by Paul Blades
Vincent waited calmly for about a minute before he prepared himself to deliver another blow. Anna was surrounded by grotesque images of herself, distended and helpless. She closed her eyes to try and blot them out, but could not keep them shut, fearful that she would not receive warning of the next, cruel insult to her flesh. He was standing in front of the distraught woman and slightly to her right. Anna saw where his eyes were directed. “Oh, god, please! Not my breasts! Please don’t beat my breasts! Please!” she yelled frantically. Disregarding her frantic request, Vincent swung the cane behind him and brought it forward rapidly. It landed across the very tips of Anna’s outstretched mounds.
“Ahhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhh!” she screamed. “You bastard! You cocksucker! Ohhhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhh!” The pain from the blow had driven the poor young woman past the point of all rationality. As the immediacy of the pain subsided, she suddenly regretted her outburst. What was she thinking? Calling him names and cursing him would only make it worse. “Oh, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry!” she pleaded frantically.
“Four” was all that Vincent replied. He brought his arm back and landed a blow across Anna’s tender, flat belly.
Anna continued to scream and plead for mercy as the beating continued. After each stroke, Vincent called out the number loudly and coolly. He proceeded in sets of three, giving the dismally unhappy woman time to recover after each set. Anna alternated between screams and pleas and curses and deprecations against her assailant. Each time that she caught herself denigrating his ancestors, his birthright, asserting his subhuman status, she corrected herself and begged for forgiveness. Whatever she said, how loudly she screamed, how much her body contorted and struggled to free herself or avoid the blows, Vincent’s demeanor and pace remained exactly the same.
By the time the twelfth blow landed, Anna’s mind had gone somewhere else. She was blubbering and moaning and, despite Vincent’s careful pacing, oblivious to its effect. It took her a few moments to realize that her ordeal was over. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw her body covered with long, red stripes. She had peed herself at some point and she noticed the wetness of her inner thighs and the puddle around her feet. Her throat was sore from the effect of her screams. She hung almost lifeless in her bonds, disregarding the painful burning in her wrists as they supported her weight.
Vincent quietly and coolly removed his jacket from the hook on the wall and replaced the cane. He put his jacket back over it. His shirt was drenched with the sweat of his exertions. His face, however, remained dispassionate. He stepped away from the dangling, young woman and entered a closet that had been built into the wall. The door had been covered by the mirror and was almost imperceptible to a cursory glance. Anna heard the sound of water flowing into a pail. A moment later, Vincent emerged from the room with a plastic pail filled with sudsy water in one hand and a large, coarse cloth in the other. He placed the pail by Anna’s feet and, sinking to his knees, proceeded to sop up the spillage from her bladder. The pungent smell of disinfectant rose from the floor to Anna’s nostrils, arousing her partially from her stupefied state. When Vincent was satisfied that the floor was clean, he took each of Anna’s feet and carefully washed the bottoms and swiped the outline of where her feet had been placed on the floor. Anna almost laughed amidst her misery at the butler’s punctiliousness. Of course he wouldn’t want her soiled feet to walk about spreading germs and dirt. He was the master of the house and all that occurred there fell within his domain, even to the tiniest speck of dust.
After returning the pail and the soiled cloth to the closet, he retrieved and redonned his jacket. He then stepped behind Anna and released the chain that held her ankles in place. Standing on the stool, he released the end of the chain that held her hands aloft from its hook. Anna felt her body sag as the tautness in the chain was relieved. She would have fallen had Vincent not held on to the chain, keeping her hands above her until she was able to regain her balance. He then slowly let it run through the ring in the ceiling until it was free.
Anna’s mind was dull from the results of her torture. A heavy tiredness flowed through her as if all of her energy had been discharged through her screams and yells of pain. As if in a dream, she followed Vincent’s lead as he pulled on the chain that led to her confined wrists and guided her to the door. He unlocked it and she shuffled after him out into the hallway and down to the door to her room. He unlocked it and led her in.
He took her directly to the bathroom. She stood there listlessly as she heard him start the shower. He waited for the water to become hot. He then turned and, with a small key he drew from his pants pocket, unlocked the bindings around her wrists and ankles. They clattered as they fell to the cool tile floor.
Anna obediently stepped into the hot flow of water in the shower. At first, the water stung her in the places where she had been kissed by the cane, but soon the warmth of the water began to sooth her. She was surprised when Vincent, stripped to his shirt, his sleeves rolled up, leaned in and took the head of the shower from its mounting. It was connected to the wall by a three foot long hose. “Put you hands on your head,” he ordered.
The tired, dispirited woman complied obediently. Vincent ran the warm water from the hose over her head and then all over her body. There was a large, soft sponge and he squirted some soap into it and proceeded to wash her. His hands were gentle and tender. He spread the soap over her body with the sponge and then caressed and massaged her skin with his bare hand. He cleaned her pussy thoroughly as well as the crevasse between her rear cheeks. Anna let the sensation of his ministrations to her body begin to comfort her. The man took care to pat her wounds softly with the delicate sponge. He had her turn around and did her back. Anna closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself somewhere else, that someone else’s loving hands were caressing and massaging her body. She knelt dutifully, her hands behind her, while he washed and rinsed her hair and proffered her face so that he could wash off the remnants of her makeup.
When he was done, Anna stepped from the shower and stood docilely while he dried her body. Again, he was careful to deal delicately in the areas of her bruising. He dried and combed her hair. Placing the comb down on the vanity, he opened the medicine cabinet and withdrew a tube of antiseptic cream. He carefully daubed it over her wounds. Making her bend over, he spread the soothing cream around the cracked and torn membranes of her anal ring. The manacles and handcuffs had left raw, red circles around her wrists and ankles and he worked the cream into them as well.
Anna’s body felt warm and renewed by her bathing and the burning pain from where the man had beaten her had subsided. She was grateful for the attentions the man was giving her, even though he had been the source of her misery. She watched as he rolled down his sleeves and put his jacket back on. He took hold of her arm and pulled her in the direction of the bedroom.
Anna let herself be led from the bathroom to her bed. She had placed her hands behind her back automatically. That had been one of the points of her ‘lesson’ hadn’t it? She would never forget it now.
Vincent turned down the sheets. Anna expected him to allow her to lie down on the bed, but he was not done with her yet. He stepped over to the dresser and opened a drawer. She gave out a slight, dispirited whine when she saw that he had her leather bindings in his hands.
“Turn around,” he ordered.
Anna felt a renewal of her sorrow as the man fastened her wrists together behind her. When he turned her back to face him, her lips were trembling. “Sit down on the bed,” was all he said.
The unhappy woman sat own on the mattress. She looked up at her torturer piteously. Her stomach turned as she watched him lower the fly to his pants and draw out his long, thick cock. “You know what to do,” he said.
Yes, she knew what to do. Was she going to be expected to service this tall, callous, dark man as well as Devlin? She recalled the camera over the mirror in her room. Clearly, the man felt that he was within his rights. Who e
lse would she have to submit to? Harrington? Devlin had practically said as much. The leering, fearfully visaged driver? Who else? Elaine? Tomorrow was Sunday. She would be freed to go home. And the next day was Monday. Once the money she had sacrificed herself for had been paid, she would be free to do what she wanted. She could run away, somewhere where Devlin would never find her. The Center would be saved and all would be well.
She looked at the thick meat proffered to her by Devlin’s cruel servant. He had beaten her with no compunction for her suffering. Now she was supposed to bring him pleasure. She knew how much more she would suffer if she refused. Tears forming in her eyes, she leaned forward, her useless hands bound behind her, her heavy, wounded, bare breasts swaying out from her body, and took the heavy, fat cock between her lips.
Vincent’s prick hardened quickly between her lips. His hands were on her head, guiding her movements, clamping her finely trimmed, jet black hair against her scalp. The fat, fleshy helmet of his cock slid over her tongue and against the roof of her mouth. Her back was arched and her hands writhed unhappily behind her. The meat was salty with the man’s sweat and Anna fought back her revulsion at its invasive presence. As the man drew her head back and forth, she kept her lips pursed firmly around the thick shaft, washing it with her tongue and giving his member a gentle, pleasure giving suckle.
Vincent was in no rush. He plowed Anna’s mouth slowly and deliberately. She could hear his soft sighs as he reveled in the hot moisture surrounding his cock and the energetic tongue that caressed it. His hips were moving gently, timed with the movements of Anna’s head. Anna did not know when it started, but she suddenly realized that her lusts were rising. There was something right about the way that the man was using her, something that reverberated in her psyche. She had been beaten cruelly, but wasn’t that something she deserved? Devlin had shown her her true nature. She was a whore, a being to be used for other’s pleasures. Everything happened for a reason. Wasn’t that what people said? Fate had led her to be Devlin’s slave. Wasn’t that what she was supposed to be if fate decreed it? And wasn’t it right that she should serve those who served him?
Anna began to earnestly suck and caress the stiffened manhood between her lips. She felt a yearning between her thighs. With every push of the cock across her lips and over her tongue, her excitement grew. She remembered the liberation she had felt when she had admitted her lust earlier tonight while chained on Devlin’s bed. It had felt so true, so right.
When Vincent’s grip on her head became tighter and his hips started to thrust more insistently at her mouth, Anna felt a wave of pleasure flow through her. When his essence began to spill over her tongue, his cock jerking and spasming within her mouth, she was filled with pride. She rejoiced in each groan and moan of passion that the cold, seemingly emotionless man emitted.
As she had been taught, when Vincent’s ejaculations eased and his cock stilled, Anna kept her lips pursed around it. She relented only when she felt the man’s large, strong hand ease her head back and he pulled his cock from her lips. Without a word to her, Vincent drew his manhood back inside his trousers. He went to the dresser and returned with the ball gag and hood that she had worn that morning. Anna quailed at their sight, but held her incipient rebellion in check, certain now that the men had the right to do with her whatever they liked.
She opened her mouth obediently as the large, round, rubber ball was inserted. She leaned forward compliantly to enable the man to fasten it behind her head. She suppressed a sob when the dreaded hood was lowered over her face, shutting out all light. When Vincent had pulled the string at its base tightly around her throat, he pressed against her shoulders until she was lying on her back. Her bound hands pressed uncomfortably into her and she was grateful when she felt the strong hands urge her over on to her belly. She crossed her legs in anticipation of their binding.
When they were fastened together, Vincent ran his hands up along the back of her thighs and over her firm, round rear globes. Anna felt the renewal of her desires as the strong, hot hands glided over her flesh. He placed his hands underneath her hip and torso and guided her to her side. Her joined hands behind her slipped towards her right hip, propping her up. She was leaning back onto them, her breasts, belly and pussy exposed. She felt the comforting warmth of Vincent’s strong, capable hands sliding along her thighs, over her taut belly and her breasts. Since she could not see what the man was doing, she had to imagine his face, his clothes, his demeanor as her handled her body. Her sightlessness accentuated her consciousness of the contact between their skin. Vincent was kneeling on the bed next to her and he used his hands to spread her thighs. Her knees bowed out as far as her crossed ankles would permit. His hand delved lightly over her bearded quim and over the insides of her tender, well formed, olive brown thighs.
To have the man’s hands caressing her tortured flesh felt wonderful to Anna. For the umpteenth time today, she felt her juices rising. The fingers on her loins parted her tingling love lips and traced the line between them. When satisfied at her state of lubrication, they descended within and began a slow, gentle agitation of her canal.
Anna sighed with pleasure. This was the reward for her sluttishness, her wantonness. She had been living a life of relative sexual deprivation for years. Now, in two days, she had rediscovered the joy in intense, sexual release at the hands of others. How could she deny it after this? It didn’t matter who was teasing her cunt, whose cock was in her mouth, whose prick plowed her canals. Her body cried out for pleasure.
Anna felt Vincent’s fingers pry open her love lips, spreading them. A moment later, she felt his breath on her loins. A hot tongue washed over her stiffened clit, sending an electrified surge of pleasure through her body. It played with the little nubbin and then lashed along the inner surfaces of her distended labia before plunging inside her.
The sensuous butler carefully and deliberately gemauched her burning slit. Each time that her thighs began to quiver with her impending crisis, her hips starting to gyrate, her moans becoming long and anguished, he would stop, letting her passions cool and then begin again. When she finally came, her ankles pulled desperately at their bindings and she bit down harshly on the gag in her mouth. Her moans of pleasure filled the room. The hot tongue tormented and teased her throbbing cleft. Her spasms seemed to go on and on. Anna tried to close her thighs, to terminate the agonizing pleasure the tongue was bringing her, but Vincent’s hands kept them forcibly apart until he was satisfied that he had wrung every throb of pleasure from her gaping crevasse.
Anna was still giving off soft moans at the echoes of her climax when Vincent rose from the bed. In her post orgasmic reverie, she could hear him cleaning up the bathroom. She heard the rattle of her chains that he had left there on the floor as he picked them up. He came out of the bathroom and stepped past her bed. A drawer to the dresser opened and she heard him placing the chains inside. They made a dull, clanking sound as they settled against the wooden bottom of the drawer. The drawer was shut. The cruel implements of confinement would be available for use at any time.
She heard the unlocking and opening of the door. She felt a flurry of panic as she realized that she was to be left bound, hooded and gagged for the night. A moment later it closed again and the deadbolt was shot home from the outside.
Anna was exhausted from her ordeal. Her pussy continued to burn in afterglow from Vincent’s oral attentions. She writhed her confined hands as she experienced a need to caress and comfort her well used portal. But her body was denied her. The men could do what they wanted to it, but she was to be denied the simple right of access. She squeezed her thighs together in frustration.
Her thoughts turned to the camera in her room and she wondered whether Vincent had turned out the lights. She had no way of telling through the blinding hood that she wore. The fact that Vincent had not pulled up her covers told her that they were probably on and that whoever monitored the other end of the camera was watching her. She thought of how she must ap
pear, her bruised and battered, naked form, her cruel bindings, her hooded, featureless head. She strained at her bound ankles and wrists, testing them. A cloud of sadness enveloped her.
So much had happened to her over the last twenty four hours. What would tomorrow bring? What would it feel like to be able to walk out of the front door of the mansion, get in her car and drive to her apartment? How would she feel on Monday, when she had to resume her life as the executive director of a busy social service agency? Would the other staff members and the young residents of the Center be able to discern the subservient slut that she had become? Would her ability to rationalize her plight fade and she become immersed in inner contempt for her easy slide into abasement?
Anna quickly slid into sleep. Several times during the long night she awoke with a panicked start, unable to fathom why she could not move her hands or feet. She peered into the jet black darkness of her hood frightened at the cloying substance over her face. Her heart beat wildly and it took her several moments to remember where she was and why. When she did, she ceased her struggling and, with a heart full of sadness, succumbed to her condition. She soon drifted off again to a light, fitful slumber.
***
When she awoke in the morning, Anna discovered that someone had come in during the night and covered her. She was surprised that the entry of a person into her little prison had not disturbed her sleep. Although she was sure it was morning, she could not tell why. Utter darkness still surrounded her. She discovered that she had to pee and she hoped that Vincent would soon come and see to her needs. During her long wait, she wondered what was in store for her this day. She rubbed her naked thighs together self consciously, knowing that undoubtedly it included the possession of the sexual folds between them.
When Vincent finally came, he drew back her covers and untied her ankles. She knew it was him from the sound of his steps on the stairs. Anna had expected and hoped that he would untie her hands and remove her hood, but he did not. He urged her up from the bed and guided her into the bathroom. The tiles were hard and cold on her feet. He sat her down on the toilet and she obediently and gratefully emptied herself in it. After he wiped her and washed his hands, he led her back into the bedroom and ordered her to kneel on the bed facing the headboard. She waited patiently there until she heard the sound of her chains being removed from the dresser. She hated being tied, but dreaded being chained. The cold strength of the handcuffs and manacles were impersonal and especially cruel.
