Blackmailed by the Sadist: A Breeding Sex and Bondage Story By Arthur Mitchell
Content copyright © Arthur Mitchell. All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America.
First published in May, 2012.
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance it may hold to persons living or deceased is entirely coincidental.
All individuals depicted in this work are adults over the age of eighteen years old.
About This Work
Sandra Lowry is a ruined actress with just one chance at getting her career and fortune back. A sadistic billionaire has offered her everything, if she can withstand his punishments. Sandra isn't afraid of kink or rough play, but the man she knows as “Lucien” has plans that go well beyond the obvious in their contract.
Lucien's obsession with domination comes with a steep price. He doesn't intend to let her walk away with a few bruises and a sore rear, but rather a life changing gift from his seed. Will Sandra allow herself to be forcibly impregnated for the sake of her career?
Adults only, 18+. Approximately 6,500 words of rough sex by blackmail, ruthless BDSM (including clothespins, hot wax, caning, plus more), and breeding sex.
Sandra's Contract
Sandra Lowry couldn't see a thing. The blindfold they made her wear before she arrived at the estate completely blotted out the already dim light around her.
Unsettled, she had her orders. She ignored the internal discord nipping at her brain, ready to make the sacrifice they had negotiated for her future.
She sat on the bed, and slowly peeled down the spaghetti straps of the dress clinging to her shoulders.
She couldn't see the billionaire in front of her, but she imagined his face: warm, devilish, and smiling.
Exactly the expression any man should wear when staring at her million dollar breasts.
“Very good, Miss Lowry,” he said, stroking his chin from across the room. “I can see why the screen guild paid you so much money for that nude scene in Away to Tampa. Those tits are good enough to command a proper price. For my purposes, I'm paying you a lot more to do more than just look...” She sensed him stepping closer, and a blot of orange flame became visible beneath her cloth fold. He held the candle wick menacingly close to her face, pressing hard enough against the air surrounding her cheek for her to feel the heat.
“Please...don't do this. I know I said anything, sir, but I didn't really know - “
“Quiet!” His response rang through the spacious chamber like a bullet, ricocheting off the ceiling and gliding back down to them.
A few seconds later, it was Sandra's turn to scream, hurling her sharp tenor notes up toward the glassy sunroof above as the hot wax dribbled on her bare flesh. He worked swirls of candle wax over her breasts with an artisan's expertise, letting it fall in hot streamlets over her ample bosom, until it caressed her nipples.
The billionaire smiled as the steaming matter coated one erect, pink nub, and then the other. Sandra's skin was normally so sensitive there that she could barely stand the touch of a tongue or some teeth, let alone searing hot wax.
She blubbered like a baby as the candle dripped, singing her sorrows loud and deep. She heard him inhale deeply, relishing the satisfaction that filled him as he seized total control.
That's it. That's it, slut. Phase one is almost complete.
There's a lot more to go. You have a lot of debt to pay down, you know.
Sandra fought to stem the tide of her tears. The strange warmth that flowed through her sex broke apart her preconceptions. Could she really be turned on by all this?
Before, she had always thought of the high class friends who participated in this sort of lifestyle as freaks. Now, she was beginning to understand the fringe allure of desegregating pain and pleasure.
Yet, there she was, helplessly sprawled out beneath a titan, who was her only chance at salvaging her career after suffering the wounds of the past year. Her addiction and the ensuing lawsuit had nearly taken everything. If she ever wanted to act again and regain her millions, she had to submit...
“It will be easier than you think,” he said, as though he read her mind. “Pain is good for the soul. For every dirty, pitiful creature, there's repentance. I'm not talking about that touchy-feely New Age crap.
I'm talking about harsh corporal punishment, the sort of thing you would find during the Middle Ages, when monks bawled their eyes out to God as they savaged their own backs.” The candle seemed to have run dry. The anonymous financier's voice was taking a dour turn, distorted by the visions of bygone torture in his mind.
The brutal things those people invented, he thought, holding the flame dangerously close to her wax caked nipples. Just enough to make her squirm. Feels good, doesn't it?
“Please...please! Why are you doing this to me? I thought you were an admirer...” Sandra's body shook as every pass of the miniature furnace toward her mammaries threatened to turn all the way into her, blistering her most sensitive parts.
She didn't think he was that crazy. Even so, the man's commanding voice and the implement he had chosen told her that he didn't shirk the extremes. If anything, he embraced horrible pleasures for control, taming his desires and introducing her firmly into his territory.
“Oh, I certainly am an admirer. There's an entire room in this house dedicated to your many antics and achievements over the years. Maybe you'll see it, if I let you. I think you'll appreciate the archives: everything from your first amateurish songs to shooting in Antarctica for that big sci-fi flick with Hollywood's finest.” He set the candle down on the night stand.
Sandra listened to the drawer next to her open, and a beeping sound alerted her to the presence of an electronic device. Her face wrinkled, horrified that he was about to capture her in a broken pose.
A grayish flash passed across her eyes, bright enough to break the shroud of the black blindfold. She rubbed her feet uncomfortably against each other, sliding out of her Italian heels to scratch one with the other.
“There's another token to add to my collection. The first of many completely unique and special imprints, I hope. Don't worry. They won't pass out of my hands until long after one of us is dead,” he said, sliding a strong hand across her hair, fondling her neck with unlikely gentleness.
“Okay,” she said, pulling together every fiber of her being to keep it together. “What's next?”
“Glad you asked. I thought we would take a little trip downstairs, where I've arranged some very pleasant surprises for you. I hope you've had dinner because this might take all night.” She hadn't, but she wasn't going to give him any insight into her. Nothing more than he absolutely needed to know.
I just want his money and his connections. It's turning out to be a little pricier than I expected...this is a lot more than the quick fuck and a kinky flash or two that Randy told me about.
Her agent had suggested the idea after a drunken argument. The young, talented, and litigious professional was well known for his unconventional thinking – exactly the kind of non-linear strategizing that caused her to hire him.
She still couldn't believe she had agreed to it. Thanks to the psychological trickery he normally used, he managed to convince her that it wasn't really whoring herself out, but rather a, “Career minded approach to networking with casual sex.”
By the time the Lexus with the two stern faced men in suits pulled up at her condo, it was too late to say no. The men hadn't said a word as they forced her to don the blindfold and get in the car. Now, she feared, the sightless road trip was just the beginning.
“Come on,” her benefactor said, grasping her hand and leading her across the room. “Careful on these stairs.”
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Slowly, she followed him down the same long, rounded staircase she had been led up on the way in. A short jaunt on the main floor later, and they came to another staircase, one that plunged far into the ground, far enough for the temperature to drop to an icy chill.
Frigid stripes creaked up her spine, and her nipples would have puckered, if not for the hardening wax covering them. Her bare feet thudded on the frigid pavement when they reached the bottom.
He led her over a few more steps, until she could sense herself entering a large room. Her keeper moved away, drawn by the lure of his tools.
“Stay there,” he said. She listened to distant rummaging sounds. Despite the cool air, a single bead of sweat snaked its way down her neck, a nervous droplet that reflected her unease.
The billionaire moved with surprising speed when he returned. Without a word, he jerked her hands up into a two hard leather shackles that dangled above her. Her arms went up, and for a second she feared she would leave the ground.
Next, one of his hands found its way to her blindfold, where he tore it away from her ears, exposing himself to her for the first time. His face was well shrouded in the dark black mask that covered his entire face, save for rounded eye and mouth slits.
Her body rippled fearfully as she looked at the deadness of his face, illuminated only by the stark lust in his eyes. He was naked, except for a wolf skin cape dangling from his back, sporting a huge erection that seemed weirdly out of place for his middle aged body.
“Good girl. I trust you like what you see. If not, that's always fun too.” He was delicately twirling what appeared to be a great baton in his hands. It looked much like a policeman's stick, but the leathery straps on the end were more fit for flogging a horse.
God. Now's the time to go to that happy place of yours. Or do you really want to go there? You don't see cocks like his everyday. And there's something about this learned helplessness that's making you dribble like a virgin on her wedding night.
Sandra's lips jabbered as he strode toward her, slapping the long stick against one palm with louder, more insistent whacks. The fanatical seriousness in his eyes caused her clit to ignite its invisible fire.
“A real shame we haven't been introduced. I already know who you are, but if you need a name for your pain, call it Lucien.” His eyes curled up into wicked smiles, transmitting his intent well before his first resounding smack fell against her ass.
Lucien's Private World
He tore her dress to shreds, bit by bit, using the inky tentacles of his implement to undress her. Sandra groaned when he rounded her ass, bringing the stings up her back, all the way to her shoulders. The jellyfish needles from his flog singed her in ways she didn't understand.
When one slap fell against her left ass cheek, the pain found its way in her elbow. When he whacked her thighs, curious energy crept down to her toes, freezing them in short bursts until the ice splintered away with fire.
The fire...the cool air...
Careful! He'll see that you're enjoying this too much. This is supposed to be about his pleasure.
That voice within her skull was taking on his characteristics, infected by his domineering spirit. Or, perhaps, it was that scared little girl she sometimes saw, the same one who bawled her eyes out when the drugs sent her car off the road, striking the vehicle across the line that night.
There was something sickly therapeutic about being whipped like an unruly animal. Each time Lucien's leathery hammer fell across her breasts, her thighs, her ass, she felt claustrophobic strapss coming undone inside her head.
The stern position of his eyes and mouth through his mask said that he knew exactly what he was doing. Once, he paused to nod as the energy throughout her numbing body bristled, all of it surging through her overtaxed bloodstream.
Winding, winding, winding between my legs.
“You're taking this rather well,” he said, echoing her thoughts exactly. “I think it's time to give you a different treatment.”
She watched the silver fur flutter around him as he retreated toward the great metal cabinet against the wall. As it opened, she caught a flash of sharp objects, bottles, and mysterious drawers gleaming in the low light.
He pressed a button on the wall before he returned with a handful of sticks, and the room turned a dark, cherry red color. Sandra squirmed beneath the inescapable color right away. It matched the brilliant crimson dress she had worn during her last great film. She wondered if he knew.
“Eyes up to the ceiling. You can look down in a minute, but I want the first pinch to be a surprise...” She yelped when his fingers moved to her right breast, clamping down mercilessly hard over her nipple. Some of the wax came off, rudely brushed aside by the simple wooden clothespin that dug into her breast.
Sandra watched with fascination as her pale and pinkish flesh burned around the wooden claw, filling her with the warm bodily amnesia that blurred pain and pleasure. She barely had time to take in the full scope of the bite. Lucien wasted no time bringing the second clothespin to her other nipple.
The sensation felt the same: cinnamon hot, blinding, and on a direct course for her loins. Both tits slowly melted into nascent suns, firing deep within her. Icy hot strands reached down to flick at her clit, until she found herself begging without even knowing.
“Please...go lower. I need your relief.” She watched him savor her helplessness, as she struggled a bit in her bindings.
Like a fly caught in a predator's web, he's thinking. Yes, Sandy, that's exactly what you are.
Sandra imagined the darkest corners of his mind, much blacker than anything the dungeon could hold.
She never expected him to roll out his tongue and moisten his lips before diving for her crotch. The clothespins bobbed along her purple tinged breasts as she came undone with his touch.
His tongue started at her right knee, grinding up along her wedding cake white thigh, all the way to the fatty upper part that lay just below her sex. He inhaled deeply, inwardly drooling over her scent.
Jesus! This isn't supposed to be sensual. If he doesn't take me now, I'm going to -
His teeth sank into her thigh – hard. She yelped with surprise as he bit into her, playfully like a kitten at first, but gradually increasing his pressure until it became menacing.
Just when she thought he was going insane, ready to bite deeper into her supple meat, he turned away and focused his attention on the other thigh. Again, she was dashed into an underworld of his puppetry, forgetting the deep imprints of her teeth on her aching thigh as he worshiped its sister.
He never moved all the way to her folds, but each lap of his slick tongue against her leg ravaged her as much as if he were buried face deep in her. Sandra's eyes rolled around and around, and lust melded into memories. She saw herself spinning out of control on the night of the accident, and recalled how she thought about orgasm in the immeasurably short second before the blackout.
“Please, sir. Just a little more. I think I could cum if you move just a little higher,” Sandra whispered.
“Why would I want to do a thing like that?” He said, lifting his mouth off her leg. “I'm not here to reward you for good behavior. Quite the contrary. You, little missy, have been extremely bad. The only cumming you'll do is on my command...”
He used it as an opportunity to rise to his feet. Her clit felt like it would blaze until it burned away to nothing as she waited for his return, anxiously pressing her thighs together. She felt herself dripping, pooling her sweetness across the places where his mouth had teased and attacked her with such passion.
Behind his mask, Lucien's eyes narrow. He brought a cigarette out of his pocket and smoked it with his back turned, occasionally blowing the spicy vapor up into the air, where it drifted back toward her nostrils.
When her lust had died down a single notch, the unwelcome thoughts were returning. She sensed that his passion was actually controlled with a zen lord's discipline, and released in quick, concentrated bursts when
it suited him for manipulation.
What does he really want? I don't know what's going to happen, or where this is going. What if he wants to do more than just play around?
Later, she regretted her inability to quash her own fires with similar iron control. It might have saved her from his more advanced tricks.
When his cigarette was down to a nub, he pressed his face toward hers, spilling his dark eyes into her doe wide pupils. He blew a long ream of smoke directly onto her until she pressed her eyes shut.
“Tell me about the accident. I'd like to hear how a pretty little thing like you finds herself here...” So, that's it. He wants a confession.
“I never meant for any of it to happen. It was just so dark...I left a party where they had this sweet snow, laced with something wonderful. I don't even know. It caused me to flip out on the road, right into the car next to me. Before I knew it, I woke up in the hospital...” If his intent was to suppress her lust, it was working.
He stared at her, with a strangeness in his eyes she didn't recognize. Was he...turned on?
“And then came your fuck up. A very bad one, if coming to me for money is any indication. Tell me, why did your victim decide to sue?”
The rage she had squelched for so long flared through her body. Her lips peeled back like an angry dog, spitting out the answer he wanted to hear. “Because I crippled the sonofabitch. After what he did to me...after what he did, I wish I'd killed him!”
“Yes, yes. It's hard to find a role in film after that media frenzy. The tabloids and their jackals can be so cruel. Even I find it hard to compete with that,” he said, turning away from her and walking back toward his cabinet.
Sandra's nostrils flared. She tried not to let him see the tears in her eyes. Her chest beat harshly, but her body was changing in a way she didn't expect. Her lust had returned, a dozen times stronger than before, making new rivulets of her moisture dribble down the curtains of her legs onto the cool floor below.
She felt like laughing, and spinning on her tired arms. In a passing vision, she saw her naked and desperate body, twisting as she begged for her captor's satisfaction, playing perfectly into his womanly marionette schemes.
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