives a barking laugh. Then they both *use* your body with an almost maniacal intensity.



And you take it, you spread as wide as you can manage and revel in not one but two aggressive men feasting on your sexuality. You float in it, revel in it. You take every whispered hateful word from Padraic’s mouth and every punishing thrust from Travis’s member and you long for more.



They fill you. They fill the part of you that needs, that aches. The part that haunts your dreams and slips into your daydreams is quelled.



You retreat within yourself, and it feels like floating. Your shoulders ache and your feet still throb and both of these men use your relentlessly, but those things do not matter.



For the first time in a long time you feel sated.



You don’t know how long you stay in that haze. You vaguely feel both of them ripping pleasure from your tiny form with as much passion as they can muster.



In time, you come back to your self. You feel Padraic laying limply beneath you and you expect him to be slapping or strangling you but his lips are pressed against yours and yours are wet against his.



His skin is slick with sweat against you, and you feel sloppy inside from where he has obviously released into you. As you regain your composure, you feel Travis seize your hair and pull back hard at the same time he shoves into you as deep as he can. You feel a faint warm surge inside you and then you know that both of these men have taken you in as vile and cruel a way as possible.



You feel shamed, used, violated. You wish you could hate this, but instead you feel vibrantly alive and completely in the moment.



You feel Padraic’s skin against your own, slippery from your combined sweat. His lips tremble slightly as he kisses you with surprising gentleness. You feel Travis’s hand on your buttock and his manhood still deep inside you, but now still and almost pulsing slightly. You feel their seed and your passion start to seep outside of you and start to trickle down your thigh.



And you can feel your heart pounding as you press your lips back against Padraic’s.



How he knew what to do to invoke this in you, you do not know. You just know that he has gauged you truly and well.



‘Not gonna lie. That was fucking incredible.’ Travis exults loudly, shattering the moment into pieces.



Padraic stops and pulls back from you and the gentle kisses end. It relieves you and makes you sad at the same time. You’ve never felt comfortable kissing anyone but your husband, but the odd yet reassuring touch that you feel with this… sadistic animal is strangely familiar somehow.



Padraic refocuses his eyes and looks at you again. He seems to shift, and the gentle man kissing you vanishes. His eyes shift from a pale blue to slate gray and he looks at you hard again.



It’s almost as though he’s trying to look inside you.



Travis shifts and slowly pulls out of you. You spasm a little and make a tiny animal moan as your body adjusts to his absence.



‘Are we done with this little whore yet?’ Travis asks between gasps as he tries to catch his breath.



‘I don’t know. Are we done with you whore?’



You think about it for a moment. Your body hurts, you feel raw and violated. You feel like you’ve been dragged to you limit and beyond.



You shake your head no. You don’t feel done yet.



Padraic gives his own head a little shake and mutters to himself.



‘Yeah, I thought you might say that.’ He says quietly. His face stays hard but you see just the hint of a smile.



It seems almost like he did know you were going to say that.



‘Get some rope Travis, playtime isn’t over yet.’ He says.



‘Oh Goody.’ Travis giggles like a little boy and then disappears down the hallway.



At the same time, Padraic disentangles himself from you and stands up. You struggle to stand with him, but your calves are aching because of the shoes and you groan and slump onto the couch on your side.



You think he’s going to be angry with you, but he’s not. He just looks at you and shakes his head.



‘You’re really handling those shoes well. Don’t they hurt?’



‘Yes. They’re difficult to walk in. And wear.’ You say quietly. This is the first comment he’s made to you that hasn’t involved an insult or threat. You feel like something changed in this arrangement but you don’t know what.



Is he showing a tiny iota of respect for you?



You contemplate that as he makes you lick the semen off the couch that has dripped out of you. Then when Travis comes back with the rope, he shoves your face into the pool of seed and lubricant on the wooden floor and then displays you to Travis.



You kneel on the wooden floor bound tightly with ropes and wearing brutally punishing shoes. Sperm and lubricant drip from your face. You hear Travis laughing and saying that this is a good look for you, but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes and look back at him. It’s a cruel, vicious thing that Padraic just did to you.



You just wish you didn’t find it so stupidly arousing.



After he humiliates you some more, both of them plunk down on the couch and Padraic makes you clean both of them off with your mouth while they flip on the game and drink some beer.



Travis offhandedly asks Padraic if he minds if he uses your mouth. Padraic shrugs and makes a go ahead gesture, too interested in the game to care if Travis uses you again.



Travis grins down at you and then grips your hair and the rope around your throat. You spend several minutes licking and sucking him hard, and then once he’s erect again the real brutality starts. Between yanking on your hair, twisting the rope around your neck and blocking off your own airway with his manhood it’s a desperate battle for you to bring him to release before you pass out.



You think about biting him, but you’re certain it’s a bad idea. You have no power in this situation. You’ve surrendered every glimmer of control.



It’s probably why you’re not a sobbing, mewling mess right now. You could have said no, but you chose not to hurt your husband. He would have been angry, wounded, but you could have gotten past it eventually. You know him. He would have eventually forgiven you.



But you chose to not do that. You chose to stay here and be little more than a sex toy for this man and his friend.



And the appalling thing about this is that you’re hoping this is not it. There has to be more. You know this will stifle the ache and fill the hole for a while, but it won’t be sealed. You’re going to want more.



So you desperately recall as much as you can from what limited pornography you’ve seen and try to remember how the girls in those videos did it. And you use your tongue and your lips and saliva to bring him to climax. You’re thankful, but the moment he finishes he pulls hard on your hair and the rope and shoves deep into your throat and sprays into you.



And he holds you there.



You gag on him, fight off an urge to bite and fail to hold back on pulling away. It just makes the rope around your throat tighter. You can’t see much, seeing as how your vision is level with Travis’s rock hard stomach, but what you do see starts to fade and turn red.



‘What the fuck… LET HER GO TRAVIS!’



You hear Padriac bark out the order and Travis’s hands fly away from your hair and neck. You yank yourself backwards and fall over onto the floor choking on his ejaculate. It spills down your chin and oozes on the floor. You gasp huge lungfulls of air and cough and spit out his semen from your trachea. The room still spins, but all you care about is sweet, sweet oxygen.



You lay there and gasp for a moment, and then you feel Padraic kneel beside you and you prepare for more violence and degradation.



It doesn’t happen, he just cups your chin and looks into your face. If the semen and tears bother him he doesn’t show it.



‘You ok Ari?’ He asks.



You try and answer him, but you’re too busy coughing up semen still. You manage to nod your head.



‘Dude, what’s the problem?’ Travis asks.



‘I told you that you could use her mouth, not choke her the fuck out Travis! What the fuck is wrong with you?’ Padraic practically growls that last line.



‘Dude, sorry! I just got carried away! That’s all! She gives good head!’



As you lay there on your side, sputtering and coughing, it’s oddly pleasing to you that you give good head. You don’t know why.



Padraic looks back at you, then he shakes his head.



‘We’re done man. Get dressed and let yourself out.’



‘Awww c’mon man, I could go…’ Travis complains loudly.



‘We’re *done*.’ Padraic says firmly.



Travis doesn’t protest after that. He just quietly picks up his clothes from the floor and walks into the other room. You feel oddly sad that the evening has come to an abrupt end, and you feel moderately worried that it’s your fault.



What comes next however is more confusing. Padraic lifts you up in his arms and sets you on the couch. He slips behind you and you feel him tugging and twisting the ropes bound around your arms and elbows. It takes a minute, but the tight tie slips away and for the first time in what feels like hours your elbows slip apart.



You moan indescribably in relief, but that little pleasure is short lived. Circulation starts returning to your arms and fingers and your moan becomes a wail of pain as you clutch your hands to your naked chest.



‘Oh god… ‘ You whimper. Padraic pulls your hand away from your chest and starts to rub your bicep and forearm. You shake at the intensity of sensation, it feels like electricity is ripping through your nerves.



‘Hold on girl, it will pass.’ Padraic reassures you.



His words are reassuring, but they confuse you. How does he go from calling you a whore and a slut and then rubbing your arms and making sure that Travis isn’t choking you unconscious?



‘I don’t… I don’t understand. What just happened?’ You ask from between gritted teeth as Padraic continues to rub circulation back into your arm.



‘I untied you.’ He says calmly and with no elaboration.



‘I know that! I just don’t understand why?!’



His hands slip down your arm and he slides his fingers over your wedding ring. He taps on it twice. You look at him in confusion, and his face stays blank as he starts rubbing your arm again.



‘I don’t understand.’ You finally ask him.



‘Ari, you’re married. I’m not sending you back to your husband with bruises or welts or marks you can’t explain.’



‘But you didn’t… you haven’t really done…’ your voice trails off.



‘Ari, he was choking you. I didn’t want you to start strangling and burst a whole bunch of blood vessels in your eyes.’ He says evenly.



‘Oh.’ Is all you can think to respond.



You sit there for a moment and let him rub your arm. It starts to feel better, or at least it does until he pulls your other arm away from your chest and starts rubbing that one. It takes all you have to just bite down on your lip not cry out.

And then Padraic sees you biting on your lip and he makes you stop that too.



‘Why do you care about how I look to my husband?’ You ask him in between gritted teeth.



Padraic ignores you for a moment, and you can’t read his face.



‘You came to me looking for something specific, you just didn’t know what it was.’ He finally says.



‘Well, yeah…’



‘I know what you want. I probably know it better than you do. I’m happy to show it to you. All of it.’



You gasp as your arm throbs, but you try and ignore that as he just calmly explains what the hell is going on.



‘But I’m not gonna blow up your marriage just because you’re curious. And I’m not going to let you walk into a pile of freaks and get torn to shreds because you can’t control your curiosity.’



‘I can control my curiosity! I’m not an… idiot!’



‘Last week you walked into my bar, let me tie you up, strip you naked and use you like a five dollar whore Ari. This week I put you into punishing bondage, walked you naked through back alleys, invited a random friend over to take your anal virginity and nearly got you choked unconscious about twenty minutes ago.’



There’s an awkward silence as he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.



‘Ok… those may not have been my… best… thought out moments.’ You hedge a little.



‘It was fucking stupid. You could have been hurt. You could have been murdered.’ He says it calmly, almost sympathetically.



Another awkward silence falls on the conversation. You could be in a library or a coffee shop if you weren’t sitting naked wearing bondage gear with rope coiled around your neck. You think about what he said for a while, and then you finally get to the obvious question.



‘Why do you care?’



He stops rubbing your arm and looks at you. You wait, but he just taps you on the leg. You lift your foot up and his hands slide down your leg and calf to the bracelet around your ankle. He clicks a release on the bracelet, and then it slides away from the skin.



You wince as you finally release tension in that muscle. Then you actually scream out loud as he starts to rub that muscle as well.



You flop back on the couch and writhe as his fingers work on the knots in the muscle. It actually brings tears to your eyes. Your feet and calves haven’t hurt this much since dance class.



It takes a couple of minutes of concentrated anguish to get that muscle to unclench, but eventually it releases and you can wiggle your foot again without wanting to scream.



‘I just do. Take it or leave it.’



You look down at him and watch him as he unlaces the sadistic leather shoe wrapped around your foot. He slides it off carefully and starts to run his fingers over your foot.



Unlike your calf, it hurts, but his fingers feel like bliss on your skin.



Clearly this man knows how to rub some feet. You flop back and writhe on the couch again, but this time it’s for a different reason.



‘I’ll take it.’ You moan quietly.



‘Smart girl.’ He says quietly.



You feel him slip the lock on the other bracelet locked around your remaining ankle.



The bracelet slips from around your ankle, and he looks at you as you lay back on the couch. It should feel odd that you lay naked and exposed before another man, but it doesn’t. You trust him for some odd reason.



The rest of the time in the apartment flows by wordlessly. Padraic cleans up the living room and then he takes you into the bathroom for what you think is more play but is in reality a quick shower. He’s thorough, and he washes your skin down pink and almost sterile.



After you dry your hair, he coils the rope around your neck and slips the other rope in a coiled loop over your shoulder. The cruel little shoes are tied clipped together and slung over your shoulder. Then he escorts you down the stairs and through the alleys again.



‘Do I… I don’t… I’m still naked!’ You protest.



He stops at the bottom of the stairs and looks at you.



‘You’re wearing nylons. Let’s go.’



Apparently you’re not done playing after all.



You walk quietly with Padraic through the alleys back to the Darkside. It’s easier this time, because the shoes are over your shoulder and now you can use your whole foot and not just your toes.



It’s not only easier, it’s faster. After a few minutes, you approach the alley where Padraic…



Oh God, the homeless guy. You stop cold and watch Padraic walk forward without you for a few seconds and then he turns and looks back at you.



You must have an odd look on your face, because he looks confused.



‘What’s the matter?’ He asks you.



‘I just… It’s the… do I…?’



You imagine it would be amusing how easily Padraic does things to you that would obliterate your language skills if this was happening to someone else. Unfortunately, he doesn’t do these things to anyone else, he does them to you. And so you’re consistently left trying to explain some terrifying notion to him while suddenly dealing with a case of horror invoked stuttering.



He figures out what you’re panicking about quickly though and then he gives you a wicked smile.



‘Oh, you remember what I told Roy.’



Yes. Filthy, smelly, disgusting Roy.



You nod your head and clutch your hands to your chest.



‘Well, I don’t break promises girl. If he’s sober and cleaned himself up, you’re putting out in a back alley.’



You want to argue, but all that comes out of your mouth is a high pitched whine. It doesn’t matter, he’s not interested in hearing that anyways.



‘Let’s go girl, enough dawdling.’ He orders.



You reluctantly walk forward with Padraic and head towards the alley. You pray to yourself that this poor homeless man has not managed to clean himself up and get a shower, because those were the terms of the deal.



You both round the corner and you can see Roy’s foot sticking out from behind a dumpster. Padraic walks down the pathway between garbage bags and refuse and stops in front of the cardboard.



Roy lays unconscious on the filthy paper next to two new empty bottles of Thunderbird. The dank acrid smell of urine tells you that he’s lost control of his bladder as well as passed into unconsciousness. Somehow he’s lost a shoe and a sock and he’s wrapped some rags around his foot to at least give some limited protection against the chilly air.



You wish you had some rags. Or a blanket. Or your clothes.



‘Ah Roy… I told you to go eat.’ Padraic says with a sigh.



You stand back quietly and let a wave of relief wash over you. He’s drunk and unconscious and you don’t have to have sex with him.



It strikes you for a moment that your life has become very, very odd in a hurry.



Padraic kneels down and contemplates Roy for a moment, and then he stands up and turns away. His expression is dark and bleak. You watch him stalk down the alley quietly and you silently follow him like a tiny nymph floating among the detritus.



As the Alley recedes into the distance, you get the nerve up to ask him a question.



‘How do you know him?’ You ask.



‘How do I know Roy?’



‘Yes.’



‘A long time ago, Roy used to be my business partner.’



‘Really?!’



‘Yes. He owned half the bar with me. He was a good partner too.’



‘But… what happened? How did he end up… back there in an alley?’



Padraic stops and looks at you intently. This isn’t like those other times when he was trying to see through you, he looks at you. You feel like you’re being judged again, not to see if you’re ready, but to see if you’re worthy.



‘Sometimes bad things happen to good people girl.’ Is all he will say to you.



Apparently you’re not worthy.



‘That’s not really an answer.’ You respond, your feelings hurt that he doesn’t wish to share this with you.



Padraic stops, turns on his heel and glares at you. You shrink under that glare. He doesn’t like being challenged by you.



‘Girl, I know it’s in you to be defiant, but tonight is not the night to push my buttons. Clear?’



‘I’m not being defiant!’ You say defiantly. ‘I’m just asking a question!’



Padraic rolls his eyes at you.



‘Why is asking a question defiant?’ You ask, unsure what the rules are and how you’re breaking them.



Padraic reaches out and seizes the rope still coiled around your throat and pulls you to him. You’re yanked forward against him and he grips the rope tightly so that it constricts around your neck.



It only takes a second for him to overpower you like that. You’ve pressed against him, naked but for rope and nylon and gasping for air yet again. It should feel terrible, but you’re certain in your heart of hearts you keep pushing him because you want him to seize control back from you.



And you think he gets that too.



‘Asking a question is defiant because you are not here to ask questions. You are here to be my personal fucktoy.’ Padraic growls into your ear. ‘And clearly when we get back to my bar you need a little reminder of that.’



‘Sorry sir… Sorry!’ You squeak.



‘Save your apologies.’ You need some discipline girl.



He says that in a completely intimidating way, and it should send shivers of fear racing up and down your body. Instead, you can’t help but to smile and luxuriate in the sudden wave of aggression.



‘Promises, promises…’ You whisper up at him.



Padraic just shakes his head and looks at you with irritation. Then he growls and starts walking back to the bar, dragging you by your rope collar.



You stumble along behind him and try not to grin gleefully. You were right after all. You’re not done playing yet.



It only takes a few minutes for you and Padraic to get back to the bar. The door is locked up, but he does have a key after all and in moments you’re through the door and headed back to the back storage area.



Padraic hauls you in by your rope collar and then shoves you into a corner.



‘Stay there. I’m going to get some gear and you and I will have a little chat.’



‘Yes sir.’ You say with a smile.



You shouldn’t smile. It pisses him off and he’s about to do something cruel to you, you can just sense it.



But this is what you get when you push back. And you know it, you just finally found someone that is willing to slap your hand when you do it.



You feel very excited. Your stomach flutters with butterflies, and while you’re certain this is going to hurt, you really don’t care. This part isn’t about pain, it’s about him making you do what he wants you to do. And the thought of that makes your stomach flutter the way it hasn’t since high school when you hid behind the stands and let that boy slide his hands under your dress.



You hear a creak and Padraic drags something over the floor to the middle of the room. Then he walks over to the corner where you’re carefully facing the wall and grabs you by the hair. You gasp as he hauls you up by your scalp and your hair and then drags you back to the middle of the room.



A simple metal chair sits in the middle of the room. When you get closer however, you realize that it’s not that simple.



Heavy leather and chain restraints attach to the back legs, and straps hang loose around the back of the chair. A pair of hand cuffs has been welded solidly to the back of the metal.



Whoever sits in this chair isn’t getting up. Not unless somebody lets them.



‘Sit.’ Padraic says. How does he make one word sound so intimidating?



You slide onto the cold metal and shiver a little. Padraic walks behind you and slips your wrists into the handcuffs and locks them on tight. Your ankles are pulled back to the leather cuffs and moments later they’re snug around your ankles as well.



A leather strap slides around your torso and he buckles it tight. Then he reaches under the chair and fiddles with something. There’s a loud click and then the seat of the chair falls away.



Your sense of glee starts to diminish a little, but the flutter in your stomach starts to increase. This is starting to get a little intimidating.



Two more leather straps slip around your thighs and lock in place. You’re now officially secured to the chair and vulnerable. You look up at Padraic and start to feel a little scared now. He isn’t denigrating you or angry, he just has his pensive ‘what should I do to her next’ face on.



He turns away from you for a moment and then disappears over to a cupboard. The door slips open quietly and he pulls out a black plastic folding case. He walks back to you and then frowns. A moment later he drags the table with the box your clothes are locked in to you and the chair you are secured to.



Calmly he slips the box open and pulls out a simple black plastic control unit and two relatively thin black cables. He clicks a button on the box and a simple green light appears. That makes him nod, and then he picks something else out of the box.



Your eyes widen at the sight of it. It looks like one of the plugs he gave you from the kit, but it’s made of shiny steel. He pulls out a little tube of lubricant and covers the tip and most of the plug and then turns to you with a smile.



Oddly, your sense of glee has evaporated now. There does appear to be an explosion of butterflies in your stomach now however.



You gasp and make a loud mewling sound as he slips the metal piece between your legs and gently but firmly slides it in between your buttocks and inside your rectum. It’s just a tad to large to easily expel, and moments later he takes one of the black wires and clips it onto the end of the plug that is now lodged inside you.



Seconds later, he picks up what appears to be for all intents and purposes, a metal wand with a small metal ball on the end. He attaches that to another black cable which connects in turn to the box and then he turns his attention back to you.



‘Ever play with electricity before girl?’ He asks calmly.



‘Oh God…’ is all you can manage to squeak out. This is not what you were expecting.



‘This is actually pretty simple and safe. The unit only outputs voltage, not amps. So there’s no real danger.’



Padraic takes the wand and places the tip against your left nipple. You gasp as the current flows into your tender skin and stimulates your nerves. It feels like a hundred pinpricks at once as your flesh jumps and clenches.



‘But as you can see girl, just because it’s safe, doesn’t mean you won’t feel it.’



‘Oh God. OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod. I am really, really sorry sir.’



Padraic laughs.



‘That’s actually really gratifying girl, but we’re not done.’



‘Sir pleeease. I promise I’ll be very, very good from now on.’ You plead with him.’



‘I know you will girl, because we’re not stopping. And the next time you feel defiant, you’re going to remember what we did here tonight and you’ll…’



Padraic pauses, then takes the wand and pushes it into contact with the skin of your right breast again. Slowly and cruelly, he traces the tip of the metal around the base of your nipple and along the tender skin or your aureole.



You yowl as he does it. It aches and throbs in an incredibly sensitive way. It only takes him about thirty seconds to complete the tiny circle, but you spend the entire moment shrieking and trying to pull away from him.



When he pulls the wand away, he looks at your cringing, bound form on the chair and nods.



‘Reconsider.’ He says finally.



‘Absolutely sir. Absolutely. I was very defiant tonight and I’m sorry and I won’t do that again.’ You plead with him, your voice cracking as you do so.



‘I know girl. I know.’ Padraic says calmly. And then he turns to the box and adjusts the voltage a little higher. ‘We’re going to make sure of that.’



He’s absolutely merciless with you. That little wand gently touches places that are sensitive and delicate and he’s relentless about exploring your body to locate the spots that make you squeal the loudest.



He gets the loudest shrieks from you when he runs the little ball on the tip of the wand across the soles of your feet. It tickles and shocks the sensitive skin at the same time. He gets wails of distress as he traces your ribcage on your petite little frame, and the butterflies in your tummy explode. But the tears don’t start to fall until he slides the wand across the inside of your thigh and slowly, gently parts the lips of your sex to caress you inside with the devious little tool. You buck so hard when he does this that you actually move the chair away from him an inch or so.



He looks at you with a simple smile and says ‘Now we’re getting some where.’



You groan, and then you sob a quiet little sob as you watch him turn the voltage up again.



‘Now I’m going to ask you some questions girl, and I’ve got a good idea where you don’t want this wand to be, so do try to answer correctly.’



‘Yes sir.’ You whimper.



‘What’s your name girl?’ He asks.



‘What?’ This was not a question you were expecting.



He sighs and moves the wand towards that spot between your legs. You squeal and try to move the chair away from him.



‘Arianna! My name is Arianna!’ You shriek loudly.



‘Are you sure?’ He asks.



‘What? Of course I’m sure!’



‘Wrong answer girl.’ He says grimly.



You don’t even get a chance to protest. The wand simply moves between your legs and touches the lips of your sex.



‘GnnnrrrGGGHHHHH!’ Is all that you can say as he spends twenty seconds rubbing the diabolical little wand along your sensitive opening. You can feel your flesh twitching as the current flows through the tender skin. The wand stays there for an eternity, at least twenty seconds.



‘But that is my name!’ You protest vigorously.



‘Are you sure that’s your name?’ He asks calmly. You watch him with a feeling of panic as he slowly turns the dial on the evil black box even higher.



‘Yes!’ You declare loudly. ‘My name is Ari! Arianna!’



He sighs and then leans forward and his fingers gently seize that little fold of flesh over that most sensitive part of you. You gasp as you feel it slide away and the chilly air of the back room caresses the incredibly sensitive skin.



He taps the wand against the metal bar of the chair. You tremble as you watch little blue arcs of electricity flicker out of the tip of the wand and into the metal.



You can feel your heart pounding. You’ve never felt this scared before with him.



‘Are you certain girl?’ He asks without looking at you.



‘No?’ You stammer a single word that’s both a statement and a question and warbled plea for mercy to him.



He raises an eyebrow and looks at you.



‘Oh? And what do you think your name might be then?’ He says with a knowing smile.



You wrack your brain for an answer. You really, desperately do not want to feel that current there. The handcuffs on the back of the chair clatter quietly as your hands shake,



‘Whore? Is my name whore sir?’ You wheedle, somewhat ashamed at the way your voice cracks as you say it.



He smiles at you finally, and you let out the breath you’d been holding without realizing it.



‘Good girl. You’re finally getting it.’ He says to you with a genuine, warm smile.



Then he pauses.



‘But no, your name is not whore.’



Before you can protest or shriek, the little ball tips up and touches the very tip of your clitoris. You gasp and arch your back as you scream. Or you would scream if you could get any sound to come out of your mouth as you strain against the straps and bindings holding you securely in the chair.



And of course, he’s meticulously cruel. His fingers are like a vice on your hood as he slowly drags the ball all around your tiny little scrap of flesh and he pours voltage and suffering into you. He only releases you when the ball accidentally touches his fingers and he yanks back his hand cursing.



‘Dammit! That stings!’ He growls and then he sucks on his fingers.



You lie limply on the chair and hyperventilate. You don’t know if you can take any more of this. Your shoulders heave with gasps for oxygen and half sobs.



He is so cruel with you. He seems to drag you into these situations and let you punish yourself. You know you’re so close to the simple answer he wants, but you can’t get there on your own.

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