Copyright (c) 2002, by DiscipleN. All rights reserved.
This work may not be used for any commercial purposes without prior, documented consent from the owner.
"Master of Hell, I beseech you! Let me rot in your dankest cave. Boil me in your fieriest cauldron. Skewer my body with icicles and freeze my organs. Tear out my limbs at dawn and stuff them into my orifices come twilight. I ask not forgiveness, but grant me my due." An emaciated corpse groveled low before his new king.
"Why should I listen to even the scraping of your fingers, villain?"
"I lived in abeyance of everything moral and deserve your wrath, but there is one sin that I beg you not to punish."
"Insolence!", the mighty Lord of Hell blasted. "I shall pour acid into your veins for suggesting there exists a sin I shouldn't avenge." The powerful voice ripped the man into pieces, and for long years did he wail in agony, until his body was renewed for fresh torment.
"Master, it is true, this I have earned, I who have raped and seduced and impregnated and betrayed and abandoned one so pure. That victim has fallen in my absence, but I beg you let her pass above."
"Compassion and mercy are not allowed here, foolish despoiler. Yet I would hear your story as I gnaw on your bones." CRUNCH!
"Yeeeaaaaaaahhhhh!!!... as you command, my master."
I was barely out of high school when I met Her. In fact, I had narrowly survived expulsion. My exploits were not legend, for I carefully blackmailed any who knew. There were at least three pregnancies in the school which were a direct result of my education. Some of those frightened girls had felt a sharp knife to their throats, and others were black and blue from my fists before I had unleashed my seed into their wombs. Bigger, stronger kids in my classes had tried to play the hero, but none survived either the poison I slipped into their soda cups or my offers to let them bury their cocks into trembling, bruised cunts.
She was a new student, innocent as fluttering snow and as warm as summer. Her face melted my heart for nearly a minute before I decided she would be mine, forever, until death did we part.
Her name was Joclyn. I spent two years wooing her in the traditional fashion. Her parents found me a devoted and sincere young man, ready to make his mark in the world of business. My heroin enslaved, nun whores and junkie fundamentalists did not make me wealthy, but I wore fine clothes and drove fast cars. I sucked up to Joclyn's folks like a lamprey on a dolphin. I would have sucked her father's cock and made sincere love to her mother in order to win their affections. (Eventually, I did rape her mother, and hooked her as well, but I race ahead.)
Joclyn eventually swooned. I showed only my best, and I courted her with the least attention to my personal, villainous affairs. I remember one day we were walking along the main boulevard, having seen a romantic film, just talking, when she first kissed me.
"Wow," I eased off of her full lips and sighed. The streetlights and traffic lights swirled around my head. The roar of automobiles dropped away as if into a deep well. I could have taken her then and ripped her clothes and scarred her body and dug my cock deep, but her beauty and grace were armor my heart refused to pierce, directly.
She told me then, "You have been so kind and patient. I know I have dawdled too long, considering your proposal, but the warning I was given, before we first met, melts day by day in your presence. After two years of your kindness, my doubting intuition has certainly proved false. Never have I met a more giving and attentive man. I can no longer deny you." Joclyn swooned and hugged me.
For one minute only, Master, I doubted my mission. Her hair smelled of lilac and her skin was like cream. I met her eyes and recognized Eve before the fall. I could have forsaken you then. I could have changed my ways, and become a decent man deserving of her perfection. Yet my prick pressed painfully against my tailored trousers, and it was, by far, the ultimate persuasion. I held her tenderly but my brain swirled with victory and the many spoils I would take. Twenty months of perfect facade finally won her over, and I cursed her weakness and ignorance as I kissed her forehead. I told myself she deserved nothing but my worst until the end of our days.
We married in autumn, and winter was her honeymoon. I hurt her first on our wedding night. My hands mauled her perfect body, and my teeth left marks which lasted for days. My prick fouled her cunt and ass repeatedly with cum, and the blood on our sheets and nightclothes were my bride price. She cried and screeched, but her pure heart believed my profuse apologies in the days that followed.
"I did not know." I lied. "No one ever explained to me how a man should act with his wife. I curse the day I listened to my friends' stories. I beg your forgiveness. I am on my knees." She found, afterward, only tenderness and thoughtfulness in me, for a while. The most rewarding way to break a woman is to constantly assure her of love and provide hope, all the while you grind it away. It is an art few can learn. Joclyn would be my masterwork.
In our first year, I gave little opportunity for her to despair. I would rarely arrive home drunk and missed hardly a handful of our romantic rendezvous. She thought I was a manager of a jewelry distributor, but it was only a cover operation for primary school prostitution and life insurance investments. I would ensure the life of my junkie debtors as long as they pimped their adolescent children to pay their debts.
Do not think my fair Joclyn was spared so much humiliation. I still insisted on fucking her like a madman, cumming in her ass and cunt as I pleased, and I swiftly added her mouth and face to the list of my sperm receptacles. I told her it was all I knew, but wasn't I a near perfect gentleman at all other times? If only she could accept this one flaw in my makeup, then I promised I would keep her happy in every other way.
She reluctantly agreed.
I knew she felt no joy in my lovemaking, no, my raping of her. Yet by day and evening, I took her on picnics and to dances and bought her piles of flowers and thoughtful gifts. By night, I bound her hands and used butt plugs and gags and clamps and straps. I would tie her to the stove with the oven burning and I would lash her naked ass with wooden switches, lovingly carved from a peach tree in our yard.
I would spill my seed upon her and within her. I did not allow her contraception, nor would I even look at a condom, but I did not intentionally try to impregnate her. It was my private game of Russian roulette. I told myself I would have any child aborted, and if she refused, I would slip pennyroyal into her tea. It was my first, but perhaps my only mistake.
The peach tree died from over-cutting the next year. I grew steadily bored with Joclyn. The wounds of my rapes began to show more upon her once satin skin. Welts and bruises turned into small scars and callouses. I tried to withhold my hand from inflicting permanent injuries, but passion often blossomed beyond restraint. My words of endearment dried up, and my nights away and drunken returns increased. I would apologize with flowers and drives to the country, and she continued to forgive me. But in our second year, she became pregnant.
I was furious! She had deliberately delayed in telling me. Only when I began commenting on her steady gain of weight did she reveal her true condition. She tried to pose it as a blessing, but already I was thinking of a doctor who owed me plenty for his weekly fix.
Joclyn was not a stupid woman, by any measure. Certainly, I played her for every advantage, but I was the best. She must have suspected, even in the early, happy days, that I might not prove the greatest of fathers. Hiding my contempt for children has always been my most difficult act.
She defied me then, when I accused her of conceiving without my consent. She said she would live with her parents before she would abort her child. I nearly lost it and my future exploitations with it. I could have strangled her, but until then I had never raised my hand to strike her, unless my cock was already delving within one of her pummeled orifices. If she had left me who knows how I would ever bring her back into my elaborate plans of ruination. We compromised, and I still believe I won the better part of the bargain. We decided to let her mother move in to help her during the pregnancy.
Her mother soon took over the regular schedule of home life. I was thwarted in my plan to sneak something into Joclyn's food, as her mother did all the cooking. But it has been said so true, 'When in beauty the fawn dwells, so does the doe excel.'
Joclyn's mother, Jennifer, was an incredible specimen. Age seemed never to have knocked upon her door. Her body was fit and trim, but her curves were a little larger and little looser than my wife's. Jenny's round ass was a mighty example of flesh rendered just large enough. Her breasts hung better on her than other women half her age, except for her daughter's slightly smaller but firmer tits.
I called her 'Jenny' from the start and tried to create a pleasant and informal atmosphere. Fortunately, Joclyn's grace was a direct descendant from her mother. We got along merrily. For the next two months I returned to my role of husband perfectus. I even let up my harsher treatments to Joclyn in our bedroom, and perhaps for the first time, my wife may have glimpsed of the possibilities of actually enjoying sexual intercourse. Of course it didn't not last, nor did I consider to what she might have associated that glimpse.
.... There is more of this story ...