If you were to disappear, well, if
you were to go away is probably a more appropriate term, would anyone miss you,
would anyone care? What would happen if
you decided to give up your life, to walk away from everything that you know,
everyone you know and love, and become someone else, something else. In the case of Bob Gibson, that is exactly what
he had to ask himself. He had six weeks
to decide, to put his affairs in order so to speak, making sure that he could
make the transition to his new life with little or no suspicions being aroused
by anyone. The story he told his
coworkers was that he inherited a rather sizeable piece of land and some money
from a distant relative in Germany and he was going to retire and move there to
get away from the rat race. In reality,
he was going to be moving less than 10 miles away and he, well, let’s just say
that he was not going to be living a life of luxury.
Everything in his life turned
upside down when he was sitting at work like any other day and a woman entered
his bank branch and asked to speak to someone about investing a large sum of
money. As he stood to greet her and
shake her hand and escort her to his desk, little did he know that he was about
to change the course of his life drastically and forever.
“Yes, Ms. Maxwell, how can I help
you today?”
Elaine Maxwell was a Black woman
who looked like she could have been in her late 40s. Her form-fitting red suit hugged every curve
of her mature, sexy body. Her black,
silk stockings caressed her beautiful legs and her tasteful and sophisticated
pumps framed her sexy feet to perfection.
Her hair was straight and hung just below her shoulders and her face was
stern but pretty. She wasn’t drop-dead
gorgeous or anything, she had aged well but she wasn’t going to stop traffic by
any means. What she did possess in
spades, while possibly lacking the looks of a runway model, was an air of
confidence that couldn’t be denied. It oozed from every pore of her body, she
reeked of being in control and even a casual observer could see that she was a
ball-buster of the highest order.
“I’ve just come into a large
amount of money and I need to set up several different accounts.”
“Well, Ms. Maxwell, I’m sure we
can help you with that. Exactly how much
money are we talking about and what sort of accounts would you like to set up? We have several products that might be able
to help you.”
She said casually, “I have a
total of $1,250,000 and I’m looking to set up an interest bearing checking
account, a savings and business checking account, a money market deposit
account, and I need a couple of CDs. Oh,
and a personal checking account as well.
The look of astonishment could
barely be hidden on Bob’s face. In an
average month, he wouldn’t get one person with anywhere near that amount of
money to invest. Sure, there were lots
of people with those sorts of balances he had worked with before but they were
the result of interest and investments and smaller, incremental deposits, not
one large sum of money. He laughed
nervously. “Wow, did you win the
lottery,” trying to think of a way to hide his clear shock and awe? Regretting his choice of words immediately,
he shuffled papers on his desk and he felt about an inch tall. He knew it wasn’t appropriate or professional
to ask and he wished he could eat his words but his mind was searching,
scrambling, wondering how she could have come into that much money at one time.
There was a part of his brain that
couldn’t process a Black woman could have that sort of money without thinking
there was some sort of criminal enterprise involved: drugs, prostitution, or
perhaps larceny. He recovered quickly,
saying, “I’m sure we can help you with those things. Have you consulted with
anyone about some higher risk investments that might yield you greater
returns? I would love to show you some
investment options that would . . .”
Bob felt his words being stifled
by her intense stare. He stopped
mid-sentence, his words dying off, culminating in a nadir of insecurity and
intimidation. Elaine didn’t respond to
either question, rather she simply gave a sly smile and a look that clearly
said, “Just do what the fuck I told you to do and don’t ask any dumb questions.” She didn’t have to say the words rather she
communicated them clearly with some sort of telepathic, mind-bending
sorcery. Bob was always uncomfortable
around women socially and this woman seemed to be staring a hole into his very
being, peering into the deepest, darkest recesses of his soul. And Bob had some filthy secrets to hide in
those dark, veiled places.
She opened her purse and pulled
out a cashier’s check made out to her in the amount of $1.25 million exactly. Bob swallowed hard. He felt a pang of jealousy for anyone with
that amount of money and his own massive debts made him feel inferior but he pulled
himself together called his supervisor and went about the business of
fulfilling her requests.
The process of setting up all
those accounts with that amount of money takes days not hours and there are
tons of terms of agreement forms to be signed, tax forms and tax identification
numbers to be filed, signature cards on top of virtual signature cards, approvals,
overrides, overnighted packages, PINs programmed, free gifts, and credit and
debit cards to be issued. When all was
said and done, Elaine and Bob had spent a significant amount of time
together. Their conversations were
sparse, strictly limited to business, and after each encounter, when he would
go home and unwind from his day, Bob would fill in the blanks with his own
fantasies of not only how she came into that sort of money but the things she
would do to him. Oh, the things she
would do.
Bob intentionally tried to make
their interactions longer than were necessary.
He would say he needed to speak to someone at corporate and then call
his personal cell phone from his office phone and pretend to be on hold or
mumbling a variety of affirmative responses pretending to talk to someone,
filling in the empty space with casual banter.
A few times, his computer seemed to freeze up and he had to call the IT
department and reboot his terminal, all the while trying to make small talk and
lavish her with very subtle compliments.
In his mind, the more time he spent with her, making small talk, he
could get answers to his questions. He very
much wanted to ask her very personal questions.
She didn’t wear a wedding ring so
one of the many scenarios he created in his head involved her being a divorcee
and the money was part of her divorce settlement. In addition to being a drug cartel “queenpin”
the lottery scenario played itself out a few times in his head as well. Mostly, he fantasized that she extorted the
money from some rich guy whom she was sexually involved with who had secrets to
hide and this was her payoff money. Maybe
he died and left her the money in his will because he was so devoted to her,
angering his conservative family who knew nothing about his sexual proclivities
while he was living. That particular
fantasy was the most arousing for him as he could have her fit his fantasies of
being a cruel dominatrix who inflicted unrelenting pain.
Every day, Elaine would come
attired in a severe but sexy suit, makeup and hair done to perfection, and
heels. It was her shoes that always held
his attention. Bob was captivated by
them. They were expensive, he could
tell, and they looked like torture devices with pointy stilettos and pointy toes
and platforms that looked like only the most experienced acrobat could walk
on.
As the last of the red tape had
been navigated and it was clear that they had no more need to interact on a
daily basis, Bob thought for a moment that he would work up the nerve to ask
her for coffee. He rearranged papers and
opened and closed drawers and stood at the copy machine and changed the ink
cartridge that wasn’t nearly empty trying to work up his nerve before he told
her that she was cleared for take-off as it were. It wasn’t professional and he
knew he could get in trouble if he did but just the thought of asking her out
to find out her real story was enough to keep him running the scenario over in
his head. He fidgeted until he couldn’t
fidget any more. He did everything but
ask her out. Instead he simply said,
“Ms. Maxwell, it’s been a pleasure working with you and if you need anything
further, please feel free to call me.
Here’s my card.” That was the
best he could do. He was even too scared
to write his own personal cell phone number on the card.
Elaine smiled and placed the card
in her billfold and turned to leave without so much as a thank you or
goodbye. He slumped in his chair as she
walked away and he stared at her ass in that form-fitting suit and with nasty
thoughts of what he would do to her, well, what she would do to him more
accurately. Just as the door to the bank
closed, he looked at his desk and her very expensive Mont Blanc lay there. He grabbed it and sprinted for the parking
lot.
“Ms. Maxwell,” he shouted, as he
saw her opening the door to her big, black truck, “You forgot your pen!”
She turned to see him trotting
like an old, fat horse to her vehicle.
She opened the door to her SUV and climbed inside as Bob approached her.
Then, in the most blatant Sharon Stone/
Basic Instinct move ever made in real life, with her skirt that had “accidentally”
been pulled up just enough, she spread
her legs ever so slightly so that Bob could see her naked pussy above her thigh
high stockings. Right there, practically
at eye level, was her mature, hairy, black pussy. Bob was frozen in his tracks. He dropped the pen, sincerely and honestly by
accident, but his lingering stare at the heaven between her thighs was anything
but accidental. He wanted to ram his
face in there and start licking and to hell with the consequences. He didn’t of course. He didn’t do anything but stare. He knew she saw him staring and he felt
ashamed and embarrassed for not being able to look away but he couldn’t. The president of the bank could have called
his name in that moment and Bob would have said, “Yeah, yeah, gimme a
minute.”
She extended her hand and he
placed the pen gently in her palm.
Again, she didn’t even make the civil pretense of saying thank you and
that fact made Bob’s cock stir in his sensible and boring suit pants. She was toying with him but he was too inept
and socially immature to respond the way any normal male would so he just stood
there, words frozen in his brain, unable to utter a sound. She turned in the seat and pulled her skirt
down just a tiny bit. He could still see
the tops of her lace top stockings and the straps of her expensive garter belt
as he watched her foot press the brake, wishing she would press her perfect
foot into his balls in much the same way, as she started the engine.
With his hand on the door frame
for support, Bob struggled to stand up of his own volition. His knees were weak and about to buckle. And, almost like he was in a dream, he saw
her reach for the door and pull it shut, his fingers smashed across the knuckle
and the first joint. He didn’t scream
out or curse like most people would do, instead, he made a groan, a muffled
grunt and said, “Thank you, Mistress,” automatically. It was so spontaneous, so unplanned he almost
didn’t hear himself say it. He grabbed
his hand and clutched it to his chest with his left hand. She rolled down the window and said, “Grimaldi’s. Tonight.
8:30,” put the car into reverse and backed out of the parking space,
almost rolling over Bob’s foot in the process.
Dazed, confused, and aroused, Bob
stood in the parking lot, his hand throbbing and aching, his libido heightened
and aroused. Everyone in the bank was
outraged and demanded that he press charges but he insisted that it was his
fault, that it was totally an accident.
His boss made him leave work early and get x-rays to make sure that no
bones were broken. He didn’t care if
they were. He had fallen in love with
her assertiveness and her cruelty in that moment. His mind raced trying to figure out how she
had identified his fetish so completely in such a short period of time. He had to go to an Emergency Care office and
there was a two hour wait. He
contemplated just going home and wrapping it in an ace bandage and putting some
ice on it so he could get ready to meet her but he stayed, against his first
inclination he stayed. He wanted to get
home to masturbate before the meeting but if he had broken bones, he didn’t
want to have to explain to his coworkers why he didn’t get everything taken
care of then and there.
Nothing was broken but his hand
was swollen and purple. That wasn’t the
only thing that was swollen and purple to say the least. Bob was turned on like never before. What sort of woman would do that? What sort of women would show no remorse, not
even an ounce of guilt or empathy after doing something so harsh? The woman of his dreams, that’s what sort of
woman. All his life he’d fantasized
about a woman who was unapologetically cruel and sadistic. She was Black, attractive, not quite rich but
if she played her cards right and invested some of that money, she wouldn’t
have to work again, or not very hard at least, and she seemed warped and
twisted enough to fulfill all of his wildest dreams come true. And to top it off, she demanded his presence
at dinner tonight. He was not going to
be late even if he they had to amputate his entire arm.
By the time he got home, he
looked at porn and jerked off for a couple of hours. He had to use his left hand because his right
hand was in a brace. He showered and
dressed and stopped at the grocery store for a bouquet of cheap flowers because
he didn’t want to show up empty handed.
He had no idea what to expect from her.
He knew that she didn’t find him attractive. She deserved a real man. He wasn’t a real man. Real men are assertive and confident; they
aren’t warped masochists who get off on extreme pain. Real men are suave alpha males who dominate
women not pain pigs who live from paycheck to paycheck just to keep their heads
above water.
He was three minutes late and she
was already seated when the hostess showed him to her table. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to the chair,
the hostess taken aback by the strict tone of her voice.
Bob slithered into the chair and
awaited further instruction. She saw the
brace on his hand and said, “No cast?
I’ll have to do it harder next time.”
Bob almost came in his
pants.
He looked at the menu nervously,
not sure what to say. He was out of his
element. He’d never been in a situation
like this in his life and he wanted to show his reverence but he was terrified
beyond belief. Not terrified of her but
rather terrified that he would fuck up and ruin whatever was going to happen. The waiter came and she ordered for both of
them, but not before making sure to ask him in front of the server if he had a
little cock. Both Bob and the server
blushed a deep shade of crimson red.
Elaine, on the other hand, looked like she had just said, “Pass the salt,
please.”
Throughout dinner, she asked
question after question. She asked
questions so intimate and personal that a ton of people who are married never
asked each other for that much detail and veracity. By the time Bob answered, she had another
question lined up. He answered all of
them truthfully, as truthfully as he could.
Elaine didn’t seem to understand the concept of discretion as she asked
more and more sexual questions within earshot of the other diners and she
wasn’t concerned or moved that she might be offending them. That turned Bob on. Over the course of their meal, she learned
everything about Bob that there was to know.
She knew about his occasional cross dressing tendencies, his failed
relationships, his crazy ex-wife, his drug and alcohol issues, his debt, and
most importantly, his love of pain and suffering at the hands of a cruel and
sadistic Domme.
She signaled for the check and
the waiter was there in seconds, wanting to hear more of their conversation so
he could run back to the kitchen and tell people more of the bits and pieces he
had gleaned from their taboo banter. “Do
you have any questions for me, Bob,” she asked sincerely.
“Well,” he stammered, “I
guess. Actually, just two
questions. First, how did you know,
today, in the parking lot, that I would like pain, that I would respond the way
I did?”
“I consulted my African tarot
cards and the voodoo gods told me that you need pain in order to feel
arousal.”
Bob swallowed hard. This woman was surely some sort of
other-world sorceress who had magical and mystical powers that could see into
his soul. He inhaled sharply, ready to
ask his second question when she finished by saying, “You fucking idiot. I had no idea you liked pain. What makes you
think I cared if you liked pain or not?
I didn’t care then and I really don’t care now. I just thought it would be amusing to see if
I could break your hand. I could tell
you were into feet or shoes or legs or whatever, you aren’t very discrete when
you stare, but I didn’t have the slightest clue about the pain thing. I guess you just lucked out.”
OK, Bob was pretty much assured
that she was a sociopath because she explained it all without even a hint of
repentance. A deranged Black woman with
no conscious just explained to him that she was unhinged and unapologetically
cruel. She truly was the woman of his
dreams. His second question would be his
last chance, or so he thought, so he wanted to make it a good one. The entire evening was so arousing he would
replay it over and over in his head for years to come adding details and making
it end in a flurry of abuse and torture.
He took another deep breath and whispered, almost ashamed to ask, “And
the money?” He didn’t think he needed to explain
further.
He just knew for sure that she
was going to say, “None of your fucking business,” but he had to ask; he wanted
to know so he could put his suspicions to bed.
Staring him straight in the eye,
not hesitating for a second with her response, she said almost tearfully . . .
almost, “I got a settlement from The Roman Catholic Archdiocese of New York.” She didn’t have to say more. In an instant, 100s of questions were
answered. From that tidbit of
information he could piece together why she seemed to so blasé about causing a
relative stranger such intense pain. Bob
wasn’t Catholic, he wasn’t even religious so he didn’t feel any particular
guilt or connection to her situation but he imagined that whatever was done to
her to earn her such a huge settlement was something that created this
beautiful monster before him to his great benefit.
She picked up her bag and pulled
out her cell phone. She placed a call
and covered it with her hand while mouthing the words, “I’m sure we’ll see one
another again,” and she walked out, leaving Bob to pay the bill.
Every second of every day, Bob
fantasized about the mysterious Ms. Maxwell.
There wasn’t a waking moment when
he wasn’t obsessed with thoughts about her.
Every time the door to the bank opened, he looked to see if it was
her. He would have to jerk off at work,
unable to concentrate or be productive, because he was in a constant state of
arousal. He would go home and spend
hours and hours just edging, keeping himself constantly aroused, fantasizing
about Mistress Elaine beating the crap out of him, leaving him a bloody, broken
mess, exacting revenge for the pain inflicted on her, taking it out on his
useless body, transforming his mind, owning his spirit.
He knew she would be back. He knew it because she had to know how much
control she had over him and he knew she was the sort of women that would take
advantage of that. He waited as
patiently as he could but was on constant edge, anxious to see her again.
It was approximately two weeks
after their night out that he saw her again.
She walked in the bank, looking as stunning and intimidating as ever,
and walked up to his desk. He was with
another customer at the time and his co-worker Elizabeth was trying her best to
get Elaine to come to her desk to see if she assist her in any way. Bob had never been so curt with a customer in
his life. He refunded their overdrawn
fee and offered them a lollipop as he made sure to escort them out as quickly
as possible. By the time he returned,
Elaine was seated at his desk and seductively sucking on a blue raspberry
flavored lollipop.
“Yes, Ms. Maxwell, how can I help
you today?” He wanted to drop to his
knees and kiss her feet but he knew better.
“I need a mortgage,” she said,
“Fifteen-year I’m thinking. I found the
most glorious house and I can’t let it get away.” Normally, Bob didn’t handle mortgage products
but he was not going to let her leave his desk.
He stalled. He asked her all
sorts of questions about the house, how many bedrooms, when it was built, if
she had it inspected, anything he could think of before he had to come clean
and acknowledge that he had to send her to someone else in order to help
her.
Elaine understood and then said,
“Well, maybe you can come and see it and give me some feedback on what you
think about it, if it’s a good investment.”
She didn’t have to ask
twice. Bob was following behind her car
minutes after the bank closed. They
pulled into a long, private, winding driveway and drove up to an absolutely
gigantic house. They couldn’t get in and
they couldn’t see much of anything in the windows because the lights were
out. It was getting dark and Bob could
barely see the green and brown bruises that were healing on his hand in the
dusk. It was then that Elaine made her offer.
“I’m looking for a real
slave. I want to own, use, mistreat, and
abuse a slave, take away all their rights as a human being. The only rights they will have will be the
ones I give them. I thought you might be
interested considering you’re such a warped, fucked-up individual.”
Bob was dumbfounded. He stuttered.
“I can’t do . . . what would make you think . . . I have a life . .
.” He was grasping for words, feigning
indignation.
Elaine cut him off, “No you
don’t. You don’t have a life. You’re a loser. You have a mediocre job and no one who cares
about you. You are sick and twisted and
you’re a true pig. You want what I have
to offer. Think about it. I’ll give you a couple of days. If you decide you want to do it, we’ll have
to start making arrangements to make sure there’s no trace of you for anyone to
follow. We will have to sell off all
your assets, close out all your accounts, we’ll have to make sure you don’t
exist anymore. In return, I’ll torture
and abuse you more than your little feeble mind can comprehend.” She turned, got in her truck, and drove
off.
Bob pulled out his cock and
stroked it furiously and feverishly in the open night air. He wanted it.
He didn’t have to wait a couple of days to make his final decision. He knew from that day in the parking lot he
would do anything that she asked of him with no limits.
So, for six weeks, he said his
goodbyes, he sold off everything he owned and put the money in an account he
had created for his new Mistress Elaine.
He was upside down on his mortgage so they decided the best thing for
him was to just walk away from it. Who
cares about a FICO score if you are a piece of shit who belongs to a deranged
psychopath who gets pleasure from inflicting excruciating pain? They had a party at the bank with cake and a
card and everyone wished him well on his new journey in life. As the day grew closer, as the time grew
nearer that he would give up his existence and become a thing, he stayed
constantly horny.
Finally, the day did come. Mistress Elaine picked him up in front of the
train station with his one suitcase filled all his worldly possessions. Anyone who noticed him would think he was
being picked up by a friend. What no one
would ever suspect was that he was about to begin his life as a piece of
property, a thing, an animal.
They drove the 20 minutes or so
to their new house. This time, Elaine
Maxwell was the owner of record and she had the keys. The house was already decorated and furnished
but Bob would only see the upstairs portion of the house briefly. She ushered him to a doorway, opened it and
indicated that he should go first.
The lower level of the home had
been converted to a custom dungeon.
There were no windows and there was a cage in the middle of the floor
and torture and restraint devices, of every type, all over. His first night he suffered more mental
anguish than physical. He was made to
strip naked and placed in the cage and given a bowl of dog food and water. The cage was big enough for a large dog but
not a human. Once he was securely locked
in, Elaine patted him on the head, turned off the lights and went
upstairs. She didn’t explain anything,
she didn’t make any demands. He could
hear her walking around and he waited for the door to open and for her to begin
his mistreatment but it was not to come that night.
Or the next.
Bob waited. He listened to visitors come and go,
presumably neighbors and friends bringing house warming gifts. He didn’t know for sure because he couldn’t
hear the conversations clearly, he just knew he was starving and wanted some
real food. He did not eat the dog
food. He refused. He drank all the water and needed more. He used the bathroom in the corner of the
cage on newspaper like a puppy and tried his best to block it out of his mind
but he was going crazy. The smell seemed
overpowering. He regretted this
choice. He wanted his life back. He tried to sleep because when he was asleep
he didn’t have to think about his circumstances. His legs were cramped and he wanted to stand
up straight. He couldn’t. He was afraid to cry out but he was going out
of his mind.
Finally, he heard the door
open. He begged, he pleaded for real
food, for more water. He groveled like a
prisoner on death row begging for his life on his way to the gas chamber. And the Divine Goddess Maxwell granted him a
reprieve. She unlocked the cage and
opened the door. That quickly, after all
that begging, he was afraid of what would happen if he left the cage. He wanted to cower in the corner but the
corner had his piss and shit there. He
tentatively crawled on his hands and knees and placed himself at his owner’s
feet. Even though he wasn’t standing, he
felt freer.
Then, without warning, he felt
the intense blow of her foot connecting with the side of his head. Her shoe landed directly on his ear and he
was dazed and he thought for a moment that she had ripped his eardrum. There was no foreplay, no teasing, no sexy
banter, she just kicked him in the head.
His pain meant nothing to her.
His life, comfort, safety, and opinion meant nothing to her. As much as Bob knew it was fucked up, he was
aroused in a way that he had never known before.
Over the course of the next few
months, Mistress Maxwell experimented and tortured Bob in ways that most people
couldn’t imagine. She forced anything
and everything she could find into his pisshole. It was nothing for her to grab his cock
through the bars of the cage and shove a pen, a mascara brush, a screwdriver,
or a toy she found at a garage sale. Nothing
was off limits. His balls served as
target practice any time of the night or day.
She delighted in coming home after a night out to wake him up to hang
extreme weights on his testicles and she would kick his nuts until he passed
out. It was like a nightcap for her, a
hot toddy to help her sleep. Knowing
that she was inflicting pain, unspeakable pain soothed her. More than that, it aroused her.
His asshole was favorite body
part to punish. Unlubricated, she forced
things deep inside him, stretching him, making his hole a cavernous pit of
depravity. Her anal punishments
registered as pleasure in Bob’s brain and there were times he would release cum
as she fucked his sloppy pit with enormous dildos. He would be punished for ejaculating and she
would make sure he suffered, writhing in pain to pay for his pleasure.
She branded him. It wasn’t some intricate design she had made
in the shape of an M or her name, it was a coat hanger she bent with some
pliers and heated to glowing red. Bob
got an infection from the first brand. She
would re-brand him every few weeks, making the scar more intense. She loved hearing him scream in agony. The first time she branded him however he got
so sick, his temperature spiked and he was moving towards the light. She took him to a doctor who pumped him full
of antibiotics. The doctor asked all
sorts of questions, about the burns, about the scars and bruises, about the
blood work that indicated extreme malnourishment and anemia, the broken
ribs. Bob knew not to answer. He couldn’t really, he was too sick. The doctor wanted to admit him to the
hospital to run some more tests but Elaine convinced him that he just needed to
convalesce in the comfort of his own home.
She just failed to mention that the comfort of his home was a cage 5
feet by 3 feet by 4 feet.
There wasn’t a torture that she didn’t
try on him. The list was extensive and
Bob grew to tolerate levels of pain he never thought possible. She truly had pushed him to a place where he
was beyond human. He could take
beatings, whippings with paddles, whips, canes and eventually he would ask for
more. The greatest torture was when she
would ignore him. The sweetest sound he had
ever heard was the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, wearing a new pair of
high heels and she would stand on him, kick, trample, and stomp him nearly to
death, literally. His nipples were
elongated and sensitive, his tits filled with saline injections and clamps and
weights constantly made sure he was aroused.
Days turned to nights and without
the sound of another voice, Bob was becoming feral. He wasn’t allowed to speak and never got to
touch another human being. He didn’t
have contact with the outside world: he didn’t have a cell phone or access to a
computer. Everything in his world
revolved around Mistress Elaine and her sadistic whims. Even when Elaine would piss on him, when she
would use him as her toilet, she never gave him the pleasure of the honor of
touching her most sacred place. She
dated other men, real men, but he was never allowed to taste the evidence of it
from her freshly fucked pussy or asshole.
She had a cold once and she let him come upstairs. She lounged on the sofa under a blanket,
reading books and drinking orange juice and she would put a finger aside her
nostril and blow her nose onto Bob’s blindfolded face as he lay reclining on
the floor like a faithful dog. It was
heaven.
The dungeon grew. She seemed to always bring home new things, a
tens-unit, a posture collar, medical equipment, her arsenal kept expanding. One day, she came down the stairs and
unlocked the cage. Bob crawled out and
kissed her feet. She instructed him to
get on the table and lie face up. She
secured his head in a vice and secured his arms and legs tightly with the
custom restraints. What happened next
was too much for even Bob to process.
Slowly, seductively Elaine
undressed in front of him. He had no
idea how long he had been imprisoned in this basement. He slept and woke not by
the sun but by the sound of her footsteps.
He hadn’t seen flesh, he hadn’t seen a real woman’s curves, he hadn’t
seen a woman’s naked body since he had arrived.
He was mesmerized and tried his best to fix his eyes on her form in
order to soak in every detail of her delightful nude frame. She was perfection to look at, her tits, her
ass and her pussy, the same pussy that held him captive that day in the parking
lot were like a mirage in the desert to a dying man. His cock, unrestrained, sprang to attention
like he was 18 years old.
Elaine climbed on the table and
she straddled his body. Bob felt a wave
of emotion, a flood of sensations that made him overwhelmed with grief. He was in love with a woman who didn’t give a
fuck about him, who lived to inflict pain on him. It was, in many ways, the realization of all
his fantasies. The warmth of her flesh
felt like the source of all life, like he was being cradled in the birthplace
of all humanity. She sat firmly on him,
her nakedness, the wetness of her pussy was touching him, coating him with her
juices. Bob was hyperventilating.
Reaching in her purse, she pulled
out a cigarette and a lighter.
Sensually, she lit the dark-colored cigarette and the scent of the smoke
was exotic, spicy. She blew smoke rings
and French inhaled all while rubbing her pussy on Bob’s stomach. She was enjoying herself. The smoke was making Bob light-headed.
She taunted him. “You know, I could do anything to you and no
one would know, no one would care. I own
you, truly. You know what Bobby? You’re more terrified of me releasing you,
sending you back to your old life than you are of anything I could do to you
physically.” She was correct. The thought of her telling him to get out, to
go back to his old life was the most terrifying proposition in the world to
him.
She took a long drag on her
cigarette and he knew what to expect.
She’d never used cigarettes to burn him before but after the branding,
cigarettes would be child’s play, or so he thought. She burned him in his chest, on his arms and
he barely flinched. Pain registered as
comfort, as pleasure, as release, as safety.
She spit in his face and he flinched, not because it hurt but because he
felt it was like a reward for doing such a good job, being such a devoted pain
pig.
“You know that old saying our
parents used to tell us before they gave us a spanking? ‘This is going to hurt me more than it hurts
you?’ Well, this is going to hurt you
far more than it hurts me. Far, far
more.” She held his face in her
hands. Her touch was tender, soft,
almost loving. Her grip tightened. He is head was already held firmly in place
by the vice, he couldn’t turn left or right.
All he could do was stare up at his Goddess and feel the full weight of
her naked body on him.
She took one more puff. She blew the smoke in his eyes and it
stung. As the lit end of the cigarette
neared his face, he started to panic.
His heart started to race and he started to buck and flail as much as he
could under the circumstances. He didn’t
want to show fear. He wanted to prove
that he loved anything and everything that his Mistress could do to him.
Elaine took her thumb and pressed
his eyelid back and took her cigarette and shoved it in his eye in one swift
move. She pushed. She stamped it out on his eyeball. Bob screamed.
His body jerked and convulsed. His
eyes stung and burned. The funny thing
was, as his body heaved, as it involuntarily tried to buck the woman sitting on
top of him off, it was masturbating his Mistress. She was using him to get off. She was rubbing her clit on his body and
putting out her cigarette in a way that would leave him blind in that eye. In all of his life, Bob had never dreamt of
anything so sadistic and he’d never felt a sensation as painful. She slapped him to keep him conscious and his
body kept jerking and jolting. She was rode
him like a bronco rides a bull. She was
cumming. She orgasmed using his pain as
an aphrodisiac which made Bob cum, releasing his useless sperm against her beautiful
brown backside.
Bob awoke in his cage. His eye socket was bloody, he had scratches
on his chest where she tried to hold on.
He couldn’t see out of his eye and he was in pain. His soul ached. He had never known such pain before but he
had also never known so much pleasure.
Copyright 2015 AfroerotiK All
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