“If it makes you feel any better, Susan, this wasn’t meant for you.” It took me a few moments to even understand what this was. The floor was hard, cold, and rough against my back. Around me, windowless concrete led up to exposed beams and bare bulbs casting their harsh light on this oppressive space. I could feel leather wrapped tightly around my wrists and ankles and tested them knowing already what I would find: I was bound securely to the floor, spread-eagled There was no real need to confirm, but I lifted my head and found that I was, indeed, naked. The situation was familiar, even if the naked man pacing around me was not. Even that was not altogether unnerving, as my husband often liked to set up scenarios like this, although this man had told me that this wasn’t mean for me. Who then? And who was really in control?
“Most women would be wondering who I am, where they are, how they got here, but not you, I think. No, given your history, I assume you’re just wondering when I’m going to fuck you, aren’t you?” I had to admit that, even if this wasn’t my husband’s idea, compared to many of the men he had asked me to play with in the past, this man I found myself spread before was at least a step up in looks. He had a muscular body, powerful eyes, and a chiseled set of abs rising from the pair of gym shorts that provided his only attire. “Yes, Susan, I know all about you. You see, I’ve lived in this neighborhood a long time and, like most of the other men here, have watched your daughters grow out of their pigtails into sexy, fuckable young women. Three barely-legal daughters and yet none of them have bothered to leave home yet? Perhaps daddy wants them around, does he? More so than his wife, even?”
If my husband hadn’t directly set this up, it certainly sounded like he had indeed talked to this man. My husband had shown a real interest in all our daughters, each so unlike their mother. I had never been what one would call conventionally attractive. Instead, I had drawn men to me through more of a prey drive, as stronger, dominating men sniffed the weakness and desire to please in me. I had received, starting on my 18th birthday, the education that schools are loathe to provide young women, but my father (and older brothers, and uncles, and a few cousins) insisted was so important for a woman navigating what they insisted was a man’s world. Newly aware of my place in this caste society, and increasingly well-versed in the carnal desires of men, I went further with men, allowed more from them, and never complained as they used me to sate their own lusts. Eventually, this ended in marriage, although I suspected then, and still do, that it was more out of a sense of duty to the new child he had given me.
“I’ve been doing a little internet sleuthing, and it seems that, instead of teaching your daughters the useful things, like how to deepthroat a cock or to thank a man after he brutally fucks her asshole, you’ve fallen into that feminist trap. Foolishly teaching them to protect themselves from men like me, filling their empty heads with profane notions that there even exist men who aren’t like me. Men who will see them as more than a pair of tits and three holes to empty their balls into. I’ve been looking, and I doubt that I’m alone around here, for anything: a work schedule, a favorite running trail, anytime they check in somewhere without three of their friends with them where I might be able to grab one of them for a…how do you say, more private encounter? Unfortunately, you’ve failed them. They’ve learned to obscure their online presence, limiting what information they allow into the open world. You, on the other hand…Oh yes, I found your little blog. You left a digital footprint from your blog, full of twisted porn and incest fantasies, leading right to your front door. I assume you can figure out the rest.”
I had learned, whether truthfully or not I no longer cared, that it was my lot in this world to be a receptacle for men. I existed to bear men’s frustrations, accept their abuse as they worked through their anger, and provide an outlet for the type of sexual fantasies that better (and in my family’s case, better always meant better looking) women wouldn’t submit themselves to. I had accepted that, even learned to enjoy it, reveling in my husband’s abuse, craving the times he leant me to his friends when their wives were too prude (always it was the woman’s fault in my husband’s eyes) to fulfill their needs. I had, oddly enough, come to see myself as superior to these women. Walking down the street, these women may draw the admiring glances and catcalls that I could not, but I knew their husbands in ways they never would, that in the middle of the night, when they entertained their darkest fantasies, it was me they were thinking of, not the woman sleeping soundly next to them.
Coming from such humble stock as myself, I was pleasantly surprised when my daughters arrived with. Each of them had been so beautiful as babies, and I knew without this strange man telling me that they had not lost that trait as they had entered womanhood. Although each of my three daughters was desirable in her own way, it was impossible to argue that they were each, in fact, the type of “better woman” I could never hope to be. Lauren, who had developed a model-pretty face and pornstar-ready body, looked like she was always ready for a photo-shoot. Even wearing a winter-coat or sweats (although she almost never dressed in anything so unappealing as that), they seemed to magically cling to her body, showing off curves that I certainly hadn’t passed along to her. Megyn, who hadn’t inherited her sister’s more “marketable” good lucks, instead oozed sexuality. Her type of attraction was less physical, more chemical, but every bit as real as her older sister. Whereas Lauren could drive men wild from across the room, Megyn required a bit more close-contact or a little bit of conversation to gain their attention, but once she had it, they were hooked. Jenny, my youngest, only recently celebrating her 18th birthday and still in her senior year of high school, had less universal appeal, but those that fell under it seemed far more dangerous than those courting her older siblings. Still pretty in her own right, she seemed to inspire an almost fanatical devotion. Always confident and charismatic, she had learned what her two sisters still failed to grasp: how to use her charm to get what she wanted. Lauren and Megyn had inherited, if nothing else, my submissive nature; Jenny instead took more after my dominant and controlling husband, Brian.
“Sorry, how rude of me. I know so much about you, but you know nothing about me. Well, I suppose you know something about me. You know what I want, don’t you? You can call me Victor. It isn’t my real name, but let’s not let that stop us from having a good time together.” I struggled against my bonds. Futilely, of course. I had expected nothing less, and while there was no real fear of what was happening, I knew that was part of the game. I still suspected my husband of setting this up, although given Victor’s fixation on my daughters, I suspected my husband’s motive (and Victor’s payment for keeping me occupied) was my children. If I was right, Brian would be angry to hear I had so willingly accepted Victor’s overtures and not at least given the appearance of struggling. There was likely little difference if I was wrong, only it would be Victor, and not my husband, beating me for providing such little sport.
Still, knowing what was expected of me, my hormones took over as I watched Victor approach. Typically, Brian delighted in pawning me off to men that he knew I would find physically unattractive, often even repulsive. Victor, at least, did not fall in this category, and I stared longingly at his heavy balls and thick cock as he lowered himself over my face. I licked my lips in anticipation, realizing only too late that my meal was to be slightly…sweatier. His balls just grazed my open mouth before he slid up slightly, lowering his ass over my waiting mouth. I tried to turn my head in a feeble attempt to deny him. I may have grown used to experiencing the more perverse and degrading of men’s desires, but there were still those that I didn’t exactly relish. Unfortunately, although wholly expected, I wasn’t going to be given much choice in the matter.
My nose was squashed uncomfortable against my face by the bulk of his muscular ass. His asshole was right over my right eye, practically touching. I felt his hands on my face, aligning my head for him before he sat down heavily on my face. The smell was enough to make me nauseous, and I didn’t dare think about the taste. “That’s okay, Susan, I’m willing to bet that I need your cooperation far less than you need air,” I heard him say, before he bounced his weight down further over me. This time, he managed to cover me completely. I was blind in the foul-smelling cavern of his ass cheeks, quickly running out of oxygen. My one bargaining chip, the thing that might convince him to end this torment, I kept tucked away in my mouth.
A violent slap between my legs changed all that. Not expecting the blow against my delicate pussy, I screamed, jerking my body about. Not only did my scream bring me up into his waiting asshole, it also forced the rest of the oxygen from my lungs. With the realization that my only other choice was suffocation, I tentatively probed his sweaty ass with my tongue. Two more slaps between my thighs and I pressed my tongue farther, forcing it through the tight ring of his anus. I was met with a familiar, coppery taste that, without the added day’s worth of sweat, would’ve been bearable. I felt my back come up off the floor as my stomach writhed violently. I clenched and unclenched my fists, fighting off the panic that I was going to die in this basement with my tongue buried in a stranger’s ass. I managed to fight through the cramping in my jaw and shove another inch and a half of my tongue inside of him, licking him frantically, anything for another breath. When it felt like I could take no more and that, were I able to see anything, my vision would surely be going dark, he knelt up off me. The lights burned my eyes as I wheezingly gasped for oxygen. He slapped me again with as much force as he could muster, driving the wind from me. Now, free from the smelly confines of his ass, I was still unable to fill my lungs. The pain emanating from my loins joined the burning in my lungs and, mercifully, I passed out.
I was shrieking when I regained consciousness, and it took me a moment to understand why. It turns out that my captor is an impatient man and had grabbed a nearby hose, turning it on cold water and directing a heavy jet directly at my sore vagina. Once I began screaming, he aimed the jet in my open mouth, turning my screams into violent coughs. Finally, he shut the water off. “Welcome back,” he said cheerfully. He knelt between my ankles, and I stared longingly at his thick cock, dripping with precum. Unable to move very far, I bit my lip and tried to raise my pussy up to him, wiggling it back and forth in invitation. Instead, he began unhooking my ankle cuffs from the metal grommets in the floor. The look on my face must’ve amused him, as he laughed heartily watching me. I’m sure it was a mix of gratitude as well as disappointment; many of the men my husband had take me beat me, none of them had ever released me without fucking me at least once.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he told me, standing over me now. My ankles were untethered, and I was able to flex some feeling back into them. “Don’t worry, we aren’t done yet.” From somewhere over and behind my head, he pulled two chains forward, lifting my legs to attached the ankles to these instead. The chains weren’t long enough to place my legs back on the ground, instead holding them up at a 30 degree angle. Then I heard a mechanical, cranking sound, and the chains started retracting somewhere behind me. When it stopped, my ankles were pulled up and over my head, bending my body in on itself. With my arms tied as they were, my neck, shoulders, arms, and my upper back were still laying on the cold floor. Looking up, my swollen pussy, red from Victor’s abuse, was now nearly right over my face.
Victor was somewhere behind me. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him pacing. I could also hear a swishing sound, which I knew from experience probably wasn’t good for me. Sure enough, the leather flogger came into view before he did. He was swinging it casually, enjoying the sound it made and the fear it instilled in me, I’m sure. He brought it down on the sole of my left foot. Hard enough to sting, but not enough that I screamed. He then took up a rhythm, alternating between my feet, slowly building up the intensity and force of his swings. I closed my eyes against the tears welling in them. Maybe he had been waiting for that, or maybe that’s what set him off, but my world exploded in white-hot pain after that. I screamed: long, reedy, and high-pitched. It felt like my whole body was pain and I couldn’t decide where it had originated.
Slowly, the sound of Victor’s laughing intruded on the sound of my screaming, broke through the haze of pain I had delved down into. His cock was right above me now, and I watched as a large drop of precum leaked from it, falling against the corner of my eye. Taking stock of my senses, I could see the angry welts on my pussy and thighs where he had brought the flogger down on me. He knelt over me again, his heavy balls dangling inches over my face as he thrust three of his fingers roughly inside my pussy. Despite his rough treatment and the pain still emanating from there, I quickly felt my arousal building. Seeing me stick my tongue out longingly towards his balls, he pulled out of me, giving me three sharp slaps before standing back up.
“Don’t worry, Susan. The rest of the night, you are in control of how much pain you experience.” That sounds like a good deal, but I’ve learned from experience that it was never that simple. “Well, mostly.” He held up a thick candle where I could see it. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to stick this candle in your pussy. If you ask nicely, I’ll even lube it up for you, although it doesn’t seem like you need it much.” He sneered arrogantly at me, glancing towards my pussy which was dripping despite all my abuse.
I opened my mouth, but before I could speak he quickly shoved his foot in my mouth, pressing his dirty toes down on my tongue, preventing me from making anything but unintelligible grunts. “Not yet, whore, let me finish going through the rules. I’m going to stick this inside you and light it. Your job is to keep it clenched inside of you for as long as you can.” I wanted to ask him why he thought I should play this game with him. There’s always a catch. Usually, it’s the threat of some unspecified, but assuredly worse treatment, if I refuse. His foot had the calloused feel, and the taste, of someone who spent a lot of time barefoot, and he was still using it to keep me from talking. “What’s that? Have you got something to say?”
“Oh, of course, you want to know what’s in it for you? Besides the joy of leaving me with shiny-clean feet and not having me beat your pussy raw with some of my toys. After our game is over, you get to go home. I’m even going to allow you a modicum of modesty. For every minute that you can keep it clenched in your pussy, that’s one more article of clothing you get to wear home. You can forget about the bra and panties, where’s the fun in that, but you still have your shirt, shorts, and a pair of shoes left. Sound fair?”
I mumbled an agreement around as best I could. “I hope that was a yes, because it’s happening either way.” Finally, he removed his foot from my mouth. I gagged violently, trying to work the taste off my tongue. He slapped me, hard, across the face. Kneeling near my spread vagina, he slowly worked an inch of the candle into me. Of course, there was no need for such gentleness, I was soaking wet. My pussy made wet, sucking sounds as he slowly fucked me with the candle. “Now, hopefully you’ve been thinking about this, but in case you hadn’t, consider that the farther inside you I put the candle, the more you’ll have to grip onto. But, it will burn more. So,” he sneered, pulling the candle out of me with a squelching sound, “tell me when.”
The candle was thick and looked to be about 7 inches long. After I had watched three inches of it disappear between my swollen lips, I nodded for him to stop. I had a feeling that, regardless of how well I performed in his little “game,” the outcome was already decided. Either that or he’d just cheat. He pulled out a lighter, staring straight into my eyes as he lit it. “Game on, Susan.” Victor pulled a small shop chair over behind my head and took a seat, content to watch with me the wax melting. Time seemed to stand still, and it briefly occurred to me that he might not be keeping track of it at all, but I pushed that thought away and instead focused on the flame as it flickered and danced.
The flame stilled and I realized I had been holding my breath. I exhaled sharply, nearly extinguishing the candle. I tried to focus on breathing through my nose, keeping my breath away from the candle’s flame. A tiny part of me wanted to resist, to blow out the candle every time he lit it, but that part of me didn’t have the candle in its vagina. The rest of me decided it was probably in my best interest to go along with his game. Perhaps the only evidence that time was actually passing was watching the small bead of softening wax build up. I watched with bated breath as the first drop began dripping down the candle, cooling just before it dropped down onto my body. I could feel Victor’s impatience, like a dark cloud over the room, as though he thought I was somehow consciously lowering the temperature. Sensing his impatience dwindling into rage, I was thankful to see another drop of wax dripping down the candle, hanging off the previous drop which had cooled so offensively, before landing on my left breast. I dared to take my eyes off the candle for a moment, glancing at Victor’s face as the first drop cooled on the underside of my fear-erect nipple.
“One minute.” I let out a pained cry, doubling up on itself as more candle wax surprised me, landing on my stomach and right breast. The wax was beading more quickly now, dripping down onto my body, pooling against the underside of my breasts, and covering my stomach in long, waxy ropes.
Aside from the hot wax, the heat and the strain of clenching against the candle left me enveloped in a sheen of sweat. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply and willing myself to relax against the cramps forming in my stomach, thighs, and groin. With my eyes closed, though; I was unprepared as a drop of wax landed directly on my right nipple. I shuddered, eyes springing back open to see the candle sliding slowly out of me. I clenched down on it further but ended up angling it up into the air further. Now, instead of occasional drops landing on me, a thick stream of wax flooded over my pussy.
“Two minutes down, two more to go. At least you won’t be walking home barefoot.” He smiled as I looked up at him, enjoying the panic he must see in my eyes. I wasn’t the least bit worried about my clothes at the moment; in fact, I had altogether forgotten that’s what I was “playing” for. I just knew that, for some reason, I had to endure two more minutes of this.
Wax was dripping down on me even faster now and the candle had burned down low enough that the hardened wax pooled over my pussy was starting to warm and soften. I could feel it dripping down my ass and was beginning to fear that the candle wasn’t long enough to last four minutes, even if I managed it. Would he blow it out before it started burning me? What would he do to me if I blew it out? I was shocked from my reverie, this time by cold metal instead of hot wax. Victor had placed a jagged alligator clip on one nipple and, seeing that I was watching, let its mate snap shut on my other nipple. I don’t make it a habit to trust people who think nothing of kidnapping, stripping, and torturing me, but it was hard not to feel betrayed. Had I known that Victor wasn’t going to allow me to finish (but hadn’t I known, though?) I might’ve refused to play his game. Still, even now, I wasn’t going to give up. This wasn’t my first experience with nipple clamps. Once you get past the initial pain, it’s easy to manage, at least until they come back off. I gritted my teeth and steeled myself against the pain, determined to not let him beat me.
“Three minutes,” he announced with what sounded like pride in his voice. “I’ve got to admit, Susan, I’m impressed. Unfortunately for you, I’ve got a vested interest in seeing you lose.” He reached behind him, pulling a thin, rattan cane from somewhere just outside my field of vision. I could feel my eyes bugging and I knew I must look a fright, but I knew that, with the cane in hand, I would not be able to withstand another minute. I winced as he tugged on the short, silver chain connecting the two clamps.
“Forty-five more seconds.” He tapped my breasts with the cane. Lightly, at first, but with a quick enough rhythm that my breasts were soon glowing from the impact. “Thirty seconds.” He punctuated the announcement with a sharp slap against my left breast, drawing a tortured scream from my throat. The candle tottered drunkenly between my legs and, thankfully, Victor paused to stare at it, waiting for it to slip from inside me. I focused all my effort and energy into holding onto the nub of wax still remaining. Victor, it seemed, focused all his energy into slapping the insides of my thighs with the cane, working his way farther down my body until he had reached my nether lips. “Twenty seconds.” I clenched my eyes against the tears welling up in them. I was so close but I also knew that Victor would make these last twenty seconds monumentally worse than the previous three plus minutes. He had moved slightly behind me, or in front of me, directions were hard upside down and in constant pain. He was now able to target my ass and upper thighs with the cane, increasing the force of each strike until tears were streaming steadily down my face. I began screaming, so loud that I never heard him announce the fifteen second mark.
The candle, previously hovering above my breasts and stomach, was now directly over my face as I tried to contort myself further to avoid his attacks. Victor may have been as desperate for me to fail as I was to win, but he also knew that he had a lot more leverage in the matter. Wax was landing on my chin and cheeks now. He had returned to striking my breasts, the small mounds dancing underneath the cane causing the clamps to flail and pull mercilessly on my nipples. I screamed as the cane landed squarely across both nipples, bringing a rush of blood that enflamed the already tortured nerve endings there. When the initial rush of pain passed, I noticed a waxy flavor on my tongue.
“Ten seconds.” I was sobbing openly now. Great, heaving sobs that caused the candle to sway over me, dripping wax across my forehead, in my hair, and on my cheeks where it quickly hardened as it mixed with my tears. A glob of it landed across my right eye, then my left, blinding me as I tried to count the seconds in my head. Curiously, I noticed that Victor was no longer hitting me with the cane. “Five…four…three…two…”
“AIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.” The scream came from everywhere and nowhere, seeming to build up inside my head while simultaneously washing over my body like a tsunami. It took several seconds (minutes? hours? days even?) before I realized that I was the one screaming. For the second time that night, I found myself not knowing where I was, trying to take stock of my surroundings. The floor was hard, cold, and rough against my upper back. I could feel leather straps around my wrists and ankles. I tried moving, but something was keeping my legs pulled taut up over my head. Trying to open my eyes, I found them gummed shut. Slowly, I remembered where I was, what had happened to me. I had no idea if Victor was still here, or how long I had been here, though, until I felt him removing the clamps from my nipples and untying the bindings from my wrists and ankles.
I waited after he had finished, but he seemed to be through with me. He hadn’t left the room, I would’ve heard him, but he was at least leaving me alone. I sat up, rubbing the aches and pain from my neck and back. Scrubbing at my eyes, I came away with waxy hands. It started to come back to me. The candle, the game, those horrible clamps biting into my nipples. All except the end. I had been so close. I could hear Victor’s voice replaying in my head as he counted down the last few seconds and then…screaming. Screaming is all I remember.
Victor was sitting in that same shop chair as before, watching me disinterestedly. My clothes were behind him in a corner of the room. I looked from him to the haphazard pile, then back again. He was looking directly into my eyes but gave no indication he was seeing me at all. I tried to stand but a sudden pain shot through my right leg, bringing me back down to my knees. Gasping, through tears, I examined my tender right foot. It was swollen and a thin, red line bisected the sole. “I almost thought you were going to make it. Just one more second and you’d be going home fully clothed.” He stood, gathering my clothes and returning to his seat. “Still, three minutes is far better than I expected.”
“It would’ve been three if you hadn’t-“
“But I did, and it wasn’t. So,” he said, picking through my clothes. Staring at my painful right foot, he tossed me my left shoe. He wasted little time in choosing my next prize, tossing my shorts at my face. Victor enjoyed drawing out his last choice. Would I be limping home on my swollen and sore right foot or would I be running home with my arms over my chest so no one saw me? Pleasantly may be too strong a word for how I felt, but I was genuinely surprised when he flung my shoe behind him into the corner and dropped my shirt at his feet. I rose, but a quick shake of his head, plus the pain shooting through my foot, brought me back to my knees. This was apparently acceptable to Victor as he allowed me to crawl forward on my hands and knees to retrieve my shirt. As he pulled his cock out of his pants, I imagined he had another reason for preferring to keep me on my knees, so I waited for him with mouth agape.
For the second time in a span of seconds, he managed to surprise me, although this was far less pleasant. Rather than forcing his cock into the back of my throat or demanding I suck on it, he unleashed a steady stream of urine directly onto my shirt. I knelt watching him as he aimed straight at my chest, his piss nearly hot against my skin in the cool air. He adjusted his aim further, now spraying me in the face and in my hair before shooting the rest directly into my open mouth. I swallowed it down as his stream tapered off, the last drops splashing across my breasts, before he shoved his cock in my mouth.
“Now listen, Susan.” I waited for his instructions, the head of his penis tickling the entrance to my throat. Quite proud of my fellatio skills, I was sable to control my gag reflex as he pressed the last two inches into my mouth, burying his cock in my throat. He slapped me on the back of the head, driving me even further into his groin. “Listen and suck, bitch.” I quickly began flicking my tongue across the underside of his cock, gently sucking on it. “You’re free to go as soon as I cum. I won’t do anything further to you, not tonight, at least, but there are still rules to follow. When you walk home, you stay under a streetlight as much as possible. If you have to cross the street fifteen times on the way home to do so, you do it? Understand?” I nodded my head, his cock still buried in my mouth.
“If any man sees you and asks about why you’re such a whorish mess, you get down on your knees and beg him to do his part in keeping a cunt like you in your place. You shove that whole fist of yours up your fucking slut pussy if that’s what it takes to get him to abuse and degrade you. When he’s done, and I don’t give a fuck what he asks for, you do it and you say thank you for letting you serve him afterwards. If a woman sees you, you give her a great big fucking smile and tell her shame on her for denying her rightful place in this world.”
Through with his instructions, he was now gripping my face and yanking it back and forth along his cock. My throat was getting sore from the constant pounding and every few strokes he would hold me against him, viciously slapping the back of my head to drive me that extra few millimeters into his groin, his scraggly black pubes tickling my face. As his orgasm approached, he got even more violent, and I feared he might break my nose with his aggressive face-fucking. Finally, I heard him grunt and he held me tight against him, his cock nearly pulsating in my mouth. I was beginning to run out of oxygen, struggling to expel him with my tongue, when he pulled out and began shooting thick ropes of cum across my face. I wondered if he had been saving that up for me or if he just always came so hard and so much, as my face was completely covered. I picked up my shirt through hazy, cum-covered eyes and slipped it on as he led me through the house and through the front door. I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to say to him, but I turned around to find he was already slamming the door in my face. Resigned, I looked around, trying to determine where I was before crossing the street for the nearest streetlight.
*****Victror*****
“Yes, she just left.”
“Uh huh, everything you said and more.”
“I’ll get them processed and send the video to you shortly, it’s a good one.”
“Yeah, just let me know.”
“Anytime, the pleasure is mine.”
