submissive female

A story of the building up of sexual tension and its inevitable explosion between a runaway and a man who takes her in. This grew in the telling so for those in search for a quickie, scroll down to chapter eight for the first intercourse.

Chapter one

Siri’s life wasn’t actually a life as much as it was an Easter egg, carefully painted layers of chocolate to cover all the things that should have been there and weren’t. She’d dreamed of leaving since she was fourteen and after ten years knew exactly where she’d go – Eastern Europe. To be sure, it wasn’t the safest of destinations for a woman travelling alone, but an ideal choice for anyone hoping to disappear. At Helsinki West Terminal she boarded the M/S Baltic Princess with the firm intention of never to return. What ever she would decide to do Siri was confident that no one could trace her from a country like Belarus or Slovakia and she would be in peace.


As it was 2000s Siri had expected to get by relatively well with English, but she didn’t. Neither did her moderate skills in Russian help her as much as she had hoped for. In addition the rather romantic expectations she’d had of her chosen refuge to large extent proved to be misconceptions. Eastern Europe was loud, pushy and restless and the gypsy life proved more taxing than she’d anticipated. She took in the flood of people, colours and sounds without resorting to her medicine, however, after the hustle and bustle of Warsaw she was in desperate need for silence.

She changed busses at the Ukrainian border and in a few hours felt the tightening in her chest ease as she gazed out the window at the fields, moors and lakes of Shatskyi national park. After a careful study of her map Siri got off the bus seemingly in the middle of nowhere. From where she stood stretched out a ten kilometre hike to one of the smaller lakes of the area, hopefully a paradise of peace and quiet.

She skirted fields and crossed through thickets of deciduous trees among open fields of short grass. The ground was even and the day wasn’t particularly hot but the marching tired her out quickly. She reached the lake hours later than she’d estimated, sweaty and utterly spent. Feeling faint she struggled to put up her tent and fell asleep as soon as she had her sleeping bag and mattress unrolled.

She slept fitfully, shivering from cold, drifting from one terrifying nightmare to another. Every time she stirred she gulped down large amounts of water, and eventually she had to pee. Too spooked to unzip the door to the unknown she urinated into the bowl of her Trangia, too befuddled from fever to feel the slightest bit silly.

When dawn chased the darkness away her fear let go and she slept for a few straight hours. Besides that the morning brought little in the way of relief. By ten a.m. the temperature inside the tent had climbed to uncomfortable levels but Siri was too sick to move her bed outside. She had only one litre of water left which meant she would have to move before it ran out completely. In one of the Shatskyi lakes the water was said to be safe to drink, but it wasn’t her lake.

It was near eight p.m. when Siri forced herself up on wobbly legs and left her camp. She staggered towards the road, but the whole world was gibberish. She clung to her map and compass but couldn’t bring her sluggish brain to remember how to use them.

Dusk fell and her unease returned. Startled by every sound and shape she hurried on, consumed by her fear. Tears streamed from her eyes and she talked to herself in whispers, hanging on to the last semblance of self control. She had long finished the last of her water when in the looming darkness her eyes suddenly focused on a tiny distant light.

Hope went a long way. She let her backpack thump on the ground and ignored her thirst, aches and fever. She kept on for another two hours until the light went out and the house that had emanated it was swallowed by darkness. In an instant the hope that had sustained her died and took with it all her strength. She took a few hesitating steps but her knees bent and she collapsed. Just before fading into nothingness, she saw the first promises of a new sunrise in the horizon.

Chapter two

Choma carried the girl in the house and laid her carefully on the sofa. He might have walked right past her had his ears not picked up the sharp wheeze of her breathing. The girl looked like death and his mind was in shambles. He knew the first priority was to get off her wet clothes but it didn’t feel right to strip the poor girl naked. He needed help. Larisa would know what to do but he didn’t like leaving her alone in the state she was in. Yet, too worried not to, he covered her in blankets and hurried to his battered old truck.


“What is she doing in those wet clothes?” Larisa exclaimed walking in the room. “Choma Danylovych, what on earth were you thinking?” It was the first time in years Choma heard Larisa swear. “You old fool, it’s the wrong bloody time to be a prude.” Choma hung his head. Larisa was right and he was ashamed of his earlier sheepishness. “Off with you then. Put water to boil and bring her something dry to sleep in,” she said hurrying to remove her clothes.

Choma returned with a long cotton shirt. “You’ll have to help me. I can’t dress her on my own. Don’t be ridiculous, Choma, God knows it’s not the first time you see a naked woman.” This isn’t a woman, she’s a girl, he thought dismally but didn’t contradict.

“Prop her up,” ordered Larisa and Choma slid his hands to the small of her back and pushed. As her body rose into a sitting position, the blanket slid down and Choma saw her beautiful round breasts with tiny half erected nipples. His thoughts instantly wandered to what they would feel like in his hands, how would it feel to press his lips to that soft flesh.

As soon as it had appeared the sight was gone; Larisa had gotten the girl’s hands into the sleeves and buttoned the shirt up commanding him to carry their patient upstairs. Her body felt soft through the thin fabric and, shivering, Choma took her into the small bedroom and lay her on the mattress. There was something disturbingly erotic in her unconscious form on the bed before him, but Larisa’s voice woke him to reality. “Bring some juice and all hot water bottles you have. And a decent book if you don’t mind, I’ll get under the covers to warm her up.”

“Will she be ok?” asked Choma.

“I honestly don’t know,” answered Larisa shaking her head.

Choma tried to go about his work but was plagued by images of the girl’s naked breasts and the two women huddling tightly against each other under the blankets. He couldn’t concentrate and spent the day walking around aimlessly, his thoughts constantly on the room upstairs and the sick girl within. In the evening Larisa took her leave imploring him to vigilance, “She has a high fever, keep a close eye on her. I’ll be back tomorrow to see how she’s doing.”

Choma sat with her the whole night wiping her face with a wet cloth. Larisa had remade her dishevelled braid, and it ran on the duvet leading Choma’s eyes once more onto her chest. He tucked the coil of hair in with the girl to rid himself of the image of her breasts. Choma expected to unravel her mystery but though she kept murmuring and babbling it was impossible to make out what she was saying. At times she woke up from a nightmare, eyes wide in terror, but when he tried to talk to her she didn’t respond and fell back asleep.

Choma took pity on her. She was restless, tossed and turned, kicking her duvet aside. Dutifully he tucked her back in, each time trying to ignore her pale legs and thoughts of placing his hand on her thigh and sliding it up along her soft skin all the way beneath the hem of her shirt. His solitary life had mellowed his passions, but to have someone enticing and vulnerable there for his taking rekindled the needs he’d long subdued. No, he said to himself countless times during the night, don’t even think about it.

Come morning he woke up from his chair, every muscle stiff. The girl looked angelic in the soft orange light. Choma reached for her braid and slid it in his hand; his crotch stirred and so did his quilt. It was wrong of him to desire her. Too young, he chided himself and snorted, too unconscious. Still, he neglected his work and hovered over his little patient, stroking her brow and soothing her when she got restless.

More than once her distress had a wanton shade and she grasped his petting arm, writhing against it, trying to push it down towards her crotch. When she got like that it took all his self discipline to pull his hand away and leave the room. It would have been so easy to convince himself then that she was willing and use her inert body to sate himself.

He said nothing of those moments to Larisa when she arrived to check on her as promised. However her remedies didn’t extend much beyond common sense and there was nothing more she could do for the girl. They would have to let the fever run its course.

Chapter three

The first thing that registered was the smell of an old house. Knowing she wasn’t at home, she sat up slowly to find herself groggy in a strange dark room. She had shattered recollections of someone holding a cup to her lips, of fleeting voices and a rough hand stroking her forehead. She looked around her and listened – nothing. She wasn’t in a town or a city, for there was no light coming from the windows or any sounds of traffic. Fear swelled in her chest, fear of dark and of strangers. They’ve taken care of me this far, she reminded herself but the fear ran deeper than that.

Her hands shot up to her chest to fumble the long white shirt that covered her down to her thighs – it wasn’t hers. Feeling small and very much alone she saw in her mind a vague human shape stripping her, cruelly stealing from her the privacy to her own body. Her hands sought out her braid to hold on to something familiar, but she could tell at once it wasn’t of her own making.

Sitting still was impossible. She had to know where she was. She eased herself off the bed and on her shaky legs. Cursing every creek of the floor she shuffled to lean on the wall and opened the door. Behind it was a landing with stairs going down and two other doors. She detected a weak source of light from downstairs and proceeded to the first step. It took a moment to think up a best way to climb down and finally she sat down on the first step and one step at a time slid herself down.

Roaming in a strange house made her feel guilty but she didn’t want to announce herself just yet. She wanted to know who her hosts were first. On the last step she reached for the railing and pulled herself up. The hallway seemed to spin around her and she leaned against the wall, willing the world to stay still while she made her way towards the light.

She peeked into a cosy living room with an old fireplace and shabby furniture, a man sat in a chair facing the fire. His hair was touched by grey and his skin darkened by a lifetime spent outdoors. With her legs inevitably tiring, Siri studied Choma’s profile holding her breath. It’s his shirt. He’s touched me. Her nipples hardened and she realized she had no underwear. Has he used me? Her pussy tingled but there was no pain. Would I feel it if he has–, while I slept? Siri saved herself from the stain of the word. Christ, there may be semen welling in me right now. What will he do to me? Oh, I have to get out of here!

She meant to get her things and run but Choma had sensed her presence and looked up from his book. Surprised to find her up he hurried to her. Siri felt surreal for the man’s speech sounded like Russian but she couldn’t understand any of it. She closed her eyes in brink of tears and cowered against the wall. “No, please, no,” she pleaded when he approached.

Choma, ignoring her silly fear, put a hand under her arm and led her a few clumsy steps, sitting her down on the worn sofa. Disoriented and scared, the girl recoiled from him and backed in to the corner of the couch. Hoping she would snap out of it, Choma stepped back from the trembling girl.

Waiting for his little ward to wake up he’d done what he could to make himself presentable and thus was a far neater looking man than the unkempt near hermit that found her. He’d shaven, trimmed his hair and found some clothes that hadn’t seen too many runs in the workshop. Still, he was a rugged, serious looking man and the long years alone hadn’t improved his social skills. He tried his best to look unthreatening but doubted his success.

He crouched to be on her level. “Listen, you’re safe here. I’m Choma, this is my house. I found you when you were sick.” She snatched an old quilt and covered herself. Choma was disappointed, he had expected a more cheerful moment than this. With his hands held up he rose and moving slowly past the girl sat down on the armrest of a chair next to the sofa. He kept his tone calm trying his best to reassure her but the confusion following her awakening was persistent and hard to penetrate. She starred at him with eyes bright with fever, her hands clutched the quilt and she cowered if he so much as shifted slightly.

They sat there a long while, her shock lessening and her breathing slowing down. As the minutes passed, and the man seemingly didn’t intend to harm her, Siri’s tense muscles loosened up. She closed her eyes and finally her brain picked words she understood. He said ‘my name is’. “Choma,” she murmured sleepily and, as the drowsiness of fever flooded her head, added, “I’m… Ya Siri.”

She stirred to his hand stroking her hair. Choma was standing right next to her, smiling a warm smile that deepened the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. That particular touch had since childhood been a promise of love, shelter and caring and Siri gave in to it. If Choma had wanted to hurt her he could have done so. With her eyes half closed she leaned her head against her rescuer in a silent plea for solace. When he slipped his hands under her arms and hauled her up she didn’t question it.

Choma led the woozy girl back to bed. Siri was unsteady on her feet but Choma kept his strong arm around her and didn’t let her fall. He tucked her in and she muttered, “Hyvää yötä,” good night, her eyes already closed. “Na dobranič,” he replied automatically and sat down on the little chair in which he’d lately spent so many hours.

Siri fell asleep quickly, too tired to be aware of strangers or danger. Choma watched her. His flesh throbbed where she had laid her head. That intimation made him feel even more protective of her than before. Yet at the same time the image of her cowering form, bare legs and frightened eyes harried him. Her small hands had squeezed so hard on the quilt which she had trusted to hide her vulnerability.

He had wanted to give her a reason to fear, to be the man she had thought him to be. Those legs had led not just his eyes but also his imagination to the secrets hidden in the shadows under the shirt. Choma imagined her face if he had taken the blanket from her and cupped her little pussy in his hand. His penis swelled and bent uncomfortably in his trousers. He grunted softly and shifted to let it bounce straight. He looked at the sleeping form of the girl, Siri, and gathered his strength of will to exit the room.


She was floating in shallow water. Their faces hovered over her. She tried to explain but they wouldn’t listen. They wanted her to swim where the water was so dark she’d be drawn in to the abyss. A weak current tugged at her feet. “I don’t want to,” she whispered at the faces, but the current got stronger and pulled at her body. “I won’t! You can’t make me!” she yelled, petrified of the unknown. The faces closed in to devour her and she screamed.

Her dream was penetrated by whispers and shushing. A warm and real hand stroked her clammy forehead. She noted a faint rustle of clothes and sensed the man standing right beside her. Choma’s hand rested on her cheek and he leaned closer. In a heartbeat all traces of sleep were gone. He brought his nose to her neck and breathed in her scent. Oh, god. She nearly twitched when the nausea hit her. What happened while I slept? Frozen still she waited for Choma to crush her beneath his body and force himself inside her. Her terrified mind could feel her legs already spread and a man between them. Not this. Please.

She wanted to plea but as long as he thought she was asleep there was a chance it would all go away. Her chest was tight as she desperately held back a sob; she could almost feel his hands roaming her defenceless body and his fingers parting her nether lips for his cock. If he raped her, she had no choice but to lie down and let him. He was too strong to fight and besides, where would she run without clothes. She didn’t even know where she was. Before a tear escaped from beneath her closed eyelids he stepped away from the bed and left the room. She heard a very heavy sigh as he closed the door.

Chapter four

In the morning Siri felt a little better and sat on the bed plucking up courage to leave the room. Her clothes waited on a chair, washed clean, panties and all. She remembered some flashes of last night and was uneasy to face the man again. She desperately wanted to wash. The not knowing of what he had or hadn’t done to her while she was out ate at her. Her cunt itched and wouldn’t let her mind rest. The doubt of having been soiled was unbearable. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Stop thinking about sex! She wondered if her mind was racing so because she had gone off her medicine or was it her instincts crying out to warn her.

She found him in the kitchen preparing what turned out to be a rather awkward breakfast. Choma, although trying hard to hide it, resented that Siri was still obviously afraid of him. He wanted to be understanding but her suspicion made him feel stupid for looking after her. Her memory, on the other hand, was coming back and she knew she was in Ukraine, but not getting any further answers was infuriating. She was grasping at straws trying every language she knew and a few she didn’t. She kept coming back to English and Russian but the man didn’t show any signs of recognition. Siri buried her face in her hands, hot tears burning in her eyes, and Choma took pity on the disheartened girl. “Larisa will be glad to see you up. Larisa is my friend.” Siri looked up. “She helped you too.” He felt stupid talking to her as if she was a lackwit, “Larisa will come visit.”

The woman Choma later led to the living room was in her fifties and emitted purposefulness that bordered on intimidating. Not bothering to slow down her speech, she greeted Siri kindly introducing herself as Larisa Ivasivna. She shooed Choma out of the room and prompted Siri to take off her shirt and bra. She was embarrassed but Larisa laughed it away and assured her in a no-nonsense voice. Gingerly Siri undressed and the older woman looked her over front and back. Feeling fragile and exposed Siri’s thoughts wandered to Choma and his visit during the night.

Siri couldn’t understand what Larisa was saying and her imagination conjured up one scary explanation after another. She was stiff with fear, sure that Larisa was a brothel keeper here to buy her. The thought of strange men looking at her nakedness burned and froze her simultaneously and her nipples hardened. She stared at the ceiling willing what ever was to come to be over soon.

Siri’s breath caught in her throat when Larisa pressed an ear between her plump breasts. It was humiliating to be naked in front of a stranger and shocking to be touched. Larisa said something and exaggerated her own breathing and Siri resumed taking in air. The woman straightened her back and turned Siri around. An ear pressed against her upper back and Siri dutifully breathed for her nurse. Larisa started chattering and though Siri didn’t understand the words she recognized the tone from a hundred check ups, after which followed the doctors statement of everything being ok.

Siri put her shirt back on in a hurry. Seeing that her patient was decent Larisa called Choma back in and explained him that Siri’s lungs were fine. Choma’s smile was relieved. He looked at Siri but she cast her eyes down, still uncomfortable to have been examined so brusquely.

Choma invited Larisa to stay but she declined, charging Choma with the care of Siri. He was glancing frequently at her, her meek eyes meeting with his. Larisa ended her speech in a cheeky joke embarrassing the both of them, though Siri had no grasp of the contents of it. Siri could tell it wasn’t the first time Larisa met her and she wondered which of them had stripped her and put her to bed.

The front door closed and Siri and her benefactor were alone. Siri saw her bra laying on the man’s coffee table, flushed and swept them in her pocket. The floorboards creaked under his feet as Choma returned to the living room. Siri crossed her arms to hide her erect nipples poking through her shirt. It didn’t help her to relax that she was thinking the whole time if he had seen her naked. Does he know what I look like under my clothes? Is he thinking about it? Did he touch me when he undressed me? Siri imagined his phantom finger stroking her unconscious body. A shudder ripped through her and she was powerless to subdue it. Choma rushed to her, alarmed that she would suffer a relapse. Siri was thankful he’d never know of the real source of the shudder, of the throb between her legs.

Choma broke the silence by taking her to have a look around his homestead. Most of the house she’d already seen, but outside a big yard was framed by a shed, a workshop, a sloping blackcurrant field of some 40 bushes and a small kitchen garden with fruit trees. Behind the workshop were ten carefully planted rows of strawberries. The house was ornate but a bit run-down alike those she’d seen in pictures taken of Russian Carelian countryside. Where the slope ended flowed a little stream, a stretch of which Choma had widened into a bathable pool. In the middle of the yard stood a chicken coo with its cackling inhabitants and a greenhouse pieced together from old windowpanes. Siri was impressed for the farm was not unlike some of the more utopistic dreams of down to earth life she’d harboured back home.

Still, she wanted to know where she was, where was her backpack, her passport, her everything. In her honest believe that everyone everywhere had to know some English — if just a few latent words picked up from pop lyrics — she tried to reach him. His back to her, leaning against the mantelpiece, Choma felt cruel for not answering but as much as he wanted to he couldn’t.

With no helpful bystanders there to translate, after a series of unsuccessful attempts she fell into tears shouting at him in Finnish, desperate and frustrated not to get through to the only person she had to ask anything from. He turned around and walked to her. More clumsy than the previous night he hugged her to him and she was in such a state that this intimacy with a stranger didn’t throw her off, she just buried her face to his chest, mewing. He stroked her hair and tried to calm her down, speaking softly. The sofa wasn’t three meters away but he scooped her up and carried her to it.

He lay her down and she felt very vulnerable. Siri was afraid he’d take advantage of her but he fetched a blanket from one of the chairs and threw it over her. He said something to her she couldn’t understand and left the room. Soon after she heard him leave the house.

She went on sobbing for a long time, huddling in a foetal position beneath the blanket. When her body had no strength for sobs left, silent tears streamed down her face, welling in the hollow of her eye. The little quilt pillow under her head was wet as was the blanket she had dried her tears with. After an hour of regretting ever leaving home she fell asleep.

Siri woke up with Choma crouching beside her and his hand stroking her forehead. She sat up quickly, startled to wake up to a strange face looming over her. It took a while to remember who he was. According to the grandfather clock in the corner he’d left her for over four hours. His clothes were wet and behind him she saw her backpack. Seeing her smile, Choma felt like a daddy on Christmas morning. He dragged the pack to her and she started unpacking, searching comfort from her familiar things. Everything was damp but undamaged except things made of paper. The brochures were a disgusting grey paste but her passport, notebook and maps were safe each in their own ziplock bags.

Squinting over a map, she deduced she was on the opposite side of the lake than where the bus route ran. Choma reached his hand for her notebook, and she let him take a look at it for he wouldn’t be able to read her Finnish anyway. He studied the different tickets and poured over her drawings nodding apprecietatively. He turned the pages back to the title of the very first page. “Koti?” he asked. “Home,” she answered, “дом,” dom, and took the book away from him. She needed no remainders that if she wasn’t happy at her old life, this new she had chosen, this vagrancy, was not making her glow with happiness either.

She showed him the calendar and the day she got off the bus and Choma pointed at six days from it. She felt uneasy, the man had had her in that room for three days, helpless and senseless. He lives here alone. Everyone has needs. Would he have used me? Her pussy prickled, and deep inside her vagina a burning sensation began where his imaginary semen would have settled.

The knot in her stomach didn’t leave her alone and she felt him inside her the whole evening. When ever he looked at her or came close she shuddered and winced as her cunt cramped. Her skin smouldered with goosebumps when she thought of how he’d hugged her, what it had felt like, her breasts pressing on his chest, his arms on her back pressing her gently against him.

Finally it was late enough to get up and say goodnight. Her walk was stiff as she made her way back to her room upstairs. Her whole body was tense after the wandering of her restless thoughts and, mind whirling, she couldn’t sleep. She wanted to touch herself but didn’t dare in this unfamiliar place. And what if he’ll catch me? She could subdue the moans almost completely but he might hear her heavy breathing. After a while she heard the stairs creak as Choma came up. His steps on the landing pierced her heart and she realized how wound up she was. He stopped outside her door for a moment and she could feel the beats of her heart as bulging pressure in her ears as she waited for him to turn the latch.

Then the floor creaked, he walked away and her body went limp. She breathed trying to catch the breath she’d been holding. It was not fear, not derision – her body wanted him.


In the night she stirred, the door to her room had opened. He came in, trying to avoid the creaking floorboards on the path to her bed. She tensed and stopped breathing as he came close and placed his hand on her forehead. When he caressed her, she couldn’t stop the air from escaping her lungs in a tiny gasp and her legs squirming to ease the pressing need in her pussy. Choma hastily withdrew his hand and left the room.

She lay awake for a long time and finally after hearing his low rumbling snores from behind the wall she dared to slide her hands on her pussy and bring herself off. She wished she had something inside, filling her pussy, on which her muscles could clamp on. Remembering that all her toiletry bottles were still downstairs with the pack she cursed.


On their second day she followed him around when he went about his work. She traced his steps as he walked between the rows of blackcurrant bushes checking the progress of the crop. She handed him tools as he fixed the fence of the chicken coo and listened keenly to his chatting. When she heard a word she recognized she repeated it and nodded, relieved to understand something. Her Russian was mostly ridiculous but she kept trying.

In the evening she came to his workshop and after watching him work for a while reached for his old apron, wanting to help. Choma was happy for she certainly prettied up his old shed. Her eyes were full of laughter, squinting into green teasing cat eyes and Choma never knew if the seduction in them was innate, intended or only of his imagination. When she smiled the crack between her front teeth made Choma want to smile with her. He wondered what her hair looked like. She always kept it tightly braided but as cute as it was he wished he could watch her brush it out and see her long strawberry blonde hair flowing down her shoulders.

Chapter five

At first the girl had been nothing but his chance to make amends, but watching her and nursing her had given him a feeling of power over her. She was in his hands and he couldn’t help being turned on by it. When she woke up and turned out to be the picture of innocence, shy and girly, he’d been ashamed of himself, but through her sweetness he felt her gazes on him, too intense to miss. She was hard to read but in any case the dirty thoughts he had pained him and made him feel guilty. She was older than he’d thought when he found her but still twenty two years younger than him. She was too vulnerable for him to have her in his head naked and moaning. Yet every night there she was.

Each night there was also more tension in their parting to sleep in their respective rooms. He’d begun to think of it as her room and every day it was more difficult to remember what the house had been like before her. In the evenings he liked to sit in the living room with her sitting nearby crouching over her journal. He wished he could understand her strange language for the notebook could probably answer many of his questions.

The girl had been well enough to travel for a few days but she didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Not that he complained, it was nice to have company. It was difficult to understand though. Where had she come from? She must have been on her way to somewhere when he’d found her but what the hell was she doing out there in the middle of nowhere alone. Since she travelled with such a backpack she might be just another tourist but his homestead wasn’t much of an attraction. He’d checked her passport and the stamps traced her steps from Finland through the Baltic states, Belarus and Poland all the way to Ukraine.

The name she’d given him was none of the three first names listed on the passport. Was that important? What did she want? Why was she staying? Choma had his own sinister suspicions but he’d left that life so long ago. If she had been sent to search for Vakhno she’d have a passport to match any name she went by.

Chapter six

The work of the day was done and Choma was reading on the couch. Siri came to him, sat down and looking at him timidly leaned her head in his lap. He didn’t know what to make of it and the situation might have been very awkward but she was so calm that it rubbed on him. She lay still, occasionally rubbing her head in his lap, drinking in some kind of solace but he didn’t feel drained, on the contrary he felt invigorated. He put a hand over her head and she let out a long sigh. A moment later she was asleep. It hadn’t been sexual but now she was sleeping his mind raced and he had to wake her up. Her t-shirt had a wide rectangular neckline and he could see the tops of her breasts. Like all of her they seemed innocent and soft. He wanted to cup them in his hands and close the whole girl in his arms, but it would be a disaster to have her wake up to his stiffening penis poking at the back of her head. Stroking her head he woke her up and sent her upstairs to sleep in her own bed.

Siri couldn’t sleep for her thoughts wandered to the moments during the day he’d stood so close to her that a deep breath would have made them brush against each other. Little ripples of warmth travelled on her skin and she sensed acutely the cool cotton of the sheets on her and the weight of the duvet. She was hot and pushed the duvet from her chest, imagining all the sensations of his big warm hands exploring her body, searching a way in. His imagined touch reached her knees and she spread her legs, straining her tendons as wide as she could to invite him to touch her. The duvet slid down to the valley between her legs and the bundle had her aching for Choma’s heavy frame there, his flesh against hers. She bent her knees and reached her hands to her crotch. She’d made herself wet, the juices from inside her had leaked out and spread as she had writhed and gyrated in her imaginations. Her whole pussy was sticky and glistening.

Her own touch was not what her body craved, but when she parted her wet lips and rested her fingers over the fold of flesh that hid her pearl it didn’t matter, she just needed to get off and fast. Rubbing wildly she let out two little moans while writhing in her fantasies, but anyone could moan faintly in their sleep. When she came she moaned louder and cursed as her startle took off the sharpest edge of her orgasm leaving her angry, wanton and disappointed.

Her annoyance stopped as she heard creaking from behind the wall. Choma had gotten up. Too nervous to breathe she lay back down and straightened her night shirt. She tried to kick the duvet back to cover her but managed only to reveal her other leg in its entirety. She was aware of the smell of her steaming pussy in the air above her. She quickly hid her smelly rubbing hand under her ass and blew the air from her lungs to disperse the cloud around her. The metallic klick of the door latch opening froze her.

Through his sleep Choma had heard her moan. After all his solitude he was sensitive to noises in his house. He’d heard a moan just like the ones she’d let out in her fever delirium. He walked carefully to the landing and entered her room. The girl had kicked the covers aside and her brow was hot and sweaty. Her breathing was closer to panting than the deep breathing of a sleeper. “Please don’t get ill again little angel,” Choma whispered and wiped the clammy sweat from her forehead and stroked her as he had so many times before. She was a sweet thing. He stared at her bare leg, the old shirt askew, lips slightly open, chest heaving. He shivered at the sight, knowing that if he slid his hand up her leg he’d find the hot moist snatch of a sleeping woman. He wanted her. He looked at her breasts, the soft shapes he could more remember than see in the darkness.

Without thinking he brushed his hand down the side of her head. When it touched her neck above her collarbone she whimpered and twitched. Quickly Choma removed his hand, embarrassed if the girl should wake. She didn’t move again and the sweat hadn’t reappeared and her breathing had normalized. Perhaps it was just a nightmare. He stood still for a moment and as the girl slept peacefully, straightened her duvet to cover her from neck to toe.

She waited for him to touch her, she wished for him to touch her, but he walked out. Her clit smouldering, she wanted to speak up, to ask him to come back and make it all better, but what would he think of her? His opinion had become to mean something to her. She had had plans where she was to go after the lake visit, in Ukraine and further, and she was well enough to travel again, but she was reluctant to resume her hikes, bus rides and nights in strange hostels. All of that had diminished into an insubstantial haze in her mind after she had waken up in Choma’s house. The man and his way of life interested her, a man who on other hand made her laugh and on the other hand brooded like no other. Where between those two aspects of him could she ask him to grab her tight, strip her and take her?

Here on the homestead of this kindly mechanic had happened the thing she had searched all the way from Estonia to Lithuania and now Ukraine. She had forgotten the anxiety that had driven her to escape her life back home and lost the nagging thoughts that had driven her mad. In this house in the middle of nowhere, where everything was strange and yet so very simple, could she finally breathe and be free from the life she’d been born to, the madness of shopping, competition, degrees, career choices and the little happy pills that got people through it all. If only time would go faster. She wanted him but she didn’t want to be a slut and loose his respect or his friendship, for she felt so right being there.

Chapter seven

They’d been picking blackcurrants all morning. She had to take off her t-shirt in the mid-day heat even though she knew her sweaty chemise showed through more than it hid. The moment of embarrassment was fleeting and the unpleasantness was smothered by the familiar rippling sensation on her clit. Let him see. She closed her eyes and imagined Choma staring at her intently, breathing in ragged bursts. They were both wearing romantic peasant clothes and his gripping eyes held her gaze. Stiffly he took a few steps, closing the distance between them. She was petrified and did nothing when he seized her, blazing with unrestrained desire. Such fire in the generally calm man scared her and she fought back when he proceeded to fell her on the dry ground. “Choma!” she shrieked but no echo took up her plea.

He pushed her skirts up and yanked her bloomers down. “Shh,” he commanded and sticked his berry purple fingers in her mouth to be sucked. “Open your legs,” he demanded. He pulled his hand free and leaned it in the dirt beside her head. “No help from upstairs,” he murmured positioning his other hand, clean of saliva, on her crotch. When his fingertips brushed her pussy she moaned loudly and her body, having waited for this moment for days, arched up to beg him to enter. Her labia, glistening with her secretions, gave no resistance and his dry fingers slid right inside her to search for the opening to her pussy. “You should have told me you needed a man this badly,” Choma sneered as he roughened his advances. Siri yelped when he shoved sharply with his fingers and scratched the linings of her pussy forcing his way in. “Have you been walking around dripping all this time? Little slut, I’ll teach you to hold out on me.”

She was sitting up to undo his trousers when Choma called for her. “What are you staring at silly girl? Has the sun made you faint? Where’s the hat I gave you?” Siri realized she’d been staring at his body with glazed hungry eyes for god knows how long and, blushing terribly, looked down mumbling something unrecognizable.


Though his house had a bathroom with a bathtub Choma liked to wash in the stream that ran along his backyard. He crouched over the cold stream every morning and after the day’s work was done. He thought she slept when he walked to it early each morning but Siri watched from her bedroom window as he took off his clothes folding them on a rock and waded up to his waist in the stream, soaping his naked body and crouching down to rinse. It had been mere curiosity at first but as her feelings towards him grew more and more erotic, she watched him with longing, wishing she could join him. She crept back under her duvet to touch herself but often the frustration kept her from getting off. On such mornings sitting opposite him in the kitchen was awkward for she feared he could smell her like a mare in heat — seething, hot and needy.

In the evening Choma lifted the blackcurrant crates to his truck and they drove half an hour to a dilapidated cannery. The proprietor, Oleg, grinned when he saw a girl on the passenger seat. “And I thought you didn’t have any children.” Both men watched as Siri walked timidly to stand a few steps behind Choma.

“Sorry to be the one to break this to you old friend, but she’s too pretty to be of your issue.”

“Very funny Oleg, very funny,” Choma growled as Siri held out her hand to be introduced.

From behind the corner Oleg’s grandson was watching the three, hankering to tell everybody about Choma’s young friend, for there had to be something really dirty in this new piece of gossip.

Chapter eight

His thoughts were a mess, for Choma hadn’t slept that well since Siri had been with him. His dreams were restless and full of images he’d rather not think about: Siri bent over his workbench buttocks quivering, Siri kneeling in front of his chair her throat bulging with his cock, a naked crying Siri pinned against her bedroom door, a terrified Siri thrown on the ground with her dress torn. He had fought these thoughts for almost two weeks but as she was present at every part of his home and at every moment of his day it just wasn’t possible to block her from his mind. Once his sleep was disrupted and he lay awake in his bed, the smooth touch of the sheets on his skin became the touch of her skin and the warmth of his duvet nest the warmth of her body, and any attempt to get back to sleep was doomed.

He visited her room every night, sometimes more than once but the pleasure it had given him when he was looking after her was gone and now it only left him feeling constricted and choked. She always slept on her right side, clutching a pillow in her arms and looking lost. His desire to protect her throbbed ardently and the only thing that throbbed more was his cock. She was too sweet to hurt but he wasn’t sure for how long he could trust himself to fight the urges her presence woke up.

That night when they parted on the landing Siri looked him in the eyes saying “Na dobranič,” and added in Finnish, “I’m waiting for you.” In the night Choma came as he always did and she pretended to sleep while he laid something on the bedside table. She could tell it was a book, but in the darkness it was impossible to find out more.


Early the next morning Siri woke up, instantly reaching for the book – an old and worn English-Ukrainian dictionary. She raced downstairs in her white nightshirt, running straight to the kitchen looking for Choma. He turned to face her and laughed to see her so excited. “Now I can talk to you!” Siri whooped wildly and ran to hug him. Choma was stunned as the girl, the warmth of her bed still clinging to her, thumped against him. To Siri the second was a long one before Choma stirred and stiffly put his arms around her. She could feel the warmth of his hands through the thin cotton fabric and didn’t move even after the duration of a normal hug was well past.

When she felt a restless stir in her body, she let go of him and stepped back. She gestured him to wait and consulted her new friend. Finding the word Siri read it out loud, “Happy.” When she looked up, Choma’s expression was restrained; his eyes were fixed on her and she realized that in the rays of morning light beaming through the window, his old shirt must have shown through quite a lot. Suddenly very self-conscious, she gave him a hesitant smile and bolted to the stairs.

Heart pounding she ran into her room, closed the door and stood her back against the back wall breathing hard. All the piled up sexual urges attacked her with vehemence. “No, no, no,” she murmured to herself until the door creaked open. Choma stood in the doorway staring at her, his hands gripping the doorframe. She didn’t move, only stared back with every muscle rigid and let out a weak whine.

Well aware he had invaded her personal space Choma waited for Siri to shoo him away but she didn’t. She was frozen in place, staring at him with her lips slightly apart. He could feel every ounce of his own strength and when she let out that insecure little whimper, there was nothing that could have stopped his hunger. He stalked towards the girl and she yipped in fright, reflexively lifting her hands in front of her. Yet Choma smiled for she hadn’t dodged.

He reached around her and pulled her to him. His other hand was in her neck, keeping her still as he leaned down to kiss her. She wriggled, fighting his embrace, and her hands tried listlessly to push him away but all the time she was kissing him back, her fingers digging into the flesh of his upper arms. Her lips were silky soft and he couldn’t wait to touch the rest of her. His swelling cock pressed hard against the girl’s belly and Siri whinnied. She tried to back away from him, but Choma took a step forward and effectively pinned her between himself and the wall. He moved his hand down and reached for her pussy.

Siri struggled at his rough attempts to cop a feel. If she hadn’t resisted he could’ve done it more gently, but without her cooperation he had to use force to part her lips and find the entrance to her secrets. She yanked herself free but her spinning momentum caused her to crash hard on her bed and Choma was on her like a wolf. He straddled her, restraining her legs and took hold of her hands, pinning them beside her head. There he paused.

The girl had panicked but at first she had been undeniably enthusiastic. Now there was fear in her eyes but there didn’t need to be. If she calmed down Choma was sure she’d like it. He hadn’t forgotten how eagerly her little body had pressed against him in the kitchen – she longed for him just as bad as he longed for her.

He kept his hips in the air so she wouldn’t feel the erection that had spooked her. “Shh,” he breathed, leaning to rub his cheek on hers. He told her not to be scared but couldn’t be sure if she understood, however, the fact that she wasn’t fighting back was an invitation to him. The amount of blood rushed in his cock almost hurt; he shifted and it straightened in his trousers. When he leaned back to her it pressed against her tense body and she let out an anguished moan.

He licked her neck slowly from her collarbone all the way to the spot behind her ear. She resisted and tried to get her hands free but he held her tight. She moaned angrily, but when he started kissing and nibbling her neck softly, she arched into him and her moans petered out into gasps and whimpers.

Letting go of her hands, Choma brushed his palms lightly against her breasts and Siri’s pebble hard nipples raked his skin. He was amazed of her responsiveness for her reactions to his touch were impressively powerful. She gyrated her hips, bucking into him, wordlessly asking to be touched stronger, harder, more. Every caress made her squirm and moan, and her hands grabbed his flesh, kneading like a cat in rhythm with her spasms. She didn’t resist when he one by one undid the buttons of his old shirt and revealed her body. Siri felt the fabric pushed aside but she was well past playing coy, for she wanted to be touched and taken.

Choma slid a finger to her opening, circling it, hardly able to believe the amount of wetness pouring out of her. She cried out and bucked impatiently onto the finger but he pulled back, playing with her. Her desire was volatile and aggressive and in a burst of anger she yelled at him until her rage broke into a plea. She was tense, her body resting on her shoulders and butt, her back rigid.

He didn’t have the heart to torment her any longer and he slid his finger inside her. She wailed loudly, and her sensual mouth curved into a blissful smile. The tight hole sucked on his digit and he dived slowly deeper. She urged him on, deeper and faster and as he put in more fingers, her pussy clamped on him, welcoming the touch.

He wanted to bury himself into that wetness but watching her was too interesting to stop. She lifted her ass in the air and fucked back, impaling herself harshly on his fingers. He fucked her harder yet she wanted more and more. He pressed her hips down and held her still. He tore into her pussy adamant to teach her not to ask for more than she could take.

His nail scratched her labia and the tiny amount of blood that smeared on her steaming vulva was enough for him to taste it in the back of his throat. To his surprise the crueller he was, the more she spread her thighs for him and her hands, previously flailing about, acquired new determination. She placed her delicate fingers on her slit and started masturbating. She hadn’t hidden her pleasure before but this was new for Choma – so much lust in one deceptively shy girl.

She twisted her leg between them and put her heel behind his bent elbow. She nudged his hand towards her, not letting him pull back from her cunt anymore, demanding him to get deeper and deeper. He’d stopped to his knuckles, when her pelvic opening resisted further advancement. Now she was kicking his hand deeper. When he pushed against the unyielding opening of bone her face cringed in pain but her heel on his elbow didn’t let up. “Make me feel alive. Make me scream. Please Choma, help me, I’m so hollow I can’t take it anymore.” She had to talk to him even if he didn’t understand.

She stopped rubbing herself and looked him in the eyes, “Make it hurt, please.” Her request, as earnest as it was, brought back memories he’d tried to forget. He didn’t want to do it, mix abuse and power games with sex because for him that way lay madness. However, to his chagrin, his willpower lasted but two whole minutes against the feel of her pulsing hole around his hand and the sight of the sweating wanton Siri. Growling at the horny girl he rammed his hand forwards, furiously attacking her vagina. Siri screamed and bucked when the punch hit the tissue surrounding her pelvic passage.

Choma ignored her distress. Fuck you bleating little princess, you asked for this. On his third try the fist plunged through, jutting out of her like a skewer. Howling, Siri pressed her thighs together squeezing his forearm between them. She curled into a ball, sobbing faintly. They were quiet for a long time during which Choma listened to her breathe in sharp gasps, trying not to amp up the pain. He was elated. He didn’t want to, but he’d loved to make her scream for him.

The blood circulation in his hand had stopped due to her tightness and his hand was going numb. Siri writhed trying to get used to the fist piercing her body. The hollowness and coldness was gone but she needed to feel safe now. She wanted him inside her, warm and strong. She wanted him to lay on top of her, cover her with his body and completely hide her from the world.

“I need you in me,” she sighed. “I have to have you inside me.” But how could she ask that of him. So many times in the past had she been turned down and now she really needed him and there was no safe alternative. Her coil had been due to replacement a year ago and no longer worked. Wincing she turned on her back and straightened her legs, his arm still sticking out of her cunt. She rose slightly and touched his fly. Choma was dumbfounded of her initiative, for her to ask more was the last thing he’d expected. She caressed his penis through the fabric and he grunted. He moved the hand inside her and Siri yelped but opened her legs for him. He had no patience for fisting any more though, and he pulled his hand agonizingly slowly out of her pink hole while she huffed and whimpered in pain.

She lay still, looking shy and vulnerable as he got up from the bed and removed his clothes. A small flicker of fear passed in her eyes when she saw his large cock, fully erect and demanding. He got on top of her, pinning down her shivering body. “Shh,” he whispered to her but she flinched as his penis poked her crotch. “Choma,” she said in distress, “Choma, Choma, Choma,” she repeated quickly and shoved him off her. When her hands were free she lifted them to her chest mimicking cradling a baby. Choma cursed furiously, don’t play with me princess, not now.

Siri turned timidly on her side and reached to stroke his cock. She ran her fingers along his shaft and continued to run them on her skin until they reached the cleft between her buttocks. “You could… here,” she mumbled shyly, not daring to look at him in the eye. It was so dirty and he was larger than she was usually willing to take in her ass. Yet it couldn’t be helped now — she wanted him too much. It took a while for Choma to understand her meaning and those moments out on a limb burned her. Please don’t hate me, please.

Choma had only once done what she was asking and have this innocent eyed girl shyly propose it drove him wild. He remembered Her and how she’d screamed when he ripped her apart. Roughly he rolled Siri on her stomach and lifted her ass up a little. “Choma,” she cried, her voice fearful, and reached for a bottle of hand cream. “Use this,” she whispered and settled back down, her body tight as a bow string. She jolted to the sound of the tube’s cap flicking open and waited for his hands to spread her plump cheeks. “Slow,” she repeated in five languages including Ukraine while Choma was lubing up. Her attempts to communicate were endearing but they couldn’t reach the savage beast taking over Choma’s mind. She felt small, lost and afraid and she needed him. Please Choma, she thought, make me safe. The entry would hurt even if he would be gentle, but after that, she knew, it would all be pure bliss.

She lay beneath him, prone, legs apart and reached her hands to spread herself for him. Her buttocks quivered just like in his fantasies. As the tip of his cock touched her asshole she flinched and immediately apologized for it. Her eagerness to get his cock to fulfil her most secret place was incredible. She whimpered when he started to push and the resistance of her little hole surprised him – he would need to push hard to get her gate to yield.

When he pushed harder she started pulling back. “Slow,” she yelped but he wanted in. He slid his hands just above her shoulders so she couldn’t move away from him and applied strong steady pressure. He felt the center give way and painfully slowly open wider. He kept on the same strong pressure and the girl started bucking and shouting. She reached for him with her hands and tried to push him off but he was stronger. He pushed on and stretched her ass despite her shrieking. It felt so good to have something that private of hers to succumb to him.

The head of his cock plopped inside and Siri wailed, “Out! Out! Take it out!” She rolled over to her side and lay twitching and mewing with his cock inside her. Her hands were against his hips but it did no good to push him anywhere anymore, he was in. He wanted to stroke her hair and comfort her but on the other hand it turned him on to see her cower under him in pain.

Impatient to be completely buried inside her sweet body, he wanted to lunge inside her, to conquer her hidden depths and impale her on him. He’d finally own the lovely creature fallen into his life and all the strangeness of whys would be gone. Relishing in her grunts Choma pushed his thick shaft deeper into her young ass. First it resisted his intrusion but slowly her walls expanded and her colon gave way to the head of his cock and opened up. Siri grimaced but forced herself to relax her back passage for him. Her sphincter hurt badly but deeper his advances felt pleasant and she turned back onto her stomach. With big strong hands Choma grabbed her and obediently she rose her hips to meet his.

Siri gasped as Choma buried himself deeper with short strokes. It burned, him stretching her with every penetration, but Siri wanted him as deep inside her abused little fuck hole as he could manage. Finally he leaned into her so he could feed her his whole length and, enjoying the alien fullness inside her, Siri fucked back and endured the stomach cramps that resulted when Choma’s cock hit bottom. The pain was so beautiful and cured all aches and itches she’d harboured since waking up in his house.

Choma began working rhythmically, plowing in and out. Hot lines of pleasure flickered across his mind as the walls of Siri’s ass were dragging at him, sucking the cum from his balls. After all those days of frustration he couldn’t hold out for long and soon spewed his seed inside the slightly disappointed girl. She wanted to flop back on the mattress in her lovely warm fugue but felt too dirty to lay back and enjoy. She wrapped her towel carefully around her and walked barefoot to the stream where Choma had erected an old barn door for her privacy. On a little stool waited the basin which she filled up with the crisp cold water and poured and splashed on herself. She liked bathing outside, resting her eyes on the scenery as the water refreshed her but the plunge was never as easy for her as it was for Choma, who was used to washing in cold water.


Siri had been quiet since she got back in the house. She’d said nothing while they had breakfast and quickly turned her head away if their eyes met. Her embarrassment saddened Choma for there was no need for it. He used every chance and excuse to touch her and Siri accepted his clumsy displays of affection with nervous smiles but hardly looked up at him. Her ass had a comfortable ache reminding her how he’d gently but firmly broken through her confused resistance and pumped her full of the liquid that warmed her to the core. Yet she’d never gotten over the stamp of dirtiness sodomy carried and owning up to liking it came hard. The day passed slowly for both of them but come evening the competence Choma radiated had calmed her and when he touched her she reciprocated.

That night he took her to his bed. She felt like a sacrificial animal as Choma purposefully led her upstairs in complete silence. He walked her past the smaller bedroom and into his own to stand in front of him. She was absolutely still, waiting for his lead, but careful not to in any way express unwillingness. Without a word Choma stripped her garment by garment, slowly tracing his nose on her bare skin savouring her softness and scent. He reached behind her and slid the elastic band off her braid. He carefully combed out her hair with his fingers until it tumbled down over her shoulders. The tips of the wavy strands touched Siri’s hardened nipples tickling her.

Choma couldn’t believe the nymph in his bedroom was real. She fidgeted and moved her arms to cover her breasts and crotch. The sudden change in their relationship, how ever welcome, scared her and it made her look so fragile Choma could hardly bring himself to touch her.

Her eyes were shut tight but she opened them when he took her face in his hands. How could she look so innocent and scared when it wasn’t twelve hours past she had groaned with his cock up her ass. She let him walk her to the bed and obediently lay down as he tucked her in. Standing at the foot of the bed he took off his own clothes while she watched.

Siri loved to close her eyes and surrender to him. Being powerless intoxicated her and with his coaxing her juices quickened. She wanted to shout at him to touch her or grab at his hands and put them on her flesh but it was exciting to give him all the control.

When his fingers stroked her awaiting pussy her body jolted and she gasped sharply. She moaned when he parted her lips and slid his fingers inside. The pocket was full of slick juice and Choma shivered — all that was for him.

Siri didn’t know what she had expected but when Choma rolled her on her stomach and lined his cock with her puckered little anus she let out a sharp cry, “No! Not there, it’s too soon, I’m hurting! No, please, no!” Choma didn’t’ care, he poured some of the hand cream on her and started pushing in as she squirmed in his grip and screamed.

Her sphincter resisted less than earlier and his cock lunged into the warm passage. He fucked her as he pleased in search for another orgasm and let her pleas and tears lift him into the bliss of coming ecstasy. After he came and pulled out, her tiny hole retracted and kept all of his thick cum inside, spilling nothing. “Good little angel, now let’s make you cum.” He turned her on her back and she didn’t resist when he opened her legs and rubbed a finger up and down the opening to her pussy.

Flicking her clit with his other hand Choma started pushing all five fingers inside her. Siri was quiet as she was still recovering from the assrape. Feeling filthy she wished only to be set free to clean herself up.

“What the hell is this?” His fingers fumbled inside her.

“Ouch,” Siri humpfed as Choma tugged at the cords of her contraceptive coil. “Stop! Youre hurting me!” Siri cried but Choma had a grip on the strings and pulled. It felt like a knife inside her belly as the the sharp plastic T bent into a Y and scratched and dragged the linings of her womb.

“Why didn’t I notice this the first time I had my fist up your lying little cunt?” Siri cried out but Choma held her still. “What’s this, girl? What are you keeping inside?” Choma was enraged, he’d been played a fool. She was working for them and god knows what stash he’d just found. “They’re keeping track of you? Or are you supposed to poison me?”

She tried to get away from him but Choma held her fixed. She was terrified and couldn’t understand what had angered him so. Her cervix didn’t want to give way to the coil and resisted opening up. Siri fought back as Choma tried to force the thing out. It had looked so tiny, no bigger than a postage stamp, when the gynaecologist had inserted it with a little straw all those years ago in the University clinic but now it felt anything but small. Yet her body was no match for brute force and the mouth of her cervix expanded to allow the coil inside the tight passage. The new pain gave Siri strength to amp up her resistance but it only earned her a hard smack from Choma and she almost passed out. Almost.

She lay dazed and wailing as the bloody plastic object was torn from her body without doctor’s skills, tools or pain relief. “What the fuck is this?” Choma yelled at her brandishing her coil and Siri had no idea why he was mad at her. Too much in pain to mimic cradling like last time this issue was on the table, Siri started singing the first lullaby that came into her swooning head. Choma stared at her obviously disgusted and stormed out of the room leaving her to bleed on the white cotton sheets.


Fuck, Choma thought, fuck, fuck, fuck. He had taken the little object into his workshop and studied it and finally smashed it into pieces. Certainly it was nothing dangerous and he had an ominous feeling that it was a contraceptive of some kind. Fuck. He’d hit the girl hard and was too ashamed now to go and see her.

Slowly he ascended the stairs and opened the door to the master bedroom. Siri was huddling under the duvet staring out the window with glassy eyes, humming the same song she had tried to convince him with. The mattress under her was badly stained with blood. When he came in she didn’t react. He sat on the bed and put the smashed coil on the nightstand clearing his throat. “I’m sorry little angel, I’m so sorry. I thought you were…” I thought you were what, a spy, an MP. “I’m sorry,” he said again and left the room.

Siri slept in the next day. Choma took meals and water to her but she hardly reacted to him. Fuck, did I spoil the whole god damned thing now? When ever he tried to touch her she recoiled as if waiting to be hit again. Jesus Christ, if I only could explain what happened, he cursed as if an explanation would guarantee forgiveness.

On the third night Choma got sick of her aloofness and started kissing and caressing her in the bed. She didn’t react in any way but let him fondle and make love to her. After she was oozing his semen from her rectum she simply turned to face the window again and went to sleep.

Next morning she wasn’t as icy anymore though, and during the day her behaviour warmed up to something closer to normal. In a few days they were almost where they had been before the incident. Still, there was no erasing it, and for Siri everything was different now she knew what rage lived inside him, and what she could invoke without even doing anything wrong. It had been a shock to get struck but the rest of it, now in hindsight, had actually been pretty thrilling. All that pain and being afraid of the one person she had trusted her wellbeing to.

Chapter nine

She was always fucking back, trying to get him even deeper. He rammed her hard but she never got enough. Broom handles, rough sticks, tools from his workshop, cold, hard, bulgy — she let him do anything. When he approached her during the day she turned her eyes down and blushed but when he grabbed her and tore her clothes off his finger always found her little snatch wet. She was embarrassed of herself but when he got her under him, trembling and confused, and started touching her, she soon lost control of herself and changed into the starving little creature that wanted nothing more than him inside her every hole. He’d fucked her face until she puked up bits of the summer’s first strawberries he’d so lovingly fed to her, and when she had caught her breath she’d pulled him back into her mouth.

Choma had no idea how far he could go before he would lose himself. At first he was uncomfortable to hurt Siri, seeing Her under him instead, but it didn’t take long for his passion to overrule any uneasy conscience. Siri was so intense she soon inhabited every part of his thoughts and drove ghosts away. After a good scare he soothed her and massaged her clit tenderly, making her feel safe and warm again. She was his to use and his to love and she was such a good girl.

Now he had her on all fours on the living room table. In a small bowl he had green baby tomatoes he was going to stuff inside her. She had obeyed him without question and her pussy eagerly slickening.

Her crotch was exposed to him and she waited quivering in anticipation what was to come. When the first tomato touched her rear entrance she squirmed and tried to turn around. She could tell it was not flesh against her skin. Choma put a hand on her head. “It’s ok angel.” He stroked Siri’s hair and she settled down. It made her nervous not to know what he was about to force in her tiny hole.

Choma stroked the raw vergetable over her bud and she tensed up each time. To her its surface felt like plastic. She felt his thumb rubbing spit on her and hoped the thing wasn’t anything too big, for after the first times Choma used no lube but his own spit. He liked it that way, intimate. If he was feeling generous he might scoop some of her juices to smear on her little backhole before going at it, but most of all, he liked to make Siri squirm under him and cry out when her tender flesh was stretched and torn. It was beautifully obscene to fuck her ass but it was driving him crazy and even angry not to know what her pulsing pussy would feel like gripping his cock. He could smell her heat and it was driving him mad to bathe his fingers in her but not being allowed a real fuck.

He didn’t open her up with a finger and just pushed the first tomato until it popped through. Siri yelped in surprise and tried to turn to look back again. “No baby, eyes closed, that’s it.” He took another one, sucked it wet and let it push the one before it deeper. She was visibly uncomfortable not knowing what was in her and by the third in some pain. Still, he inserted one more as she squirmed and whined. “Feeling full?” Siri didn’t answer and he asked a question he knew she understood. “Like it?” She still didn’t answer.

When his fingers touched her pussy she whinnied in surprise. “Let’s see how full you are.” With intentional roughness he shoved his fingers in her cunt and she moaned wantonly. Her vagina was welling with her excretions. “Good girl, you did like it.” She wanted to beg him to enter her cunt, the stretching his fingers caused was such teasing, but she didn’t want to live waiting in fear if her next period would ever come. He massaged the tomatoes through the thin membrane and she jerked from the slight stab of pain. “Easy girl, you’re not that full. Yet.”

Siri heard him open his fly and realized he was going to fuck her ass despite what was already in. She started pleading but Choma grabbed her waist and pulled her ass to him. “Spread it,” he ordered, but had to nudge with his knee before the girl understood what was expected of her. When he pushed the head in, giving her no time to adjust, she screamed as the tomatoes travelled deeper up her colon. Her moans grew in shrillness and intensity as the head of his cock pushed further and he started feeding her his shaft. She felt the resistance of her colon opening up for the chain of spheres. Her innards burned and she wept but Choma still had inches to go and she knew he’d bury each one in her.

After opening her up Choma pulled out. Siri was in no state to resist as he pushed in a fifth tomato. He proceeded to fuck it in and had to use some force to get his whole length in her. When he was done he pulled out and added a sixth. Now Siri was howling and begging but she was too well trained to move from the position she’d been ordered to. “Good,” he said petting her hair, “good girl, now scream for daddy.” Siri moaned ruggedly, her hands clenching in pain. When he pushed the tomatoes deep with his cock she jolted and cried out. “That’s my sweet angel,” Choma mused.

Sweat beaded on her soft body as she tried to bear the pain she couldn’t stop or escape. He leaned down his cock still deep in her ass and whispered into her ear, “I love it how you let me hurt you.” She gasped when he pulled out and eased the strain of pressure on her insides. A seventh raw cherry tomato was pushed in her raw canal. “Do you think there’s still room for me?” Choma growled and rammed in. He started fucking her like a beast, trying hard to make it as painful for her as possible. Siri’s resolve failed and she started kicking and screaming, trying to escape. Choma had to take a tighter hold of her to be able to continue burrowing deeper.

A hand clamped on her mouth and Siri screamed into it, trying to tear it off to beg him to stop. She tried to stay him with her hands, to stop the brutal piston raping her, but her little arms were powerless to stop the crazed man. Unable to hold herself up longer Siri sank downwards to lay on the table to which Choma reacted by picking up her legs and fucking her in a wheelbarrow fashion.

She tried to tear free but his grip held and her fighting only made it necessary for him to be rougher. She put up a good fight, the pain driving her insane but there was nothing she could do against his brute strength.

Even though she ate nothing for the rest of the day she had terrible constipation and it took well to the next evening for her to poop out all seven tomatoes. She was lucky to get through her ordeal without a serious obstruction and a visit to a hospital. While writhing in pain and pushing out with her muscles she thought how much more cruel things Choma would come up with if she still would keep him out of her pussy.

Chapter ten

After the tomato episode Choma gave her a couple days to rest. However, after one by one getting each tomato out from her system Siri’s body soon started craving for more sex. He had made her feel so deliciously chastised and desired. The problem was, with only anal being possible, the need of prompt washing afterwards always took away the afterglow, the chance to just lie together, sweaty, out of breath and satisfied.

Denied a good fuck Siri teased Choma nonstop until on the evening of the third day Choma gripped her arm and marched the smug girl upstairs. He knew just what to do to wipe the grin from her face.

Siri laughed when Choma tore off her clothes and giggled when he threw her on the bed but when the head of Choma’s cock prodded her pussy lips she shouted, “No Choma stop, it’s going the wrong way!” and dodged his penis. Choma tried again to rest the tip on the entrance to her pussy. Siri reached down to guide him to her naughty hole but Choma snatched her hand and returned it above her head.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Easy girl,” he said shaking his head.

“No, Choma, no,” she growled as he kept trying to enter her. “You know you can’t put it in there!”

She struggled him fiercely for ten minutes. Choma was breathing heavy, getting pissed at her obstinacy. “Calm down!” he shouted and forcefully spread her body open under him. Siri realized she’d never win the fight and moved on to begging, her rage evaporating to let fear in. Choma didn’t care, couldn’t care. He had to be in her. Finally. He could almost feel her soft warm folds around him. If she got pregnant then so be it but he had to have her now, truly have her, not just her ass.

“Shut up baby. You love my cock, I know you do. Now let me in. I’ll make you feel good. I’ll pump you full with my seed and you’ll thank me for it.” Choma pushed himself in and she wailed a no that extended into a shrill panicked cry until her voice broke and she slumped down. Tears streamed from her eyes as she lay limp and let him rape her.

Nothing they’d done before compared to the intimacy of being inside her pussy, not the eager little ass she offered to him so willingly, not her soft wet mouth. There was no better way to make a woman understand her situation than to spear her between her milky thighs and rape what was inside. He wanted to show her his strength: enough to take her, enough to protect her from anyone else trying to use her.

She wasn’t wet but damp like a bed of moss and for every one of his thrusts she gave an angry grunt and kicked the air behind him with her feet. Slowly from deep inside her some wetness emerged to ease his movements but it gave her no solace as he stuttered to her all the sensations her pussy offered him. Her infrequent outbursts of rage made her pussy twitch heightening Choma’s arousal.

Her façade wasn’t long lived. There was no denying the pleasure his cock in her neglected cunt gave her and gradually her grunts and moans got an added tone. First it was annoyance but soon it was clear she was enjoying his rough thrusts despite not wanting to. She wept at the thought of pregnancy yet bucked against him in need to have him deeper inside her. “Put a baby in me you bastard and I swear I’ll dump the squalling little monster on you and lea—.” Her last word died in a wanton cry or pleasure and she grabbed his shoulders and slammed her hips towards the invading cock.

Choma moved his hands on her throat, he didn’t want to hear any more of her venom. He wrapped his fingers around her throat and she closed her mouth, understanding the threat. Siri was so beautiful, her face confused, lewd, angry and frightened all at the same time, contorted into expressions of lust and hunger. She kept her eyes closed, which bothered Choma, to make it real he had to have her look at him. He wanted to hold her gaze as he plunged inside and took her. He wanted her to see it was him spreading her pussy with a thick cock, him making her moan and spasm.

“I know you’re scared,” he spoke to her gently caressing the side of her head, “but you’re safe here, you’re safe with me, nothing bad will reach you here. You’re mine and I protect what’s mine.” He watched her face keenly and saw a single tear run down her soft rosy cheek. He wiped it away and in answer she lifted her legs and locked her ankles around his back. Her hands grabbed his upper arms.

“Choma,” she whispered, squeezing his flesh when jolts of pleasure rocked her body. Her head was arched back and her mouth open. Loud, unrestrained moans flowed from her red swollen lips. The grip of her legs around him tightened and she pulled him to her.

“Look at me, angel,” Choma coaxed, “look at me.” Siri grabbed the hair in his neck and pulled his face down to kiss her. As their lips met she opened her eyes and held his gaze as he continued his relentless pounding.

“Fuck me,” she hissed in his ear, “I love it when you force me.”

Her confession sent bolts of pleasure soaring to his brain and he could feel the cum boiling in his balls. After a few desperate lunges he couldn’t hold back any more and humped uncontrollably until his cock started spewing out semen, filling her tiny vagina with hot white cum. Not stopping to breathe yet, he used her body to milk himself, burying all he had in his balls inside her. When finally done, Choma rolled over to lay on his back on the bed, head swimming with sensations.

Pussy welling with his seed she got up. Choma was too delirious to bother to stop her when she staggered outside, cum running down her thighs. He heard her retch on the landing outside. She could feel the semen working its way to her womb and she had no way to kill it. She didn’t want a baby, a leash, a noose around her neck. Pleasepleaseplease, she prayed as she sat in the stream trying to get water inside herself and wash out all he’d put in.

Choma stirred when Siri didn’t come back. He found her, wrapped in a quilt, hugging her knees on one of the armchairs in the living room. He unclutched her hold on the blanket and when he pulled it aside he saw nothing running from her opening, nothing smeared on her thighs. “Who said you could wash?” he growled, angry that she had so carelessly washed his mark away.

His finger travelled to play with her labia. She jolted and tried to turn away but with his other hand he held her still. It’s ok Siri, I’ll take you to a doctor tomorrow, he thought but said nothing to alleviate her angst. She moaned in derision as he went on fingering her. His fingers squeezed the clit their fucking had left sensitive. She tried to get off the chair but he pushed her back. “Be still, I don’t want to make you but I will if you resist.” She sat back down, but her body didn’t relax, she was tense and uncomfortable as he fucked her with his fingers.

He pulled her by her legs to the edge of the seat. “You’re dry again angel, that won’t do. Spread your legs.” She didn’t understand anything he said, but it didn’t matter. He arranged her body as he wished and lifted her legs on his shoulders. Her sex was splayed in front of him.

He fingered her until she was glistening wet. He spread the wetness around and begun rubbing her swollen clit. The sensations coursing along her nerves overwhelmed her, and smiling blissfully she twitched under his touches. Siri felt the heavy tension of an orgasm building and it caused her whole body to seize until a whirlwind climax tore through her and she screamed and heaved as Choma went on rubbing her oversensitive nub.

He wanted to have her again and make it right this time. His semi hard cock was barely stiff enough to get it in her but Choma helped it with his hand. Inside the newly orgasmed cunt it soon gorged itself back to full erection. Siri was limp and groggy and easy to maneuver to lean over the couch. Choma slipped his cock back inside and petted her tousled hair. “Perhaps I won’t take you to the doctor after all. Perhaps I’ll fuck you every day until I get you pregnant. I’ll watch you waddle with your big belly and bend you over to rape you again and again. When the baby comes I’ll watch you scream as it tears through your cunt. Maybe I’ll fuck you in the ass while you’re in labour, would you like that angel?” He knew she didn’t understand and better that way for he didn’t mean her to, but the thought made him harder and accelerated his second orgasm. It was painful, trying to cum again so soon, but he wanted to mark her, have her smeared with his semen. He grabbed her hair and spoke into her ear, ” I’m leaving everything I’ve got buried as deep inside you as I can go, and this time you’ll keep it all in, angel.”

His milk spurted and he kept stroking in and out, coating her cunt until he was too limp to get in anymore. “Good girl,” he huffed and walked the meek girl by the hand back to the master bedroom. The jizz leaking out from her pussy made slick sounds the whole way as she tried to squeeze her legs together to keep it from dripping on the floor.

On the bed there was still one thing Choma wanted to do. He nudged her thighs and obediently Siri spread her legs for him. She groaned as Choma’s fingers entered her but stayed still when he told her to. “I want it everywhere angel,” he whispered as his fingers slid back and forth, rubbing and poking at her cervix. “It’ll work inside you all night.” Silent tears ran down Siri’s face when Choma closed her in his arms for the night.


For once Siri woke before Choma. She slipped from the bed and walked to the stream. She waded in, sat on the sand bottom and opened her legs to the cleansing stream. She had barely sat down as she saw Choma walking down from the house. He removed his towel and got in with her, sitting just behind her to hold her in his arms.

“Dobrogo ranku,” good morning, he rasped playing with her breasts.

The fear of pregnancy was still a knife in her gut but Choma’s playful good mood swept her with it and she giggled as a hand travelled down her stomach to stroke her slit. “We have somewhere to go and I want you clean for my friend.”

It was the second time Choma took her with him to the Pidmanove village. They passed Oleg’s cannery and stopped in front of an office. Inside she found a doctor’s waiting room and Choma touched her stomach and whispered, “I promised you were safe with me.” While filling up the paperwork Siri shivered thinking how much of the past days activities the doctor could see as marks on her body.

Dr Savchuk had heard of Choma taking in the wandering girl, but the thought of them having a sexual relationship was disturbing. Frankly he had thought Choma to have more sense. When the girl walked in his office he couldn’t help noticing that she was very tense. He wondered if she was merely nervous to see him or if there was something wrong with her situation. After shaking hands he led her to sit down.

“So, Miss Lavonen, how can I help you?” he started and Siri bristled to hear her own name — she’d almost convinced herself that Enni never existed. A well educated man, the doctor spoke excellent English, but it did little to ease bringing up the topic.

“I need,” she took a long pause staring at her hands until she got mad at herself for acting a child and looked the doctor straight in the eye almost defiantly, “I need contraception.” It was the doctors turn to pause.

“Listen, Miss, Choma Danylovych is an old friend. I’d hate to see him used ill. I can’t say I understand the situation that well, but what ever your plans are, I hope you’ve made them clear to him.”

“You presume too much Doctor. Besides how do I make anything clear to someone who doesn’t understand what I say?”

“He understands more than you think. Just talk to him.” Savchuk spread his hands, “Well, I take it you’ve been in this situation before. What was your previous method of birth control?”

“I’ve had a contraceptive coil, if possible I’d want one such now. I don’t want pills, too many side-effects.”

“I see. Hmm, I don’t keep an extensive stock of supplies, especially this sort. But as one of my patients recently changed her mind about having a third child I have one here now. You have children, Miss Lavonen?” The question and his tone were equally condescending.

“No, I don’t. My doctor was of the opinion it wasn’t a requirement for trying to fit in a coil,” she answered more snappish than was necessary, for a doctor with such an opinion had not been easy to find.

“It would certainly make it easier. Was the insertion painful?”

“Of course it was,” se huffed, “but not unbearable.”

Savchuk asked her further about her menstruating and health in general. He was a genial man but nonetheless Siri only wanted the visit over with and answered him tersely.

“You see Miss Lavonen, I don’t know what kind of a coil you had or the size of it. The one I have isn’t such a modern item as doctors in your home country have access to. Present-day coils are considerably smaller than what coils used to be and what we still use. In Ukraine putting a coil for someone that hasn’t given birth is quite unheard of. A bigger problem than my professional opinion is that I don’t have any equipment. The nearest sonographic machine is in Shatsk. Without one the insertion gets considerably more complicated, not to mention painful, especially with your birth canal.” Siri’s expression changed from hopeful to fearful. “Think carefully, there are other options and I can explain the situation to Mr Vasylenko for you if you so wish. Are you sure another coil is what you want?”

“Yes,” she said uncertainly, “I am. But please Dr Savchuk I assume patient records are confidential in Ukraine as well, but can you please tell me he’s healthy. As we—I don’t want to get—” she turned to look away, “I don’t want to get ill.”

“I’m sorry, but that you must ask from Mr Vasylenko himself. I can’t tell you what to do, but I’m here to give advice. To my knowledge you’ve known each other less than a month and to me this kind of a decision seems very hasty. You could take time to consider your options and come back if you decide you want the coil.”

She was intimidated by everything he’d said but the need to have Choma inside her was stronger than fear of pain. “I thank you for your concern, but I’d like it done now.”

“For the last time, I want to remind you, this will be extremely painful. Are you sure you want this?”

Her back was rigid with fear but she nodded. Lying on a gynaecologists table all exposed was enough to nauseate her at any time but under these circumstances it was so much more humiliating. What the doctor must think of me, she rued.

“I suggest you ask Choma in. I’ll need his help to restrain you and you’ll need all the support you can get. I can’t say I wholly approve his allowing you to go through with this.”

He called Choma in and gave him a shortened version of their conversation in Ukrainian. From his sharp tone Siri assumed he also gave him his opinion on putting coils in girls that haven’t given birth, generally irresponsible sexual behaviour and mostly of reckless decisions made by grown men while blinded by lust.

She had to get naked from the waist down and though Choma had seen her naked dozens of times his presence only made the situation more humiliating. The Doctor attached stirrups to his examination table and both men turned their heads discreetly as she walked to the table and lay down on it. The doctor guided her feet to the stirrups and had her inch down until her hips were just on the edge of the table. It was an instinct to cover herself, and she had unknowingly brought her thighs together and the doctor had to part them for her. Choma was standing right behind her head and she felt his eyes on her. It was horrible to have him see another man touching her.

“Are you comfortable Miss?” asked Dr Savchuk.

A god damned stupid question, thought Siri but nodded stiffly.

“Good. Don’t be alarmed, I’ll put a restrainer belt around your waist. As I proceed with the insertion your body might reflexively convulse and with my tweezers inside you there’s a risk you’ll stab yourself on them and be injured.”

Siri’s skin crawled as she was strapped down but his reasoning was indisputable. Still, the sound of the buckle closing made her twitch and Choma squeezed her shoulders like saying, “It’s ok.”

She tried to convince herself she was safe, Choma was with her and Mr Savchuk was a doctor but her helplessness didn’t allow her terror to abate. She saw a strange room in a strange country with two strange men looming over her restrained naked body. She wanted to scream for them to let her go, but forced down the impending panic. She made herself remember why she was here. She sought out Choma’s hand and when he squeezed her fingers reassuringly she remembered what it was like to have him inside her and filled her head with his weight on top of her.

“Now Miss Lavonen, I’ll begin.”

She hadn’t heard the snap of latex and realized he was going to put his hand inside her naked. It was an unpleasant thought not to have the clinical glove as a barrier between a doctor and a patient, making the touch as asexual as possible, but facilities and practices in rural Ukraine were not up to those in Finland.

She had tensed up and her whole body jolted as the doctor’s finger prodded for her opening. Choma shushed her stroking her hair.

“It’s ok,” said the Doctor, “I’m just making the preliminary examination. I’ll warn you when I start inserting the coil.”

When he peeled open her labia to insert his fingers in her vagina he saw abrasions on her mucosae and bruising around her opening. He frowned and instinctively glanced at the man standing by the woman’s head, feeling very uncomfortable. He regretted having Choma present for he felt like he should ask the girl about her hurts.

He inserted his fingers deep inside the woman and examined her thoroughly. Not finding anything abnormal, he inserted the specula, gave the patient the heads up and picked up the coil in his tweezers. She was brave and started moaning only when he started poking around the bottom of her vaginal cavity in search of her cervix. He could view his goal in the opening of the specula, but when he started to insert the coil his hand obstructed all vision. Savchuk tried for several minutes ignoring her distress until the first traces of blood appeared on the tweezers.

“Miss, how are you feeling? There’s some bleeding. Do you wish to stop this?”

“Do it,” was all Siri could manage.

Savchuk grimaced but tried again. His patient cried out in pain regularly as he pushed the coil in her tender flesh. He didn’t want to fail in the attempt after what she had already gone through and kept pushing the tweezers deeper waiting to hit her cervix.

After several more minutes the Doctor sighed and pulled out. “I can’t afford to poke you blind anymore,” he said in an I-told-you-so tone. “You’re bleeding too much. This might feel uncomfortable but I will insert my fingers in your rectum and guide the tweezers from there. Try to relax, I’m sure this will be over soon.”

It was degrading but Siri was too hurt to contradict, all she wanted was for the pain to stop. She breathed in sharp gasps where Choma’s breaths were heavy, almost rasping. He was obviously agitated. Dr Savchuk’s finger prodded her anus and again against her conscious efforts her body tried to escape the invasion but the belt kept her still. All she had to experience was made more horrible by the knowledge that if it was a fantasy she’d be wet and masturbating. The irrational fear of the doctor somehow sensing her sexual thoughts made her grasp at any other thought in her mind.

She drifted to another doctor’s office, in another country, in a mental ward of a hospital and a succeeding six weeks during which the mad world outside the sanitarium grounds hadn’t grown any less greedy or tragic. But here it was different, here she didn’t have to think about any of it, here was Choma and when he fucked her that world, in which everything was her problem, didn’t exist. All this pain had a purpose.

The Doctor’s finger weaselled in, pulled back and returned as two. Her well used back door didn’t resist much and she was ashamed for the doctor would guess why. The fingers moved around and she groaned in shame and discomfort. Choma’s hands were rigid on her shoulders, his fingers dug into the thin layer of flesh on her bones. He’d stopped talking to her and just breathed loudly. The Doctor’s fingers touched the pincers through the thin membrane separating her anal and vaginal cavities. The movement of the pincers got more deliberate and soon the pain of random stabs to her bloody insides changed into the agony of cutting her flesh as Dr Savchuck found her cervix and started pushing the new coil through the closed canal into the small pouch of her womb. She cramped and thrashed and the belt bit into the soft flesh of her belly.

Holding her down while another man made her scream dimmed Choma’s reason and his cock swelled. Like all the amends he’d tried to make suddenly came to nothing. He could see blood on the doctor’s fingers and wished he’d make her scream out loud again. The blood took him back at the unit and her struggle against the strap made him wild. His mind wandered and he saw Yevhen fucking her while he gagged her with his cock and a third man inserting torture implements in her defenceless rectum. Since the doctor was present he pulled himself together. He talked softly into her ear, but what he really wanted to say was how hard her pain distorted face was making him, how he wanted to fuck her bloody pussy and lick tears from her reddened face, how he wanted to force things into her ass — bigger and bigger — and see her body squirm in agony. Then he’d feed her his cock all the way down her throat and make her gag on it.

Innumerable horrible things had happened under soviet rule. He was one of them, in detention center Volkov 27. What ever they did to the arrested men was nothing compared to what was done for their wives and grown daughters. Choma had seen women raped until they lost their minds. The guards had been kept in training until the atrocities they witnessed moved them no longer, until they believed it was necessary and justified for the greater cause, for the good of all the Soviet Union. He loathed himself for letting their brainwashing get to him and even more for enjoying his power over the captives and relishing in the cruelty. Those three years were enough to deem his soul forever to hell.

He’d stood guard as the wolves raped the women until they were too traumatized to speak. Then they’d cut them or use the special built machines to begin again their screams and terror. Beatings, injections, enemas, electric shocks and fire — anything, until the torturers achieved complete breakdown, body and soul. The ‘interrogations’ were recorded and the tapes played for the victims’ husbands and fathers, the screams ringing in their cells until the men said and signed whatever the Commander wanted them to. Wolves, Volkov was full of them.

One night a daughter of a captive, stripped, fondled and insane with fear, pleaded to Choma’s better nature to help her. She was scared witless though all the officers so far had done was to threaten her. What he’d done to that young woman never left him alone after that night. The MPs locked him up in isolation for three days and those hours in the dark were a wake up call, the revelation that made him see what kind of a man he’d made of himself. When they let him out there was no investigation, no disciplinary actions. Everywhere he was greeted with smirks and pats in the back and it made him sick. By deserting with Volkov’s politically sensitive personnel files he’d in one action written his own death sentence and bought a chance for a different life.

Choma couldn’t believe he’d done a thing like that. That man was a stranger yet it was him. All these years he’d kept him buried but this girl had prodded his demons awake and now this. He cursed himself for ever entering Yevhen’s office.

The rest of the visit was a haze for Siri. She came to in the car when the doctor gave his last instructions through an open window. “I know the bleeding looks bad but it should slow down in a few hours. If it doesn’t you should come back here. And this is clear without saying, but with all your haste I’ll say it anyway: no intercourse for at least three days. You need time to heal.”

Though Choma drove carefully, the ride with all the bumps in the road was agony. Every jump made her feel the alien object inside her, poking at her belly. At the homestead Choma watched her laboured walking. She’d groaned and mewed stepping out of the car and her face cringed so enticingly as she made her way to the door. He tried to find his calm. He tried to find the state of mind in which the girl was fragile, a thing to be protected. Instead his head filled with interrogation rooms and his bloody cock coming out of her gaping hole. His blood rushed to his cock, swelling it until it was so engorged the stretching of his skin ached. He knew that if he got inside her his cock would be a stabbing knife where the piece of metal in her womb would bite her.

Chapter eleven

In the end reason won, backed by the fact that a second visit to Yevhen’s clinic would rise the good Doctor’s suspicions. Three days was a long time to keep away from Siri and to pass the time he often left the house to deliver fixed machines back to their owners. He always explained where he was going but Siri hardly understood more than when he’d be back.

It was a warm day and Siri put on the sundress she’d brought with her and went behind the workshop to pick strawberries. She had two crates full when she heard a car approaching. It wasn’t even noon yet so Choma was early. With a giddy feeling Siri ran to welcome him home. It’s the third day today, perhaps we can… But the car wasn’t his or Larisa’s. It was another banged up truck but there were three strange men in it. She didn’t like it and backed slowly towards the door.

The men stepped out of the car and all greeted her politely. They smiled at her apprehensive stance at the doorstep and joked among themselves. They walked closer and the driver, Rustam, asked her where Choma was, “I thought he was expecting us.” The girl, he could see, was already nervous and obviously didn’t understand.

Searching for words Siri tried to say in Russian that if they wanted Choma he wasn’t there. “Here soon,” she lied.

Their presence made her feel unsafe. The driver motioned the two to stay put and approached her. She knew she was probably being ridiculous but instinctively she opened the door and stood just inside it, ready to slam it shut. “No Choma now,” she said to the driver in poor Ukrainian and loathed herself for the obvious fear in her voice.

Rustam laughed and lifted his hands up, “Easy, easy,” he said keeping his hands in front of him and inched closer. “I just want to talk to you.” She didn’t like his tone or the leers on the others’ faces. She stepped back and slammed the door shut but the fumbling with the old fashioned lock was too slow and she didn’t have time to turn the clumsy key before the man yanked the door open and her tight grip on the handle had her fall in his feet.

Rustam smiled wickedly and offered Siri his hand. “All we want is a little hospitality. The whole village knows you’re his whore.” Siri aimed a kick at his thigh but failed to get him out of the door.

“Kost, Drijka, move!” Rustam barked in a steely voice. “She’s putting up a fight.” He lifted her head from the hair and snarled at her, their faces almost touching, “I’m gonna have me some of what he’s been getting. Don’t worry, it’s just as easy to spread your legs for us as for him.” Kostyantin and Andrij grabbed her arms and hauled her up. “Where you come from? Eh? Where you come from?” He looked at his friends and laughed. “The bitch doesn’t understand a thing. Man, Choma has a good thing going, a tight little pussy eager to bend over and none of the nagging.” He leaned close again “If it’s cock you want you could’ve found younger meat. Don’t worry, we’ll give you a ride you won’t forget.”

Siri moaned and her body started heaving with sobs. “That’s a good little whore. That much you understand,” he said and squeezed her crotch through her clothes. Siri, hanging from Kostyantin’s and Andrij’s grip, screamed and kicked with her feet. “That’s it bitch, I tried to be nice. Take her through there, let’s get that dress off.”

Siri cried at the top of her voice. She called for Choma hoping against hope that it could bring him to her. The men let her scream, Choma didn’t have neighbours for miles and miles as far as she knew. “No!” she wailed as their hands started pulling at her dress. They laughed and mocked her with their harsh language. She tried to stop them but their six hands were all over her and they pulled the dress over her head.

She wanted to curl up to hide her body from them, but their hands kept her arms pulled wide and both Kostyantin and Andrij had a foot spreading her legs apart. Andrij had her hands pinned over her head and Kostyantin was cutting the straps of her bra with a knife. She heaved her body left and right, trying to pull free, but the men were strong.

“Fuck,” swore Kostyantin, “I cut her.”

“Don’t be a pussy, it’s just a nick,” spat Rustam. “I wanna see her boobs.” His hand travelled up her leg. “The old man must have his hands down your collar all the time, eh bitch? Does he let you wear clothes at all? I bet he’s a real dog.”

Siri was blinded with panick. She could think of nothing but their dirty hands on her. Andrij was licking her face and kissing her roughly. He stuck his tongue in her mouth and it tasted like vodka. Kostyantin mauled and kneaded her breasts sinking his fingers into her tender soft flesh. The third assault came from below where Rustam had knelt in front of her spread legs. He’d been massaging her sex through her panties, smelling the scent of her warm crotch. He’d taken the knife from Kostyantin and slid it slowly up from her ankle to her thigh. He slid it under the side seams and cut off her last piece of garment. Her cries of protestation went ignored as fingers travelled up her thigh towards her pussy lips.

“Fuck! Stay still cunt or I’ll stab you,” Rustam bellowed. “I don’t mind fucking your corpse as long as you’re still warm. Kost, smear some of that blood on her face, see if she understands.” When Kostyantin lifted his bloody hands in front of her face and Rustam pressed the edge of the knife on her slit, she froze.

Knowing she was going to lose the sovereignty of her own body for forever, defeatism overtook her. Her heart sank and she could see in her mind how they would bend her over and rape every hole she had in her body. “That’s better,” Rustam smirked as Kostyantin and Andrij turned to look down at his hands. Siri’s groans were shrill as the fingers slithered closer to her crotch.

Tears streamed on her cheeks. She wouldn’t be able to live with their touch on her. She’d never be able to wash them away or forget them on her. She wailed as her heart was breaking. Choma, they’ll take away everything.

The alertness of the sensory nerves on her labia sharpened into an unbearable tension as the fingers reached her slit. I can’t let him in. Rustam talked to her as if she was loving it. “Don’t cry baby, I know you’re wet inside. Don’t hide from me.” Her skin crawled and she cried out for Choma in tears.

Rustam parting her lips and the finger invading her vulva exploded Siri’s panic. In one roar she let out all her desperation, anger and fear. She kicked out and smashed her knee on Rustam’s grinning face. Simultaneously she heaved her body, yanking herself free from the two men pinning her to the wall, and the men – gawping at the howling Rustam – lost their grip on her.

“Get the bitch!” Rustam roared holding his broken nose, “I’ll kill her.” Almost toppling over in her panic haste she managed to lunge for the basement door. Yanking the key with her, she slammed the door shut on her tormentors. Her momentum threw her to tumble down the stairs. On the bottom she hit the shelves knocking down some boxes while upstairs the men cursed her and pounded on the door.

In a few minutes they frustrated with her and Siri heard the door bang and soon after a car driving away. She looked at the mess she’d made. Papers and files cluttered the floor. A little scared she picked one up. They were written in Russian, personnel files with pictures of soldiers. She couldn’t read the old-fashioned handwriting and started to stack them back to the box.

One of the faces was Choma’s, but so very young. The name was the same as in the dictionary he’d given her. It had belonged to a Vakhno Palahnyuk, but when she’d asked who it was Choma had said he was dead. Siri was confused, they could have been twins and yet a brother would surely have the same surname. She sat in the cellar until she heard the floor above her creak with steps. First she thought the men had come back, but the steps were slow rather than aggressive.


The books he’d left on the living room table were strewn on the floor among muddy footprints and one of the chairs had been thrust aside from its usual place. He saw Siri’s ripped dress thrown on the drawer and her underwear on the floor. “Siri,” he uttered and then called, “Siri?!” Retracing his steps he found more signs of struggle from the hallway, where a faint noise halted him. He shouted her name once more and stopped to listen, the sound came from beneath him. He raced to the back end of the hall but the basement door had no key. “Hold on!” He shouted and fetched the spare key from the kitchen.

When he got the door open she was calling his name in a pathetic little voice. He found her wrapped in his winter coat sitting on a rough wooden chest. Her hair was tousled and she had obviously been crying. She hid her face from him as he approached but didn’t stop repeating his name. When he stood next to her and put his arms around her she grabbed him like a drowning person and buried her face under his arm. “What happened?” he asked, so shocked at the state of her he almost asked her in English.

She was completely naked under the coat, her little tender nipples hard in the cold room. There were smears of rusty brown on her chest and a bloody crust on a cut beneath her left breast. “Jesus, you’re hurt.” He tried to get her to look at him but she refused. From somewhere in his shirt she whimpered in the smallest voice, “They touched me,” and the last word mingled into a mewing moan of anguish. An instant rage ripped through his whole being. Someone had been there and they had molested her. “What happened?” She answered him only with shrill keening. Her sense of dirtiness intensified with his touch. Her crotch burned her and she tore herself away from his grasp.

He lifted her into his arms wishing he could have done it more gracefully, but his old bones lacked the practise of Prince Charming. How did I ever get her here from the moor, he thought as his knee joints ached when he staggered up the basement chairs. He put her down on the sofa as he had the night he found her. She had lit up his grey existence and the rage of someone daring to defile her tore him so violently it was hard to concentrate on helping her. He’d find out who they were and he’d make them pay. The girl was shocked and unable to tell him what they had done. He feared the worst and saw her screaming and crying while those beasts held her down and raped her everywhere. “They’re dead men.”

Somehow he managed to get the girl upstairs. While he fetched a bowl of water and a cloth, she’d curled into a ball on the bed and he had to coax her to lie back. He could understand her sense of filthiness, he’d seen it often enough.

“Take this.”

She turned her head away, disgusted by the alcohol smell of the horilka. “I don’t drink.”

“You do now, it’s medicin.”

Reluctantly she swallowed the liquid that felt like gasoline in her throat, burning. Choma moist the cloth and started to wash her slowly, talking to her all the time. “I’ll lift your arm a little, it’s ok. I’ll rinse this. Shh. I’ll wash your shoulders next. It’s ok. It’s just water.” She relaxed and let him wipe the sharpest edge of violation from her skin.

“Open your legs baby, it’s safe. I’ll help you, I’ll take it all away. You can do it.” He nudged her thighs gently. “It’s just you and me here. Let me make it better.” She snivelled but parted her thighs obediently as he knew she would. “Good girl, I’ll make it better.” There was no mess, no blood. Her little pussy was so vulnerable. She mewed as his cloth approached and he shushed her. He pressed the warm cloth against her slit and slid it along her lips. He did this several times. Rinsing and wiping again and again until her whimpers died down. He put his other hand on her lips and parted them, she tensed up immediately. “Angel, it’s just you and me, remember.” She nodded, her eyes still shut, and tried to relax but only managed halfway there.

Choma spread her vulva open before his eyes and rubbed her with the cloth. She twitched a little but didn’t complain. “Did they hurt you? Did they touch you here?” She answered in English “Three. No. They held me down I,” her voice broke, “I couldn’t –” and she sobbed again. Choma lay his head down and kissed her thigh. His hand cupped her mound. “I’ll take it away, trust me.” She nodded. He pressed his head on her moist pussy and whispered, “What ever it was they touched in you, I’m going to take it back.” He stroked her slit with his nose, parting her lips. When he reached her opening he nudged it with the tip of his nose. She twitched and he shushed her, putting his hands on her thighs to keep her still. He sticked his tongue out and tasted her.

Siri grabbed Choma’s hair. “Please no, I feel so dirty. Don’t touch me when I’m like this.” Choma shushed her and licked slowly. His tongue dipped inside her hole and dragged on her pussy. Gradually the imprints of Choma’s touches covered and dimmed the handprints of the three men on her skin. “Please Choma, make it yours, I want to be yours, only yours.” She reached for his arms and pulled him on top of her.

His penis was semi erected but her proposal made it harden in one shudder that rocked his body. To have her want and beg for him felt so good. Those were the moments she was his like no other had ever been. Which ever date of birth stood on her passport, in her mind she was still a child needing to be held and filled with the feeling of not being alone in the darkness. He positioned himself on top of her. She shivered slightly and he kissed her forehead. “It’s just you and me here.”

“Please Choma, wipe them away, be in me and chase them all away. Give me your cum.” She spread her thighs wider and reached down to spread her pussy for him. “Make me yours Choma, make me yours.” He forgot tenderness and rammed inside her while she screamed in satisfaction. “More Choma, harder, own me, please, I need you.” There was desperation in her sudden need, for her voice broke again with her last words and she wept, tears rolling on the pillow on both sides of her head as he fucked her. Nonetheless, she kept asking him to do it harder and faster.

“Make it hurt Choma, I want you to make it hurt. Take me hard, make me yours. I want to be only yours.” He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him, making his cock go in as deep as it could in that position. She screamed in pain and still begged him to hurt her more. Too late he understood what she was doing and stopped. “Move! Fuck me!” she cried in a shrill angry voice, she opened her eyes and her gaze was furious, blazing. “Fuck me you bastard! Fuck me!”

He lowered himself on top of her, leaning all his weight on her. He moved his lips to her ear. “I’m not them. You are mine. You’ll always be mine. Always. Nothing will change that. You don’t need to punish yourself. You’ve done nothing wrong.” She grunted in anger and tried to throw him off her but he was stronger. “You did nothing wrong. It wasn’t your fault. You want me inside you, you’ll get me but not like this.”

“Fuck you,” she whispered and her chest heaved with sobs again. Choma rose and wriggled inside her for a moment to get himself fully erect again. He started moving slowly in her. She tried to buck against him but when she did he stopped altogether. “Please Choma, take me hard,” she kept asking and he kept refusing.

“I won’t punish you. I just want to wipe it away from your mind. Don’t be afraid, I’ll never leave you alone again. I want you and I’ll keep you. I’m sorry angel, I really am.”

He fucked her slow and though it wasn’t what she wanted she stopped cursing him for it. When she lay still for him he told her to get on her knees. Choma reached his hand on her mouth. “This is me, this is all me,” he whispered and speared her. She screamed in pain as he’d expected, the hand didn’t muffle her shriek much. He slammed himself against her ass taking advantage of the position in which he could penetrate her the deepest. She bucked and tried to escape but he had her tight in his grip. “You wanted hard, this is hard, you wanted more, this is more. I’m taking what’s mine. Scream baby, let me hear you hurt.” He lifted his hand and listened to her panicked howling.

“Please Choma, please,” were all the words she could form.

He grabbed her braid and pulled her head back. “Still want harder? You’re a little whore, but you’re my whore, mine alone. No one else has the right to call you that, you’re only mine.” She groaned loudly as he quickened his pace close to cumming. “My. Whore. My. Angel,” he stammered in the rhythm of his laboured breathing. “Say it!” He slapped her on her butt and she yelped.

“I’m your whore!” she shouted, desperate to please.


“I’m-your-whore. I’m-you’re-whore.” Each word came out as another of his thrusts hit the bottom of her cunt until he bellowed and Siri felt his hot cum spurting into her. Cursing, the shuddering man collapsed beside her and Siri lay down beside him. He’d spoken without thinking and wasn’t sure what he’d let slip.

Word by word, uttered with tears, he got the story out of her. “Bastards. Beasts.” She’d whispered two names with hateful spite, the rabid lapdogs of Rustam Ilkovych. He thanked heavens she was able to escape or they’d have shattered her soul and killed her warm heart inside her living body. He’d met three hollow ruins that were the girls unfortunate enough to have no one to protect them from degenerates like Rustam. It would have been kinder to kill them than leave them alive, which was the only reason they lived.


In the evening Siri approached him with the dictionary. “Liar,” she whispered faintly. “You speak English. Propably Russian too. It’s you, isn’t it. This Vakhno.” The name was difficult to pronounce, “Who are you? All this time you knew what I was saying and you didn’t answer me once. Don’t you understand how alone I was without no-one to talk to?”

Now he was sure he’d lapsed in his dizzy spin of desire and spoken English to her. He didn’t want to meet her gaze and admit that he hadn’t trusted her. “Enni, we all have pasts somewhere. When it’s dangerous or sad, it’s better no one knows.”

He’d used her real name and she realized that he’d gone through her things at some point. “The Doctor knows.” No sooner were the words out than she realized how childish she sounded.

“He thinks he knows, it’s not the same.” Those were the only words of English Siri got from him though she was sure he could have spoken perfect English had he wished to.

Chapter twelve

Larisa came by to fetch some eggs and return the scarf Siri had forgotten on her visit the previous day. Choma had had errands that couldn’t wait and kept to his promise not to leave her alone again. She had spent the day at the farm of Larisa’s family.

They were all having tea in Choma’s kitchen when Larisa changed the subject to local gossip. “I wonder if you’ve heard there’s been an accident at Hordiyenko farm. All three farm hands are in Shatsk hospital – the strangest injuries I’ve ever heard a harvester make. Rustam Ilkovych was unconscious when old Danylets found the boys. It’s not known if he’ll ever wake up. And our Doctor Savchuk was allegedly so busy he wouldn’t see them and sent them straight to Shatsk. That was strange.”

Choma said nothing and hid behind his mug. Young Rustam had been strong but he didn’t have Choma’s training. The pain of knowing that Siri had cried for help and he hadn’t been there for her ate him from inside out. All that guilt he took out on the boy. Choma hadn’t planned to kill him, but when he saw his leer he thought of him and his friends spreading Siri naked against the wall and the terror and shame he’d barely been able to get her to let go. Rage blurred the world around him and he’d beaten him until he fell and kept kicking him until his face was but a bloody mess.

Siri heard many names and it was difficult to pretend clueless until Larisa left for she’d heard their names. Besides, Larisa had had a weird look on her face. Siri wondered if she knew what had happened to her and felt sick. Night came too soon and they sat in the bed both waiting for the other to speak first.

“You killed them, didn’t you?” Her voice was cold.

Choma closed his eyes and sighed. “I tried to kill him.”

“Don’t you understand,” she screamed grabbing at him, “I don’t want to lose you Choma. You’ll go to jail.”

“He’s a monster. No one will say a thing – another farming accident. Should he die the village will be the safer for it. He deserved it.” A pause. “Siri,” Choma’s voice thickened, “he had no right.” He was afraid he’d choke if he tried to say any more and lay his hand on her cheek, pulling her closer to lean his chin on her head.

“But to kill a person?”

“Trust me, compared to what he was going to do to you his faith is merciful. Siri,” he turned to look away, “I’m not a good man. You saw the files. I was a soldier. Killing was my job. That and worse things.” He took her hand and looked at her, “He tried to hurt you. No one does that.”

There was nothing Siri could have said to that. Her hatred for Rustam was bitter but murder was incomprehensible, unreal. Yet she felt more his than ever and whispered, “Hold me.”

They sat in silence for a long time. None of it was her business but it was getting harder to keep secrets from her. At last he told her about his military service and the interrogation center he’d been assigned to.

“…I raped her and god help me I enjoyed it. I called in other guards and we took turns on her, eleven men for five hours, using batons and guns to rape her when no cock would stand up anymore. I left when she stopped moving but the others called in more and more men to use her and by the morning she was dead.”

Siri didn’t say a word and didn’t even look at him when he got up and left. Hours later she opened the door to the half lit workshop. On the workbench in front of Choma stood a tiny glass and a half empty bottle of horilka.

“I want to hate you but I can’t.” She took his hands and squeezed them, “Neither can I forgive you on her behalf, but I’m not ready to lose you. Look at me.” She took his head in her hands. “You are good – to me. Before,” the break was so long he thought she wasn’t going to say more, “…to have everything and live knowing that other people have nothing…” It was enough from that particular can of worms. “It’s better here. There’s balance, and if I get the least bit anxious, all you have to do is fuck me stupid and I’m calmer than any pill ever made me. Please promise me I won’t lose you. They’re not worth it. Nothing is. Not even She.”


“What do you want me to say? It was twenty years ago in another world. And the man you described isn’t the man I know. So please, let him stay dead. What you and I do together doesn’t compare. I’m happy here. Please, come sleep with me. You’ve had enough to drink.”

Choma got up and shoved her harshly down back against the table. He pushed her nightgown up to her waist leaving her pussy bare. “Does it turn you on to know what I am?”

His hand crept closer to her snatch and Siri stared at him, face unreadable, her hands grasping the wrist of his invading hand, but not pushing it away. When he felt her with his fingers she was so wet it was as if her labia weren’t even there. “Stay still or it’ll go bad for you,” he hissed and started removing his pants. He entered her in one smooth movement and she cried out in delight. He moved his hands to grip her neck and squeezed. He was careful not to block her breathing altogether and yet in an instant he felt her cunt flood as she flushed with excitement. “Harder, harder,” she wheezed looking him straight in the eye.

Letter to the reader: This is a story of female domination of a submissive couple. It includes the man sucking dildos and taking thinks up the ass. If this is not your cup-o-tea, please find another story. Don’t waste your time and mine reading it and making comments about me being a fagot or other asinine remarks, I will just delete them.

Constructive comments, both good and bad, are welcome. So enjoy!



It was a normal night at Greg and Marci’s house. Greg was scurrying around the house cleaning up as Marci prepared dinner. Marci cooked because she chose to, not for any other reason. She ruled the roost so to speak, and she and Greg knew it. She handled all the things she chose to handle, like the finances, and Greg performed all the other household duties. He catered to her every whim and she loved it, especially when it came to sex. She dictated, when, where and how it would be performed.

Greg was taking something to his room when there was a knock on the door. “You expecting someone Dear?” Greg asked.

“Nope.” She replied, not giving it another thought. She knew Greg would answer it and take care of whoever was there.

Greg walked to the door and opened it.

“Hello bitch!” said the beautiful and sexy figure standing on the porch.

“Mistress Barbara!” Greg said with a voice of surprise. His little cock stirred in the little girl panties he wore, becoming instantly hard. “We were not expecting you.” He said as he hurried to open the screen and let her in.

She was holding nothing but a menacing looking black riding crop that she presented to Greg. He opened his mouth and she slid it in for him to suck on as if a small cock. When she finally pulled it from his mouth he instinctively kneeled at her feet.

“To what do we owe this honor my queen.” he asked, staring directly at the leather knee high boots with the 5″ spiked heels that she was wearing. He just stared at them, wanting to lather them with his tongue.

“I was bored and decided I needed to visit my two best whores.” She replied looking down on him, knowing exactly what his little mind was thinking. “Go ahead pussy boy.”

Greg instantly leaned forward and began licking every inch of her boots with his eager tongue.

Marci heard Mistress Barbara’s voice and instantly the nipples on her 42DD tits began to stiffen, and her pussy began to moisten. She was thrilled to hear her Queen’s voice and she knew she was in for quite an evening. Then a realization hit her. She was in no way ready for a visit from her demanding Goddess. She looked down and surveyed her attire. A long cotton sleep shirt covered her large figure and she wore full coverage silk panties and no bra underneath. She immediately removed her panties, knowing Mistress would not accept that. She suddenly panicked remembering she had not shaved in quite some time. She decided there was nothing she could do about that now. She just discarded the panties into the laundry room next to the kitchen, and continued making dinner. She could not concentrate on her task as she began to anticipate her Mistress’ arrival in the kitchen, but also she began to dread the punishments she would soon be enduring for not keeping herself presentable at all times. She knew not to interrupt Miss Barbara when she was tending to Greg, and so she just feigned productivity in the kitchen listening to the two of them in the other room. Her pussy began to drip with anticipation as the scenario continued just out of her sight, but not out of ear shot.

“That’s it baby doll, don’t miss a spot.” Barbara told her slave. “I think Mistress stepped in a bit of mud on my way to the car earlier, make sure you get that off.” She lightly smacked his panty covered ass a few times with the crop as he tended to her boots.

Greg did exactly as he was told. At least 10 minutes passed before Barbara was convinced he had done his job. “That’s enough Greta!” she said almost kicking him off her saliva covered boots. Greta was the sissy name she had bestowed on Greg when she began his training and sissification some years ago on line.

Greg sat back on his haunches still on all fours. By now Marci’s pussy was literally dripping down her meaty thighs wanting her Goddess to come see her. She could not help herself, and still standing at the stove she grabbed both of her heavy tits and squeezed them hard, pinching both nipples. Her pussy reacted accordingly and grew even wetter. Marci again couldn’t help herself and quickly slid one of her plump fingers between her pussy lips, covering it in her juices. She raised it to her mouth and licked it clean.

“Where is that fat assed, cock sucking, whore wife of yours Greta?’ Barbara asked, knowing exactly where she was.

“In the kitchen my Queen.” Greg replied.

Barbara removed the long coat she was wearing and discarded it on the floor next to Greg. He immediately grabbed it and watched as his Goddess walked toward the kitchen. He was mesmerized by her attire and her incredible body, the g-string she was wearing disappeared between the most perfect set of tight smooth ass cheeks he had ever seen. He glanced down to view the black silk nylons with the seam perfectly positioned down the middle of her long toned legs and disappeared into the boots that came up to the bottom of her knees. The sound of her heels on the hardwood floor was music to his ears.

“I have two bags on the front seat of my car bitch, go get them and bring them to me.” she told Greg.

The approaching sound of Barbara’s heels was a warning to Marci and she readied herself for the inevitable.

“Hello whore.” Barbra quipped as she stopped at the entrance of the kitchen.

The mere sound of those words made Marci’s pussy quiver. She turned and looked at Barbara. Barbara was wearing a black leather corset that hugged her slender body and pushed her magnificent 34C tits out as if on display. The corset had garter straps that held up her nylons and the thong panties were also black, but completely see through allowing Marci a clear view of Barbara’s flawless, shaved pussy. Marci instinctively moved toward Barbara to greet her as she had been trained to do, but before she could get to her knees, Barbara put up a hand and halted her.

“What the hell is this slut? I leave you alone for a couple weeks and this is how I find you dressed, in a big, fat girl t-shirt?” Barbara snapped. “Take that off immediately!”

Marci obeyed, removing the shirt and standing in front of her mistress completely naked. She always hated that, because she was embarrassed by her body, and to be in front of someone like Barbara, whose body was so incredible was even worse.

“And what is going on here?” Barbara asked grabbing hold of a few of Marci’s short and curlys. She then yanked and pulled them from Marci’s body. Marci yelped in pain, but at the same time her pussy again quivered with pleasure. Barbara raised her hand and presented the short hairs to Marci’s face.

“You fat slob whore, is this how you are supposed to keep yourself?” She asked

“No Mistress.” Marci replied feeling humiliated. She didn’t like the references to her size, but knew it was all part of it, and with all the excitement her Mistress provided, she endured it.

“What if I had brought a couple of customers with me, and your fat, hungry cunt looked like this. I can’t have you embarrassing me like that Bitch.”

The thought of what Barbara had just said ran through Marci’s head. She knew what Barbara meant by customers. Barbara pimped Marci out, mostly to black guys. Oh how they liked them some big fat white girls. The thought of a couple of black cocks inside her holes made Marci’s mouth water and her pussy leak down her bare legs. She was pulled from her brief daydream when Barbara spoke again.

“Open up whore.”

Marci opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. Barbara placed the pubic hairs on her tongue and ordered her to swallow them. Marci did as she was told. She could feel each and every hair as it slid down her throat, causing her to almost gag.

“Assume the position you filthy, fat, cow, Now!” Barbara commanded, holding out the riding crop to her.

Marci immediately dropped to her hands and knees right there in the kitchen.

“Ass high, cunt!” Barbara commanded.

Marci complied, displaying her big round ass to her queen.

“Greta come here.” She commanded, hearing him return from her car.

“Yes my Queen?”

“Your fat ass, cock sucking, whore wife thinks she doesn’t have to keep herself presentable. So you need to teach her a lesson. I want you to take this and make that fat fucking ass red.” She told him handing him the riding crop.

Greg reluctantly took it from her.

“And, if you take it easy on her, I will use it on your fagot ass, understand?”

“Yes Mistress.” He replied.

He whipped her ass hard with the riding crop, causing Marci to yelp.

“Again!” Barbara commanded.

He did, and Marci screamed in pain again.

“Again! Again! Again!” Barbara continued to demand, until Marci was sobbing like a school girl, and Barbara told him to stop.

“Now it’s my turn.” With this, Barbara proceeded to whip Marci’s ass, and thighs at least 25 more times before finally letting up.

Marci cried for what seemed an eternity. Finally Barbara commanded her to stand. Still sobbing a bit, she did as told.

“Greta, go get some tweezers.” Barbara told him.

He returned a few moments later with them in hand.

“Now, get on your knees bitch and pluck each and every hair from that fat, used up cunt of hers, and feed every one of them to the fat cow.”

Greg did as he was told. Each yank brought a small whimper from his wife. He plucked every offending hair and fed each one to her. When he was done, her pussy was as red as her ass and thighs, and it seemed Marci had no more tears left.

Barbara had moved to the couch while Greg was performing his task. “Now go get the outfit I brought for you in the big bag by the door and go clean your fat ass up, slut!” Barbara told Marci

Marci did as she was told and departed down the hall. With this, Barbara turned her attention to Greg. His 4″ dick was rock hard in his panties, which is all he wore. Oh how he loved watching his Mistress work her magic as she just had with his wife. He was still on his knees waiting after cleaning up Marci’s pussy.

“I have something for you too Greta.” Barbara told him. “It’s in the same bag. Go put it on and come back immediately.”

Greg grabbed the clothes from the bag and rushed to his room to change. He returned and as he entered the living room where Barbara was watching some TV, she openly chuckled.

“You look so cute Baby doll.” She told Greg.

He was dressed in a pair of 4″ spiked heels, nylons like the ones Barbara wore, and a garter belt. Every thing was white. The coup de gras was the short black maid’s skirt with the frilly little white apron on it. He was wearing no panties and his little cock was pointing straight out. Greg loved dressing up for his Queen.

Barbara motioned him over to her on the couch. She lifted his skirt and looked at his penis. “That thing really is pathetic.” She joked. I have lovers whose cocks are twice as big when they’re soft.”

Talk like that only turned him on more.

“We can’t have this thing getting in the way of your duties, so go get Miss Barbara’s other bag and come back.”

He did so very quickly and handed the small bag to her. She opened it and he could see there were many toys inside. She reached in and pulled out what he recognized as his cock cage. He didn’t like it, because whenever he had it on, and he would get excited, the spikes on the inside of it hurt his little penis. Barbara lifted his skirt and placed the cage next to his raging hard-on.

“Even your useless puny weenie wont fit in this when it’s hard, we will have to do something about that won’t we?” She asked

“Yes Mistress.”

She set down the cage and grabbed hold of Greg’s pulsing unit. “Maybe if you cum it will go down, would you like Miss Barbara to make you cum?” She asked, slowly pulling on his penis.

“Oh yes my Queen”

Barbara stroked it about three times before Greg felt a sharp pain in his groin. Barbara had grabbed hold of his little balls and was squeezing them very hard. The pain was almost unbearable.

“This way is faster bitch.” Barbara said with an evil look in her eyes.

She was right, his cock shrunk in no time. She secured the cage and ordered him to his knees between her legs. She removed her panties and placed them on his head so the crotch was over his nose. The sweet smell of her nectar made his cock jump, causing him to wince in pain.

Barbara spread her legs and forced Greg’s face to her Venus. He eagerly devoured his Mistress’ pussy with abandon. She was enjoying the pleasures of his talented tongue when she saw Marci enter the room from behind Greg. He was so busy he didn’t even notice. Barbara lifted his head and looked into his eyes.

“Tell your mistress whose pussy is sweeter, mine, or your fat, cock sucking whore wife’s” Barbara told him.

“Yours my queen, yours.” Then he dove back into her pussy.

Barbara lifted his head again. “No sweetie, tell me like you know I like to hear it.”

“Your pussy is so much sweeter than my fat, cock sucking wife’s cunt Mistress.” He told her, wanting to continue his duty.

“What is your wife Greta?” she asked.

“She is a fat, black cock sucking whore Mistress.” He told her.

“Ooooh, say it again my pussy boy whore.”

“My wife is a cock sucking fat assed whore.” He replied. Then he dove back into her pussy.

Barbara looked up at Marci. She was dressed in a white see-through pull over belly shirt that exposed the roll of her stomach, a sheer white bra that made her big pink areolas completely visible. Both were at least two sizes too small, and her full figure was bulging through everything. The pink mini skirt did little to hide her big round ass or the white suspenders that held up a pair of white stockings. Her feet were covered in a pair of pink spiked heels. Barbara loved to embarrass her by making her wear clothes that exposed her size. Her customers always loved it too, and it made Marci very compliant, because she didn’t want Mistress to tease her anymore about her size.

“Did you hear that my chubby little slut?” Barbara asked Marci.

Marci just nodded.

Barbara reached into her bag of tricks and pulled out an 8″ purple strap-on, and some lube. “Well show him what happens when he disrespects his wife like that.” She said handing her the fake cock.

Greg knew he has in a heap of trouble. Marci didn’t stand for him disrespecting him and he knew damn well his ass was gonna take a reaming. He relaxed his sphincter as much as he could and continued to administer to his Mistress’ sweltering pussy. There was a delay as he figured she was strapping up, then he felt the coolness of the lube as it puddled between his cheeks. He felt the familiar touch of his dominating wife as she covered his puckered hole with lube, then suddenly he felt the invasion of her finger. She stroked in and out a few times covering the inside of his canal with the lube, then he felt another finger. His cock jumped in its cage and he winced in pain. He usually loved the feel when his wife penetrated his ass, but the cock cage interior was extremely painful when he was hard. He continued devouring his Queen pussy, with her holding his head and guiding him.

“Greta you have such a talented tongue sweetie. It’s a good thing, cause your cock is useless.” Barbara teased him.

“Mistress?” He heard his wife say.

“Yes?’ she answered.

“I always make him prepare my cock when I fuck him, May I borrow his mouth for a moment?”

“Sure.” Barbara chucked, lifting Greg’s face from her dripping sex. “OK Greta, show Miss Barbara how you suck that fat whore’s cock.”

The words made Marci cringe again, and unfortunately for Greg, she took it out on him.

“Come on Bitch; show Mistress how you suck Momma’s cock.” Marci ordered him.

He turned around and crawled to her. As he opened his mouth, Marci grabbed both sides of his head and jammed all 8″ into his throat. Without any compassion, she began fucking his mouth hard and deep. All her anger from being punished came rushing back and she took it out on him.

“That’s it bitch, suck my big, fat cock, you pussy. Get it nice and wet and ready for your fagot ass.” His wife demanded. She was roughly filling his throat with every stroke. “Yea, you know how momma like’s it, show me what a cock sucking pussy you are.”

Barbara delighted in watching Marci dominated Greg, and as she watched this unfold for a few moments, she noticed his lubricated ass sticking up in the air and got a devilish idea. She reached into her bag of tricks and pulled out a long thin vibrator and turned it on high. She pushed it in his ass and started teasing his prostate. He was in heaven and hell all at once. His cock was rock hard, but it was in complete pain as well. His wife continued to gag him with her fake cock, degrading him the whole time while his Mistress tortured him with her vibe. Then his wife pulled him in so his nose was against her smooth chubby pussy and held him there for at least 10 seconds. Barbara continued her assault on his ass the whole time.

Suddenly Marci pushed him off her cock and said, “Turn around bitch, momma wants your ass.”

Barbara pulled the vibe from his ass and he turned around to present his ass to his wife. Barbara grabbed his head and pushed it back between her legs, and Marci unceremoniously grabbed his hips and drove her fake cock all the way into his waiting ass. She wasted no time, forcefully pounding him like a two bit whore.

“You little fucking wimp, I’ll teach you to disrespect me!” She told him, burying it deep in his ass and holding it there. “Who’s the whore now? Who’s the cock sucker now? Huh Bitch? Who’s taking it like a cock sucking bitch now, huh?” She emphasized each sentence with a deep drive into his bowels.

Barbara was giddy with excitement watching this all unfold, and she came hard, grinding Greg’s face deep into her folds of her magnificent pussy.

“Yea, lick me bitch, Mistress is cumming!” she bellowed. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Eat me Bitch, eat me!!

Marci never slowed down the whole time. Her pussy was literally flowing down her inner thighs as she dominated her husband and watched her sexy mistress cum loudly. She was surprised when she felt a small orgasm suddenly course through her. Her body quivered and she pushed deep inside Greg’s ass again as she rode the brief wave of pleasure. When it was over she surmised that it must have been from the base of the strap-on rubbing on her clit and the sight of her Mistress cumming that had brought that on. She had never cum from such little physical contact. Mistress sure had a way of opening up her experiences.

“OK, Bitches, get off me.” Barbara snapped. “Greta, clean that strap-on and put it away.”

Greg waited for his wife to pull it from his ass and turned around. He cleaned every inch of it with his tongue as his wife teased him the whole time. “You are such a good cock sucker. Momma is proud of you.”

When he was finished, Marci removed it and he placed it in Barbara’s bag. Barbara stood, and both Greg and Marci assumed their positions, on their knees next to each other looking at the ground.

Barbara walked up to Marci, “My cock loving whore was a bad girl while I was gone wasn’t she?”

“Yes Mistress.” She replied.

“Normally I would make Greta do this, but you need to learn to follow instruction and have more respect for yourself. I can’t have my whores looking like you looked when I arrived can I?

“No Mistress.” Marci replied.

“You are a reflection on me, you cunt. If I send a client to you, and you look like that, he may not come back. Even a fat slut like you has to be ready at all times, is that understood?” Barbara walked up to her face and presented her pussy to Marci.

“Yes Mistress.” she told her again.

“Now open up.”

Marci opened her mouth and Barbara sealed her lips around her pee hole. She relaxed and a warm stream of urine rapidly filled Marci’s mouth. She tried desperately to swallow before it spilled from her mouth. It was hard, but she was determined not to have piss all over her. Finally the flow ceased and she swallowed the remaining bit in her mouth.

When that was over, she called Greg over and removed his cock cage. His little pecker immediately sprang to full erection.

“Have you learned your lesson, whore or do you need to swallow your pathetic husband’s pee too?” Barbara asked Marci.

Knowing there was only one answer to give, Marci replied, “No, Mistress, I need to swallow his pee too.”

“You dirty whore, that’s not how you ask. Beg me to swallow his piss, cunt.” She demanded.

“Please Mistress, let me swallow his piss. I need to swallow his piss to learn my lesson, please my Queen, please.” Marci begged.

“OK you fat pig, you may swallow his piss too.” she teased her.

Greg moved in front of his wife and she engulfed his entire cock with ease. He was so excited to have his cock in her mouth that he could not pee. After about 30 seconds, Barbara became impatient.

“Let’s go Greta, I don’t have all night.”

“I’m sorry Mistress, but it’s hard and I can’t get it to pee.” He whined.

“Do I need to squeeze your puny nuts again to get it soft?”

“NO!, Please, I’ll do it.” He promised.

He had to think of anything but his cock being in his wife’s mouth until finally it softened a bit and a small little stream of urine filled his wife’s mouth. She easily swallowed it all without incidence, and Barbara returned his cock to its cage.

“”What do you say cunt?” She asked Marci.

“Thank you Mistress, thank you for teaching me what I need to know to serve you my queen.”

“Don’t let me catch you with that filthy, fat cunt like that again.” She told Marci. “Also, make sure you don’t look like a middle aged married cow again with those clothes.” Barbara spat. Then she walked to the front door and opened the big bag that their outfits had been in, and pulled out a 10″ long and 2 ½” thick black strap-on. The mere sight of it made Marci’s pussy shudder and leak even more of her juices. Her inner thighs were so wet she thought she was leaving a puddle on the ground.

Barbara walked toward them and stopped in front of them, “This is what you want isn’t it you filthy whore?” She asked Marci.

She just nodded.

“It’s the right color too huh?”

Again Marci just nodded.

“You are just a fat, white, whore who loves big, black cock aren’t you?” Barbara asked.

Marci’s eyes lit up and she nodded enthusiastically.

“Tell me!” Barbara demanded.

“I love big black cocks Miss. Marci retorted.

“No, tell me all of it!!!”

Marci hesitated, but repeated the mantra, “I am just a fat, white whore who loves big, black cock, Mistress.”

“Yes you are!!!” She said emphatically. Then Barbara stepped into the harness. The monster cock protruded from her pelvis and tempted Marci like a lollipop would tempt a child. Barbara walked to her bag and pulled out two sets of nipple clamps. She opened one pair and clipped them on Greg’s nipples. The pain was piercing. He winced sharply and even whimpered a bit. He was not really into pain, but was really into everything his Mistress did, so he endured these moments of discomfort.

Next she made Marci pull up her shirt and lift her massive tits from her bra. The blood rushed back into her smashed boobs as she removed each one from its tight restraint, and she let out a sigh of relief. However that was short lived as Barbara applied the clamps to her swollen nipples. The pain only made her pussy water more. She loved rough nipple play. Barbara grabbed the chain that connected the clamps and lifted Marci’s big heavy tits with it.

“Look at those.” She told her, holding her tits high off her body with the chain and clamps. “Those aren’t tits, they’re cow udders.” She told her as she released her grasp on the chain, letting Marci’s tits fall back to her body. Her tits rested on the roll of her stomach and the chain drooped across it.

“Well I guess that makes sense, cow udders for a fat cow.” Barbara teased. “Now Greta, get on all fours, I have another surprise for you.”

Greg did as he was told and watched as Barbara removed an ass plug from her bag that had to be at least 3″ wide at its widest part. She walked behind him and slowly, almost like torture, pushed it in. The pain was excruciating as his sphincter muscle stretched to accommodate it. When it passed the wide part, it slipped in and his asshole swallowed it. The pain remained for about five minutes as his muscle had spasms while it recovered.

“Did my pussy boy fagot like that?” Barbara asked.

“Yes My Queen.” he lied. He knew it would feel good later though after his asshole had recovered from the stretching.

Then she walked back around to the front of them and ordered Greg to his knees. “Now my bitches, it’s time for a little competition. I want to know if my fat, white, black cock loving whore or my pussy boy fagot can suck a cock better. What do you think Slut?” she asked looking at Marci.

“Oh I am sure I can Mistress.” Marci replied.

“How about you Greta, what do you think?” Barbara asked.

“I am sure my lovely wife is better at that than I am.” he replied, not wanting to get on Marci’s bad side.

“You kiss ass!” Barbra quipped. “I have seen you suck those big black cocks before your wife fucks them, and you do an excellent job. The boys always seem to enjoy your sissy mouth as well. I tell you what, if you win, I will have the fat ass whore over here let you fuck her in the ass, and cum in her mouth. Will that make you try hard?”

“Yes Mistress.” He replied excitedly.

“And as for you cunt, if you win, I will give you the privilege of feeling this in any and every hole you wish.” She told Marci holding the monster cock to her face. “Would my chubby little cock loving whore like that?”

“Oh Yes Mistress.” Marci replied, imagining it filling all her holes.

“Ok, Greta, you’re first.” She said turning toward him.

Greg opened his mouth and began slowly and deliberately sucking in the monster fake cock as if teasing Barbara. He licked it from ball sack to tip on the top and the bottom. Then he slowly swallowed all he could and pulled it back out, leaving a copious amount of his spit on its length. Then using his hand as he always loved back when his wife used to do this for him, he began stroking it as he sucked on the head. His head bobbed up and down slowly and his hand did the same. His rhythm started to pick up a few moments later. Both his hand and his mouth moved faster and faster. Barbara watched his technique, but said nothing, making sure she was unbiased in her judgment. It was hard, because it always really turned her on to watch her wimpy little pussy boy suck her fake cocks. He was doing everything he knew he used to love in his earlier days when this used to actually happen to him. He was slobbering all over the bumpy rubber cock, getting all excited. Then he stopped and lifted the cock up to access the ball sack. He sucked in both balls and stroked the shaft all at the same time. He was trying so hard to impress his Queen. He wanted to fuck his wife in the ass in the worst way. After about five minutes of this, Barbara stopped him.

“That’s enough pussy boy. You have quite a good technique; it may be hard for your fat assed whore wife to beat you.” She quipped.

Greg sat back on the couch with a grin on his face imagining his wife’s big fat ass in front of him as he drove his little cock inside it.

Greg was good, but he was no match for the cock sucking talents of Marci. She immediately set out to prove she was the cock sucking queen. She first spit on her hand and slowly covered the cock on her spit, rubbing the entire shaft with both hands and she looked up with come fuck me eyes at Barbara. Then when she knew she had her Mistress’ attention, she opened her mouth and deep throated the entire 10 inches without one hint of a gag. She held it there, looking up at Barbara. Then she seductively removed it all the way. Then she repeated that about 5 times, each time, holding it there for a few more seconds. Then after that, she sucked Barbara’s cock like a professional whore. She sucked, and stroked and sucked, and stroked with abandon. She swallowed it over and over, the whole time teasing her Mistress with her eyes. She knew she would win, because she knew how to temp someone, and she was tempting Barbara to fuck her silly. Barbara stopped her.

“I’ve seen enough, you win.” She told Marci. “Sorry Greta, but your wife is a champion cock sucker, you never had a chance.”

Greg slouched where he sat knowing he was not going to get his prize. He watched as His Mistress ordered his wife to lean over the couch near him and kneeled behind her. Her entire sex region was covered in her juices. Even her thighs were glistening with them.

“You fat ass whore, you’re covered in your own pussy juice like a fucking bitch in heat.” Barbara told Marci. “I guess your ready for your big black cock fucking aren’t you?”

“Yes Miss.” Marci answered. “Please give it to me.”

“Oh I’ll give it to you, but you’ll have to ask nicer than that.” She teased.

“Please Mistress, Give it to me.” Marci begged.

“OK, my filthy little whore, but first tell me what a whore you are for black cock.”

“I am, I am, I am a whore for black cock, I love big black cocks. I need big black cocks. Please Mistress; give me your big black cock!!!!” She pleaded again.

Barbra hesitated no more, burying the monster deep inside Marci’s sloppy fat cunt. Marci moaned loudly. And Barbra immediately started fucking her deeply and slowly. She ran it all the way in so the balls bottomed out on Marci’s clit. Then she pulled it all the way out until it was just the head. Then she pushed it back in again. Over and over she teased Marci’s dripping snatch with the stiff pole.

“Yes!” Marci moaned each time it filled her. Please stop teasing me Mistress, give it to me harder.”

Barbra ordered Greg to get the small vibe she had used earlier. He did as he was told and sat back down on the couch. Barbra turned it on high and slid it all the way into Marci’s ass so just the base was exposed. Marci groaned again knowing that Barbra was going to do exactly what she didn’t want her to do. She was going to tease her and not let her cum. The vibe was torturous, she loved the feel, but it only made her want to cum more, and Barbara was not going to let her have that any time soon.

Barbara continued fucking her slowly and deeply, teasing her the whole time. “Does my fat, black cock loving whore need to cum?”

“Yes My Queen! Please.”

“Tell Greta how good big, black cocks feel in this slutty fat cunt.” She told her.

“Oh Greg, it feels soooooo good. I love big black cocks in my pussy.” She said looking him in the eye.

“This is not a pussy!” Barbara snapped, driving it all the way in with emphasis. “This is a fat white cunt. Tell him like I said!”

“Honey, I love big black cocks in my fat white cunt!”

Greg’s cock swelled at her words, and he cringed in pain. He loved watching his wife be a black cock whore.

“That’s better bitch.” Barbra spat, “Now tell him how much better it feels than his puny little dick.”

“Baby, it’s so good, Momma loves the feel of it in her cunt, your pee pee could never make me feel this way. I love big black cock. I can’t get enough. Your dick is so small, I need this.” She told Greg.

Barbara continued her assault on het sweltering pussy. She grabbed her hips and began to fuck her harder and faster. Marci began moving against her trying to bring on her orgasm.

“Tell him again. Tell him all of it again.” Barbra demanded.

Marci was in the throws of ecstasy, and as she panted with pleasure she repeated it all, “Baby, I love………big…. Black cocks……in my…..fat white…….pussy……..I mean…..cunt.” She was out of breath, needing to pause many times to enjoy the feelings and catch her breath. “I need it…….your……little……..cock, is not………..good enough………I need this…….I need big black cocks……..and I need them sooo…….oooooo…….oooooo much!!!!!.” She was about to cum when Barbara stopped. She pulled it out of her pussy, and Marci screamed, “Noooooooooo!!!!!”

“Please Miss, Please put it back in. I need to cum, I was so close.” she panted. The vibe in her ass was still making her quiver.

Barbara pulled it from her ass. “Come here Greta.”

Greg scurried to her side.

“Open.” She demanded, and fed him the still buzzing vibe.

He licked it clean, savoring the taste of his wife’s ass. Then he sat back down in front of his wife.

“OK whore. Tell your pussy husband where you really want this big, thick, black cock.” Barbara demanded.

“Oh Honey, I want it in my ass. I love the feel of a big black cock in my ass. Please tell Mistress you want it in my ass too. Tell her how much you love seeing me get a big black cock in my ass. I need it baby. I love it in the ass.” Marci told Greg

“Please Mistress; please fuck my lovely wife in the ass. Give her the pleasure she deserves. Give her the pleasure I could never give her.” Greg begged his Goddess.

“As you wish my pathetic little pussy boy, but tell her what a fat cock hungry whore she is first.” She teased

“You are a fat, cock hungry whore dear.” He told her as Barbara slowly drove her cock deep inside Marci’s hungry ass hole.

Marci groaned her approval, and Barbra began a slow deep rhythm again. Marci moaned and begged for more.

“You are a complete whore.” Barbara told her. “Look at you cunt, taking a big black cock in your ass right in front of your husband. Tell him how good it feels. Tell him what a black cock whore he married. Tell him how you can’t live without it.”

“Greg, it’s all true. I am a fat white whore …….for black cock…….I can’t ……live……without…….it!!! It feels……..soooooooooooooo……….good baby………you married a complete………..whore…….for black………cock.” She again was panting with pleasure and was out of breath.

“Come here Greta.” Barbara demanded. “On your back under this fat cow. Eat that fat sloppy cunt while I pound her big fat ass. Yank on that chain, make those cow udders hurt.”

Greg lay on his back and began to lick her dripping cunt. He licked her clit and lapped up her sweltering snatch as the balls of Barbara’s cock hit him in the forehead. He pulled on the chain connected to his wife’s nipples and she screamed in pain and pleasure. Her climax was building rapidly and she wanted it badly.

“More! More! Faster, Harder! Please make me cum!” Marci begged.

Barbara sped up her pounding of Marci’s big round ass. She slammed the cock in deep and hard. Watching as her ass jiggled with each thrust. “Take it you filthy fat cunt!!!” She said, enjoying the power over both members of this marriage. “Cum for me whore! Cum all over your pussy husband’s face.”

Marci exploded in orgasm. Her entire body shook and quaked. The feeling coursed though her like a volcano eruption. “OH I’m Cummmmmmmmmming” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Fuck my fat ass!” She screamed not really caring about the self deprecation. “More! More! More!”

Greg just lapped up all her cum and Barbra continued the ravishment of her ass until her orgasm subsided, causing her to collapse against the couch. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” she demanded of Greg as she tried to push him from her pussy and free the chain from his hand. Barbara pulled the cock from Marci’s ass and ordered Greg to clean it, which he did willingly and eagerly. Barbara yanked a few times on his nipple clams as well, making him wince in pain each time and amusing her at the same time.

“OK Bitches, it’s Mistress’ turn. On your knees. Still recovering, Marci drug herself up to her knees and Barbara removed the strap-on. Then she sat on the couch. Grabbing both chains she yanked the two of them toward her. “Worship my tits!” she demanded.

Both participants did as told. They each grabbed one of Barbara’s C cup tits and began to lick and suck them lovingly. Just like Greg was no match for Marci when it came to cock sucking, Marci was no match for Greg when it came to tit play. He loved tits and it showed. He licked and sucked and squeezed like there was no tomorrow. Barbara’s nipples got hard, but the one Greg was administering to felt much better. He had a way with titties.

Barbara enjoyed this treatment for a while then decided she had had enough. She pushed them both off her and stood over them. Grabbing the back of Marci’s head she pulled her into her dripping pussy. “Eat me whore.” She commanded.

Marci did as she was told. She devoured Mistress’ pussy like a pro. She knew what to do and it showed.

Barbara was really enjoying herself when she turned to Greg and did the same thing to him; only he was commanded to eat her asshole. With both holes being serviced, Barbara was in heaven.

“Oh how I love my bitches serving me like this. Make Mistress cum you two. I need a good cum.” She told them, forcing both heads hard against her body. She grinded against both faces and her orgasm built. The feel of Greg’s tongue in her ass and the stimulation of her clit from Marci had her on edge in no time. She soon was moaning as her orgasm exploded.

“OH Myyyyyyyyyy!” she moaned. “Yes, lick my cunt whore. Eat my ass Pussy boy. Yes, Mistress is cummmming!” She moved and gyrated the entire time. Her climax lasted quite a while and when she was done, she moved on shaking legs to the couch and collapsed on it.

The dominated couple just watched as their goddess recovered. They loved the look of her satisfaction. Barbara looked at them both when she was over her pleasure.

“Clean your whore wife’s face.” She told Greg.

He cleaned Barbara’s pussy juices from Marci’s face with his tongue, loving every moment of it.

Barbara leaned forward when he was done and removed the clamps from her puffy erect nipples. The blood rushed back into them and she squealed in pain. Barbara ordered Marci to put her “cow udders” away.

Marci did so, and it was painful and arousing all at once as the fabric of the bra rubbed them.

“Greta, you need to soothe those big fat nipples later for your whore wife, understand?” Barbara told Greg.

“Yes Mistress.” He replied, knowing he was gong to love it.

“Now pick up my things.” She told him.

He did as he was told. As he moved around, the ass plug stimulated him, and he cock was tortured mercilessly in its cage. He picked up all her things, zipped up both bags and placed then by the door. He returned to her and knelt down as always.

Barbara had told Marci to sit on the couch, and she was right next to Barbara.

“Greta, stand and bend over.”

Greg did as he was told, and Barbara ordered Marci to remove the ass plug. She did as she was told.

“Clean this.” She told Greg.

He turned and licked it clean. Then she removed the cock cage. His little pathetic wiener sprung to full erection. Barbara grabbed hold of it and looked at Marci.

“What the hell were you thinking when you married a man, no a boy, with a cock like this. This is completely useless. No wonder you were so willing to be my black cock whore.”

The words just excited Greg more.

“I don’t know Mistress; he was a nice man and treated me well I guess. But you are right, it is useless.” Marci replied.

“Yea, well being a nice guy is all you got when you’re carrying this equipment.” Barbara chuckled. “I must go.” She stood and Greg kneeled as if instinct.

“Mistress, what about my clothes?” Greg asked

“You keep them, your slut wife paid for them with her credit card.” Barbara told him, referring to the card she had taken from Marci sometime ago. She began to walk toward the door. “Oops, one more thing.” She approached Greg. “Open up.”

His large hand traced her cheek, wiping away her swollen tears with his thumb. Her hair was disheveled, a long brown fury of tangled strands. Nakedness felt good against his clothes, the way it scratched against her nipples when they wrestled or how it pressed against her sore bottom when she sat on his lap to talk.

Yet, earlier today, through all of her happiness all she wanted this morning when she crawled out of bed was to take a razor against her arm. She found him in the kitchen contemplating a cup of coffee, trying to remember how much sugar she liked in it.

“Hey baby.” he whispered in her ear softly as he ran his hands along her curves.

“Sir?” her voice trembled while her eyes stared at the floor. He looked down at her softly then picked up her chin with his hand. His lips kissed hers passionately. He had missed her all morning. He then kissed her nose, something that usually made her giggle and yelp yet today she simply glared at him. He stared into her eyes solemnly

“Yes puppy?”

“May I please cut Sir… please?” She looked up into his eyes, “I haven’t done it in a really long time…I just need to. I want to and I have for a long time. Please Sir?”

He stared at her softly in surprise. “Awww, puppy.” His hand reached out and stroked her cheek, “You know you can’t.” he smiled at her. “Do you want to play ball puppy?”

She shook her head, “No Sir, May I just go back to bed.”

“Go get your ball puppy, or better yet, you can go stand in the corner.” His voice became stern.

“But Sir… Can I just play ball. I don’t wanna. Please?” Her voice whined.

“You are acting like a child. Go to the corner now young lady.” He scolded her.

She glared at him with a scowl on her face. He raised his eyebrow at her. She turned and walked heavily to the corner.

“Nose against the wall puppy. This is a punishment, not a tantrum.” He chided. She sighed then pressed her nose into the corner. She hated things touching her nose, a quirk of hers, and he knew it.

He walked to the box of doggie toys in the den and grabbed her favorite squeaky ball. He sat down at his computer to listen to music. He randomly squeaked the ball, making her flinch. An hour later he moved restlessly to his recliner to flip through channels. His cock strained against his shorts. He stared over at his sub. She stood completely still, nose still pressed against the wall, tears falling down her cheeks to occasional quieted sniffles, she held her wrist together at the small of her back. He squeaked the ball and still she did not move. Maybe she had learned?

“Puppy.” She remained still. “Come here puppy.” She turned quietly then knelt before him on the floor. He ran his fingers through her hair. Hr patted his lap twice, “Come sit on my lap puppy. “

“Please Sir, with respect, I’d rather not.” She bowed her head and stared down to the floor.

“Puppy I think we need to talk. You may go sit on the sofa if you would like.”

She stared up at him, “No Sir, I am fine here.”


“Puppy.” he cooed at her.

“Yes-Sir?” came as a brittle reply from her pink lips. Her tears fell against his chest as she stared down to the oak floor.

His voice hardened, “Puppy, look at me.” Her eyes found his. “Puppy I am not mad at you, but you need to tell me why you are crying.” She stared back at the floor in shame. “Puppy!” She whimpered, cowering at the anger in his voice. “Look at me girl.”

She began to shake as she looked up into his eyes again. Fear burned in the green sparkles of her eyes. She was falling back into her old habits. She fell back asleep silently.

“Puppy why are you so sad today?” He sighed then stared at the silver clock on his dark red wall. What more could he do for her? She had cried at his feet until he scooped her up into his lap against her will. He rocked her until she had fallen asleep. What more could he do? Even if the tears would stop he would never let her cut again. She was afraid to loose the one bit of sanity left in her life, and he did not want to loose another person that be cared for. She thought nothing of herself and occasionally let him know it. It resulted in what their relationship called a fight. He sighed again then ran his fingers through her hair, trying to tame it slightly. He leaned over and kissed her forehead softly in an almost fatherly manner.

She began to whimper softly and nuzzle her cheek against his chest. As consciousness overtook her she tried to move from his lap. Not because she loathed it, but because she knew she did not deserve it’s warmth. His arms tightened around her as if he could read her thoughts. She yawned softly.

“Hold up your arms for me puppy.”

She looked up at him with a pained expression. She held her hands wrist up to show him the milky white flesh. He grabbed her wrist in one hand then ran his fingers over her inner forearm. She shivered and twitched.

“Aw, does that feel good puppy?” she whimpered softly, “Would you like me to cut you puppy? Feel the razor splitting your skin?” she tried to pull her wrist from his. “Maybe you would like it if I cut you arm… right here.” he traced an old scar on are arm. “Would you like that puppy?”

“No Sir, please, I’m sorry.” tears fell down her cheeks.

“Are you sure puppy?”

“Yes Sir. Please I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. But I always upset you …” her voice trailed off.

His thumb wiped away her tears. “Puppy you know that I care for you. Just because you fail to behave does not mean that I no longer want you. I know you have issues you fruitcake.” He stuck his tongue out at her. “I like my silly puppy. I like to spank her, and make her behave. But I also like my sad puppy. You have to take the good with the bad baby.” He kissed her softly. I am here for you puppy. Especially when you mess up because who else is going to spank you for being a bad girl?” He looked down at her flushed face with a devilish grin. He chuckled at her, “Aw. Poor puppy. Why are you wiggling all over my lap now puppy? Is my little puppy wet?”

“Y…Yea…Yes Sir” she stuttered out in embarrassment. He pinched her ass playfully making her yelp. She stared up at him with a slight pout on her face.

“Poor little puppy. Do I need to put some duck tape over your cunt puppy? Hmm? I don’t want to get my pants all wet during your spanking.” She stared up at him with her mouth agape. “If you keep holding your mouth open I might need to tape it shut for you.” She closed her lips. He chuckled.

“Go get the tape off the dresser puppy.” He popped her ass playfully as she shakily stood to retrieve the tape.

Her hands grasped the tape slowly, her fingers felt the smoothness of it. She walked back to him with her arms outstretched, holding the tape as far away as she possibly could. If she simply felt the stickiness of the tape against her skin she knew she would cum.

“Good puppy.” He said as he took the tape from her slightly unwilling hands. He tore a piece of the black tape off and placed it firmly over her lips as if it was as normal as a kiss. She moaned as the stickiness formed to her lips.

“Lay down on the floor.” She laid on the cold floor with her legs pressed firmly together. “Open your legs puppy.” She bent her knees and pressed her feet to the floor, holding her legs about a foot apart. He moved from his recliner to kneel between her legs. “Wider…Wider…Wider. That’s it girl.”

His hand raked across the skin on her inner thighs, over faded the razor-blade scars. He kissed her leg gently at her knee then progressed into vicious bites on the pale skin of her mid thigh. Her body wriggled and bucked in response. Her hands had formed tight little fist due to the feelings coursing through her body and the anger she felt of having his lips so close to her pussy. She hated him there. It just was not his place. She looked down at him, whimpering softly, pleading with her eyes for him to relocate.

He laughed at her protest. He slid up her body causing a moan to tape her hands together above her head. He kissed her lips softly, her cheek, her ear. His hot breath tickled her ear as he whispered, “What a good punishment. Don’t you think so puppy?” She viciously shook her head no. “But why not puppy? Did you really believe that I would let you be a bad girl and let it slide?”

Although her hands were taped he held them down with one of his as he twisted her right nipple. His lips kissed the tape on hers roughly, making her wish the tape away. He kissed down her body softly, stopping to nip her nipples and other areas that only he knew.

“Should I kiss your pussy? I bet you will love it” She could feel his breath against her. She squirmed uncomfortably. “Stay still puppy.” His fingers separated her lips to reveal her soaking pussy and hard clit. He stared at her cunt for some time, it was the first time he had ever really looked at her pussy so closely. He moves his lips closer to her clit and blew cool air onto it. She focused all of her energy on staying still. His tongue, as if her was virgin to this game, flicked against her clit roughly. His lips then circled around her clit to suck softly. She did not moan, as he expected, until he bit her clit lightly. He chuckled to himself as he bit down harder and grinded her clit between his teeth. She screamed through the tape. His teeth let go of her clit as he spoke to her, “Poor puppy. Did that hurt?” He smiled the sinister grin that she had come to know so well. His fingers traced small patterns on her lips until her breathing calmed slightly. “You are free to cum whenever you like puppy.” He looked up at her, she glared down at him. He pinched her clit as he stared into her eyes. She shook her head whimpering as she neared release. “Puppy you are going to cum. In fact, you will cum when I next bite you.”

She whimpered through her gag, begging him to let her complete this ordeal with out proven pleasure. He kissed, licked, and nibbled at her pussy, he made her twist away and lean closer to his lips, he set his teeth around her swollen clit and bit down roughly, her body shook with orgasm.

Before she caught her breath or uncurled her toes she heard him tear off another piece of tape. He placed the tape expertly along her lips. He patted her taped pussy, “Ready for your spanking puppy?” She looked at him in a mixture of fear and lust. “Oh! I almost forgot.” He tore off two new pieces of tape and taped down her breast tightly. She moaned out pathetically as her clit throbbed. He kissed each of her taped breast and lips softly.

“You are such a silly puppy. All taped up. Tape against your lips.” His fingers traced along her lips as he spoke. “Tape all over your little breast.” he pinched her nipples through the tape. “And a swollen wet pussy all taped up.” He ran his fingers over the tape on her cunt. “Such a wet…taped little puppy… I bet the tape on that cunt of yours is going to fall off. Duck tape doesn’t stick if it gets to wet ya’ know.” His hand slapped her cunt softly. “Such a naughty puppy today.” He slapped her cunt again with more force. “A…Bad…Bad…Nau-ght-y…pup-py…” His hand spanked her cunt with each syllable he spoke. “A..Tape-ed…Up…Nau-ght-y…Lit-tle… Pup-py…” The spanks grew harder still until each smack caused her to scream out.

Her breath was coming in short gasps through her nose, her hips pushed up towards him begging for more. His hand stuck her cunt with a harder force than before, “Cum…Pup…py.” She screamed as her body convulsed in orgasm. His hand continued to rain down on her cunt to elongate her orgasm.

He held himself over her as she regained her breath. He kissed her lips softly and whispered southing reassurances in her ear. “I know you are tired baby, but I know my puppy can take more.” her eyes looked at him in a dazed confusion. He moved back between her legs and grabbed the leather flogger that until now she had yet to notice.

He started softly from her breast to her knees, each thwack caused a soft moan deep in her throat. He slowly increased the force behind the flogger to make her dance about. He stopped briefly to peel the tape from her mouth so her could hear her screams.

The flogging resumed with harder smacks against her skin. Soon the focus of the tails was her taped cunt. Each time the flogger would strike her he received a yelp, and each time it stuck her cunt he received a scream. Sill harder the flogging became as every other thwack landed on her swollen lips.

He hit her cunt roughly, “Cum.” She screamed out in pleasure and pain as her body tensed with orgasm. As her body began to soften she struck her again, “Cum.” The process continued. Thwack, “Cum.” Thwack. “Cum.” Thwack, “Cum!”

Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat. Her eyes were glazed with the look of submission. And now her body laid limp and she moaned softly when he touched her.

He held himself above her body and kissed her gently. “My beautiful little puppy. Such a good girl.” he whispered in her ear.

“Will you fuck me please Sir?” was her soft reply.

His response was silent as he pulled away the tape from her cunt that was beginning to fall off. He held her hands together in one of his own against the floor. He thrust into her softly. Moving his cock deep into her womb at a slow pace.

She whimpered, cumming every time he moved a certain way. She was gone. “Sir?”

“Yes puppy?”

“Please just fuck me?” She smiled at him softly.

“I think I will fuck you how I wish to girl.” he said as he thrust deep into her. He continued to alternate between hard and soft thrust. Changing at almost every stroke as he pinned her to the floor.

She began to whimper and beg, “Sir please… I can’t cum anymore… Sir please cum…Please Sir.”

His hand moved to rest at her throat softly as he thrust into her roughly he tightened his grip. Her body shook with an orgasm more powerful than any she had experienced today.

” I tell you when you are done girl.” She whimpered louder.

He began to thrust into her roughly. Pushing himself deep into her womb. “Cum for me puppy.” They came together. He laid to the side of her and pulled her close against him. She curled against him and kissed him softly and nuzzled her cheek against him. Quiet moments lasted until she fell asleep.

“Time for a bath puppy. Then off to bed with you.” He said as he pulled her off the floor. They took a silent shower, washing each other in the warm water. She stepped out of the shower to grab his towel and dry him, then herself. They walked to his bed together, him leading the way (he always led the way) and curled up beneath the blankets. She snuggled against his body, still slightly in subspace, and felt complete peace.

The leaves rustling in the trees as a spring breeze ruffles the fabric of the air. Window open but blind pulled shut, she knows that the last light of the evening should be just streaking across the backyard.

The twitter of birds as they head to their nests to roost, and the baying of a dog makes her smile. It is a glorious evening, and she is dressing to annoy.

Her Master has a very specific dress code …and she is feeling mischievous, positively contrary. She pulls on socks, panties, jeans and a pair of sneakers. All definitely on the list of no nos where it pertains to clothing. Running her fingers over ample breasts, she admires them in the mirror, and slips her arms through the loops of the bra, fastening it and pulling on a t-shirt. This outfit should get her the kind of attention she truly seeks tonight.

This is not a kiss me softly, pat me on the bottom and make love to me kind of night. She wants wild and wanton…excitement tinged with danger. The kind of night that keeps her on edge, wanting more.

She arrives late…on purpose, knowing that that by itself is a punishable offense. When he opens the door, the darkness in his eyes causes her to step back. He reaches out for her, his strong hand grabbing her forearm, fingers wrapping around punishing, bruising and he pulls her forward, she loses her balance and lands heavily against him, knocking the very breath from her lungs.

Gasping for air, his hand still gripping her arm he whispers in her ear, “You are late.” Her bottom lip trembles, as she nods, an apology poised to spill out, her mind racing as she rethinks her theory. This may earn her more than she had bargained for.

Not letting her put voice to the apology that starts to form in her mind, he closes the door pushing her up against it. His lips come down on hers, territorial kisses, meant to mark and claim, not ones of passion. Although there is a veiled lust lurking just below the surface.

She can feel it in the length of manhood that is pressing hard into her belly, can smell his arousal as well as her own. He pulls back, still gripping that arm tightly and looks her over..starting at her sneaker clad feet, sneering as his eyes rove over the jeans, shaking his head at the fettered breasts, in their bra under the t-shirt. He lets go of her so suddenly that if not for the door behind her, she would have stumbled and fallen to the floor.

He turns and walks away. She watches him as he disappears down the hallway, and listens as the door to the basement creaks open. A shiver of trepidation runs along her spine. A little excitement, a little fear…a lot of hesitancy.

His voice calls out…demanding her immediate compliance, “COME TO ME!” The booming voice pulls her from her reverie and she rushes forward, pausing only momentarily at the top of the stairs…wondering how quickly she can at least remove the bra and panties.

“NOW!” turns her insides into tightly coiled spasms of panic, her feet take her quickly to the steps, descending into the murky half gloom of the playroom. She stands at the bottom of the stairs, letting her eyes adjust…straining to see where he is.

A gasp as her eyes fall on his newest acquisition, the wheel. He slaps a leather paddle against his palm…the sound like gunshots in the dungeon, echoing and she bites into her bottom lip to keep from crying out.

His eyes lock on hers drawing her to him with out need of command. Approaching, she quickly drops to her knees, head down…reaching to kiss the paddle, but he pulls it away. “You come to me dressed like that – you do not deserve to kiss the paddle, nor any part of my body. Stand.” His eyes flash in the dim light, twin orbs of menace as he glares at her.

Trembling as she stands…legs loose, almost not able to hold her up…once again she parts her lips, an apology ready…but he stops her…shakes his head and presses cold fingers to her trembling and bitten lips…”Shhhh!”

Still hitting the palm of his hand with the paddle, he walks around her, circling, surveying her from every side, the paddle whistles and her jean clad bottom quivers in the wake of the smack.

Five more in quick succession before he returns to stand in front of her. “You like the way you are dressed…well I will not take your clothes from your body…but before this night is through you will beg me to strip you naked.”

He pushes her to the wheel, his hands rough and firm, he straps first wrists, then her ankles, her thighs, waist and head so that she is virtually unable to move. Her nipples swell as the reality hits her…omg…fully dressed and on the wheel…this is truly not what she had imagined as she dressed earlier.

The paddle lashes at her bottom, her thighs, over and over again. Her traitorous cunt, as ever, fills as the paddle works over her quivering globes.

He turns out the lights and there is silence..not even the whir of a fan…nor a waft of air it would stir. Just her in her tethers, he spins the wheel so that she is almost upside down….and walks away. The silence is deafening, the darkness complete, the pounding of her heart getting louder, til it is the only thing that anchors her to the world.

What seems like hours go by, and finally she hears him approach, footsteps on the stairs, and then the lights come on..brilliant as day…she blinks and whimpers, wincing from the brightness. He spins the wheel…bringing her upright…and runs his fingers over her back, down to the swell of buttocks.

The sensation dulled by clothing, unable to even squirm, she wants more…harder touches…needs to feel. Lips parched she asks to be forgiven, as the buzzing starts, it drowns out her pleas. He touches the vibrator to the spread v of her legs, the sensations traveling through the clothes, she can hear the squelch of her wet pussy as it tries to open, to expose that aching clit. The lips stay pressed together, pooling the flow of her juices behind them.

He presses tighter, bruising her delicate nether lips, her clit dancing but unable to feel the full force, not enough to bring her to the edge…but enough to make her yearn to get there. Unable to resist…she screams out in frustration, “PLEASE!!!!” Her answer is his chuckle. Tears spill from her eyes, as she begs to feel the kiss of the paddle, the sting of the whip…anything that will penetrate the clothing and fire her straining nerve endings. Her legs spread so wide that she cannot even create friction by rubbing them together. The screams of frustration ring out through the night.

He steps away, leaving her bathed in sweat, panties tucked into the groove of her slit, the crack of her ass, wicking the moisture away from that streaming pussy. Unable to even wriggle against the panties…she begs to be let down, to have her clothing ripped from her body … “PLEASE!!!!”

She hears the whistle a mere blink before the tip of the whip kisses her inner thighs. Over and over, counting…screaming, at 20, she slumps … the heat intense as it spreads bringing a fresh wave of sweat cascading over her, a new outpouring from that hungry pussy,

It is long moments before she realizes that she no longer hears the whip slicing the air, before she can breathe in enough air to stop her head from swimming.

He releases the cuffs from ankles and thighs, she presses her legs together and the cold wet of her panties chills her, makes her shiver. Her waist and head, then her wrists…and she slumps weakly against the wheel.

He turns her and pushes her to her knees…drives his hard cock into her mouth, past swollen lips, both of her hands captured in one of his…his other hand holding her head steady…fucking her throat …not letting her get a breath before plunging deep. Gagging, drooling…eyes watering.

With a final hard and urgent thrust, he shoves deep down her throat, past the bend and shoots his load. It rushes down…not even back splashing … deprived even of the taste of his spunk. He lets go of her head and pulls her to trembling legs, staring into her eyes…”Next time, mind how you dress…and remember the consequences.”

He walks quickly to the stairs, pulling her roughly behind him…at the door…he pauses…”Tomorrow night be here…I trust you will dress accordingly.” Without another touch to her quivering body he opens the door and propels her forward.

Standing on the porch, trembling, wet and unsatisfied…pouting and stamping her foot. Letting a grin cross her face….til tomorrow, sighing softly she reaches back and rubs that spanked rump.

The sun is just sending its final rays of daylight across the sky. Already, there are pockets of deep shadows in the backyard…she watches them deepen…lost in thought. The loons in the lake have started calling to each other, to their young, time to come home to roost for the night. An eagle circles overhead , slowly watching its prey and as it dives she rises from the chair and goes inside.

Stripping the towel from her body she walks down the hall…the warm air caressing her tub pinked skin….water long dried as she sat basking in the last traces of sunlight. Opening the fridge and reaching for the can of soda…the cool air stiffening her nipples, rolling the cold can across her breasts…shivering as a smile creeps to her lips. “Tonight, he will be pleased with the way I am dressed. Tonight I will get rewarded.” she whispers the words aloud and trembles in anticipation.

Running a dab of perfume along the top edge of her pubic bone…another drop at the start of the Y that forms her ass crack…and one more dab on the beating pulse of her throat, sighing softly, the scent filling her nostrils.

Black stockings, a denim skirt that barely covers the swell of her quivering bottom and a top, so sheer that it is as if she is wearing nothing at all….if not for the fabric rubbing across those swollen nipples she wouldn’t even feel the weight of the scrap of material that drapes over her shoulders. A pair of impossibly high black heels completes the outfit and feeling confident…her pussy already moist, she grabs her keys and climbs into the car. The hum of the engine, the aroma of perfume and sex, she shudders, dipping two fingers into her sopping pussy to ease the tension, being careful not to cum.

Standing on his doorstep….she rings the bell, and patiently awaits his arrival. The night seems ominous as she stands here…tapping her foot…she knocks. Rapping so loud her knuckles sting. Taking a step back, she sees that there are no lights blazing in any window.

Curiosity over taking her sense of disappointment, she trudges across the lawn in those impossibly high heels, feeling off balance, the spikes digging into the soft earth. Approaching the garage, she rises up on tip toe to peer into the darkened window…her scream cut short as a hand covers her mouth, dragged backwards, off balance she topples into the arms of?….trembling, her voice husky with fear she whispers, “Who are you?”

Several chuckles float to her ears and a sensation not unlike a trickle of icy water on heated flesh ripples along her spine.

‘He said you’d be here on time tonight….and to entertain you until he arrives.” Her voice gives answer before she can think and a strangled “NO!” escapes her lips. Rough hands grip her legs and shoulders and she is carried around to the back of the garage. A blindfold is slipped over her eyes and the dark night becomes absolute. No light penetrates the edges and her heart beats too fast.

Ropes are slipped over her wrists and pulled up and out til her feet are just grazing the ground…a mouth slips over her pussy wet and sticky fingers and licks the dried juice…a deep growl pushes from that mouth and teeth dig into her….she cries out, more from shock than pain…the ropes are pulled tighter and her feet lift from the ground.

More ropes on her ankles and they too are pulled up and out until her skirt pushes up over parted thighs…legs so wide it feels like they will pull apart. The muscles in her thighs dancing, screaming as they are stretched to the point of tearing. The sound of sobbing as her body is suspended…surprised into silence as she realizes that the sobs are coming from her.

There is no need to remove her skirt as it is now little more then a belt, the wind caresses her wet pussy lips, tingles as it moves the fabric across engorged nipples. She pulls, her body twisting to no avail….there is no play in the ropes.

She hears an odd whistle and turns unseeing eyes in that direction to be rewarded with the kiss of the whip just below the swell of her heaving breasts. A scream tears from her throat and a voice growls, “Scream, scream all you want…there is no one to hear you but us…and we like the sound.”

The second slash takes her just above the nipples…and her body bucks like a wild animal…she can feel herself swaying back and forth. A loud keening, a mere breath before the lash strikes across those hardened nipples, feeling like it cut her right one in half, and a simultaneous strike to the back of her thighs.

The pain so hot that she cannot force even a whimper from between her gritted teeth. She loses count after 20, her mind reeling as she doubles that number, each whistle gives her twin lashes, front and back.

The air chilling the wet trails that run down her thighs, and it is several moments before she can breathe. The sounds of the night return to her ears and somewhere off in the distance the croak of frogs and the call of loons bring a normalcy to the night that does not exist.

Long moments pass and and at last her breathing slows, the beating of her heart less of a pounding sound, reduced to a slow trot. Her ears straining to detect any motion…biting her bottom lip as she hears breathing, not her own…so close. .

Whimpering….nervously twitching in the ropes, her traitorous pussy dripping its sweet lubricating oils. A finger touches and trails through the slippery tracks of her spilling juices, making her moan, the soft touch such a welcome relief after the pain of the lash.

A hot breath on parted pussy lips, it brushes as light as a feathers touch across that protruding clit. Another long moan as she strains to touch her aching clit to those lips that must be so close…muscles rippling with the effort.

“As much as I’d like to push my tongue to your quivering bits, you do smell delicious, and thrust my fingers into your throbbing cunt…the instructions were clear. If you are to cum…it will be by the sting of the lash, the kiss of the paddle or if we are very lucky to witness, from the zap of the electric prod. No touching or inserting allowed. ” the voice fading as he moves away from her body. “And we had better get started if we wish to see His cunt streaming with cum before he arrives.”

Finding her voice once again, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” as the sobs bubble up, her body twisting and turning, arms pulling, legs unable to even pull just a little…and the whipping begins anew. The lashes striking across her parted vulva, nipping into the soft pink bits, the sounds of the strikes evident of the dripping state of her cunt.

The lash at the rear of her changes to a paddle and the hand wielding it never ceases…the blows fast and constant. Hanging limply from the ropes, defeated , all fight gone, she endures, her mind floating away and her body staying to accept its punishment.

Brought back to her senses, the shock of the cold water as it splashes on fevered flesh, the loud gasp from her lungs as she involuntarily sucks for air….every stripe standing lividly on her pale skin, on fire as the water cascades over her.

“Now that I have your attention….we need to see you cum…keep that in mind…cum for us and we will stop.” his words punctuated by the unmistakable sound of the electric zap as the wand sizzles close to her ear. Tears soak the blindfold…her sobs wrenched from her, ripping the fabric of the still night air.

The first zap hits her right nipple and before she can react…the second takes her left nipple. Body twitching….flailing, spittle flying from her lips as she opens her mouth to scream…and before she can even do that….the prod touches her puckered rosebud and sets her world on fire.

Screaming…her asshole spasming as it flares one, two , omggggg, three more times…the fluids pouring from her cunt dripping audibly onto the ground….

“Just one more well placed zap and I think you boys will get your reward.” says the voice that will protect her…make them stop. “Here let me show you how to make that cunt’s cunt cum for you.” He reaches up and grips a handful of her hair, pulls her lips to his and kisses her hard, bruising her tender lips, sucking her tongue into his mouth along with her very breath…he bites down hard.

Her screams filtered, muffled and she feels the cold steel of the prongs on her swollen, heaving, engorged and very wet clit. Shaking her head, her tongue still pinioned by his teeth he pulls the trigger…and lets the electric current continue to flow.

Her body convulses….cunt contracts as all other muscles relax…a stream of hot piss added to the outpouring from her pussy. A full body orgasm rips through her tortured body, he pulls his mouth from hers and lets her scream ring out. Long after the prod is removed her body processes the sensations, sustaining an exquisitely painful orgasm until there seems to be no fluid left to spray from her. Hanging loosely, too weak to lift her head, she hears the amazed murmurs from the men who strung her up.

His voice, commanding as always booms through the night, piercing even her semi-conscious state, “Hose her down boys, let her down and put her in the stall next to the horse….let him put up with her smell all night long….it’s late and I’m going to bed.” He leans to whisper in her ear…”Never antagonize me again, unless you have enjoyed this, but remember, the consequences always escalate in intensity…as do the rewards for good behavior.”

His hand slipping easily into her sloppy cunt…he fucks her with his fist…hard and fast into another painful orgasm….pulls his fist out still clenched, and feeds her his fingers, pushing them deep into her mouth until she has licked the salty taste of piss and the sweet taste of girl cum from them…then leaves without another word.

Sobbing as the cold water rinses her body, she is let down to fall on the ground…legs unable to hold her up….arms tied behind her back they carry her wretched body to the stall….tossing her onto the hay…it pokes and stings her flailed flesh. Her tied hands are hooked to the stall wall, allowing her very little movement, exhausted, she falls asleep in the fragrant grass.

Carry forced a moan as her lips encased her Master’s spit-lubed cock. Her tongue swirled around his member while she started to bob her head back and forth. Her Master exhaled, relaxing, as his slave serviced him. His half-closed eyes looked over her head at the baseball game on the television. Her Master’s smooth, rigid dick usually calmed her troubles when she licked it over and over. It was her tranquilizer, her therapy. But that day, pleasing her Master couldn’t calm her nerves. He didn’t notice her distraction. His euphoria clouded his mind and made the TV set in front of him blurred and noiseless.

She put her full concentration on pumping his wet and trembling cock. Smirking, he settled himself deeper into the couch. Head tilted back, he moaned softly.

“Swallow,” Felix commanded.

Because she was a good slave, she gulped down the jizz that shot down her throat. His body slumped more as she delicately cleaned him with her tongue. She sat back on her heels, head down, licking the mess on her lips after she was finished mopping up his softening dick. Her Master cracked his neck and sat upright, smiling not only because she gave him another exceptional blowjob but because his team got two runs and were ahead while he was visiting paradise. Recovering from his trip, he sat up right and patted the space next to him.

“Sit with me.” She crawled up the couch and curled up in a ball next to him. Her hands tightly gripped his arm. “Do you have any requests for today?”

It was the question she anxiously waited for all morning. “Master, may I please go shopping? I need more beautiful adornments for my sexy body.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. He loved her honest demands. The way she pleaded for something was always direct, firm, and almost arrogant because he rarely denied her. “Bring me your other collar.”

Off the couch and onto all fours, she crawled the small distance to the bedroom. Her privilege to walk was revoked two weeks ago. Her perfect obedience for the past month annoyed her Master. He tested her limits, but she remained a good girl. He disciplined her to remind his slave of her subservience.

She took the necklace from the dresser and carried it in her mouth, grimacing at the taste. Kneeling, she dropped the heavy, linked gold necklace onto his lap. He switched the collars from leather to metal, from her private collar to her public collar. It was heavy and chunky with a stunning lock pendant and worth a couple paychecks. He stroked her face. “Three hours.”

With the other collar on, she gained back her freedom to walk. She stood and flashed a smile. He twisted her naked tits, kissed her, and snapped her thong. She playfully flinched and returned to the bedroom.

She stood in the doorway and took a deep breath, trying to build up her courage. Her hands trembled as she put on a plain shirt and khaki pants. She shoved her id, phone, and a few dollars in her pocket, then grabbed her sunglasses and the car keys. She knelt before the couch.

“I love you, Master. Forever.”

“Love you too,” he said casually with barely a smile. It wasn’t as passionate as she wanted his words to be. But she knew he loved her deeply. She nodded and got back up. Before she stepped outside, she looked back at him. Her Master kept his eyes on the TV. She closed the door behind her and shuddered. A lump appeared in her throat. Her chest started to ache.

She steadied herself going down the stairs. Her sweating hand gripped the railing to keep her from falling. At the carport where their car was parked, she released the necklace and placed it on the driver’s seat. She locked the car and put the keys on top of the front tire. Goosebumps dotted her skin although it was just over 85 degrees. As if freezing, she wrapped her arms around her and walked out of the apartment complex, two streets east, and to a bus stop with five others waiting.

Carry left him with the car. She couldn’t just take it with her. The grinding brakes and the snort of the bus coming to a stop startled her from her thoughts. She boarded the first bus out of two that she would take to get to the other side of the county.

Sniffling, she took her phone from her pocket and reread the text message.

“Saturday. 23516 Riverside Rd. Be there before sunset or your boyfriend is dead.”

She bit her lip and allowed a couple tears fall. Her past should have remained in the past. After prison, everything that happened before should have been resolved. Her psycho ex destroyed her life. Felix saved it. But old clients of her former boyfriend were pissed that she put the bastard in jail. They were out of business without the most powerful criminal in the county. One client decided to make her pay. She didn’t want to drag her loving Master into her past again.

Leaving a note wasn’t an option for her. His skip tracing skills would have led him to her. She feared that leaving the necklace and not explaining her intentions would make him think she abandoned him. She imagined the look on his face when his heart broke. Her heart hurt imagining his distress when he found the necklace.

She wished she knew how they would dispose her body. There was hope that her Master would be able to find her remains. That way he would know that she didn’t leave him. But if she were chopped to pieces, cremated, left in the desert, grossly disfigured, or buried in a deep grave, her set up would be in vain. She didn’t want him to believe she ditched him. She wanted him to know, eventually, that she died to protect him. The guise of leaving him would give him a delay before he started his search.

The sniffles were harder to control. She brought her knees up to her chest and curled up on the small seat. Fear was taking over her braveness. She wanted to run back home and cling to her Master. They didn’t leave a clue to how quick her death would be. Thoughts of being tortured to a slow death caused her to vomit the past two days. She faked a smile for her Master and was a good enough actress for him not to notice how pale her skin was.

It was difficult for her to accept that she would die that day. How and when was a painful mystery she endured while she cradled herself on a cramped, hot bus on the way to her execution.


Felix paced around the apartment, aimlessly wandering, cell phone in his hand. The fifth call went straight to voicemail. Her phone was off. It had been four hours since she left. Half an hour ago, he started choosing implements and planned her punishment. But he placed those aside as his worries took over. She had never been that disobedient before.

His imagination went wild, fueled by his fear. She could have been in an accident, kidnapped, or killed in some other way.

“No, not now,” he whispered. He thought about the engagement ring he kept hidden in his closet. His procrastination proposing to her made him sick. It was over a year since they were released from prison. He didn’t know why he didn’t have the guts to propose on their first anniversary. If she was dead, he didn’t get a chance to prove his love for her in the form of beautiful ring he bought three months ago. Unlike their alternative lifestyle, the ring wasn’t dark or gothic. It was a simple diamond set in white gold. He thought something sparkly and shiny fit her personality best. Although sexy and kinky, her childlike smile and exaggerated coyness were the initial qualities every other jealous dom saw when they met her. She was bright beacon, a cheerful slave, in the BDSM world.

His worries consumed him to the point where he could barely breathe. He turned on his laptop and waited impatiently as it booted up. The gps tracker would let him know where she was. Their car was a popular choice amongst thieves. He set up everything right after he brought her home from prison, when his paranoia was at his peak. He never used the equipment to spy on her; he always trusted her.

He opened the program and stared at the screen for awhile. He then leaped from the couch and sprinted to the carport where the car stayed for the past few hours.


The setting sun provided little light through the cracks of wood slats that formed the walls and ceiling of a poorly constructed extension to the house. The room reeked of the deaths that had occurred there. Carry got used to its putrid odor.

There was a dirty gag in between her jaws. Her arms stretched upward. Her wrists were tied together and bound to a bar above her head. Her legs were spread with her ankles shackled to the wall. She alternated hanging her head and resting it up right to keep her neck limber. Her focus was to keep from succumbing to panic. She did what she did best – stay bound for long periods at a time.

Carry didn’t know why her captures hadn’t killed her as soon as she surrendered. She could barely hear the conversation on the other side of the door. They seemed to be having a long discussion that went on for hours on how to kill her and what to do with her body. She wasn’t sure what the delay was. The mental torture of waiting was just as worse as her sore muscles.

Three questions lingered in her mind. When was she going to take her last breath? How much was her death going to hurt? Would her Master be able to find her body?

The third drove her to tears. It was hard to keep them away. She had to. Her gagged mouth made breathing a struggle. A running or plugged up nose would make breathing impossible.

Her Master rarely used gags on her when she was bound. Its main use was to quiet her intense orgasms or severe whippings because of the thin walls of their apartment. If it was merely used to muffle her, Felix applied flavored lube to the ball. She appreciated his creativity during play and punishment. He wasn’t like her older masters, doing the same things the same way over and over. He incorporated love and laughter in everything he did to her or with her.

Like the day when her Master searched the apartment for things to spank her with. He tried books, frying pans, rolling pins, silverware, wet towels. They couldn’t contain their laughter any longer when he took an old keyboard to her ass. He made her whippings interesting too. Sometimes, he made her count to a number in Roman numerals or recite a poem that he wrote or say the alphabet backward before he would stop swinging the flogger. He would make her say weird, embarrassing, and dirty things during sex. He would make her eat dessert for breakfast. He would throw food at her to catch with her teeth. She remembered trying to catch pancakes on all fours and giggling so much she could barely breathe.

He knew when to limit the fun. Besides being his companion, she was mostly his slave. His dominance over her remained every second of every day. He took his control over her seriously. When he ordered her to suck his cock, no matter where they were, she got on her knees. When he said no to her, she didn’t sulk. A few times, she whined when she felt that he was unfair to her. All those mistakes earned her punishment.

He would leave her bound, blinded, and in a silent room for hours at a time. He tied her to crosses, benches, and the bed. Sometimes she sported marks from lashes. Sometimes clamps and tassels hung from her tits. Sometimes her ass was bruised and heated. Always after punishment, he treated her like a goddess and let her come over and over until her body went completely limp. When he returned from cleaning up, she would be curled up in a ball and asleep on the bed, passed out from her rough fucking.

She never had a better Master, lover, and protector. Her eyes became glossy thinking of what he could be doing at that moment. She could imagine him, crying and calling her name. A few tears that she couldn’t control rolled down her cheeks.


The pain was unbearable. Every muscle ached and trembled. Her arms strained; her wrists stretched. She felt that her arms were going to detach at the wrists. She wanted to lie on the floor, even if it was covered with rat dung and blood. Complete darkness surrounded her. Every once in a while, she heard noises and voices come from the house, then fade away. She wanted to hear more. She needed to hear that they were still with her. She had to know they didn’t leave her to die, shackled and alone.

The want to die grew stronger. The wait was excruciating. She hoped her life would end with a simple question: head or chest? Other possibilities brought her close to throwing up on herself. Burning to death, drowning, electrocution, disembowelment – all caused her to shake more. If they did give her the option to take a bullet, she wasn’t sure which to pick. She didn’t know which was a quicker, less painful death.

It was only fair to go with a shot through her chest. She murdered her Master’s heart. She should be punished as so.

Glowing balls and streaks of light flashed around the room. A young girl said, “I love you,” into her ear. A radio playing classical music was somewhere in the room. Faces, evil and innocent, appeared in front of her. She hung her head and closed her eyes to block out the hallucinations.

“It will be over soon,” she whispered through her parched mouth. A small speck of hope that her Master would rescue her kept her strong enough to withstand the torture.


Piss streamed down her leg. She moaned every few seconds. She was too tired to cry. It was difficult to distinguish the voices on the other side of the door and the voices of demons that growled at her, encouraging her to give up. Her last bit of mental energy concentrated fully on the question she was too scared to face: what would happen to her soul? The good deeds she did in life came to her memory, but they were soon clouded by the sins she committed. The times she helped her sadistic ex-boyfriend would make her resume for heaven heavily blemished. She never gave too much thought about the afterlife, if there was one. But she trembled with the horrifying judgment of an eternity in hell. If any or all religions were correct all along, she feared what would happen as soon as the bullet pierced her heart. She said an awkward prayer, a plea, to whoever was in charge, that her soul would be spared from burning in the fiery abyss. She concluded the prayer with a wish that her life would be over soon.

Slowly, she lifted her head when yelling and scuffling came from behind the door. Men shouted over each other. A couple howled in pain. Doors slammed against the walls as they were thrown open. Her head fell. A few tears dropped to the ground. Her time had come.

The door crashed into the wall. She couldn’t see the person who barged in. She felt the gag slip from her mouth. Her ankles were released. She buckled and put more strain on her wrists. A body, a man, put his weight against her to keep her up right as her untied her wrists. She moaned loudly as pain shot through her body. Dizziness made her fall into the man’s arms. He carefully flipped her over his shoulder and carried her out of the room.

Her eyes were blurry but she was able to make out the scene around her. Men handcuffed other men. A few of her captures gave her dirty looks. The cool, outdoor air kept her conscious until she was gently set in the backseat of a car. The car’s familiar smell made her feel safe enough to close her eyes and give in to her exhaustion.


Most of the pain dissipated when she woke up. Carry sat up from where she lay in the backseat of their car. Outside the window, sand and cacti streaked by.

“What were you thinking?” She looked into the rearview mirror and saw her Master’s bloodshot eyes glaring at her. She rested her forehead against the seat and moaned softly as her sore muscles throbbed when she moved.

“I didn’t want them to kill you.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I told you that I would take care of you. I told I would never let anything come in between us. I TOLD YOU-” He took a deep, shuddered breath. “I told you I would protect you.”

She avoided his eyes and stared into the fabric of the seat. Regret caused her to tremble and wish her Master’s arm were holding her tightly. She swallowed; her dry throat created more pain. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out later,” he snapped. He had just enough sympathy to forgive her for forgetting her manners and addressing him correctly. He understood her fatigue was too much for her to think properly. But since she was physically better, he couldn’t drop the rage he felt.

Mentally, she didn’t have the energy to guess where they were headed. She lay against the door and tried to get comfortable.

“I called in many favors with old friends still in the business,” he said, the fury in his voice dropped a bit, “and they got paid well last night. Nearly all of the bastards were wanted in some way or another.” He didn’t need to further explain how he found her. She groaned, barely audible. She should have known that his skip tracing skills would lead him to her every time.

They continued on the highway, neither speaking. His weary and narrowed eyes stayed on the road. When her head stopped pounding, she took peeks outside to gain any clues of their destination. At the next rest stop, he pulled over and let her rest. Her legs wobbled. It took her a while to walk normally. She used the restroom and splashed cool water on her face. Under his furious eyes, she paced and stuffed sugar and salt from the vending machine down her throat. She was working on her second bottle of water when they hit the road again.

Half an hour later, the scene became vaguely familiar. As they turned down a dirt road, the shed and trailer came into view. They arrived at the dungeon. It looked the same as it had been three years ago. She wasn’t sure if they were there to hide again or her Master had plans to use the dungeon. Plans that involved a shed full of punishment equipment.

He guided her to the trailer instead and laid her on the bed inside. She fell asleep within a minute.


The only sound she heard upon wakening was her Master’s breathing. She felt his drawn out breaths against her bare neck. She lengthened her spine to stretch. The slight movement woke Felix up. His arm instinctively tightened around her waist. His grip on her became stronger suddenly, then he released her as he exhaled. He brought his arm back.

“Face me.”

She rolled over and looked into his eyes. He turned briefly and reached behind him, grabbing something she couldn’t see.

“I’m not asking you. I’m making you whether you want it or not. If you decide that you no longer want to be with me, you can give me this later. But for now…” He took her left hand and slid the diamond on her finger. She had no control over the tears flooding her eyes. She buried her head in his chest. “I do have a question.” His lips formed a tight line. “Dinner or punishment first?”

Her hunger pangs quickly turned to nausea. Eating then with the reminder of a severe punishment would be impossible. She whimpered as if he already started whipping her. “Punishment first, Master,” she said, trying to catch her breath before she started bawling.

Emotionless, he said, “Meet me in the shed in five minutes.”

“Yes, Master,” she said softly with a sniffle as he left.

It was obvious that her punishment was going to painful. The pain would go past the limits where it was pleasurable. He would make sure she wouldn’t dampen and moan when he struck her. The guilt she held inside made every heartbeat hurt. There was no way she could enjoy the pain when her remorse was already beating her up.

Head hung low, she entered the shed and waited for his commands. He strode quickly from the end of the room to the door and grabbed a handful of her hair. Yanking it without mercy, he led her to the middle of the room. He placed her chain necklace around her neck. She didn’t move and kept her eyes down while standing at attention. Pocketknife in hand, he tugged at her shirt, letting its blade rip through the fabric. Her pants were next. She took off her shoes at his command and shivered as the blade rested against her shoulder, ready to saw through the straps of her bra.

June 2018
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