My brother is a bit of a dick, you know? He’s a nice enough guy most of the time, but once he gets a few under his belt, he turns into a condescending snob.

His wife Christina, the bitch I call her, is an heiress. More money than any one person could possibly spend in a lifetime. She comes from one of those old money families like the Rothschilds, Hiltons, Carnegies, etc., you see and hear about all the time. What she’s doing with my brother, I have no idea.

We’re not old money. We’re not even new money. We’re middle class. Part of The Bourgeoisie, as Christina disparagingly remarks on the rare occasions she has accompanied Bruce to one of our family’s get-togethers.

They met at Tennessee University seventeen years ago. My brother was there on a tennis scholarship. Christina, it’s always Christina to her face, not Chrissy, Tina, or Chris, or she will favour you with an icy look of disdain and then ignore you, was there because it was the best College that would accept her. Her grades were terrible, and her attitude worse. Even with her father’s money, he couldn’t get Harvard, Yale, or even Berkeley to accept her.

Bruce was a rising star on the tennis tour. At just 18, he made it through the qualifiers and into the main draw for the 2005 US Open. He got thrashed 0-0-1 by one of the top seeds in the first round, but it’s still one hell of an achievement to get through.

He met Christina at one of the after-match functions. She was a celebrity guest. Christina thought he would be a tennis superstar, so he was an acceptable match for her.

It didn’t work out like that. Bruce blew his shoulder serving for the match against Carlos Montoya in the 2008 Cincinnati Masters. The surgeons were able to repair the shoulder, but Bruce had lost his booming serve and forehand. He competed for another couple of years without distinction before quitting as the tour events he was invited to became increasingly minor and obscure.

Christina left him and returned to her father’s place. Her father told her to stop being a snotty princess and make the marriage work. He gave Bruce a minor executive role in one of his many businesses.

“Make it work, have lots of babies,” Christina’s dad told her. “You’re not much use to me except to provide heirs.”

Bruce and Christina live in an enormous Charlestown, Boston, Massachusetts, mansion. It’s one of Christina’s dad’s places. The house has an entire staff of housekeepers, maids, pool boys and gardeners. There’s even a driver, FFS.

Christina has never worked a day in her life.

“I’m too rich and beautiful to work,” she says airily.

She is beautiful. I’ll grant you that. She looks a lot like Mila Kunis. She’s paler than Mila is, but they could easily be related. She has the same jet-black hair and dark brown eyes, her mouth is wide, and her lips are full. Her eyes are quite narrow, but her corneas are bright white.

Christina is only 5 ft. 4 in. (163 cm), so she is so tiny to be that big of a bitch. She weighs just 115 lbs (52Kg). She does keep her 32-25-32 body tightly toned, that is for sure. But her personal trainer is one of the many she’s fucking behind my brother’s back.

Bruce whinges that she never puts out. I want to tell him that she does, just not for him. I know for sure that she’s fucking her trainer, driver, the pool boy, and at least one of the gardeners. There may be others outside her home that she fucks, but I don’t have cameras there.

At Bruce’s request, I did the internal and external security cameras for their house. I wired it all up so that the house is fully automated. Lights, aircon, TVs and cable, everything can be done remotely via an app on your phone.

There are obvious security cameras that cover the outside of the house. There are the usual ones at the doors. They watch the front and back doors and the other two external entry doors. There’s camera coverage all through the house. The only rooms that don’t have ceiling and wall-mounted security cams are the ones you’d expect to remain private. Bathrooms, water closets, and bedrooms have no obvious cameras.

Neither knew that I wired the whole house with hidden miniature cameras complete with microphones. They’re everywhere. There is literally nowhere you can be inside the house without me being able to see you.

I didn’t do anything pervy like inside toilet seats, but everywhere else is covered. I can watch you showering, using the bathroom, changing, and sleeping. There are lots of different views in the bedrooms. I can watch from above, the headboard, both sides of the bed, and from the foot of the bed from inside the wardrobe’s mirror.

I planned to record Christina fucking one of the staff, edit it into a home movie, and then release it to PornHub before sending a copy to my brother and her father.

She doesn’t know, but Christina has had almost 50,000 hits on her PornHub page. I pixelate her face, but if you’ve seen Christina in a backless dress or her bikini, you can tell it’s her because she has a small tattoo of a black swan on her left shoulder blade. That tattoo is quite distinctive, so it’s relatively easy to tell it’s her.

I’ve filmed her fucking the pool boy the most often. The pool boy has the porn clichéd colossal cock. She loves it, it seems.

I haven’t shown the videos to my brother. It would be obvious who had set up the cameras to take it, and I know he won’t concentrate on the fact his ‘darling wife’ is fucking everyone except him. He’ll only be pissed at me for hiding the cameras and filming her.

“You’ve always wanted a chop at her,” he’ll yell at me.

I would, but only if I could first insert a ball gag to shut the fucking bitch up.

I’m not a computer geek by trade. I’m very good with all that stuff, but it’s not what I do for a living. I did go to Berkeley. I did a double degree in Human Biology and Psychology. My PhD thesis is on why people stay in abusive relationships.

I’m trying to establish if there’s a biological component as well as the obvious psychological one. It’s been very interesting. I have some theories I’d like to test out, but what I want to do will never be approved.

I believe one of the reasons people stay in abusive relationships is the link between pleasure and pain. People who have managed to escape such a relationship often say how good the sex was. I’m curious to discover whether they have become addicted to the endorphins from pleasure overriding the pain of physical abuse.

That was where my plan to break my bitch sister-in-law of her snotty and snobbish ways was born. I plan to kidnap her and take her to a hideout I had built on some property I own in rural Maine.

I’ve built a ‘Doomsday Shelter’ in a remote part of this property. It’s utterly self-sufficient with air cleaning and recycling units, water filter stations and wastewater recovery devices. I have six Tesla batteries buried beside the shelter connected to solar panels hidden in the tree canopies all around them.

Even in a ‘Nuclear Winter’, I’ll have enough power in these batteries for at least a month. I have diesel generators to add extra power to the batteries on rainy or cloudy days. So, theoretically, at least, I can hide out there for at least the two years it’s going to take for the air to be safe to breathe after a nuclear attack.

The shelter is stocked with at least two years’ supply of dried and canned foods. Water comes from the spring that I built the shelter around.

Everything is soundproofed and carefully hidden. The ground above the shelter has been salted with a mixture of burnt lime and coffee grounds, so there’s no chance of sniffer dogs finding it. I always file a walking trail report, park my car in the carpark near the head of the trail, and then hike into my property. I choose a different way every time, so there’s no trail.

I’ve purchased a wide-wheeled trolley that leaves little to no marks to carry Christina to my site.

I will take her there, try my theories out on her, answer my questions, and simultaneously fix my brother’s troubles. I haven’t taken her already because if it doesn’t work, I will have to kill her, and I don’t know if I can.

I have carefully planned it all for this year’s school summer break. I usually take a hiking holiday by myself at this time, and I’ve told everyone, including work, that I’m taking an extended break to hike The Appalachian Trail. I’ve ensured everyone knows I’ll be gone for five to seven months.

Christina usually takes a break at this time, too. She joins her old college friends for a month of debauchery in Cancun every year. I know it’s a month of debauchery because I hear the college kids talking about seeing her there and some of the things she has gotten up to. Some of them have received blowjobs and even sex from her.

She and her friends aren’t shy about putting a show on for the college kids either. According to the frat boy’s chat, they’ll often do full-on lesbian sex shows on their balcony and sometimes in the pool.

Chloroform is really easy to make, and it’s really effective.

I jumped off the bus at the head of the trail, wearing and carrying everything I needed. I had gotten lucky. I was the only one starting their walk today. I uncovered the old Mustang I had hidden in the bushes beside the carpark and drove back to Boston.

Bruce was at work. I disabled the cameras. The police wouldn’t think this was unusual as the cameras often went down for 30 minutes to an hour and a half. Christina turned them off when she was fucking one of her staff.

I slipped inside using the key Bruce had given me when I was wiring the house. Christina was in the shower. I grabbed her as she came out, chloroformed her, stuffed her into the big luggage bag I had brought for the occasion, and then wheeled her out to the car.

I used a black Camry I’d hired under a false name for the kidnapping. I had put Uber stickers on the car and had an Uber cap on. Keeping my head low, I put Christina’s ‘luggage’ in the boot and then went back inside to get her holiday bags to put in the boot with her.

Climbing back into the Camry, I waited until no one was around before driving off.

When she was reported missing, the cops would wonder why she had taken an Uber instead of using her driver. If they did manage to identify the car, the trail would end on a fake licence at the rental company.

Driving into a downtown carpark, I opened the bag long enough to knock Christina out again, then swapped her into the boot of the Mustang. The rental place was just over the road, so it was only a quick few moments to drop the car back, and I was soon on my way to Maine.

I carefully followed every road rule there is because I know how often a criminal has been caught, or a case blown wide open, by the perpetrator being stopped for a simple traffic violation.

Arriving, I hefted Christina out of the boot and then wiped everything down. I torched the car. I’d bought it for cash from a guy sleeping in it. When the police ran the VIN, it would lead them to the address of a guy that is now homeless.

I opened the bag long enough to ‘re-gas’ Christina, then put her body on the trolley for the trip to the shelter. I took her holiday luggage with me.

I encountered no one on the quick hike out to my shelter. I lifted Christina inside and strapped her to the gynaecological bed I had purchased in anticipation of having her under my control. Her feet were up in the stirrups, with her sex obscenely on display.

To prepare her for my experiments, I injected her with a dose of pethidine and sodium thiopental. The first induces euphoria, and the second is, in effect, a truth drug.

Next, I attached lined black cloth eyepatches over her eyes. No matter how bright the lights, she wouldn’t be able to tell light from dark. I filled her ears with a waxy compound that had her completely deaf. Once I was sure the plugs and patches were securely in place and working effectively, I took one of the plugs out and one of the patches off, so she could hear and see me as I explained her situation.

After I had ensured Christina was utterly helpless and that all of her senses could be deprived, I attached the pads from my TENS machine to her nipples and clitoris. Before securing that patch in place, I smeared some clitoris stimulation gel onto her clit.

Christina began to writhe her hips subconsciously as the stimulating gel started its work.

I waited for Christina to awaken from her latest chloroforming.

Christina began to come to. She tested the binds holding her to the bed first. She then tried to shake the patch off her eye. Realising she was trapped and helpless, she began to whimper.

Christina sucked in a huge breath, then screamed, “Help!”

“Scream all you want, you fucking bitch,” I snarled at her, stepping into her view. “No one can hear you. By the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll be screaming my name in ecstasy.”

“John?” She asked. “Is that you?”

“Yes, it is, Chrissy,” I told her. “I’ve seen how you look at my crotch and lick your lips over what I’ve got hidden in there, so this is your lucky day. You’re going to taste and take all of it.”

Hard, I’m at least seven thick inches. Unless my brother has grown significantly in the penis area since our late teenage years, I’m way bigger than he is.

“If you let me go, John. I promise I won’t say a thing,” Christina told me.

You’re going to learn to love sucking cock, and love taking it up your arse. Because if you don’t, you ain’t leaving here alive,” I told her menacingly.

Christina started to weep. “Please don’t do this to me, John, please.”

“Oh, I’m doing this to you, you fucking bitch,” I informed her. “You’re my experiment. I have cameras set up all around to record this. PornHub will pay me a motza for it.”

Having a woman who could have been Mila Kunis’ sister bound helplessly in front of me was almost more than I could bare. I wanted to rape and punish this fucking bitch for days.

That would have defeated my purpose, though. Christina needed to subconsciously recognise that a cock in any of her holes, at any time, and regardless of the circumstances, equated to extreme pleasure. If I raped her now, getting her subliminal cortex to equate rape with pleasure instead of severe physical and psychological pain would be almost impossible.

My theory is this: The human mind adores pleasure and loathes pain. What if I mashed the two together? What if I caused the subject extreme amounts of pain while stimulating their pleasure centres? What if the only way to stop the pain was to cum to it?

The human mind will go to extreme lengths to avoid pain. You all know how hard it is to do an action your mind knows will cause pain. Pleasure works the other way. Your brain will encourage you to do virtually anything if it knows it will get an endorphin rush and the high that goes with it.

With these two reactions being the norm, would it be possible to jam them together and make the brain think it was all pleasure?

I didn’t know, so I wanted to do this experiment.

“This is what’s going to happen, Chrissy,” I used Chrissy because I wanted to dehumanise her as quickly as possible. Christina, the snotty rich bitch was gone. All that remained was Chrissy, the cock and cum receptacle.

“I’m going to cause you extreme amounts of pain. You can scream all you want. There’s no one to hear you. As I torture and torment you, I will stimulate your nipples, clitoris and Gspot. All you have to do to stop the pain is orgasm to it.

What you’re feeling sliding into you are two probes,” I followed with as I slid the probes into place.

“One that reads moisture and temperature, and one that reads contractions. Pretending to cum won’t cut it. I’ll be able to read your arousal levels by your wetness, pussy warmth, and the contractions of your quim.

If you cannot orgasm to the pain, I guess I will torture you until your heart gives out and you die.”

Chrissy was openly weeping now, “Please, John, you don’t have to do this. I’ll fuck you if you want. I’ll even give you head, just don’t do this to me, I beg you.”

“Of course, I don’t have to do this, Chrissy,” I told her. “I’m doing it because I can and want to.”

“They’ll catch you,” she said. “You’ll go to jail and become a prison bitch. If you just let me go, I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“How will they catch me, Chrissy? For the next 28 days, they all think you’re in Cancun. By the end of that time, you’ll either be my sex slave or dead.”

“My friends will phone when I don’t get off the plane, and they’ll know I’m missing.”

I showed her her phone, “Your birthdate as your PIN, Chrissy? Tsk, tsk. I sent a message to your group chat saying you had a family emergency and had to go upstate for a while. I saw the videos you had posted to each other, Chrissy. A right bunch of sluts, aren’t you? Pussy munching, cock swallowing whores, the lot of you.”

I had shut the phone off and wrapped the sim card in tinfoil when I grabbed her.

Chrissy was shaking with her sobs, “Please, John, please. If you let me go, I’ll even let you fuck me in my ass.”

“Unlike how you refuse to let the pool boy or your personal trainer fuck you up there?” I asked.

Shocked, Chrissy said, “You can’t possibly know that,” she said.

“I’ve got hours of footage, Chrissy. Hours, and hours, and hours,” I affirmed. “I can override the camera shut off anytime I want.”

I didn’t want her to know I had hidden cams all over the house.

Chrissy lay there quietly. The drugs and stimulating gel were starting to do their job. Her eyes were glazed, and her hips pushed slightly up and back, despite her best efforts to quell them.

I moved the fucking machine I had built into her view. It’s a simple electric motor attached to a rotating wheel. With an aluminium shaft about 2 feet long attached to the outside of the wheel and running through a ring, the shaft would be pushed forward for the first half of the wheel’s rotation and then pulled back for the second half.

“Once you’re aroused enough to need a fucking, I’m going to insert this in your pussy and ass,” I told her, showing her the double-headed dildo I was about to attach to the head of the machine’s shaft.

“That way, you can cum over and over until you can cum no more.” I smiled as I told her that.

“Shall we start?” I asked rhetorically. I was going to start regardless of her answer.

I brought the leads to the final torture device I had made over to her naked body. The leads were connected to the main power supply. With this current running through a flow control device, I could choose how much voltage and amperage was being transferred to the leads.

I had considered leaving the bull clips on the ends of the leads, but I was afraid that Chrissy might spasm so severely that her nipples would get torn off. Instead, I connected the lead’s wires to a pair of metal clothes pegs.

These pegs were going to hurt like a bitch, but weren’t going to cause any permanent damage.

Grabbing Chrissy by her jaw, I held her head still as I replaced the eyepatch and earplug.

Turning the TENS machine on at its lowest pulse rate of 2 hertz, I began stimulating Chrissy’s pleasure centres. If on a muscle, with the pulse this low, it would cause minor muscle contractions. On her nipples and clit, it should stimulate her body into producing endorphins. The brain’s opiate-like stimulation.

I watched eagerly as the drugs I had given her, and the TENS machine pulses did their thing. Despite herself, Chrissy began to moan as her arousal grew.

Clipping the positive end of the leads to Chrissy’s left breast, I dragged the negative peg across her stomach. Chrissy screamed in agony as the lead sizzled across her skin. I placed a vibrator onto the patch over her clit as she screamed.

I waited until the drugs and gel had her writhing again, then repeated the action of dragging the live end across her. Her screams echoed through my hideout again.

Putting the vibrator to the side, I got out a magic wand vibrator. These vibrators send deep vibrations into your muscles. Applied to the clit of an aroused woman, it will blow them into an orgasm. Holding it to Chrissy’s clit and the entrance to her vulva, I ran the peg across her body again.

She spasmed against her restraints, almost levitating off the bed. Chrissy’s whole body was lifted off the table except where she was bound.

I pulled the earplug out of her ear.

“You can stop the pain, Chrissy slut girl,” I told her. “All you have to do is cum. Then the pain stops until your next session.”

I pushed the plug back in. Pausing the TENS machine, I ran the metal clip across her mercilessly for close to 15 seconds. Chrissy was arched up against her restraints and screaming her lungs out.

I turned the tens machine up a notch and then pushed the wand against her clit. I followed that by slipping my finger inside her cunt and finding her Gspot. Sliding my middle finger over her inner pleasure centre, I worked on arousing her sexual desires.

She was still quite dry, so my theory wasn’t working yet. There was some dampness from the gel and TENS machine, but she wasn’t wet enough or aroused enough to be able to orgasm.

I sat there for a time to allow the anticipation to build. As I waited, I slowly upped the force of the TENS’ contractions.

Above 5 Hz. it doesn’t encourage endorphin release. It just encourages muscle contractions, so I couldn’t let it get too high.

Chrissy wasn’t moving at all. She showed no response to the gel or the stimulation she was getting. It was only early in my experiment. I had thought it might take days, or even weeks, to break her.

I was hoping it was going to take weeks. I wanted to torture this bitch.

I looked at the figures from the probe. To my surprise, it showed that her pussy wetness had grown significantly, as had the heat in her vulva.

Taking the patches off her nipples and clit, I turned the flow device’s power on again, then dragged the peg across both her nipples, down between her breasts and up over her clit.

Chrissy howled in pain.

I held the clip away and then flicked my tongue over her left nipple as I held the wand against her clit.

Putting the peg down, I picked up the vibrator and slid it into Chrissy’s cunt. With the tip of the vibrator, I found her Gspot. Running the vibrator’s tip over this pleasure node, I took the wand off her clit, picked up the lead and dragged it over her nipples again.

I completed this tour by dragging the peg across Chrissy’s forehead.

I removed an earplug, “Cum to the stimulation I’m giving you, and I’ll let you sleep for the night untouched and unharmed,” I told her.

Without waiting for a reply, I added a couple of volts to the peg before dragging it across Chrissy’s collarbones. Lifting it off her, I tongued her clit.

I alternated electrocuting her with a finger on her Gspot and a tongue on her clit.

After about 3 minutes of constant pain and oral stimulation, Chrissy ‘came’. I looked at the data from the computer readouts.

Taking out a plug, I said, “Nice try, slut, but no pussy contractions, and the lack of heat in your pussy, and the lack of wetness, indicates no orgasm. Cum for real or suffer all night.”

I mercilessly zapped her again.

Chrissy was crying and begging, “Please stop, please, John. I beg of you. It’s not too late, you can just let me go, and I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

In answer, I zapped her again.

Putting the earplug back in, I lay the second peg on her naval and then moved away so she couldn’t feel my presence.

Flicking the power flow device on and off, I tortured Chrissy relentlessly for close to 30 minutes.

Chrissy’s body was covered in sweat, and she was constantly crying. Her throat had gotten so hoarse from her screams she was losing her voice.

I turned off the flow device, leaving her gasping and shuddering. Without saying a word, I added some more stimulating gel to Chrissy’s clitoris.

I pulled an earplug out, “The only way to stop the pain is to cum to it, little miss chrissy,” I told her. “Stop fighting the pain and ride with it. Accept it as foreplay that leads to sexual pleasure, excitement, and finally to your orgasm.

If you don’t, you’re going to die here.”

I gave Chrissy another dose of pethidine and stroked her clitoris with the wand whilst holding the tip of the vibrator against her Gspot.

Looking at the monitors, I could see that Chrissy wasn’t showing any sign of arousal at all. I wasn’t surprised or concerned. I had already figured it would be a slow process to retrain her brain to recognise pain as pleasure.

I began to alternate pain with sexual stimulation again. After about 20 minutes of this, Chrissy passed out. She gave one last wail with her body stretched taut in rictus, then collapsed to the bed.

I checked her pulse and took a patch off to check her auto-responses. They were all okay. I decided to let her rest for a time.

Over the next couple of days, I kept Chrissy totally sensory-deprived. No sound or sight at all. At random intervals, I would start on the pain/pleasure cycle again. Other times I would add some stimulating gel to her nipples and clitoris.

Every 12 hours, I’d give her another dose of pethidine and crank the pain levels up.

Nothing seemed to be working. After four days of alternating pain and pleasure, Chrissy’s arousal readings were still virtually flat. It seemed Chrissy would begin to climb towards arousal, but her mind wouldn’t let her continue. It would reject her only path out.

I took the earplugs out and the patches on her eyes off. It was time to try another tact.

What I’d been doing was alternating the pain and the pleasure in quick succession with each other. But that isn’t how a domestic violence relationship works. In a domestic violence situation, the abuse is prolonged and the pleasure sparing and irregularly spaced.

My new tactic was to leave Chrissy aware of her surroundings but to control those surroundings. Chrissy had no way of knowing day from the night as there was no sunlight. She couldn’t tell morning from the afternoon or how long she had been in the dark or in the light.

I would yawn prodigiously and say, “Enough for tonight. Now ... shall I leave the vibrator turned on and on your clit, or inside you on your Gspot? Or should I leave the electric current zapping you all night? Hmmm. Decisions, decisions.”

Either option I used didn’t matter. I turned every light off, so Chrissy was in total darkness, and I left her alone for varying periods.

Sometimes, after just an hour, I’d come back with her meal and greet her as if a solid 8 hours, or more, had passed. Other times I would allow 12 to 18 hours to pass before bringing her a meal.

The next thing I did was to give her no pleasure, just hour after hour of intense low-grade pain.

Chrissy got to the point that when I turned on the light, she would immediately start begging me not to hurt her. For four days, I ignored her pleas for leniency and slowly ramped the pain levels up.

On the fifth day, when I turned the lights on, Chrissy cowered and began crying immediately.

She had been locked with her feet in the stirrups for almost ten days and was starting to develop bed sores from the pressure points.

“Would you like to earn a reprieve, little miss Chrissy?” I asked.

Chrissy nodded eagerly.

“Swear to me on your father’s life that you won’t try anything stupid like trying to escape, and I will let you up. How does that sound?”

“I swear,” Chrissy was quick to reply.

I undid the straps holding her to the bed and removed the probes from her pussy.

Her legs were weak from the lack of activity, so I had to help her to her feet. Looking at where the pressure sores were starting to develop, I felt a little guilty. I didn’t want to deform or permanently mark the woman. I just wanted to break her into a complaisant cock and pain-loving slut.

Very gently, I helped Chrissy across to the shower and bathing area. Supporting almost all of her weight, I carefully cleaned Chrissy down. Using lots of soap and warm water, I washed her from head to toe and applied some ointment to the bed sores.

I lowered Chrissy to a sitting position so I could wash her hair. Chrissy turned her head and nuzzled my balls.

“Hmmm,” she moaned. “Let me taste you, John, please.”

Smiling to myself, I took my thick 7-inch cock out of my pants and offered it to her lips. I knew this wasn’t real. Chrissy was trying to lull me into a false sense of security.

Chrissy gave me the worst blow job ever. Her lips were not covering her teeth, so the sensitive head of my cock was being dragged painfully over them. Plus, she could only accept about the first two inches into her mouth before retching as the head hit her gag reflex.

I watched, amused, as Chrissy searched with her hands for something she could attack me with and escape. Chrissy’s hand found the toilet brush, and she reared back and swung it at me.