Tortured Sacrifice
by John Savage
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 John Savage
Strict Publishing International
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter I
Girl in a Box
A single spotlight shone down upon the exhibit. The room was not large, and yet the corners faded into shadow a few feet away from the circle of light. For a long time there were only long stretches of silence alternating with tiny, muted sounds from the exhibit. But eventually the quiet was broken by the sound of men’s shoes upon the hard wood floor.
“Lordy, what have we here?” pondered a gruff male voice. “What have we here...?”
The voice’s owner approached the exhibit slowly, almost as if respecting the dramatic, nearly reverent setting, and slowly circled it. The second man stood by the door.
The exhibit was supported by two pillars coming up from the floor. Atop each was a wooden box, one twice the length of the other. Between the two boxes, coming out of a hole in one and entering a corresponding hole in the other, was a portion of a naked woman. That each box was hinged, and the top half could be opened like a lid was obvious from a thin line that ran around middle. One side of each showed two large hinges; the other side displayed two heavy hasps and very solid looking padlocks.
The hole in each box was very snug against the body it held, one at the thinnest portion of the waist, the other at mid-thigh. Opposite where the legs went into the smaller box, a second hole allowed the feet to stick out. The ankles were bound with white rope, quite tightly. Opposite where the torso disappeared into the larger box there was a small hole that allow a pair of feminine hands to protrude, also bound with tight ropes. The angle of the wrists suggested that the arms within were stretched above her head and with the elbows either touching or nearly so.
The middle aged man doing the circling bent over to try to see into the boxes, but each hole was so perfectly cut to the shape of the body it held that he could see nothing within. It was a strange exhibit, a pair of bound hands, a pair of bound ankles and, in between, the part of a woman’s body men are always seeking to touch.
William Tremain smiled slightly as his overweight but expensively dressed guest grinned broadly like a kid with a new toy.
“Her arms are tied inside with the elbows together,” he commented evenly. “As are her knees. In addition to the boxes, there are heavy straps holding her body down inside. Believe me, she cannot move.” He allowed himself a smile of satisfaction as Howard Compton, president of Compton Electronics, began breathing heavily, almost panting. Tremain poured it on, “She is, of course, completely naked. The boxes are not too large, as you can see. Her breasts, however, are rather large and are squashed by the lid. Of course, you’ll have to take my word for that.”
“Of course...” Compton was licking his lips at the thought of how helpless that young woman was. He did not doubt Tremain’s word at all. “Is she... gagged?” He could hardly get the word out.
“Of course. A ball gag. You may test it.”
“Huh?”
Tremain pointed to the bare feet sticking out. “Oh,” breathed Compton after a few second’s puzzlement.
The hand that reached towards the bare sole was almost trembling. The fingers barely touched the soft flesh in the center of the foot when it jerked. But both feet where held tightly in place and could not escape the fingers. A muffled whine emerged from the box in response to the tickling of the feet. Delighted, Compton tickled more. The cries from inside were louder but still very muted. Exactly what you would expect to hear from a girl who was very ticklish, held solidly in place, had her mouth filled with rubber ball gag, and was being tormented.
Compton was breathing in short pants by the time he paused a few minutes later. He left the bare feet to stand next to the exposed hips and furry pubic patch. The soft blonde hair hardly covered the Venus mound. He stared at where the slit disappeared between thighs pressed tightly together.
“She’s twenty years old,” said Tremain, enjoying playing with this man and his emotions. “You can see how smooth the skin is.”
A male hand touched the softness of the thigh then stroked along it until the fingers came to rest almost touching the pubic patch.
Time to set the hook, thought Tremain. “Of course, I had to tie her and lock her in the boxes before we went to lunch. I’ll say that she’s been like this for about two hours.” He heard Compton suck in air, and smiled.
Tremain allowed Compton to think the thoughts that were obviously racing around in his head, and then he casually tossed a bone to a hungry dog. “I’ve some work to do back in my office,” he casually said. “Stay here a while if you like, then come back and we’ll have a drink.”
Compton’s glassy eyes tore themselves away from the golden hair to look at Tremain’s form in the semi-darkness. “Ah... I...” he stammered.
“Go ahead, Howie. Do whatever you want. I thought you might like something a little unusual. I’ll be in the office. Have fun.”
Then he turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.
William Tremain allowed himself to whistle softly a jaunty little tune as he made his way down the short corridor to his office. There were other doors leading off that corridor but they were locked. The office was vast, paneled in rich woods and carpeted so expensively that you sank into the pile. His desk was polished oak, large enough to play table tennis on, but held only a personal computer and a phone.
Tremain sank into his chair and swiveled it to face the floor to ceiling window. The view was magnificent, a panorama of the Pacific Ocean, beach sands and cliffs. He preferred to look outward rather than back towards the huge metropolis behind that building.
Fifteen minutes, he told himself. Fifteen minutes would be about all Compton could take before finding some kind of satisfaction to the sexual fire Tremain had lit within him. Maybe less.
Tremain, on the other hand, would have extended the foreplay, and savored the unique situation for a long time. A very long time for the helpless girl bound with ropes and straps, and locked into two boxes.
Tremain fancied himself something of an expert on human nature, especially human sexual nature. He knew what “hot buttons” lay hidden within each person, and how to bring out their most secret desires and fantasies. He was a businessman but in a unique business where he created fantasies. At that moment, in the room with the single light, and Howie Compton was frustrated as hell but also more excited than he had been since his teenage years. The shapely female hips and pussy so very available and yet so very far away was sure to drive him crazy. Tremain had judged this man correctly, and set up a fantasy that would have a profound effect upon this businessman.
Denied the three orifices whereby a man might use a woman for his sexual satisfaction, what would Compton do? Tremain knew.
Seventeen minutes later Compton came into the luxurious office. He was still grinning like a schoolboy, but this time the eager glow in his eyes was of smug satisfaction. Tremain handed him a glass generously filled with scotch.
Flopping into a chair, Compton drained half the scotch in a single gulp. Then coughed as the strong liquor scorched his throat. “Tremain,” he managed after a few seconds, “you never fail to surprise me.”
Tremain smiled. “That’s my job. I create the unusual.”
“You can say that again. How’d you ever come up with having a girl tied that way? I would have never thought of that.”
“That’s why I’m well paid to come up with such scenes.”
“Well, you’re worth every penny. And that scene cost me quite a few pennies.” He laughed, not at all unhappy with the price tag attached to this fantasy.
Tremain just smiled and sipped at his own glass. When his client’s was done, he offered more but was turned down. “I got to go home. The little woman will be wondering where I am,” Compton said. He paused at the door. “I guess you have to get to untying her,” he said with a grin.
“No rush. Would you like me to leave her there a while?”
The grin became wider and more of a leer. “Yeah! Leave her there for an hour. Serve her right for not making her pussy available to me!” He guffawed loudly. Tremain promised that he would leave the girl alone in that room for a full hour before going to release her.
But before Compton left, he turned serious enough to ask, “That girl - what does she look like? Is the rest of her as good as that part I saw?”
Tremain replied with a smile. “Afraid you may never know. Maybe you’ll run into her again in another of my little scenes. Maybe not. Life has to have some little mysteries, right?”
Compton looked as if he did not know if he agreed or was disappointed. Tremain accompanied him to the elevator.
Back in his office, William casually put the glasses in the sink of the wet bar and closed the doors on it. He selected a Mozart symphony for the music system. As the lush sounds began to fill the office, he sat back in the big chair behind his desk and closed his eyes.
Fifty-two minutes later the symphony came to a crashing conclusion. Only then did William Tremain slowly rise from the chair and go to the room where a naked, very helpless young woman awaited him.
Taking the keys from his pocket, he unlocked all four padlocks before opening the lids. Inside, just as he had informed Compton, was a naked woman. She was gagged with a ball gag tightly strapped into her mouth. And heavy leather straps did hold her body quite firmly to the bottoms of the boxes. He took his time unbuckling the straps. When all the straps were off, he helped her into a sitting position.
She slowly lowered her bound arms from over her head. Almost four hours of being in that position was a strain, even for a healthy, athletic twenty year old. He unbuckled the gag strap and slowly eased the large ball out of her mouth.
With her mouth no longer distended by red rubber, the face resumed its natural beauty. And he had not lied about the size of her breasts; they were center-fold size and excellent shape. As he untied her arms, the ability to speak returned to the young woman.
“Oh, that was a long time. That’s hard on my back. My hips were suspended in mid-air, you know.” She chided him but there was no anger in her voice. “Did you really have to leave me tied up for so long before you brought him in?”
“He liked that touch. I liked that.”
“Yeah, I know. Well, you got a good one here. I wish I could have seen the look on his face as he tried to figure out what to do with me.”
“It was good.”
“First he tried to force his hand between my legs. Then he pinched my bottom. I’ll have bruises there.”
“They’ll heal.”
“Then he spanked my bottom. I’ll bet it’s nice and red.”
“A little bit.”
“He tried to get the box open,” she informed as the last of the ropes came off her arms. There were red marks where the cords had cut into her flesh. “And that bit about tickling me. You told him to do it, didn’t you? That was horrible. You know I’m very ticklish.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, I was afraid that he was going to go on tickling me for a long time. But he was more interested in sex than tickling. You do know what he finally did, don’t you?”
“Isn’t hard to figure out.”
“Damned right! He finally rubbed his prick against me until he came - all over me. Just look at the mess!”
“You know where the shower is,” said Tremain with a smile. Compton had done just as he had expected, and the evidence was sticky upon her pubic patch and hips.
“Oh, it’s nice to get my legs free.” She hopped down and stretcher her fine body. “Oh, nice to be free. You really had me so I couldn’t move, you know.”
“I know.”
“You’re a fiend, a monster. Why was it so long before you came to untie me?”
“I told Compton that I would leave you alone for another hour.”
“Was that his idea... Or yours?” She waited only a second before going on, “Never mind. I know, you like it. Well, so do I. Sort of. This position is hard on a girl. Where did you get the idea to expose only that part of me?”
“Just came to me.”
“Well, just more proof that you’re a fiend. Normal men wouldn’t come up with such a horrible way to make a girl helpless.”
“Brandy, after you’ve showered, you can pick up your money in the office.”
“Great. Rent’s due and I could use it.” The beautiful girl seemed blissfully unaware of her nudity. It was one of the things he liked about her. That and her total acceptance and enjoyment of incredible bondage that would make other women run away screaming. If they could. She paused at the door. “Bill,” she said in a more serious tone. “You know what hours of tight bondage does to me. I get horny. Care to do something about it?”
Tremain paused in his coiling of the rope. “Seven o’clock, my place,” he said.
Brandy smiled and went to clean herself. A paycheck and the promise of William Tremain’s special treatment made her a happy girl.
Chapter II
House of Pain
In the midst of Chinatown in a large California city, there was a house, a house of pain. It had a name, but that really only applied to the restaurant that occupied most of the ground floor and was a front for the real operations, though the food was very good and the restaurant made a nice profit. The basement facilities, which were quite large, went down several levels, and extended far beyond the building itself, were something else again. Only those who knew the password could go into the special dining room in the rear of the restaurant. Strangely, if anyone had taken the time to observe, that small room never had anyone eating in it. But customers went into it. Later, they came out, apparently satisfied.
The corner of that special room had a false wall. Beyond that wall lay the House of Pain.
The whip cracked and a young woman screamed.
A beautiful Chinese woman in her late twenties with long shining black hair and wearing an emerald green velvet dress slit up one side to almost the hip, smiled. She stood by the door, looking over the scene of agony before her and approving.
The girl who had screamed was in the middle of the room, hanging by bound wrists from a hoist hidden in the darkness of the ceiling. Her bare feet stretched but could not touch the floor. For a second time, the whip hissed through the air, and she screamed at the second angry red line that began forming across her bottom. Her bare legs danced uselessly on air.
The oriental woman standing by the door noted the smile upon the face of her customer and nodded to herself. Happy customers were good for business. She turned her gaze to the hanging girl before turning to go. This was one of the new ones, but she should work out well, the woman thought. Her body was very pleasant, full and with a nice curve in at the waist. Men would like this one. The redhead was about nineteen, which was good because most men wanted them young, and she would be useful to the house of pain for longer. By the time they were in their middle twenties, most girls were burned out and overused. Then they were dumped, gotten rid of like fruit gone bad in a store. But even in liquidating stock, a profit was still to be made. When a girl began to look worn out from the harsh treatment of that prison, she was sold to a brothel, often in the Middle East, but just as often in the Far East or even South America.
After the third vicious stroke from the braided leather whip, the teenager was pleading for mercy and release. When she was not screaming, that is. The man holding the whip, a sweating, middle-aged business owner, ignored the pleas and concentrated on planting the next slash across flesh not yet marked. Later, when most of her bottom was covered with welts, he would begin crisscrossing them. A fresh cut laid upon an old one often hurt more. And when her bottom was thoroughly covered, he would turn to her breasts. He was paying a lot for this service and he wanted to see a lot of pain in return.
As the oriental woman closed the door and walked away, the screams were silenced by the soundproofing of each of the rooms. She went down the stairs to the next level and checked on some of the new material.
One was a black woman, perhaps twenty-four, very and with a good figure. She sat on the concrete floor of her cage, naked save for the handcuffs locked upon her. There was one pair joining her wrists, another pair on the ankles, and a third pair locked joining the first two in a loose but secure form of hogtie. The woman glared up at her but said nothing. The oriental woman smiled. This one would have plenty of fight and might present a little challenge to break. But then, keeping her half wild does help with some of the customers who want their victims rebellious and fighting back. But she would have to talk to the suppliers of this girl; she was older than would have been preferred.
The oriental woman pondered for a second about the nature of men. Some wanted a woman who screamed and protested the whipping, and even fought when being tied up. Other men wanted a woman who was meek as a mouse and totally passive, even to the point of not screaming when the whip burned a line across their backs. Well, that was human nature, and she had a supply of both kinds to satisfy any customer’s whims.
And the nice part was that none of these young women would ever have to be paid a cent in salary! They were all kidnapped and being held totally against their will. Nice way to run a business!
The next cage held a sobbing teenage girl, on the small size, perhaps no more than five foot and an inch or two. But she had a nicely proportioned figure and the breasts, although small, suited her nicely. The oriental woman smiled. This was one who would work out well for customers who liked to hang women by their wrists or ankles. Or in other, more imaginative ways. Her light weight would mean less stress on her body and less circulation diminishment. Not that the mistress of this house of pain cared much for the slave girl’s suffering, but she did not like to damage the merchandise, no businesswoman would. Unless, of course, the customer paid well for the privilege of doing that damage...
There were customers who delighted in causing real damage to a naked, bound up and shivering woman. There was piercing of sensitive parts of her anatomy with needles, breaking the skin with whips that could cut a woman to pieces, and burning tender flesh. And more. Some men were real sadists.
And so were some woman, thought the oriental woman. She reflected upon a society matron a year before who wanted to - and did - ruin a girl’s breasts and pussy far beyond repair in a most disagreeable manner. But she had paid more than enough to cover the cost of a replacement for the ruined girl.
It was surprising how easy it was to kidnap a pretty young woman, and then haul her imprisoned body across the country to this house of pain. And how really little it cost! There were always the low-life types willing to do anything for a few bucks.
Before passing on, the oriental woman made a mental note to begin testing that small girl in some extreme suspension. If she worked out as she might, this would be an attraction for some of her customers who specialized in the esoteric forms of punishment.
Which, of course, was what that establishment was all about: the infliction of pain upon innocent and helpless females. The human race had always included those with strong urges to mistreat, abuse and torture sweet young women. This house simply provided the opportunity to do so - at a price.
The next couple of cages were empty, but the last of that row contained a slavegirl being punished not by a customer but by the mistress of that house. She was a lovely young Mexican girl, about twenty, with long dark hair and full, heavy breasts and stout legs. The girl’s arms were bound behind her back with the elbows tied tightly together. The girl’s shoulders and arms was such that her elbows did not naturally come together behind her back, but that had not stopped them from being looped with rope and forced by those cords into a position that not only caused her great discomfort but that saw the cords cutting deeply into her flesh. From the elbows down, they were dark colored and must have hurt terrible.
But the binding of her arms in a painful position was not the only torment visited upon this unfortunate. She was forced to maintain a kneeling position facing one wall of the small cell she occupied. Her head was bent forward because a metal rod sticking out of the wall was shoved into her mouth and held in place with two straps around her head. The metal rod was two inches thick and about eight inches long, measured from the wall. The straps had been pulled down and buckled so that all but the base of the rod was hidden inside her mouth. The observer knew that the end was pressing hard against the back of this girl’s throat.
And there was more. The surface she knelt upon was not smooth cement as the rest of the cell. It was a wooden board into which had been driven a hundred thick metal nails. The points of each had been filed off to a dull, rounded end, but her position forced the girl to kneel upon those ends so that dozens were poking into her legs from the knees down to the toes. She could not move away from the board for she was held solidly to the wall by that rod in her mouth, so she had to kneel upon the nails, and that by itself was an agony.
The oriental woman gracefully knelt down until her face was level with the girl in the cage. She could see tear stains on the girl’s cheek and knew she had been crying. Which was understandable for a girl so tormented for so long.
“Do you know how long you’ve been like this?” she was asked. “Won’t talk? Okay, I’ll tell you. You’ve been like that for six hours now. Seem like more? Of course it does.” The woman’s voice was honey, and dripped with pseudo-concern. “But I’m afraid we can’t let you up yet. You were very foolish to try what you did with one of my clients. But don’t despair; it could be worse. Had you succeeded in harming his penis with your teeth, you have be suffering far more than you are. You do believe me, don’t you?”
The only reply was a nervous shifting of her eyes to look at her tormentor.
The oriental woman stood and called out, “Nancy!” When the named woman came, she added a simple order, “Put alligator clips on her.”
The guard, a younger Chinese woman wearing a very short skirt of black leather, tall boots with spike heels, and was topless, hurried away but only to return a moment later with two small metal clips in her hand. She opened the cell door and knelt beside the tortured girl. First the left nipple, then the right, was caught in the jaws of those clips, which were long and filled with tiny, very sharp teeth. As the first bit into the tender flesh of her nipple, the girl screamed and jerked. The second one evoked a fresh scream. The guard closed the door and was waved away by her boss.
The naked girl kneeling in the cell was in fresh agony. She whined loudly around the metal rod in her mouth and seemed to be trying to plead. Her body shook as she tried to dislodge the tiny terrors from her breasts. Of course, they hung on tenaciously.
Fresh tears were falling to wet the wood and nails beneath her as the oriental woman left the room.
For a minute, the woman thought about the suffering girl back in that cell. Then she made a decision. The girl would be shipped out of the country and sold to one of the disposal sources, probably Kaimoko in Hong Kong. She could have taken the time to break the girl’s spirit so that there would not be a repetition of that ugly incident with the customer, but the girl was not really of high enough quality to be worth the effort.
Still, she would have some fun with the girl before sending her off to a lifetime of slavery in some place where they did not speak any language she understood. That fun would start with leaving the girl in the cell for the night. Her cries and moans would have a good effect upon the other, newer girls. It would tell them that this place was serious. Then tomorrow, she might experiment with some of the suspension techniques she was going to put the small teenager through. Using the larger and heavier Mexican girl would provide a contrast and means of checking just how harsh the suspensions were.
Smiling to herself, the oriental woman walked through the halls of the house of pain, her high heels clicking regally as she passed scenes of suffering.
Chapter III
Brandy’s Reward
“Oh, damn!” uttered with feeling. Then, “Oh, pleaseeeee..!” uttered in sincere pleading, followed by a moan of desire and frustration.
William Tremain smiled but made no move to provide what Brandy wanted. He was at his ease and enjoying the whole scene. The thought did occur to him that he was getting to like this girl quite a bit.
The girl he was getting to like was, at that moment, suspended over his bed, naked and in a quite helpless position. She had been tied into a tight hogtie, one with her hands opened wide with the palms pressed against the backs of her ankles. Her elbows had been bound tightly together, as had her legs just above the knees. It would have been a very secure and restricting position had it just been left at that. But Tremain had looped a rope between her forearms and legs, and then passed that rope through a stout ring secured into the ceiling above his bed. When the rope was pulled, the loop tightened, and then it lifted the girl’s arms and legs up behind her. The youthful, gorgeous body was arched slowly until only her stomach still touched the bed. As he pulled on the rope that was putting a great deal of strain upon her body, Brandy kept her eyes upon the man who had tied her. A fire glowed within those green eyes, a passion that burned hot and eager. Even as she moaned with discomfort at the pressure of her entire weight taken upon her arms and legs, she also moaned with passion for a fire burning within her loins. Finally, she was suspended in midair, her hips two feet off the bed, and the end of the rope knotted to another ring in the wall.
Tremain knew exactly how excited this girl was, how much she longed to be touched and aroused. But part of this game was to deny her that touch. With most women you touched them to arouse their bodies, with Brandy you only had to bind her with ropes and then not touch her.
Brandy moaned very loudly as he tossed off his robe to unveil a weapon very much at the ready and pointed right towards her face. Slowly, as if not having a care in the world nor anything that demanded his immediate attention, he climbed upon the bed, positioned himself so that his hips were directly under her head, and then propped up the pillow to make himself comfortable.
Only inches from her face was the end of that magnificent tool, that wonderful weapon, that battering ram that had given her so much pleasure when pounding within her sex. For a minute she stared at it, willing it do be within her, giving her much pleasure. But, although it stayed rigid, it showed no sign of moving closer to where she wanted it. Finally, with a whine of frustration, she tried to reach it with her lips. But she could not lower her mouth close enough. Her long blonde hair fell all the way to the bed, resting lightly upon his thighs, but the ropes held her prisoner only inches short of her goal. She whined again in frustration.
Tremain drank in the glorious sight of her smooth skin glowing in the candlelight, the curves so familiar yet made so different by the harsh bondage she was enduring. It was pure nectar, the way her body swayed slightly when she moved her head. Delightful the way her fingers fluttered helplessly beside her ankles. He savored her helplessness almost as much as this naked woman did. Differently, of course, but almost as intensely.
“Please...?” she begged again. “I want to pleasure you.”
“You are pleasuring me,” he told her. “I find pleasure in your helplessness. I enjoy your frustration.”
“I could give you much more pleasure if you would only lower me a bit,” she offered.
“That would be a lot of work,” he retorted. “I’d have to get out of bed, unknot the rope, lower you, re-knot it, then get back here. No, thank you. I’m quite comfortable here.”
Brandy almost wished that she were gagged, a common practice in their games. Then she would not have to be thinking so hard for something to say that might make this man either let her pay homage with her lips to his manhood, or shove that manhood deep within her moist sheath. Lacking words, she moaned softly.
For a few more minutes neither of them spoke. Each was enjoying this scene in their own ways. But frustration gnawed at her like a hungry animal within. Finally she could take it no longer. “Please, Bill, you don’t have to get up, just put a pillow under your hips. I want it so badly...”
“But, Brandy, dear, if I let you put your beautiful, pouty lips around my rod, it won’t be long before you make him shoot his load. Even if I try to hold off, you’re so very good with those lips and tongue that I’ll have to come. And then I’ll lose interest. Then I’ll see the way you’re tied as a horribly painful torture, not a wonderfully erotic and exciting foreplay. Then I’ll take pity on you and let you down. The ropes will come off. And then you’ll be very unhappy. Now, Brandy, dear, you wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?”
“I’ll make you promise not to untie me. Or let me down. I’ll make you promise to leave me exactly like this until you’re interested again. Oh, Bill, please...?”
Brandy knew what she was asking for. Bill, while a healthy male with normal - perhaps above normal - regenerative powers, it would still be an hour or more before he was truly ready to satisfy her with that incredible weapon of his. Brandy knew this.
Bill shifted his hips a bit, a movement that brought his rod half an inch closer to her lips. He could see the tip of Brandy’s tongue between her lips slowly sliding back and forth. And the scent of woman in heat told him that she was in a high state of sexual arousal. He knew that an inquiring linger would show just how juicy her sex was.
A considerate gentleman might have granted her wish to service his rod, thereby gaining pleasure for both of them. Or he might have found a way to service her hot and wet sheath with that rod, thereby also granting pleasure to both of them. Some considerate men might have even taken one of the large, powerful vibrators from the dresser near me bed and used it skillfully upon a helpless female body to produce sexual satisfaction in that nudity.
But William Tremain never considered himself a considerate gentleman. He did none of the above, even though his tool ached with desire to be within the soft and warm flesh before it. Such games were best not ended too soon, and their evening had just started.
He lifted one leg and used his foot to give her knees a push. With a gasp of surprise, the suspended girl twisted around. As she completed her first revolution, his foot gave her another shove, increasing her speed.
“You’re a bastard!” Brandy proclaimed loudly. “Do you know that? You’re a bastard! Billy the bastard.” She whined and moaned as the room turned around her. “Oh, Bill. I could have given you such pleasure...”
“And you will,” he said regally. “But for now, I’m taking you for a spin.”
Brandy moan both at the pun and the pain of rope cutting into her limbs.
After a dozen revolutions he stopped her with a hand on her knee. She was facing away from him. While one hand held her from untwisting, the other lightly traced invisible patterns on her thighs. She moaned and the naked body hanging before him trembled slightly. Continuing the stimulation, he toyed with her nerves until she was moaning almost constantly. Some of the moans sounded like, “Please,” but most were just animal sounds. He let go. Slowly at first, Brandy began to unwind. By the time the rope came to the end of its dozen twists, there was enough momentum to continue her into three or four turns more, then she slowed to a stop and began turning the other way. Eventually she came to a complete halt, facing him as she had originally.
“Did I tell you that you’re a bastard?” she asked casually.
“Did I tell you what it feels like to have a beautiful woman’s long hair stroking my penis each time you came by?”
“Great. Hope you squirt cum all over yourself and the bed. You deserve a mess.” The words were delivered without heat. She was used to the kind of treatment that most women would have hated. But she was not most women, and she loved this. It was so very exciting.
“I ought to spank your ass for that,” he told her.
“Promises, promises,” she teased back.
Tremain considered that for a moment, and then slid out from under her to stand beside the bed. Brandy turned her head sideways and looked at him through strands of golden hair.
Suddenly, his bare hand came down upon the soft flesh of her ass. A sharp slap sounded, followed by a startled cry of pain. “Hey, I didn’t mean that! Don’t spank me! Aren’t I suffering enough?”
His answer was a second swat on the other cheek. “Ohhhh! That hurt!” she informed.
“It’s supposed to,” he counter-informed.
There followed a slow and lovingly delivered spanking that turned both globes of her bottom a wonderful red. The naked body jerked and twisted at the end of its rope, but could not evade the punishing hand. Alternately she pleaded for mercy and cursed him.
When her whole bottom was burning and tears falling upon the bed sheets gave testimony to the pain of that burn, he stopped. Quickly he slid back under her, positioned his very rigid rod under her face, then put his hands upon his hips, braced his elbows against the bed and thrust his manhood upward. She eagerly captured it with soft lips and began servicing it with a passion. She slid her mouth up and down the shaft, sucked on it, teased the end with her tongue, displaying all the skills with which a woman pleases a man.
It did not take long before the predicted results transpired. With a gasp, he thrust his hips higher and Brandy, sensing the moment was at hand, increased the speed of her soft, warm mouth sliding along his shaft. A second later she could feel his cum spurting into her mouth. She swallowed it, every drop as it came. A tremor raced through her body as she did. It was not an orgasm, but something akin to one. It was almost as if she were sharing some of his orgasm.
Having spent its load, his organ, as is the way with most men, lost interest. Brandy tried to keep it within her mouth, but between its diminishment and his lowering his hips back to the bed, she had to let go.
“Lordy, but you’re good,” he muttered. One last shiver, then he slowly crawled off the bed. “Damn good.” He stood next to her and put one hand up to her pussy. It was, as he knew it would be, moist with secretions. He pressed his palm against it, evoking a moan from the hanging girl. Then he began working her sex with gentle but insistent fingers. Her legs were bound together, making it hard to play with her sex properly, but he had a great deal of experience at making a bound woman reach a climax, and he could reach the most sensitive part. It was only a minute before Brandy was panting, her whole body tense and trembling. A second later she emitted a loud gasp and went rigid, her body pressed against his hand to the limits her bondage allowed. She shook all over with an intense orgasm.
He waited until he was sure she was firmly in the grasp of an intense orgasm, and then suddenly withdrew his hand. Stepping back, he leaned against the wall to watch. It never ceased to amaze Tremain how much more intense a woman’s orgasm seemed than a man’s. And how much longer it lasted. The naked girl before him was shaking all over, moaning, and pumping her hips. That went on for an incredible length of time.
When she finally calmed down and was hanging limply in her bonds, he again approached the bed. He checked her hands. “I’m going to take a shower,” he told her. She made no reply. Her head hung down, face hidden from sight by her long hair. “I will honor your request to leave you hanging until I am again horny.” No reply. “Probably be a couple hours,” he continued as if commenting upon the weather. “See you later.” Then he walked out of the bedroom.
The naked woman hanging very uncomfortably in tight ropes did not move. But she muttered softly to herself, “Bastard.” A few seconds later she added, “Damned, incredible, wonderful bastard.”
Chapter IV
The Morning After
William Trenton Tremain was in the business of supplying fantasies to wealthy businessmen. To be specific, they were sexual fantasies, and not just the blonde cheerleader type. The fantasies he set up reflected the hidden side of human nature. With a skill unbelievable to even those who benefit from them, he established incredible sexual scenes to stimulate, excite and ultimately please men and women.
The scenes, as he thought of them, that he created involved handcuffs and ropes, blindfolds and whips in an erotic mix that never failed to titillate. He understood human sexual needs and seemed to have an endless supply of beautiful woman willing to be a part of his creations.
He charged a great deal for these scenes, but those paying never balked at the steepness of the price. Tremain, you see, did not just provide prostitutes in erotic settings to rich men. He provided the unusual, the kinky, and always highly artistic. He created dreams for those too lacking in imagination to do it for themselves. And those rich enough to pay for his services.
The sign on his door said “Tremain Imports” and he did have a small import business as a front. But that made little money, and William Tremain had decided after an improvised childhood that he would never go hungry again. He was going to go first class all the way.
The morning after the hanging of Brandy in a hogtie, he awoke early as usual and eased his way out of the bed just as the first light of dawn painted the eastern clouds pink. She muttered something and went back to sleep. For a moment he looked down at the naked form dimly seen against the white sheets. Brandy was such a beautiful woman. But there was something much more to her than just a pretty face and a great body. Something that evoked strange emotions inside this masterful man. She shifted position a bit. He pulled the blanket over her shoulder. She could not do it for herself with her hands still bound behind her back.
Outside the bedroom, he dived naked into the pool. After two dozen quick laps of the long pool, it was light enough to see Brandy standing by the edge.
“I heard you jump in,” she said. Then she walked along the edge to where he was resting his arms on the coping. “Is the water warm?”
“Warm enough.”
“Then I’m coming in.”
And she did. With wrists bound behind her, she could not dive properly so she simply jumped feet first into the water. She sank all the way down to the bottom where she felt her feet touch. She kicked off and rose to the surface where his strong hand took her arm. He pulled the naked woman over to him, and then along the edge until they both could stand on the bottom. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her. It was a slow kiss, more of love than passion, but that did not last long. Quickly she was pressing her body against his and kissing back with feeling.
The foreplay was not prolonged. There was no need for it to be. In a few minutes she was being lifted off her feet and then lowered onto the stiff rod awaiting her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and gasped as his shaft plunged deep within her sheath. And all this while they were standing up to their chests in water.
It was good sex. It was a great way to start the day. Her body slid against his as he pumped her up and down on his shaft. When the both came, he held her very tightly against him with strong arms around her while she trembled in ecstasy.
Later, having refused to untie her hands, he had to feed her breakfast piece by piece. Brandy protested, but obviously enjoyed being the helpless little girl. Still later they showered together. It was nearly noon before her hands were untied and she was allowed to dress. Their second lovemaking of the morning had occurred when he suddenly grabbed her and bent her over a couch. Pushing her legs apart with his feet, he stood behind her and lifted her hips so his rod could find the entrance. Brandy immediately heated up to accept him. Or maybe she had never really calmed down. Keeping that woman tied meant keeping her horny. Either way, the sex was good and lasted far longer than the lovemaking in the pool.
William Tremain walked Brandy out to her car. He would be going into his office while she playfully claimed she had to go back to her apartment for a much-needed rest.
“Will you be needing me soon?” she asked from the driver’s seat of her car. Then she giggled. “I mean for your clients, of course.”
“Of course. Don’t know right now. May have one set up this weekend. I’ll let you know.”
“If you don’t have a client, you can still call me,” she said in a husky voice. “You can always practice on me. I’m willing to work weekends for our profession. Maybe you can experiment on me to come up with new scenes?”
“That sounds good,” he admitted. “I’ll call.”
As she drove off, he considered what was happening. Until recently, they had had a straightforward business relationship. He paid her to be part of his scenes. It was business. At first, he had even paid her when he felt like using her body for his own lust. After a few months they had become friends enough to have casual sex without money being mentioned. In fact, it was her wish that he not pay her. But perhaps this relationship was becoming more intimate. Her offer to let him practice on her was a sure sign that she wanted that kind of treatment, that it was no longer purely a business relationship.
Ever since some disastrous relationships in his teenage years, Tremain had tried not to allow himself to feel anything for any woman. A business relationship worked out better. But there was something about Brandy...
He turned and went back into the house to dress for his office, telling himself that it was not good business practice to have personal feelings for the merchandise.
* * * * *
It was early morning and there were no customers in the House of Pain, although that was not its official name, just what those unfortunately enough to be prisoners there called it. Despite the early hour, four of the most beautiful slavegirls had been roughly taken from their cells and brought to the biggest room of them all. There they were all stripped of whatever clothing they might have been allowed, and each was bound with thin cord in exactly the same way, with their arms tied behind her back, elbows tight together. In addition, a loop of rope had been put around their waists then run down between their legs to go up in back and over the bound wrists. Then the rope was passed back through their legs and looped over the waist rope in front, then pulled as tightly as possible and knotted. The effect was to cut deeply into the sex of each girl and pull her arms down behind her. That forced each to stand straight with their chests thrown out. And it was very uncomfortable.
Each woman was gagged with a bit gag, a metal bar a little thicker than a pencil and held in the mouth with a strap. The metal bar was pushed in under their tongues so speech was impossible. Just before their arms were bound, each girl had been given a pair of high heel shoes with very tall, slender heels. They were ordered to put the shoes on.
Then all four girls were lined up against a wall. Their ankles were joined in handcuffs even though none of them had any intent of running away. There they waited.
After half an hour, two people came into the room. One was the oriental woman who ran the place with an iron hand, the other an older man. While the woman stood by, the man inspected the girls, noting carefully the finer points of each woman, the beauty of her face, her hair, the size and shape of her breasts, the flatness of her tummy, and the shape of her legs. He poked each with a finger as if to test that the merchandise were real.
At his request, each girl was marched around the room and made to turn around like a fashion model on display while the man watched carefully.
Finally he turned to the woman with the riding crop in her hand. “None are good enough,” he said.
“These are the best,” she said meekly as if apologizing for poor quality of the merchandise.
“None are good enough,” he repeated. “The Chosen One must be perfect.”
For a long second neither said anything, but they looked at each other. Finally the woman offered, “I can have the usual sources search for something extra special. Perhaps they can come up with something.”
“No time for that,” the man said firmly. “But I think that I know another source.”
“As you wish,” she said bowing her head slightly to the man, then motioning to the guards to return the girls to their cells. But the man held up his hand.
“I will have that blonde taken to a room and prepared for the bastinado. I have a phone call to make, and then I will whip her feet. Has she been beaten on the feet before?”
“No, she has not.”
“Good. I will whip them until they bleed. It will be a week before she walks again.” He chuckled; a dry, crackling sound.
“Yes, sir.”
* * * * *
Brandy stretched and yawned. Time to be getting up, she told herself. Since leaving that nine to five, very dull office job, she had taken to sleeping late each morning. Which was not hard to do when most of her duties took place at night, occasionally in the afternoon. She rose from the bed like Venus rising from the sea, a vision of pure, naked beauty, to stand before her full-length mirror. Sleeping naked made it easy for her to immediately examine her fine body from all angles, not as one admiring herself but checking it over for damage from the previous night’s activities. The bottom was a little sore but there were no real marks, and it would be feeling fine by the end of the day. The spanking delivered while she was the prisoner of the two boxes was only by hand. It had stung and even made her cry some, but had done nowhere near the amount of damage a real whipping would have.
Satisfied that her body was still in prime condition, Brandy tossed herself upon the bed and hugged her pillow to her chest as she remembered the glorious feelings William Tremain had caused in her body. She had been working for him for six months now, during that time having met with and been worked on by a fair number of dominant men (and a couple dominant women). But none of them affected her as Tremain did. There was something different about him, a sense of power but totally under control. And a certain cruelty that could cause pain as well as pleasure, but it was tempered with a real respect for her as a person. When she was with him, she knew she was not just a sexy body, a piece of merchandise to be used and forgotten. He saw her as a real person, really cared about her, and that made him different from the men who simply used her body for their own gratification.
Brandy O’Connor (technically Brenda Colleen O’Connor - but she liked the nickname Brandy) was a woman who enjoyed her work, and considered her meeting William Tremain as the luckiest moment of her life. He had offered her a life she had not even known existed, yet had been craving all her years since becoming aware of her body as being that of a woman. It was exciting, never the same twice, and more than she had ever expected from any job. Under his teaching, her natural submission blossomed until she was a woman who gloried in the wonder and beauty her bound and tormented body could evoke within other people. When doing an assignment, or even when just relaxing with Tremain, she felt more alive, more real than at any other time. It did not always make sense, but it was wonderful.
Tossing the pillow back up to the headboard, she rolled onto her stomach and put her hands behind her back. Pulling in her elbows as much as possible given that there was no rope assisting, she put her legs together and bent them to place her feet as close to her hands as possible. When they came near enough, she reached down with her hands and grasped her ankles. It was necessary for her to arch her body a bit, but it felt good.
Closing her eyes, she pretended that there were ropes around her wrists and ankles and elbows, ropes put on by William Tremain. She pulled her elbows in, finally making them touch. For a long time she held that position against the strain of her body trying to unfold. Then suddenly she let go and began giggling.
She felt a warmth between her legs at the thought that she had another assignment that night, and called herself a silly little girl.
But she was happy.
Chapter V
New Arrival
The delivery van looked like many others that came up to the back of the Gold and Jade Lotus restaurant. “Louie’s Bakery” proclaimed a sign on the side of the older, fading green van. But the box two men took from the back of the van was rather large to contain bread or rolls. It was visible only for a couple seconds as they carried it immediately in through the back door where they set it down in a freight elevator. One pushed the button then stepped out as the doors began to close. The elevator descended into the depths of the old brick building, taking the stout wooden crate and its contents into darkness.
Below, it was met by two of the special guards in that House of Pain, both handsome young Chinese girls and both dressed in the traditional costume for guards there: short black leather skirt, black leather boots coming up almost to the knee, and with spike heels. The girls wore nothing to hide their firm, young breasts, but it mattered little. The only person who would see them down there was the mistress who ran the place. Occasionally a customer might see one of them, although generally the guards did their business and stayed out of sight, and apart from that it was only the prisoners, who were referred to as “slaves” for good reason. That is what they were: slavegirls, every one of them kidnapped from other parts of the country and brought there in tight bondage then hidden away from prying eyes in crates and trunks. Each was a beautiful young woman with a good figure. Mistakes in that department were not allowed by the mistress of that house. If a girl did not measure up to her high standards, she was disposed of, usually by being repacked into her transportation box and shipped out of the country for sale where such things are possible. Most countries have laws against slavery but there are those where the laws are given lip service only. There are lands where slavery is an ancient institution and thrives just below the surface of the respectability they wish to project. And there are many more countries where brothels are either legal or tolerated, and no authority questions too closely where the working girls came from or why they wear chains.
This crate was hauled off the freight elevator platform to sit in the middle of a well-lit room. One guard produced keys to unlock the padlocks on the lid. When it was lifted off, revealing that the bottom of it was padded, the contents were exposed to light for the first time in almost a day.
And it was not bakery goods that were nestled within the pudding of the crate. The closest bakery term to describe what was within was perhaps “Tart,” for it was a naked teenager girl. Her arms and legs were bound tightly with ropes and she had been folded into a ball to fit within the confines of the crate. The body was a delight, full and sexy and of fine muscle tone. This was a young woman who stayed active and obviously took pride in her figure. But the face was not visible, being hidden under a sheath of leather that covered it totally from the neck up. There was only a small hole for her nose to stick out, all else was soft leather pressed tightly against her head by the laces in the back of the discipline hood.
The two guards lifted her from the crate. Tiny whining noises came from her nose, pathetic little moans that spoke of sore and stiff muscles not allowed movement for a long time. They placed her on her bottom on the concrete floor and left her there for a long time. The girl slowly came to life, moving her limbs as best she could within the restriction of the ropes and turning her head from side to side as if trying to hear if someone was around her.
The discipline hood was not removed until the mistress of the house, one May Ling by name, arrived. With a flick of her long fingernails she ordered the hood removed. The leather was peeled off, revealing a sweat-soaked head of blonde hair pressed tightly against the scalp, and eyes blinking in the bright light. Around the bottom half of her head was wrapped gray duct tape, the wide turns covering her mouth. One guard worked up the end of the duct tape and began peeling it off. Under the tape was an elastic bandage, which had served to protect the golden hair and tender skin from the tape. When the elastic bandages were unwound, another gag came into view. The sides of the girl’s mouth were distended, as if her mouth was filled. Sticking out the front was a short rubber tube with a metal screw on its side. The guard turned the screw and there was a hissing sound as the air rushed out of the balloon gag. It was then pulled from the girl’s mouth.