© Copyright 2003
This is a story about a sexual FANTASY written for consenting adults. If you're not both of those, don't read it. Characters in a FANTASY don't get sick or die unless I want them to. In real life, people who don't use condoms and other safe-sex techniques do get sick and die. You don't live in a FANTASY so be safe. The fictional characters in my stories are trained and experienced in acts of FANTASY - don't try to do what they do - someone could get hurt.
If you think you know somebody who resembles any of the characters here, congratulations, but you're wrong - any similarity between the characters in this story and any real person is purely coincidental, since all of these characters are figments of my dirty little imagination.
This is my story, not yours. Don't sell it or put it on a pay site. You can keep it and/or give it away with all of this information intact, but if you make money off of it, you're breaking the law and pissing me off.
She would have been pretty - even beautiful - had her face not been frozen in that perpetual pouting sneer affected by so many of today's young girls. Barely five feet tall, the obligatory low cut top, bare midriff with navel jewelry, and hip-slung jeans completed the stereotype. The top was filled out mostly with padding, though even through the screen door I could see a little cleavage.
She stood with arms crossed under her breasts, as if they needed support, one hip outthrust, staring disgustedly off into the woods, and didn't realize at first that I had come to the door.
When she finally turned to rap her knuckles on the doorframe again, she gave a little start to see me there. It wasn't a particularly hot day, but her walk in the sun had plastered honey blonde hair that had escaped from her pony tail to her forehead.
"May I help you?" it was the voice I used on door-to-door salesmen. I hadn't saved my money to get this place in the middle of nowhere so I could socialize with everyone who came to my door.
Impatiently, she said "Yeah. I need to use your phone!" Clearly, she was accustomed to getting whatever she wanted, when she wanted it.
I looked at her impassively for several moments, wiping my hands on a rag, before responding. "No."
I had turned and made several steps back toward my kitchen before she exploded. "NO!? I'm stuck out here in the fucking middle of fucking nowhere, my fucking car fucking died on me, my fucking cell phone doesn't fucking work in this fucking armpit, and you fucking tell me fucking 'no' when I ask to use the fucking phone?..."
She was taking a breath to continue her tirade when my open palm struck the side of her face. It was a gentle slap, by my standards, but the calluses on my hand must have felt like stone on her cheek as her head snapped around and the ponytail wrapped itself briefly around her face.
"That was for the filth coming out of your mouth. Get off my property. You're trespassing!" I stood so close that she had to back up a step to see my still impassive face glaring down at her.
Her eyes were as big as saucers and her face had finally lost its sneer as she held her hand to the growing redness on her cheek. Tears started to well up in her eyes as the gravity of her situation finally started to sink in.
"Buh-but it's got to be miles to the next town!" I had seen the 'pitiful me' routine from my ex - the queen of the guilt trip - far too often to be affected by it now. The fact that she thought it would work just pissed me off more.
"Not my problem." It was, in fact, three miles by road to my nearest neighbor, and a little over six into town.
"Please, mister!" she begged, "I'll do anything if you'll just let me use your phone! I'll pay you - I've got money!"
I slapped her hand as she started to reach into the little knapsack she carried for a purse. "I don't need money."
She stared at me with that deer-in-the-headlights look the young ones get when they finally run into a situation that can't be handled by their usual methods. Her face gradually melted and the tears that flowed this time were genuine. I let her cry, not moving.
Finally, she pulled a small packet of tissues from her backpack and wiped her face. Looking at me hopelessly through reddened eyes, she pled silently for me to rescue her. I just returned her stare, my face expressing no emotion.
Again, she begged "Please, just tell me what I need to do! I just need to use the phone, then I'll be out of your hair and won't ever bother you again! Please, I'll do anything!"
She apparently envisioned a limited scope to 'anything', but I wasn't going to let her off the hook that easily. "Strip. Right here. Every stitch."
She looked as if I had hit her in the stomach. "You want me to take off my clothes?" Her head was shaking, side to side.
"You said you'd do anything. Strip now, or get off my property. I don't care which." Neither my face nor the inflection in my voice had changed.
She stared at me for a long moment as emotions ran across her face. First, disbelief and shock, then, as she felt the full impact of my gaze, understanding and indecision. She made as if to speak, but a finger across my lips silenced the protest before it started. Finally, fear and resignation settled on her elfin features. She looked around the front yard, as if to see who else might be watching, but my home is set in a natural, secluded clearing, more than half a mile up a winding dirt track from the main road. Only the fact that I maintained the fences, gate, and even the mailbox by the gate would give anyone a clue that someone actually lived up that track.
Tentatively, she pulled the top over her head, eyes studying the worn boards of my front porch. As she pulled the meager scrap of cloth off her ponytail, she looked up once again, searching my face for some hint of reprieve. Finding none, her face set now in anger, she kicked off the once white deck shoes, now a yellowish gray from the dust of the track, and unbuttoned her jeans. Glaring defiantly up at me, she wriggled and pushed until they cleared her shapely hips and puddled around her feet. Still finding no mercy in my face, she reached behind and unhooked her bra, trying to cover her breasts with her hands as she worked the harness down and let it drop.
"Are you happy now, you perv!" she practically shouted up at me.
In a dispassionate voice I replied evenly, "I said every stitch."
Shaken, but still defiant, she turned away and worked the little cotton bikini down her legs, unintentionally giving me a first glimpse of the sprinkling of yellow hair that did little to cover her plump little mound. She straightened, covering her breasts with one arm and her crotch with the other hand.
"Lace your fingers behind your neck, spread your feet shoulder width, and be silent!" It was the first time I had allowed any sharpness into my voice and it startled her almost as much as the earlier slap. She moved quickly to comply, some of the anger in her expression replaced by fear.
As I suspected, her tits were small and perfectly formed, with tiny pink nipples topping broad, almost flat, alabaster mounds. I never understood the fascination some men have with large breasts. Hers were as close to my ideal as I'm likely to ever see in my lifetime. Her rib-cage tapered gently to a softly rounded belly surrounding the large, shallow navel that was pierced along its lower curve. Her hips flared a bit more than I would have expected on one so young, and the creases between hip and thigh outlined the perfectly symmetrical lips of her mons. Through the sparse growth of her almost invisible pubic hair I could just see the hood of her clit peeking out. Her legs were softly curved and shapely. This one was no athlete, but her genes had so far kept her from putting on extra fat.
I walked slowly around her once, carefully inspecting her back and the inverted heart-shape of her buttocks. Her skin was flawless - another gift of good genes, no doubt.
While she stood on display, red faced from embarrassment, I retrieved her garments one by one from the porch deck, folded them neatly, and stacked them on the rail, bra on top. I placed her shoes beside them, and picked up the little back-pack purse. I could see her anger returning as I rummaged through the thing until I found her wallet, but she was either smart enough or scared enough not to say anything. She hadn't lied - she did have several hundred dollars in the wallet, but I had told the truth as well - I didn't need it.
"Bethany Camilla Wilson" I read aloud from her driver's license. Flipping through the cards and other contents I found a current student ID.
"This isn't exactly on a direct route between Pullman and Bellevue, Bethany. What brings you to my neck of the woods?"
"I had a fight with my boyfriend and thought I'd take the scenic route home to have time to like, clear my head, you know, think things through."
I studied her a bit as I thought about the wording for my next question. "Surely you told someone you were coming this way, so why not just wait for them to send out a search party? Why are you so desperate that you'd take off your clothes for a stranger?"
"That's the thing! I was like so mad at Brian that I just like took off! I told my roommate I was going home for the weekend, but I didn't know I was going this way until I saw the sign and like the car just sort of turned on its own!" She only realized her mistake as she saw the smile growing across my face, and tried to cover. "But I called my mom from the car and told her I came this way! She'll have the sheriffs and everyone out looking for me by tonight!"
I didn't bother to point out that she had already told me her cell phone didn't work out here. I pulled it out of her bag, and sure enough, it was one of the new GSM models. We had TDMA service but the GSM phones didn't work out here yet. I dug her keys from the bag and set it on the rocking chair beside the door. As I reached inside for the keys to my pickup, I called out, "Caesar! Czar! Come!"
Their mother, an Alaskan malamute, had been bred by a timber wolf, giving birth to what turned out to be two of the largest, smartest dogs I had ever seen. I raised them from pups, training them for my own special purposes, and we had been so close through their adolescence that now they could almost read my mind. They seldom barked, but whenever anyone approached the house they alerted me by their body language, looking my way occasionally to be sure I picked up the signals. Thanks to these two big boys I had watched Bethany from the shadows of my hallway as she emerged from the end of the track and trudged across the clearing to my front door.
They flowed around the partially open screen door like enormous grey shadows, sniffing eagerly at the most fragrant and embarrassing parts of my hapless victim. A warning wag of my finger stopped her from dropping her hands to protect herself, and her face flushed to an improbable shade of red.
"Guard!" I told the boys as I descended the porch steps and headed for the pickup. They took up positions front and rear and gazed fixedly at Bethany with their almost yellow eyes.
"You'd best not move a muscle until I get back, Bethany" I told her, "These boys are well trained, and they will tear you limb from limb if you try anything." Their warning snarls as she turned her head to look at me reinforced the threat, and she quickly turned her head back to its original position.
It took about 45 minutes to locate her little red Mustang convertible, hook it up to the pickup with a log chain, and tow it to a secluded spot in the woods behind the house. After covering it with a camouflage tarp and sweeping the track from the main road, I was pretty sure no one would find her or her car, even if they thought to look in this direction.
Bethany was looking a bit distressed by the time I put the pickup back in its shed, and returned to the house. "Please, mister, I need to use the restroom!"
"We don't have restrooms out here, Bethany. Do you need to piss or shit?"
"I need to pee really bad!"
"So piss! The boys won't mind. It'll help them get to know you better."
She stared at me in shock. "You mean right here? I can't do that!"
I shrugged, "Suit yourself!"
"Can't I just use your bathroom? I really have to go!"
I stepped in so close she had to bend her head way back to look up at me. "I'll explain this to you once. If I ever have to repeat any part of it, you will suffer. Is that clear?" At her fearful nod, I continued. "No one knows you are here. Even if they think to look in this direction, they will not find you unless I want them to. You are mine until I tire of you. You will address me as 'Sir'. When told to do something, you will do it immediately, without question or comment. You will speak only when spoken to. You may request permission to speak occasionally, but only to clarify an order so that you can carry it out better - don't abuse the privilege. This is your only opportunity to ask questions. If you have any, ask them now."
"H-how long are you going to keep me here?" All the anger had drained from her face, which was now white as a sheet.
"I've already answered that. Do you have any intelligent questions?" I was practically on top of her, her nipples brushing my shirt, just above my belt buckle.
"A-are you going to rape me?" It was odd. Mingled with the fear I detected a tiny bit of arousal.
"Do you want me to rape you?"
"N-n-no! Of course not!" but the seed had been planted, and I could see it growing.
"You were told to address me as 'Sir'. Three times now you have disobeyed. Do you have any other questions while I consider your punishment?"
"Are you ever going to let me go?" then, quickly "Sir?"
"That depends on how well you please me." I stepped back a bit, and let her relieve the strain on her neck.
"I-I'll do my best, Sir." She tried to smile, but she knew I knew it was forced, and dropped it quickly.
"Do you still need to piss?"
"Then do so. Now!"
She looked distressed, but strained a little, and a small trickle of golden liquid dripped from the lips of her cunt. Once the flow began, however, she apparently couldn't hold it back, and let loose a stream that would have done a racehorse proud. A faraway look came into her eyes as relief washed over her face.
Once the flow stopped, I gave the boys a hand signal and they eagerly lapped up the last drops, digging their tongues deep between her lips to get it all. Her expression ran the gamut from fear to lust to confusion to embarrassment. Finally, Czar and Caesar backed off, licking their chops.
I picked up her things and opened the screen door. "Come!" She and the dogs followed me into the house. I led them to the hidden door in the back of my pantry and triggered the remote in my pocket. The shelves sank inward, allowing just enough room for a person to step onto the narrow stone landing inside and to the right of the opening. It was a tight fit for the four of us, but there was just enough room for the pantry wall to slide back into place. Caesar flicked his tail upward at the last second to avoid getting it caught. The boys preceded us down the narrow flight of stone steps, lit only by a single yellow bulb, and waited at the bottom while I led my new charge down. I was gratified to see that she still had her hands clasped behind her neck.
She almost lost it as she watched the boys greeting the kneeling form of my current slave by sniffing and licking at the juices dripping from around the enormous dildo that pounded relentlessly into her vagina, driven by a hydraulic ram. Each time the ram reached the apex of its thrust, a line and pulley system tugged sharply on her clit ring. From the faint sounds escaping her gag and the expression on her face, I could tell she was on the verge of passing out after another in a long series of orgasms. Amy had been in this predicament, head and wrists locked in my homemade stocks, while another little motorized device tugged and vibrated her nipple rings, for over an hour. It was one of her favorite treatments, but I figured she'd had enough, and used the remote to stop the device. On the next outward cycle, the ram withdrew the dildo completely and released its grip on the clit line, while the nipple stimulator let go of her tit rings.
Amy rolled her eyes in my direction, and they widened when she noticed Bethany standing behind me, hands still locked behind her head. I triggered the release for the stocks, which also released Amy's gag. She slowly extricated herself from the contraption, crawled over and dutifully knelt at my feet.
"Amy, my lovely slave, this is Bethany. She has come to us for help, but must first pay her way. Would you like to help me with her training?" I brushed a few sweat-soaked strands of auburn hair from her face.
Amy's brown eyes lit with a burning glow and had she not been so well trained, she would have kissed me. "Oh, yes, Sir! I would love to help you train this lovely creature!"
My readers may chastise me here, for not going into detail on Bethany's punishment for her transgressions, but such things bore me as they are merely tools to help attain my ultimate goal with any new slave - his or her total submission to my every whim. Amy, who worked as a waitress in a diner in town, had been easy. She was a born submissive who eagerly participated in every degrading act I heaped upon her, once I held her up to the mirror of her true self. Like any recent convert, she was eager to show others the joys of her new religion.
Bethany, though she harbored some dark fantasies, had been brought up as a willful, spoiled child, and needed a bit different sort of handling. Where Amy needed little punishment, Bethany was in my dungeon four days, and became well acquainted with the whip and cane before she capitulated in her own mind, and resigned herself to submitting to my will. She didn't break - that was not my purpose. She simply lost the will to resist. During that four days, her body underwent some changes as well. Her mouth and throat learned to accept the length and girth of my cock and various rubber ones that Amy delighted in shoving down Bethany's esophagus.
On the second day I ringed her clit. Just as the moans behind her gag were becoming soft groans, Czar alerted, letting me know we had company. I closed the hidden door in the pantry and was puttering around in the kitchen when Deputy Fulton knocked on the screen. Wiping my hands on a dish towel, I casually walked to the door and let him in.
"To what do I owe the honor of this rare visit, Ralph? Has my sordid past finally caught up with me?" I made it a point to stay on friendly terms with all the law enforcement people hereabouts, and Ralph Fulton and I had swapped stories over beers more than a few times since I came to live here.
Refusing my offer to sit, Ralph took off his hat and wiped the sweat from its band, saying, "A little official business is all, Mike, but don't worry, we haven't dug up anything on you yet, though we've got our best people on it!" The beer gut overhanging his gun belt quivered with his chuckle.
"We got a heads up from the State Police to look out for a young blonde girl driving a red Mustang convertible, and the Sheriff asked me to canvass the folks in this part of the county to see if anybody's seen her."
"Don't know why she'd show up here, Ralph, but I'll keep my eyes open and let you know if I see her. Got time for a beer before you go?"
He shook his head regretfully, "Naw, I still gotta get over to the McKinsey's and a few other places, but I'll take a rain check, if you're givin' em."
I clapped him on the shoulder as he turned to leave and said, "Anytime! And bring some of those unlucky bastards you work with - we'll play some poker too!"
I watched him turn the Explorer around and head back down the track. A few minutes later, the little LED on my security system, indicating the gate at the main road was open, winked on for several seconds, then extinguished. The dogs stayed at alert for a few more seconds, then lost interest, so I was pretty sure he really had gone, and returned to my work.
I make some money locally by making things for people in the community. Many are made from wood, others from various metals. I make nothing that isn't beautiful to look at, but everything I make has practical uses - tools that you can't buy in a hardware store, fixtures, picture frames, containers of various sorts. I even have a small income from selling custom made dildos and other sex toys to the wives of some of our most prominent citizens - all very discreet, of course. I don't need the money, but it heads off questions about sources of income, and gives me a hobby, as well as ensuring a certain amount of leverage in strategic places, should I ever need it. In my little workshop, I also designed and built most of the fixtures and machines in my dungeon.
By the time I got back to the dungeon, Amy was in the throes of another orgasm courtesy of Bethany's increasingly talented tongue. Since I had neither given her permission to play with my new toy, nor specifically forbade it, I banished her to the corner to play with herself while I continued installing Bethany's jewelry.
Some nipples, like Bethany's, are too small and fragile to be effectively pierced. A stud or ring hefty enough to take the kind of strain I intended to place on it would just not leave enough flesh to stand up to the same load. I had found, however, that virtually any nipple could be spiked. The ones I intended for Bethany were my own creation. The spike was a half inch long, sharply pointed on one end and was about an eighth of an inch in diameter. The other end was hollow and threaded inside. For installation, a special shaft was screwed into these threads that operated the retractor for the four barbs fitted neatly into slots along its sides. The mechanism to insert them had taken a little experimentation, but was now as near perfect as I could get it.
Bethany's eyes were wide with trepidation as I fitted the suction tubes over her nipples. A little K-Y created an airtight seal, and ensured that the nipples would be drawn evenly into the tubes. I ran the vacuum pump until the tips of the spikes nestled into the tiny indentations in the centers of her distended nipples. After a final alignment check, I triggered the trip-hammer on the right side and watched the shock reach Bethany's eyes as the spike was driven the prescribed depth into her breast, and a small amount of blood seeped into the tube. Her scream was absorbed by the gag. As I put my hand on the left trigger, she struggled mightily, if futilely, against her bondage. Though her breast quivered slightly from her struggles, the vacuum in the tube had no trouble keeping the spike aligned. Nonetheless, I waited for her movement to abate before triggering the second spike. Her reaction to the second penetration was no less vigorous than to the first, though unaccompanied by the same level of shock.
I bled air back into the vacuum tubes and removed them, leaving the spikes firmly embedded in her nipples. I then unscrewed the retractor rods, evoking a slightly less vigorous reaction as the spring loaded barbs extended into the tender flesh of each breast, just behind the nipple. To ensure the barbs were properly seated, I screwed a small T-handle into each of the spikes and gave a sharp tug. Again Bethany screamed behind her gag as the barbs caught and her little tits morphed into elongated cones. I let Bethany watch as I sterilized the retractors with alcohol and locked them away in a small safe I keep in the dungeon for keys and the like.
After the jewelry was installed, controlling Bethany became much simpler. I had only to secure her wrists away from her front and attach her breasts or clit or both to one of the fixtures to keep her immobile while constantly stimulating her. By the end of the fourth day, she had started using these restraints to produce orgasms during punishment.
By day five I knew she would need much less punishment, and allowed her to start realizing the pleasures of her servitude. I laid Bethany on her back and told her to raise her hands above her head and spread her legs. While I did not bind her, I was confident she would not move from that position unless I ordered it. I attached my little nipple tugger to her spikes and she gasped as it began its pre-programmed sequence. The primary disadvantage of spikes is that they anchor beyond the primary nerve endings in the nipples, but I compensated for this with tiny claw attachments that fit between the spikes and whatever else was screwed into them and dug into the surrounding nipple tissue, transferring much of the sensation of any movement of the spike directly to the delicate pink flesh of the nipple.
On my command, Amy knelt between Bethany's legs and made love to her. Amy's lips tugged gently at the clit ring, in between gentle, passionate tongue lashings. Amy's tongue occasionally laved her asshole and perineum, eliciting tiny gasps from Bethany's lips, before plunging deeply into her folds. In less than a minute, Bethany was climbing toward her peak. Amy had her instructions, however, and backed off at the last second, gently caressing Bethany's thighs to calm her. As she subsided, Amy took up where she had left off. Forty five minutes later, after being denied countless orgasms, Bethany was screaming, pleading for release, thrusting her pelvis toward Amy's magic tongue, only to be denied again and again.
Finally, after an hour of this, I gave Amy the signal she had been waiting for. Hooking her index finger through Bethany's clit ring, she began a series of spasmodic jerks, practically lifting Bethany's hips from the mat, while wildly lashing the distended clit with her tongue. At the same time, she plunged two fingers into Bethany's sopping entrance just far enough to massage her G-spot.