From early childhood, Timothy had a powerful attraction to women wearing red lipstick. His mother’s women friends would kiss him leaving lipstick kisses on his cheeks. He found it horribly embarrassing but he envied their power to humiliate him by the simple act of kissing him. Through the psychological mechanism of identification, Timothy wanted to become a woman, but barring that possibility; he wanted to be associated with a woman who wore bright red lipstick.
Timothy met Alison at a party a few years back. Her shiny red lipstick was like chrome on a car grill—shiny and eye catching, but deadly if it hit you. And her knee-high spike heeled shiny boots only added to the feeling of personal power Alison exuded from every pore of her body. Timothy immediately fell under her spell. In spite of his chronic shyness, when Timothy spied Alison with her shiny red lips he felt an overwhelming need to meet her.
From the conversation Timothy could over hear of Alison talking to a group of women, it was clear, she was strong-willed, vivacious, and confident; qualities that attracted many men, even though she lacked the kind of model looks that most men hunger for. She was powerfully built with broad shoulders and hips that resembled the physique of a body builder rather than the shapely curves of a model. Her face, however, was a knock-out. Sculpted with high cheek bones, it was thin, almost gaunt with a small chin a perfectly sculpted roman nose set between large blue eyes.
Probably because of Alison’s reputation as avowed feminist scared most men off. No men were in the circle of listeners. Was she a lesbian Timothy wondered? Clearly, the feminist tone of her pronouncements to the group of women made it clear that men were not welcomed. Alison knew what she wanted and most men, as far as she was concerned, were self-centered and only wanted to fuck her. The last thing she wanted was some moron sticking his dick up her vagina and thinking he owned her.
Finding himself agreeing with many of Alison’s statements about men controlling women, plucking up his courage, Timothy waited until Alison was alone and then approached her. With the most obsequious, bootlicking voice he could come up with, Timothy asked Alison if he could call her to invite her out.
Looking him up and down and noticing the pronounced bulge in Timothy’s pants, Alison assumed his lust must fetish fueled: probably my boots. But maybe it’s my whole gestalt, she thought.
“You must really want to meet me.” She said nonchalantly.
Timothy’s face turned bright red and he cast his eye down to the floor.
Alison, was well practiced in reading the topography of male personalities in a single glance. This guy triggered a hormonal-like response in her stomach. Her intuition was yelling at her that he needed a firm hand from a strong woman. He could be the perfect guy for her. Through his body language and quavering voice, she knew that if she ordered him to drop to his knees and lick her boots, he would do it in a heartbeat. Her dominance drive went into overdrive.
“Give me your phone number, and I’ll call you tomorrow to set up a date.” She directed in a voice calculated to brook no opposition.
Timothy was both shocked and elated. He managed to get out a quivering, almost inaudible “Great.” And stammering, asked if she had something to write it on. As if she were unscabbarding a sword, she pulled out a leather-bound address book from her purse and handed to Timothy. He took a pen from his pocket and lifting is left knee up to serve as a writing surface, tried balancing the book and writing his number. But his hands shook so violently he dropped it on the floor
“Give it to me.” Alison demanded, seemingly totally annoyed with his incompetence; making sure he felt the full wrath of her contempt for him.
Sheepishly, he picked up the pen and he handed the address book back to her.
“Turn around.” She ordered.
He turned his back to her and she rested the address book against his back. Timothy recited his phone number.
“Good.” Alison said. “I’ll call you tomorrow to set up the date.”
At 8AM the next morning, the phone rang in Timothy’s one-room flat. He ran to grab it. “Hello?” He asked anxiously into the phone.
“Timothy?” The female voice on the other end enquired.
“Good morning.” Timothy responded in a trembling voice.
“I will pick you up tonight at 7PM.” Alison said in a flat voice. “Do you have a suit?”
“Wear it. And make sure your clean and don’t smell.”
“Yes. I’ll be out by the curb.” He gave her his address and as soon as he finished, the line went dead. Startled by the abrupt end of the call, Timothy stared at the receiver for a moment trying to figure what just happened before putting it down.
At seven, Timothy, dressed in his only suit, stood at the curb in front of the apartment building. A black Mercedes sports coup pulled across the street. Recognizing the blonde woman behind the wheel as Alison, excitedly, he dashed across the street, yanked the passenger door open with such force, he almost fell over, and slid into the seat beside her, out of breath. Before he had a chance to fasten his seat belt, Alison sped off.
After bucking himself in, he gazed over at Alison. He audibly inhaled. She looked amazing. Strings of diamonds sparkled from her ears. She wore a short black dress and black patterned hose that disappeared into knee-high patent leather stiletto four-inch boots accented with silver buckles. Her lips were a deep red that shimmered under the streetlights that whizzed by. He felt so overwhelmed by her presence he just looked ahead, feeling powerless to move or speak. Timothy was awed by the power and control she exuded. For her part, Alison acted as though Timothy didn’t exist.
They arrived at the restaurant. Fortunately, Timothy had the presence of mind to jump out and run around to the driver’s side and open the door for Alison. She stepped out and handed the waiting valet a key. Then, grabbing Timothy’s arm, she led him into the restaurant. The matre’d—knowing Alison’s preferences from the many years of her patronage—led her to a private table in the back of the restaurant.
Still not acknowledging Timothy’s presence, Alison ordered for both of them without bothering to consult him.
At last, Alison spoke to Timothy but without looking at him.
“You look like a deer caught in the headlights.” Alison remarked, as she looked over the menu.
Startled, he mumbled: “I feel like a deer in the headlights of your power.” Timothy said with his face turning red and his eyes cast down. “I’m caught in your magnificence, and I am tongue tied.”
Alison looked up at him and smirked.
“That’s good. When I’m done with you, that won’t be the only thing that will be tied. I like my men trussed up and helpless.”
Timothy’s eyes widened in shock and his jaw dropped slightly. Alison broke into laughter. “You should see the expression on your face. It’s perfect. That’s exactly the look I love to see on a man—complete shock and confusion.”
Alison lifted her wine glass to her lips and took a swallow. When she put the glass down, there was a perfect set of ruby red lip prints outlined on the rim. Timothy couldn’t help but stare at the glass with its lip print.
Noticing where he was staring, she asked him why he was staring so intently at her glass. Quickly, he looked down as though caught looking at a dirty picture, and cleared his throat. In a barely audible voice he confessed his fetish for lipstick. He confessed the dirty secret of his life; how his mother and her lady friends would kiss him, leaving lip prints all over his face. They made a big show of wiping off the lip prints by washing his face using their tongues, but they knew the lipstick couldn’t be washed off. Only a special makeup remover could remove the lipstick. His mother kept the remover under lock and key so neither he nor his father could use it. It was both very embarrassing and yet very arousing at the same time. He recounted that once he entered puberty, he masturbated, fantasizing about being covered with lip prints.
Alison reached across the table and with her calfskin gloved hand, held Timothy’s chin, forcing him to look directly at her. “I love that you have this fetish. It’s wonderful. I’ll love covering your face with irremovable lipstick. I do the same thing to my young cousins. At family gatherings, they cringe when I show up. They hope I’m not going to kiss them. It’s a kind of game I like to play. I ignore them for a while and then I grab them and cover them with hard kisses, leaving their faces a mess. I know they are very embarrassed when I kiss them and try to remove the lipstick with my tongue. I don’t know if it arouses them as well. Only time will tell.” Alison was smiling as she recounted her dominance over her hapless cousins.
As soon as Alison released his face, he returned his downward gaze.
“You will come home with me tonight. I’ll stop off at your place and you will pack all your personal belongings and begin moving into my place tonight…” Alison told Timothy in a flat tone.” We will dispose of your other belongings this week and pay off your lease.”
Once again, Timothy’s face expressed shock and dismay. Alison was taking control over his life at the speed of light and he was just not prepared for it. His mind was reeling. He felt faint. He barely ate any of his manicotti bolognaise. Alison remained expressionless as she observed Timothy’s reaction to her plan. She was a dispassionate observer monitoring the effects of introducing different stimuli on her test subject. Her control over Timothy was total. She was his goddess and she could make him do anything she wanted. She could feel a tingle between her thighs and moisture forming. Licking her lips, she savored Timothy’s discomfort, feeling the power she had over him.
She drove Timothy to his apartment and waited in the car while he ran inside to collect his clothing and personal belongings. It took him about twenty minutes of manic running around to gather up all his clothes and stuff them in a suitcase and put his toothbrush and toiletries in a carryon bag. In his frenetic state, he tried to make sure he packed everything he would need. Of course, little could he know that all his packing would be for naught. If he chose as Alison hoped he would to stay with her, all his belonging would go up in smoke.
As he ran out he saw Alison applying lipstick and had to pause an instant to watch her glide the tube of ruby red lipstick back and forth over her lips. When he got in the car and threw the suitcase and carryon on the back seat, she grabbed his face in her gloved hands and with her slightly open mouth, she pressed her lips very hard against his left cheek. She then slowly licked the spot on his cheek with her tongue. She held his face a moment longer gazing at the lip print and then moved her hands to the steering wheel.
Alison lived in a medium sized stone house built in the Tutor style, with a gabled turret at one corner of the house and several high gabled windows. A garage was attached at the side and faced on to a circular driveway. Alison drove into one of the garage bays and the garage door closed behind her. Timothy jumped out to run around to open Alison’s door. She stepped out and punched a code into a keypad and leaning over pulled the necklace that hung around her neck. Timothy noted that a small fob and key hung from the necklace. Alison touched the fob to an electronic reader and an audible click signaled the door to the house was unlocked. Timothy followed Alison into the house carrying his suitcase and carryon slung over his shoulder.
“Leave your stuff in the living room for the time being.” Alison instructed. “Strip and fold your clothes on the chair…” pointing to a chair to the right of a low coffee table. “I’ll be right back.”
Alison disappeared into what Timothy assumed was the bedroom. Timothy began removing his clothes and neatly folded his pants, undergarments, and shirt on the chair and parked his shoes and socks in front of the chair. Alison returned and walked over to Timothy, walking around him as he stood still with hands at his side. She ran her right hand over his chest and down his stomach and lightly touched his penis. Timothy noticed that her fingernails polish matched the ruby red of her lips. Alison walked behind him and moved her hand lightly down his spine and cupped her hand around his right ass cheek giving it a gentle squeeze. The next thing Timothy felt was something hard pressing against the base of his spine and heard a crackling sound. Everything then went dark. Alison had stuck a stun gun against his spine and let loose 100,000 volts of electricity into Timothy’s nervous system causing him to collapse to the floor. Alison smiled.
After a few minutes, Timothy came to, and the first thing he saw was the toe of Alison’s left boot draped and bouncing across her right knee, inches from his mouth. He was lying on his stomach with his ankles and wrists locked into ridged cuffs. His wrists were bent behind him and twisted into a reverse prayer position and his legs were cuffed and doubled over his thighs and locked to his wrists. “I told you I would end up tying more than just your tongue.” Alison said with a note of triumph in her voice.
She extended her boot, pressing the sole of her boot against Timothy’s lips. “Clean my boot. Lick it with your tongue.” She commanded. Timothy didn’t respond
“Lick my boot…” she repeated louder.
Again, Timothy didn’t do what she demanded.
“Do you want me to kick in your teeth? I’ll be glad to do it.” She moved her leg slightly, pushing the toe of the boot past his lips and pressing directly on his front teeth.
“I’ve never kicked a person’s teeth in, and I’d love to see what it’s like.” Alison said, bending down inches from Timothy’s face and looking him in the eye.
Timothy’s mouth opened slightly and a bit of tongue squeezed out between his teeth and began licking the boot tip. Alison leaned back in the chair and presented the boot sole for his tongue to clean. She moved her boot up, allowing Timothy to lick the full length of the boot sole. When Alison presented the stiletto heel, she pressed it hard against his mouth, forcing it past his lips and deep into his mouth. She pulled the heel in and out several times, each time pushing it deep into Timothy’s throat causing him to gag each time.
When she finished mouth-fucking Timothy with the left boot heel, she switched legs and dangled the right leg. He licked the right boot. After tongue-cleaning both boots, she went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. Bending down, she drew the glass to his lips and let him drink the entire glass. “I’m going to undo the chain between your legs and hands and let you go to the bathroom.”
Alison had locked the ankle cuffs loosely enough to permit Timothy to move his legs a few inches. He could crawl very slowly—a few inches at a time--through Alison’s bedroom and into her bathroom. It was elegantly tiled in peaches and cream marble with matching towels, a walk-in Jacuzzi, and a large shower stall. Alison lifted him and placed him on the commode, and once he finished, Alison escorted him into the bedroom. Using the same chain and pad lock she removed earlier, she reconnected Timothy’s wrists and ankles together just as she had in the living room.
“You see that trunk over there?” Alison asked, pointing to a large metal trunk sitting at the foot of her king-sized bed.
“That’s where you’ll be sleeping.”
With that, she took hold of the chain and lifted him up. The cuffs and shackles cut into his wrists and ankles. The pain was excruciating. Timothy shrieked.
Ignoring his screams, Alison carried him the few feet to the trunk and dropped him in.
Once in the trunk, Alison bent over him and smiling said: “Welcome to my home.” She knelt down, and leaning into the trunk, pressed her lips against his cheeks, and forehead leaving several lip prints. She then licked his face covering it with saliva to the point it was dripping on to the trunk floor. “Good night. Sleep well.” She said smiling maliciously, and closed the lid and triple locked it.
At 6 AM, sharp, Alison flung the trunk lid open and peered down at Timothy. He was sleeping in spite of the torturous position he was forced to endure all night. Alison reached in and grabbed the chain connecting his ankle and wrist cuffs and hoisted Timothy out of the trunk. As soon as she pulled up on the chain, his eyes sprang open with the shock of the pain in his wrists and ankles. He screamed at the top of his lungs.
“God! You scream worse than a girl. I’m going to have you gag from now on.” Alison yelled. “And I haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet.”
She put Timothy on the floor. Dressed in a frilly white night gown that just barely covered her pubis, she bent down, and taking the keys from around her neck, she unlocked his restraints. Then leaving him to get to his feet on his own, she disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door.
After her shower and applying her makeup, she returned to the bedroom. Timothy was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Use the bathroom and get dressed. Then come find me. I want to talk to you.” Alison instructed.
After showering, Timothy found some clothing in the suitcase he had packed and dressed, then wandered into through the house examining the art work decorating the house.
He found Alison in the dining room, sitting at a highly polished walnut rectangular table. A plate of toast and cup of coffee lay in front of her. She held the toast in her right hand and the Wall Street Journal in her left. She wore a cream-colored blouse, a tan knee-length skirt with matching vest. Timothy noticed that she was only wearing hose and no lipstick. Without looking up, she said,
“It’s about fucking time.” Alison said clearly annoyed with Timothy’s dilly dallying.
“I don’t have all day…. There’s coffee and bread in the kitchen. Then come back. Make it quick. I want to talk to you about the routine here in the house and your future.”
Timothy, feeling abashed, did as he was told, returning to the dining room and sat down at the table, sitting on her right.
Alison put down the paper and looked thoughtfully at Timothy. Should I reel him in slowly, and then, let him discover the reality of his future life once he can’t back out Alison mused? If I tell him up front what will be in store, he may just balk and walk out.
The first option appealed to her. Having Timothy slowly discover the horror of his new life and see him struggle to escape from it would be fun. But that required her to do more planning, and engage in more deception than she wanted to be bothered with. Lying required a lot of psychic energy and would mean thwarting her sadistic urges and need for total control. If Timothy decided to walk, she could always dissemble and soft peddle the harsher elements of his future life. She could hold out the promise of frequent orgasms and reasonable accommodations. But keeping her sadism under wraps would be hard and if she didn’t have to, why not let him have it up front. She decided to go with her first impression and her instincts.
“Last night You got a taste of what it would be like living with me. I can be very brutal. And I will have no sympathy or empathy for your pain and suffering should you decide to stay. Also, I don’t believe in cooperation. If there are two ways of doing things, I will choose the one that causes you the most pain and suffering. For example, when I want you to open your mouth, I won’t bother asking you. I’ll just crush your nuts or your nipples. You’ll scream, and that will accomplish the task of opening your mouth. I enjoy putting men in positions in which they have no power or control over what happens. It makes me wet imagining men helpless to resist me. Whether it’s embarrassing the crap out of them or binding them up like a pretzel, I love it. You will be my sex and torture toy. And I will use you where and when it pleases me.
“So, you have this one chance and one chance only to leave right now. You may leave right now and we’ll have no further contact. Even if we should be in the same room, even if you should come up to me to say hello, or plead with me to take you back, I will ignore you. If you pursue or stalk me, I will see that you disappear. If you walk out now, you will cease to exist for me and nothing will change my mind.
“If you decide to stay, it will be a lifetime commitment. I will take care of you and keep you healthy and protect you from serious injuries. I will make sure that some of my more dangerous women friends behave themselves around you. Some of them enjoy maiming their toys. Then, when they are damaged they don’t want them. They think up diabolically medieval ways to kill them. Some of them have dropped them in vats of acid and lie, or forced molten lead down their throats. Admittedly, some of my tortures are medieval, but I only inflict pain. On the up side, if you perform exceptionally well in your job of pleasing me, who knows, I may reward you by letting you have an orgasm—but don’t ever count on it. My standards are extremely high. I will milk the semen from you periodically to maintain your prostate health, but you won’t get any pleasure.
“In general I will meet your physical needs in ways that suit me. You will eat what I give you or not at all. I will give you sufficiently nutritious food to meet your caloric and metabolic needs, but I doubt you will enjoy it. You will wear what I give you, which will be nothing when in the house. And, without a doubt, you will do everything I want without hesitation because you won’t have any choice.
“Even when you do what you’re supposed to do you may be severely punished, just because I’m bored and need to hear you scream to get me off. I have a torture chamber in the basement, which if you elect to stay, you will be introduced to. And believe me, there is nothing that gets me wetter than hearing the high-pitched girl-like screams of a man in extreme pain. As I said, some of my tortures are positively medieval.
“Furthermore, since you will be powerless to make any demands, I am always free to dispose of you in ways and at any time that give me the greatest pleasure. I may give you to one of those women I mentioned to let her dispose of you. Or I may come up with my own horribly sadistic way to dispose of you. For example, I may toss you out on the street without a cent to your name; starve you to death; take you up in my plane and throw you out so your life can flash before your eyes as you drop 10,000 feet into the ocean miles from land. I can’t promise any joy, but again, as I said who knows, what unexpected pleasure may come your way. Now, I’m going to finish dressing and then I’ll need to have your decision. We’ll leave together. Depending on your choice, you will either be leaving for good or only for the day. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Timothy’s stomach was churning with anxiety as he argued with himself whether to leave and never see this beautiful, supremely powerful and confident goddess again, or stay and condemn himself to a life of complete subjugation and never ending suffering.
Lost in his thoughts, he was oblivious to Alison’s return until he sniffed the perfume of her lipstick. She was sitting next to him with a compact in one hand and a tube of her signature ruby red lipstick in her right. She sat sideways to him and was gliding the tube over lips, transforming them into them into the shimmering hypnotic instruments of Timothy’s undoing.
“Well, what’s it going to be?” Alison’s cold question filled the room as she turned him face on.
Gazing intently at her, the only objects filling his entire field of vision were those shimmering lips. Together with the intoxicating aroma of the lipstick, the luscious deep red of the lipstick tube Alison held inches from Timothy’s face, her lips opening and closing as she spoke all made his head spin. He felt faint. His power think rationally was in the toilet. He meekly replied, “I am yours.”
Alison stood up. Besides wearing lipstick, Timothy could see, she now had on a pair of dark brown calf-skin 4-inch, knee-high boots.
“Ok. From this moment, you no longer have any personal identity. I will never refer to you by your name. From now on, you are a ‘thing,’ an ‘it.’ You understand? You are an object, and I said I will use you anyway that bring me joy. And that will be anyway that causes you suffering. There is no going back now. You are mine until I decide otherwise.
You will go to your job today and give notice and put in for your sick leave and vacation time and not return there. Tomorrow, you will start working for my friend, Amanda. She runs an all-woman firm. You will be the only man and you will do whatever they want. They will know you are coming and know how to treat you. You will be working there for a couple of weeks while I get this place fixed up to accommodate you. I need you out of the house so I can make changes to the security system. The security system now only protects the perimeter. I need to enhance it to keep you out of places you don’t belong and keep you where I put you. All the doors will have electronic locks including the kitchen and bathrooms. The entry doors already require a code and key fob to get in and out. That won’t change. But you will be confined during the day to a room—probably the guest lavatory. I will ask my lover if she would like to move in and look after you. Her interests are very similar to mine. You will probably hate her because she will be just as cruel, if not more so. But that will be your problem.
“Would you mind removing the lipstick off my face before I go?” Timothy in the meekest and polite voice he could muster?
“Absolutely not! I’m not going to remove a single lip print. In fact, I’m going to to add a few more.” Alison replied in a stern, no nonsense tone. With that she grabbed Timothy’s face in her powerful right hand, digging her finger nails into his cheek, and planted several more lip prints all over his face.
“I just got through telling you that you are now my Thing…my torture toy. Well this is part of your torture. You will have to go to work and suffer the embarrassment of people’s stares, laughter and all sorts of lude and rude remarks. It arouses me, thinking how uncomfortable you will be all day, riding the bus and going into work trying to hide, hoping people won’t notice. But they will. They can’t miss all those lip prints plastered all over your face.
“It’s too late to back out. You have no money, no ID. You don’t have the keys to your flat anymore, so you can’t go back there; and all your belongings are now here. So, this is it or be homeless. Your choice.
“Oh, and I took the liberty of taking your wallet and keys and locking them in my safe. If you had decided to leave, I would have returned them to you, but as it turned out, you will never need them again. Here is five dollars for bus fair and lunch. The bus stop is about a mile down the road. I’ll be back around six o’clock. If you arrive before me, you will have to wander around somewhere. Loitering in front of the house is not a good idea. Someone is likely to call the police. Since you won’t have any identification, you will probably be arrested for vagrancy and end up in jail. If I have to come to get you out, I will be extremely annoyed. And trust me, there will be consequences you will not like. Now, let’s GO! I have to hurry.” Alison bellowed.
Thoroughly cowed into submission, Timothy pocketed the five dollars, and walked out as Alison held the door open.
Alison sped off leaving Timothy to walk the mile to the bus even though the bus stop was on her way.
On the bus, only a few people gave Timothy looks; but even so, he felt everyone was looking at him. How they could not see all the deep red lip prints covering his face and wonder. He moved to the back of the bus and sat facing out the window. At least, people seeing his face going past couldn’t make comments that he could hear.
At work, when he came in, everyone he passed in the all stopped and looked at him. He heard a few laughs from both men and women and one or two of his friends asked what happened to him.
He gave his notice and applied for any sick leave and vacation time he was owed. The rest of the day, he tried to hide in his cubical as much as possible, and when he did have to leave it, he did his best to cover his right his face by carrying file folder in front of his face.
A few of the women staff had heard about Timothy, and pretending to be on errands, slowly walked passed his cube and sneaked peeks. They would do this in groups of two or three and once passed his cube, Timothy could hear muffled giggles and titters.
Finally, quitting time mercifully arrived. Unfortunately for Timothy, the bus going home was packed and he had to stand in the midst of other passengers with his marked cheek on view for all to see. Timothy was extremely nervous. His stomach ached. A 20-something woman was standing next to him looking at him and tittered. He bolted out of the bus as soon as he reached his stop. Not having a watch, he had only a rough idea of the time. He walked slowly toward the house, figuring that if he took a half hour, he should arrive around the same time as Alison.
When he arrived at the house, he didn’t see any lights on. She must not be home yet, he figured. He thought he would walk back in the direction from which he came. Within five minutes, he spotted Alison’s Mercedes pass him heading toward the house. This time, when he came to the house, he saw lights on in the living room and kitchen. He knocked on the front door. Alison opened the door and Timothy entered.
“Strip!” Alison barked as soon as the door locked behind him. “As soon as you walk in the house, you strip. Understand?”
Wordlessly, Timothy took off his clothes and folded them on the same chair he placed them on last night. And, as happened the previous night, the next thing Timothy felt was something hard jabbing him at the base of his spine, then a crackling sound and the world turned black. This time, when he regained consciousness he was lying on his stomach with his wrists and ankles cuffed as they are the previous night, but his legs were extended straight instead of being doubled over and linked to his wrists.
Standing over him, Alison looked down and said: “While you are working, every night you will be stunned and then shackled. By the way, how was your day? Was it terrible?”
“Yes, it was humiliating. Everyone stared or laughed. Women came by my cube just to gawk at me. It was probably the most humiliating day of my life.”
“I thought you might have also found it arousing, reminding you of when your mother’s lady friends would cover your face with lips stick.”
Timothy made no response.
Alison was tempted to tell him that it will only get worse, but she refrained. Timothy will find out soon enough, how bad it will get, she thought to herself. After all, part of her entertainment lay in a man discovering out how intractable and miserable his life had become and then seeing how desperately he struggles to escape. Of course, Alison would make sure there was no escape.
With that, she reached down, grabbed a handful of hair and pulled him up to his knees. “Crawl to the kitchen where you’ll find your dinner in a bowl with a bowl of water.” As he started to crawl, she lifted her stiletto boot heel and stab his ass. That caused him to fall forward on to his face. “MOVE!” Alison shouted.
With his ankles shackled, Timothy could move his legs only the few inches the play in the shackles allowed. It took him twenty minutes for him to crawl the distance between the living room and the kitchen that could be covered in a minute or less walking.
While Timothy ate what he guessed was dog food, Alison supped on a slice pork loin, steamed vegetables, and a tossed green salad with a vinaigrette dressing. For dessert she had a scoop of her favorite pistachio ice cream. She also had a couple of glasses of Merlot. She noticed her dark red lip prints on the glass and was reminded of Timothy. She called to him and ordered him to come to her. It took ten minutes to crawl the short distance.
When he came in and knelt next to her chair, she got up and walked over to the coffee table, opened the drawer and took out the chain and pad lock she use last night and would use every night from now on to bind his wrists and ankles together. She also took out a large pump gag and brought it to the table. She placed her stiletto heel on his back, pushing him flat on his stomach. Then as before she took hold of the ankle cuffs and pulled his legs over his thighs and linked the wrist and ankle cuffs with the chain and locked it with the pad lock. Getting on her knees beside Timothy she held the gag in her right hand up to his mouth. With her left hand she gave his balls a very hard squeeze, forcing Timothy to cry out in pain. As soon as his mouth opened, she shoved the gag as far into his mouth as she could. The scream was immediately muffled and Timothy gagged momentarily as Alison pushed the gag deep into his mouth. Once in his mouth, Alison began squeezing the bulb that dangled from the gag. She squeezed as hard as she could. Timothy’s cheeks puffed out giving him the appearance of a squirrel with a mouth full of nuts. She buckled the two straps attached to the gag and tightened them behind Timothy’s head. She disappeared for a minute and returned with another pad lock and secured it to the buckle making sure the gag couldn’t be removed without a key. She was a firm believer in redundant security.
Alison took hold of the connecting chain and lifted Timothy off the carpet. He screamed at the top of his lungs, but now, with the gag planted deep in his mouth, his scream came out as a soft moan. “Much better.” Alison said as she looked down at the bundle of wriggling flesh she was carrying in both hands.
She walked into the bedroom and dropped Timothy in the middle of the bed facing the head of the bed. “I’m going to get into my nightgown and watch some TV, and while watching TV, you are going to give me multiple orgasms or you will be an extremely unhappy camper.” Timothy gave a soft moan of acknowledgement.
Alison disappeared into the bathroom. He couldn’t turn his head so he couldn’t see what she was doing, but he heard water running and the toilet flush a couple of times. When she returned, she plopped down on the bed with her legs on either side of his body. With the remote in her right hand, she turned on the TV and flipped through several channels and settled on what sounded to Timothy like a movie.
Timothy then saw her reach for a lipstick and a compact case with a small mirror. He could see her apply a layer after layer of lipstick. He felt his penis under him getting hard, and the expression on his face must have taken on a dreamy appearance. “You get off watching me apply my lipstick, don’t you?” She said with a sly smile.
She snapped the lipstick close, put it on the night stand and then with both hands, took Timothy’s face and dragged him to her so her face was almost touching his. She slowly but with great strength, pressed her lips repeatedly all over his face. With each press of her lips a dark red set of lip prints appeared. With the lip prints Alison had planted on Timothy’s from the day before and earlier that day, his face as a mask of dark red splotches, with hardly an inch of unblemished skin showing.
“I love doing this so much. It gets me so hot and horny.”
After planting some ten lip prints she said with a broad smile, her white teeth gleaming between her glistening red lips: “I’m now going to try to wash off the lip prints.”
Her smile grew wider and her sensuous tongue wriggled out from between her teeth. She took long slow licks with her tongue, beginning at his jaw and sliding her tongue up to his hairline in smooth languid motions. She moved her tongue methodically, beginning with his right ear and moving around to his left ear. When she reached his nose, however, she stopped and clamped her mouth and tongue over his nose for a full minute. With his mouth sealed by the gag, locking her mouth over his nose and her tongue covering his nostrils, she cut off his air supply. He began squirming and moaning as he became desperate. The more he struggled, the tighter she locked her mouth around his nose. Finally, when he thought he would pass out, she released her hold and continued to wash the rest of his face with her tongue.
When she reached the left ear, she smiled. “You look like an utter mess. Tomorrow, you will have to go to work with all these lip prints on your face. I will enjoy thinking about you trying to hide yourself and hoping against hope that no one will stare at you, make a rude comment or laugh at you. Anyway, it’s time for you to use your tongue on me.”
Alison deflated and unlocked the gag. “I’ll put this back in when you’re done. Now get down there and get to work.” As she said that, she shoved Timothy’s head toward her pussy. With both hands, she positioned his head so his mouth was pressed up against her clit.
As soon as he felt her clit rub against his lips, he reached out his tongue and began slowly and gently licking. He heard her moan softly. She kept her hands on his head and guided his head to where she wanted his tongue. It may have taken fifteen minutes—Timothy had no idea—before Alison began to gyrate her hips and press her clit hard against his mouth. She moved his head down closer to her vagina and then up again. She moaned “HARDER…FASTER…” and Timothy tried his best to press harder and move his tongue faster. She repeated her demands for harder and faster, screaming and yelling curses at him.
“Come on you piece of shit…you fucking turd, lick me harder…HARDER!!”
As Alison approached climax, she locked her legs around Timothy’s head and, together with her hands, she pressed Timothy’s face into her vulva so hard he couldn’t breathe, and his screams of pain were completely swallowed up in her pussy.
After perhaps a full minute in which she viciously ground Timothy’s face into her cunt, she released her grip on his head and he was able to breathe again. Lifting her legs and placing her feet squarely on Timothy’s face, Alison gave it a hard shove, pushing him down toward the foot of the bed. He cried out in pain as she pushed her feet against his face, but Alison’s feet, pressing on his mouth muffled the scream.
“That’s one. We have three more to go. You better be prepared to put out if you know what’s good for you.” Alison warned Timothy.
By the fourth orgasm, both Alison and Timothy were wasted, but Timothy was far more drained than Alison. She felt completely relaxed and at peace. Timothy, by contrast, felt weak and exhausted. He had no energy left. Every time Alison climaxed she crushed his mouth and nose against her cunt and it seemed to him that with each orgasm, she crushed him harder. With each succeeding climax, she needed more contact and friction between her clit and Timothy’s nose and tongue, leaving Timothy breathless and on the verge of unconsciousness. When she was ready for the next round, she pulled him back up to her and taking his face in her hands she gave him another tongue washing before pushing his face down to her vulva.
“It’s time to put you in your trunk.” Alison said.
Placing the gag up against Timothy’s mouth, she grabbed his nuts and dug her nails into them. For an instant the scream shattered the still of the bedroom, but lasted for only a second until the gag was shoved into his mouth. Alison pumped up the gag. Timothy tried to say something, but all that came out was a series of moans that sounded like “mooo mooo mooo mooo.”
Alison looked at Timothy amused. “Mooo mooo mooo mooo? She replied, mocking him. Then, intuiting what he must have been trying to say: “Would you deny me the joy of torturing your nuts?”
Lifting him off the bed, she lowered Timothy into the trunk and, as she would continue to do, triple locked it.
OFF TO WORK YOU GO
The next morning came, and as was her habit, Alison was up at 6 o’clock and flung Timothy’s trunk open and hauled him out and put him on the floor. She undid the chain binding his ankles to his wrists, but kept the cuffs on. She grabbed a handful of hair to pull him to his knees. Bending down to look him in the eye, she undid the gag. With a soft hiss, the gag deflated and Alison removed it from his mouth.
“Crawl to the bathroom.” She ordered.
She stood behind him to make sure he didn’t dawdle. There she helped him toilet, and then into the shower. There she stood him up and hooked his hand cuffs to a hook screwed into the wall, and turned on the water and stepped in with him. She washed him first and then she washed herself. He enjoyed being there with her as the warm water flowed over him. He enjoyed watching her with her full breasts and large nipples. Her pubic hairs were neatly trimmed but she maintained a full bush. She looked and him and smiled.
“You like what you see?” she asked. He simply nodded. “You see, there will be some pleasures when you perform well. Last night you did ok.”
She turned off the water and stepped out to dry herself off. Timothy couldn’t manage to jump over the sill with his shackled feet and stayed in the shower. Meanwhile Alison fixed herself for the day, applying lotions, mascara, eye shadow, and putting on her undergarments. She went to her closet to pick out her outfit for the day, a charcoal gray skirt and matching jacket, a pail blue blouse and dark blue vest.
Alison returned to the bathroom and lifted Timothy out of the shower. By this time, he was pretty dry. “Time for breakfast. Crawl….” she instructed. She again followed him and gave him several kicks just because she could and he couldn’t stop her. Timothy crawled as best he could to the kitchen.
In the kitchen, Alison dashed around, popping toast in the toaster and pouring coffee for herself and cooking an egg. She took the food and water bowls Timothy had used last night and rinsed them in the sink. Then taking a can of gourmet dog food from the refrigerator, she filled the one bowl with food, and the other with water, and then set them back down on the floor.
From that point on Alison attended to her own business, perusing the paper while she sipped her coffee and ate her breakfast. When she finished, she ordered Timothy back to the bedroom. There she took the cuff key from around her neck and unlocked the cuffs. While he was stretching and slowly getting to his feet, Alison disappeared back into her closet. When she emerged she was carrying a frilly mauve shirt and a pair of paints with a subtle paisley pattern.
“You’ll wear this on your first day on the job.” Alison instructed in a tone that brook no argument. Timothy gasped. His embarrassment was complete. Appearing in public in this clearly gay outfit and his face covered in lipstick was almost more than he could bear. He thought he would faint.
Alison noticed his face blanch at the site of the outfit. She smiled. “I will be thinking about you all day today, especially on the bus. At some point, I’m sure, I’ll have to go the ladies room to jerk off imagining your suffering from embarrassment. I’m getting wet right now.”
As they left the house, Timothy wanted desperately to beg Alison for a ride downtown, but he knew she would simply ignore him and that would hurt even more. So he just started walking as Alison sped by.
The bus ride downtown again was a nightmare. He got plenty of stares, and again some teenage girls giggled when they saw him. But most people looked at him for an instant and ignored him, either being to sleepy to really notice him or busy reading their newspapers. When he got to work, all the women in the office were tall, thin and all wearing stiletto heels—which only made them appear taller and more commanding. When he walked in, one woman turned to him and said, “Oh, you must be the new guy Amanda told us about.” She made no comment about the lip prints, and seemed to act as though that was perfectly normal. Looking very sheepish and wanting to hide, Timothy only nodded.
The woman who had spoken to him, showed him where he was to sit. It was an open cube with a desk and chair with plastic, corrugated, translucent partitions dividing his cube from the copier and the space for the coffee maker.
Shortly after he arrived, another tall thin woman stopped by.
“Oh my god. You are a sight…” she said, laughing out loud.
After regaining her composure but still smiling and staring in disbelief at Timothy, she said, “I’m Amanda. This is my company. Come with me…” she said amused.
Timothy followed her to a spacious wood-paneled office. She sat behind a highly polish wood desk in a large, comfortable executive chair. “I know why you are here. From what Alison told me, you will be here probably only a couple of weeks while she redoes her home to accommodate you. So, while you are here, you belong to every woman in the office. You will do whatever they want no matter how distasteful it is. Failure to obey an order from me or any my staff will be reported back to Alison, and in addition to the punishment I will hand out, Alison will also punish you. You can start right now. Get under my desk and start licking my shoes from toe to heel. Got it?”
Timothy nodded and got down on his knees and crawled under Amanda’s desk and started cleaning her shoes with his tongue. Of course, Amanda continually moved her feet, making the chore very difficult to keep up. Also, she frequently stabbed Timothy’s face with her stiletto heels. The heels cut his face and blood dripped from the cuts.
Around noon, Amanda got up and told Timothy he could return to his cubical. He crawled out and Amanda noticed the cuts on his face. “You may leave at 5.” She said as he looked back at her.
“May I get up?” He asked.
“Yes, leave!” She said coldly, ignoring him now.”.
Timothy ducked out to the bathroom to wash the blood off his face, and then ran across the street to the McDonalds. When he returned another tall, thin very, attractive woman was standing in his cubical with a cold expression on her face. “It’s about time.” She spat out. “Come with me. I need you.”
Following the woman, Timothy was hypnotized by her statuesque walk with swishing hips as though she were modeling a Saint Loren creation on a runway in Milan. He was so enchanted by this vision of female beauty, he almost ran into her when she stopped and stood outside her office indicating that he was to go in. The office was a lot smaller than Amanda’s and her desk was standard sized. “Get under there—pointing to the desk--and be quick about it...” she commanded.
Timothy did as he was ordered. When she sat down, she said, “Get on your knees and stay that way. You will be my foot stool.” Timothy could only see her slim, shapely legs and patent leather pumps. Her voice came from above him, from a lofty height that he could not see. He got on all fours and stayed that way. The woman wrested her left leg on his back and dug her right shoe into his side.
After a few minutes, he heard her voice from above again. “When I swivel to work on my computer, you are to move with my feet.” She shifted her position to work on her computer, and Timothy scrambled to stay under her shoes. She pushed both heels against his side. It hurt like hell and it took all his strength to keep himself upright. Timothy couldn’t tell how long he stayed that way, but eventually she got up and walked out of the office. But the respite from the pain was short lived. Looking out between the bottom of the desk and floor, he saw the woman’s shoes returning to the desk. Timothy figured she had gone to the printer and was back. Her shoes appeared facing toward the door, which meant she was sitting facing the door. Timothy scurried to get in position and nudged her shoes to signal that he was in position. This time she placed both legs on his back with her right leg crossed over her left.
Fortunately, she probably didn’t weigh more than 100lbs and Timothy could bear the weight of both legs without much difficulty. But as one would expect, she shifted her legs around, and she dug the heel of her right shoe in Timothy’s shoulder, and eventually, she dug her left shoe heel into his ribs. While he could easily bear the weight, the sharp pain she inflicted with her heels stabbing him in the ribs was something else. After a few minutes of the pain, he felt he was going to faint. He tried to lower himself so he was lying flat, but she noticed the change and jabbed him very hard in his side and heard her say, “What are you doing? Get back the way you were or I’ll stomp your face in.” Timothy quickly raised himself up to his previous position.”
Eventually, 5 o’clock came. The woman got up. Timothy watched her go to a closet and put on her coat. She turned off the light and walked out. Timothy slowly crawled out from under the desk. He took his time. He ached all over. He felt his ribs and they felt very sensitive. He finally made it to the bus stop. Again the bus was crowded, but after a few stops, he managed to snag a seat. He sat down next to a young, attractive woman. She looked closely at him for a few minutes, and then asked, “Do you like being covered with lipstick?”
“Yes and no. It’s very embarrassing but I also find it very arousing.” Timothy said in a barely audible voice.
“Yes, I can see that.” The woman replied. She opened her purse and to Timothy’s surprise, pulled out a lipstick and began applying several coats. She took Timothy’s face in her left hand and then pressed her mouth against his cheek. “There, that looks pretty good.” She had planted a set of lip prints on his cheek. It was easily distinguishable from Alison’s dark read lip prints. This woman’s lipstick was fire engine red. “You can tell your mistress that a woman on the bus added her lip prints to the collection on your face. Here is my name and number if she wants to get in touch.” She handed Timothy a business card. With that she rang the bell to get off. The name on the card read Suzan Kramer.
This time, when he arrived at the house, Alison was home. It wasn’t until Timothy was hog-tied and on Alison’s bed that she noticed the foreign lip print. She removed the gag and questioned Timothy him about the lip print. He recounted the story of sitting next to the woman on the bus and that she gave him her card and said Alison could call her. Alison found the card and put it in her wallet.
That night, Timothy didn’t perform so well. He was only able to bring Alison to climax twice. He ached all over and he just couldn’t muster the strength for more than two orgasms. Needless to say, Alison was not happy. “I’ll have to punish you for failing to satisfy me and for failing to follow my orders. I’m going to cane your feet. You’ll have a hard time walking to the bus tomorrow.” Alison said, now smiling as she pictured Timothy struggling to walk.
Alison disappeared for a few minutes. She had gone down to the dungeon to fetch a selection of canes. When she returned she was carrying a handful of bamboo canes. She had them soaking so they were very flexible. She put the bundle of canes on the bed, and in her tried and true fashion, she inserted the gag in Timothy’s mouth and pumped it up. Then she put him on the floor. His feet faced up toward the ceiling—the perfect position for caning.
Alison picked two canes and swished them through the air seeing which one she preferred.
“Ok, there are two punishments here. One is failing to satisfy your mistress by providing her the required four orgasms. For that you get 25 strokes. The second punishment is for failing to carry out my order to provide me with my four orgasms. That’s another 25 strokes. So, 50 strokes in total. Here we go.”
She swished the cane several times before she landed the first stroke. Timothy’s body tensed. As Alison administered the strokes, Timothy twitched and jerked as each blow landed. Around stroke 10, Timothy began moaning into the gag as each stroke landed. As Alison completed every 10 strokes, she switched side so the blows landed more or less evenly on each foot. By the time the last blow landed, blood oozed from cuts on Timothy’s soles and tears were streaming down his face.
Alison was perspiring and breathing heavily. She had not spared the rod. She used all her strength and both arms were soar. She barely had the strength to lift him in the trunk; but after resting a few minutes, she cleaned Timothy’s wounds with alcohol. Timothy moaned loudly into the gag as she applied the alcohol and more tears flowed down his cheeks. “You deserved that.” She admonished. Having recovered somewhat, she was able to hoist Timothy into the trunk.
Once Timothy was in the trunk, Alison slammed the lid shut and locked it. Now she needed those two orgasm Timothy failed to provide more than ever. She muttered “God damn men are good for nothing…” as she reached for her vibrator in her nightstand.
The next morning, Alison pulled Timothy out of the trunk and unlocked the chain connecting his wrists and ankles and unlocked his wrist and ankle cuffs. “It’s probably going to take you a while to walk to the bus after last night’s caning. So you’ll skip breakfast and leave early so you can get to work on time. Now go shower.”
As soon as he could get himself to his feet he did as he was instructed. Alison brought out another frilly shirt and paisley pants that were similar to the pair he wore yesterday. As soon as he was dressed, Alison ushered him out the door.
She was right. His feet were swollen and walking was very painful. It took him twice as long to walk the mile to the bus stop than it did yesterday. About halfway to the bus stop, he saw Alison speed by.
When he hobbled into work, Amanda was waiting by his chair. “Come with me.” She commanded. Noticing how slow he was walking, she asked “What’s the matter with you?”
“Alison caned me last night because I couldn’t satisfy her.”
“Hmmm…” is all Amanda said. “Well you know the drill. Get under there…” as she pointed under her desk.
Timothy crawled under and immediately began cleaning the soles of Amanda’s pumps with his tongue while Amanda, working at her desk, moved her feet around. Again she occasionally stabbed Timothy in the face with her stiletto heels, puncturing his skin.
When Timothy was released from under Amanda’s desk and returned to his cubical, two women were standing in his space. One woman was the tall beauty that used Timothy the previous afternoon. She stood there with hands on hips and a sour expression on her face. The other woman was someone Timothy hadn’t seen before. As soon as he rounded the corner, the new woman turned on him and jabbed a finger in his face.
“In my office, pronto.” She barked. Timothy noticed she was wearing heavy soled knee-high boots that laced up the front. Before he could follow, the other woman who he served the previous day told him to be in her office in one hour.
“And she didn’t want to have to go looking for him or he would be sorry.” She said said threatening.
At her desk, the new woman kicked him several times very hard with her heavy boots and scraped the rough soles across his face leaving imprints of the tread on his face.
An hour passed, but the woman did not release Timothy when it was time for him to go to the next woman. And one minute after the appointed time, the other woman stormed into the first woman’s office demanding Timothy come to her office immediately.
Calmly. the other woman rolled her chair back from the desk allowing the second woman to pull Timothy out from under the desk. She strode around the desk, and grabbing Timothy by his hair, roughly pulled him out, banging his head against a desk leg. Dazed and tears flowing down his cheek from the pain, Timothy stumbled to his feet. The woman either didn’t notice or ignored his suffering.
She pulled him up to his feet and looked him in the eye. While still holding him by his hair, without warning, she spat in his face. Then, again, without warning she began slapping his face. Each slap left an imprint of her palm on his face. Also, when she gave him a backhanded slap, the three rings on her finger cut his skin, leaving gashes across his cheek. Thin trickles of blood flowed down from the cuts.
“I warned you you’d be sorry if I had to come looking for you.” She said icily.
She then grabbed his left ear and walked out of the first woman’s office, dragging Timothy.
The woman used Timothy much the same way she did the previous afternoon. She stabbed him repeatedly in the ribs with her stiletto heels, and as she swiveled between her desk and computer, Timothy had to scurry to be in position under her shoes.
At what must have been the lunch hour, the woman got up from the desk and Timothy could see her leaving the office. He remained under the desk a few minutes, not sure whether she would be back in a minute. But after a few minutes, he crawled out and walked back to his cubical. He was starving, having had to miss breakfast. But now he hurt so badly, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to run to the McDonalds for lunch. Glancing at the office clock, he saw he had only about 15 minutes left for lunch. He doubted he could get there and back in time. So, he slumped in his chair and closed his eyes.
It seemed as though no time passed when he felt someone shaking his chair. He opened his eyes and looked up into two women’s stern faces he hadn’t seen before looking down at him.
“Come with me.” Said one of the women. The other woman said. “Be in my office at 3. Understood?”
Timothy struggled to get out of his chair and then followed the first woman to her office. He crawled under her desk. Her voice materialized above him. “Clean my shoes.” She ordered. The soles of her shoes were full of grit, and after each lick, he had to clean his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he heard her voice again and felt a sharp pain deep in his ribs as a stiletto heel stabbed him. “What’s taking so long, you falling asleep under there? Speed it up.”
As happened earlier, the woman whose shoes he was cleaning failed to send him on to the next woman. The second woman stomped into the first woman’s office fuming. “Where is the little shit?” She demanded. The first woman pointed under the desk.
“Get out here.” She bellowed down at the desk.
The first woman reached under the desk and grabbed Timothy by his hair and dragged him out and to his feet and pushed him toward the second woman. She slapped him several times hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. But at least she didn’t have rings on her fingers. She grabbed him by his left ear and dragged him off to her office.
After he took his position under her desk, the woman kicked him with her pointed pumps, stabbed him in the ribs with stiletto heels and rubbed her shoes on his face.
When quitting time arrived, Timothy had so many bruises on his face they formed a mask of purple splotches all over his face. Together, the dark red lip prints Alison had planted blended with the purplish hue of the bruises to give his face a frighteningly ghoulish appearance.
On his way out, Amanda spotted him and grabbed his face under his chin and scrutinized the bruises.
“Hmmm.” Was her only comment, and released her hold.
On the bus, people stared at him, but more out of curiosity and perhaps concern. As far as Timothy was concerned, he was beyond being embarrassed. He was in so much pain, he didn’t care what people thought. The woman he met on the bus yesterday and who planted lip prints on him came up to him and looked him over.
“What happened to you?” She asked.
“The women at work worked me over.”
“Where do you work?”
Timothy told her.
“Oh yeah, the women there have a reputation of working over their office boys. They like to play a game of having one woman take you and keep you past the time you are supposed to go to the next woman. The next woman, then, comes looking for you and beats you up for failing to show up on time.”
“Yeah, and I’m too beat up to serve my mistress, and she beats me up too.” Timothy said looking at her.
She shrugged and looked away. “I have no sympathy. It was your choice. Now, you have to suck it up. By the way she called me. I know of her. She’s a middle of the road mistress. She won’t molly coddles you, but neither will she kill you. Here’s where I get off…. Bye”
It took Timothy even longer to walk home from the bus than it did in the morning? The pain was so intense, he had to stop and rest several times. When he finally reached the house, he practically collapsed on the doorstep. Alison pulled him into the living room and let him fall on the floor. She left him there. She called Amanda to complain about the treatment her women were giving Timothy and how it was ruining her sex life. They agreed Timothy would stay home until he recovered, and Amanda would ask her people to be less brutal.
Alison brought Timothy’s dog food and water bowl into the living room and after laying a plastic sheet on the carpet, she placed them in front of him. Timothy was famished and devoured the food. It tasted almost palatable.
When he finished, Alison ordered him to undress. She knelt down and carefully examined his injuries. She ran her fingers over his ribs and didn’t find any broken. She locked him in his ankle and wrist cuffs and ordered him to crawl to the bathroom and then to the bedroom. There, she gagged him in her usual manner and chained his wrists and ankles together. Even though it was still early, Alison lifted Timothy into the trunk screaming furiously into his gag and locked the trunk.
The next morning, she pulled him out and unlocked the chain and ordered him to the kitchen. He crawled to the kitchen where Alison put out the usual dog and water food bowls. She removed the gag and Timothy ate. When he finished, Timothy crawled back to the bathroom where Alison brushed his teeth. “At some point, I’m going to kick your teeth out so we don’t have to worry about them.” Alison commented half to herself and half to Timothy.
Back in the bedroom, Alison reinserted the gag. “You’re going to spend the day in the trunk. There will be workers installing the new fob readers and I don’t want you in the way. Rebecca, my lover, will be in around noon to let you go to the bathroom. I told her you are recovering, so she won’t torture you. Oh, she agreed to move in next Monday. She’s a real ball buster. So, you have something to look forward to.” Alison chuckled.
The next time the trunk lid opened, a young thin face wearing bright red glossy lipstick, crowned with long auburn tresses, and blue sparkling eyes peered down at him. She had a broad smile with perfect teeth showing through her red lips.
“Hi, I’m Rebecca. Alison warned me that I couldn’t play with you because you are recovering from injuries you suffered at work. That’s really too bad. I love playing and giving male things lots of pain, especially in their nuts.”
She pulled Timothy out and unchained his wrists and ankles.
“Hurry up and use the bathroom.” She ordered.
Timothy heard the sound of electric saws and hammers coming from somewhere in the house. He saw that the bedroom door was closed. He crawled to the bathroom and with Rebecca boosting him up on the commode, used the toilet. Rebecca had brought in his water bowl from the kitchen and placed it on the floor next to him. She removed the gag, and Timothy drank it all.
“Good thing.” Rebecca said and patted him on the head. “Now, back in the trunk.”
Rebecca used a slightly different technique for inserting the gag into Timothy’s mouth than Alison used. Rather than getting Timothy to open his mouth by driving her fingernails deep into his balls, Rebecca simply stepped on his balls with the sole of her shoe. When he screamed, she shoved in the gag. Timothy crawled back to the trunk and Rebecca lifted him in. “See you soon, sweetie.” She said as she closed and locked the lid.
When Alison arrived home, she pulled Timothy out of the trunk and released the chain between his wrists and ankles. “Go get your dinner.” She instructed.
As he crawled through the house, he noticed key fob readers next to all the doors. Alison noticed him observing the changes and explained that the new electronic locks were all installed and would be activated early the following week. She went on to explain that most rooms in the house had both entry and exit readers, but some had only an entry or exit reader. For example, the kitchen had an entry lock but not an exit lock. Her bathroom didn’t have an entry lock but had an exit reader. So, Timothy could go into the bathroom, but once in there, he couldn’t get out. Her closet had an entry lock but not an exit lock. And, unlike the perimeter doors that required both a code and a fob to enter and leave, for the internal locks, you could use either a fob or a code in case you didn’t have your fob with you, for example in the bathroom.
Timothy also, noticed that all the doors had been replaced with heavier and thicker doors, and the door handles served only to pull or push the doors opened and closed.
“Rebecca and I will make sure you don’t go where you don’t belong and you stay where we put you.” Alison said as she smiled at Timothy’s dismay. “Admittedly, it’s overkill, since you will always be shackled. But I firmly believe that you can’t have too many locks.”
While Timothy ate his dog food in the kitchen, he heard Rebecca voice coming from the dining room. She apparently had come for dinner. The two women came into the kitchen and Alison described Timothy’s eating routine to Rebecca. They stood behind him. He could sense her watching his every move, but he dares not turn around. He heard Rebecca’s distinct laugh. “He looks just like a dog eating with his ass shifting from side to side. All he needs is a tail.” He heard Rebecca say as she laughed. She bent down and brought her face inches from his.
“Is the liddle doggy enjoying his dindin?” Rebecca asked in baby talk, as though speaking to a pet.
As she turned to leave, Rebecca reached her leg out and flexing her ankle, kicked Timothy with her stiletto heel in his ass crack. Timothy lurched forward landing squarely in the middle of his food bowl smearing food all over his face.
“Woops, I guess I ruined that meal.” Rebecca giggled.
Timothy crawled back to the bedroom and laid waiting on the carpet. Soon Alison and Rebecca came in. Alison immediately chained Timothy’s wrists and ankles together but left him on the carpet. Then Alison plopped down on the bed next to Rebecca and both began whispering, kissing and giggling. They slowly undressed each other and they’re kissing and caresses grew more boisterous and passionate. They took turns bringing each other to loud, furious climaxes.
After recovering, Alison suggested that they bring Timothy on to the bed and use him for their next round of orgasms. “He does a pretty good job.” Alison said. “I think he should be sufficiently recovered to give us a good time.”
Rebecca agreed and they both lifted Timothy on the bed in such a way so as not to cause him to scream.
Alison offered to let Rebecca go first.
Following Alison’s suggestion, she gave Timothy’s face a very thorough tongue washing and them pushed his face down to her cunt to have him do his thing. As she approached her climax she wrapped her long, shapely legs around his head locking his mouth and nose up against her clit so hard, he could hardly breathe. She must have kept him in that position for five minutes, and clasping his head between her hands added more pressure and pushed his face deeper into her.
When she finally released him, his face was beet red. He gasped desperately for air. Rebecca placed both her lovely feet on Timothy’s face and pushed him toward Alison.
“Thanks girlfriend, I don’t know if he has enough energy to do me now.” Alison said teasing Rebecca.
“If he can’t, we can always take him down to the dungeon and have some fun with him down there.” Rebecca replied, smiling as she imagined locking Timothy in the stocks in the dungeon and practicing penalty kicks with his balls.
After the two women had their fun using Timothy’s tongue and nearly suffocating him and licking his face to arouse him without allowing release, they went back to embracing each other making love.
Alison said she wanted to put Timothy in the trunk and would Rebecca help. They first needed gagged Timothy. Because Timothy was on the bed, Rebecca’s approach of squashing his balls with her foot wouldn’t work because the mattress was too soft. They used Alison’s technique, but with a twist. They double teemed putting the gag in Timothy’s mouth. While Alison drove her fingernails into Timothy’s balls, forcing him to scream, Rebecca had the pleasure of shoving the gag into his mouth and inflating it. Alison, then, lifted Timothy off the bed and unceremoniously lowered him into the trunk and locked the lid for the night.
By Monday, Alison figured Timothy was recovered enough to go back to Amanda and her team. The bruises from the kicks the women had given had pretty much healed, having turned from black and blue to splotchy yellow. His face still boar the pock marks from the many stiletto heel stabs, and scars from the one woman who had slapped him with rings. But to the women who had cut up Timothy’s face, they were marks of conquest and superiority. These few marks represented a negligible number compared to the number of marks and scars he would receive over the coming years.
At work, Amanda greeted him in her usual way. She had him under her desk for two hours in which she had him lick clean her shoes while treating him as she did before: stabbing his face with her stiletto heels. The day went pretty much the same except that the women reframed from kicking him in the ribs. The women still engaged in the tag-team game of getting Timothy into trouble with the next woman in line for his foot service. This time, however, they did not engage in protracted slapping.
Before he left for the day, Amanda informed him that Friday would be his last day. On the bus home, he met Susan. She remarked on his looking better. He told her that Friday would be his last day. She told him that she would be seeing him from time-to-time. Alison invited her to demonstrate different marking techniques.
“Like branding?” Timothy asked.
“That’s one common technique.” Susan replied. “But you’ll see. Bye”
On Friday, when he showed up at work, all the women in the office were standing around his cubical waiting for him.
“Come with us.” Amanda ordered. Two women grabbed Timothy under his armpits and frog marched him into the supply room. All the women crowded in around Timothy with Amanda standing within a foot of him. He was backed up with his legs pressing against a secretary’s chair. He looked around and saw that one of the women was holding a coil of rope.
“Strip.” Amanda coldly commanded. “All the way.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman with the rope move around to stand behind the chair. When Timothy was completely naked, Amanda placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed him down on the chair and immediately, the woman behind him with the rope began looping the rope around him and the chair. His torso was wrapped in several coils of rope. His body and arms were tightly bound. The woman used another coil of rope to tie his legs and feet to the vertical shaft holding up the chair and to the spokes of the chair base. Amanda told Timothy to press his lips together and pressed her lips together to illustrate. Quickly, Amanda pressed a four-inch strip of duct tape over his mouth and with her perfectly manicured fire engine red painted nails, smoothed the tape firmly, making sure it was sealed tightly.
Bending forward to look him in the eye, Amanda said, “You’ll stay here for the day. The girls will come in when they have the time to give you their going way gifts. I see Alison removed her lip prints. The women will have a clean face to plant their own lip prints. I’ll come in at the end of the day to give you my gift and let you go.”
Turning to the women. “You are welcome to come in any time and enjoy the thing any way you like. Just don’t send him to the ER. But I’m sure you will use him responsibly.” Amanda smiled as she said that and the women laughed knowingly.
All the women left except for the woman who had kicked and scratched Timothy with her rings.
She locked the door. Then, she bent down and looked Timothy in the eye. She saw his fear. She smiled. “You couldn’t take the beating and still put out for your mistress could you. You must be some kind of wimp, a baby, a bed wetter. Well, I’m going to reduce you to a quivering mass of jelly by the time I leave this room.”
Still looking him straight in the eye, she took out a cherry red lipstick and applied several coats of lipstick. She clasped his face in her hands, pressing her finger nails deep into his cheeks, cutting the skin and dragging her nails across his face leaving long scratch marks down his cheeks. She, then pinched his nose, cutting off his air. Then, pressing her lips very hard against his face, she planted lip prints over his cheeks, forehead, chin and neck.
“Now, you don’t like me do you? You cried the last time I slapped you and cut you with my rings. Well, too bad. You have no choice but to sit here and take it. I love seeing men cry when I hurt them.”
With that she started viciously slapping him with her open hand and back-hand slapping him with her rings slashing deep cuts in his cheek. Blood spurted from the cuts. The woman continued to grin as she continued slapping.
Finally, she stopped. She was breathing heavily and her face was flushed. She applied more lipstick and saw that it was having its desired effect. Timothy’s dick got hard. Taking a rubber band from her shirt pocket, she wrapped it around his cock several times to make sure he couldn’t come. Then, pulling up her skirt, she straddled Timothy and wrapped her legs around him, she slipped her wet pussy over his dick. To add spice to her enjoyment, she sunk her teeth into Timothy’s neck and clamped down. Timothy was in serious pain and moaned loudly as the woman moved her clit up and down against Timothy’s hard dick.
It took her only about five minutes for her to climax.
Almost immediately she slid off. She looked at the deep purple hicky on his neck and nodded. Then she slapped him several more times, leaving deep purple bruises on his cheeks.
She stood up, straightened her clothes, took out her compact and checked her hair and appearance. Before she left, however, she kicked Timothy in his shins with the hard toe of her pump leaving bruises and stomped down on his feet with her stilettos. Timothy screamed but it only came out as a muffled moan.
“I have to go back to work. So, you lucked out that we can’t spend more time together. I’ve enjoyed working with you. May be we’ll meet again.” The woman said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She turned on her heel and left.
A little while later, another woman came in and locked the door.
“Oh wow!” She exclaimed seeing Timothy’s bruised and cut face. “Christine really did a job on you. She really hates men.”
Timothy nodded his head and moaned agreement.
“I’ll treat you better.” The young woman said.
With that she walked over and sat down on Timothy’s lap. She pulled out beet-red lipstick and applied several coats. Clasping his head firmly in her hands she locked her mouth over his nose and began sucking the air out of his lungs. She did that for about a minute and released his nose. She moved with her lips over his face leaving lip prints all over his face. When she finished covering his face with lip prints, she washed his face with her tongue, going over his face over and over again. She loved gliding her tongue over his face, knowing it grossed out Timothy but also turned him on. Finally, with her pussy getting wet, she decided to carefully tip Timothy and the chair over so his head rested on the floor. She ripped the tape off his mouth. Hiking her skirt up, she knelt down and placed her pussy on his mouth.
“Eat me…” she ordered.
Timothy licked her clit. She rocked back and forth and then gyrated her hips as her passion rose. The woman was especially noisy in her climax and vaginal juices gushed from her pussy.
She relaxed and picked herself off Timothy’s face and lifted the chair back up. She wet a paper towel and cleaned Timothy’s face. “No one wants sloppy seconds.” She remarked. She cut off another strip of tape and plastered it over Timothy’s mouth. She, then pressed her lips against the tape, leaving a lip print on the tape so it looked like his lips.
For the rest of the day each woman spend time with Timothy using him in variations of planting lip prints, giving him a tongue washing, slapping his face and using either his cock or mouth to get off. But none of the women treated him as brutally as Christine.
Amanda was the last to come in. In addition to planting lip prints and washing his face, she played with his nipples: biting them and pinching them. She was very brutal and made Timothy cry.
When she had satiated herself, she untied him. Then, coldly she said, “Get out of here. You no longer work here and you are trespassing. If you are not out of here in ten minutes, I’ll call the police.”
On the bus ride home, he again met Susan. “You look like you’ve been through the ringer. Was this your last day?”
“Yes.” Timothy replied mutely.
“Figures. I’ll be coming over to Alison and Rebecca in a couple of weeks to do the marking demo. You have plenty of marks on you now. You look like one of my demo subjects. When I come over, we’ll do a few more. Bye.”
When he got home, Alison looked him over appraisingly. “I don’t think you will be good for more than a couple of fucks tonight. I’m glad you won’t be going to Amanda’s anymore. Her women really beat the crap out of you and they deprive me of my sex toy.
Actually, Timothy was able to give Alison three orgasms before punking out.
The following day, the contractor activated the internal locks.
“Tomorrow, I’m having an exercise bike delivered. You will start your exercise regime, and Rebecca is moving in tonight. So she will oversee the exercise program. I want to keep you strong and build up your endurance. You will have to satisfy both Rebecca and me now.”
KEEP ON PEDDLING
The next day, when the exercise bike was delivered, it was placed in Alison’s exercise room. Little did the men who delivered the bike know that next door was a fully equipped dungeon.
They all went down to the exercise room. To get Timothy up and down the stairs, he was strapped into a chair that moved up and down the stairs on a track.
In the exercise room, Alison, explained: “The bike is a basic exercise bike. But it’s equipped with attachment points to lock you on the bike.” Then she turned to a metal box that was plugged into an outlet and had electrical leads running from the front. The front panel also had switches and knobs and red and green lights.
“Now, this box is a powerful signal generator that will generate 35,000 to 100,000-volt charges. Your balls and the bike seat will be wired up to the box. At 35,000 volts, it won’t stun you, but you will feel serious pain. At 100,000 volts, you’ll lose control for a minute or two. If your peddling drops below a certain rate, which I will set, you will be lit up every 15 seconds at 35,000 volts until you pick up the pace. If the voltage is set above 50,000, you get shocked once in three minute intervals, to give you time to recover.” Alison took two wired clips and attached them on Timothy’s ass and then flipped a switch. There was a short crackling sound of static and a blue spark flashed from the contacts. Timothy lurched violently forward, and screamed at the top of his lungs. She kept the clips attached.
“I’m setting the voltage at 35,000, but who knows what Rebecca will set it at. She really enjoys seeing men jump, and probably will want to see how high she can make you jump.”
Again, there was the static sound and a spark. Timothy was still spread out on the floor when the second charge hit. His body twitched and another scream came from his mouth.
“I love it…” Alison laughed. “It’s magic how the spark at the ass-end causes screams from his mouth-end.” Alison flipped the switch off.
“Let’s get him on the bike.” Alison said.
Rebecca unlock Timothy’s ankle cuffs and the two women hoisted him on to the bike. They locked his ankles to the pedals. Then, they unlock the wrist cuffs and locked them to the handlebars. Alison connected the signal generator to the seat and attached the clips to his nuts.
“One more thing. This will keep you hydrated.” Alison said. She picked up a plastic water bottle with a thin tube extending out the bottom. The tube ran through a rubber sheath a thick Velcro strap hung from the bottle. Alison slid the tube between Timothy’s lips and pushed it against his teeth, into his mouth. She slid the rubber sheath between his lips and teeth and fully covered his mouth and effectively muffled all sounds Timothy tried to make. She wrapped the Velcro strap around his head and tightened it. “The tube will let water drip into your mouth or you can suck on it to get more water.” Alison explained.
Alison adjusted the resistance setting. “I’m going to set the resistance to “2.” That shouldn’t be too hard, and we’ll start you this week with three hours and work you up to five hours by the end of the week. Now, to make sure you don’t slack off or get lazy, if your pace drops below 10 revolutions per minute, you’ll be zapped: and you know what that feels like. Now get pedaling!”
Timothy began pedaling and as he peddled, the handle bars also moved, exercising his arms at the same time. Alison flipped the switch.
Both women stood next to Timothy for a minute, watching him, and then smiling, turned and walk out. Timothy heard the door shut behind them and locked.
After three hours, Timothy heard the door unlock and Rebecca walked in. She told Timothy he could stop, but she hadn’t turn off the signal generator. Forgetting about the signal generator, when he stopped peddling, following Rebecca’s instruction, the predictable happened. Thirty-five thousand volts hit Timothy’s nuts and his ass. His ass lifted an inch off the bicycle and he shrieked in shock and pain.
“Woops.” Rebecca said laughing loudly. “I guess I forgot to turn off the shocker…” she said in mock innocence. Rebecca will make this a practice every time because she enjoys seeing Timothy leap up in pain. But in the future she will force Timothy to stop by turning the resistance control to the max. When she does that, Timothy won’t be able to peddle: and then ZAP.
As she promised, within a few weeks of Timothy becoming Alison’s thing, Susan Kramer came over to demonstrate her marking techniques for Alison and Rebecca. Rebecca and Timothy were gathered in the dungeon when Alison led Susan and her slave-- pushing a small hand truck with all her marking instruments--into the room.
She was dressed in a scarlet blouse, blue jeans and black knee-high leather black boots. Her slave was dressed in a full-length smock. His face was a piece of artistry, displaying a multitude of tattoos, piercings and various brandings made with a variety of cuttings and burning tools. Susan yanked the smock off the slave to unveil an even wilder medley of cuttings, tattoos, brands, and permanent ink patterns.
“He is my opus magnum.” Susan said proudly.
Alison and Rebecca went over to the opus to admire Susan’s handiwork. They peered closely at the various cuttings, tattoos and markings, commenting favorably on this or that piece of artistry. They asked some questions, like how long did it take to do this or that piece of work, and did it cause a lot screaming? They then sat down on a plush richly upholstered leather couch while Susan sitting on a matching arm chair opposite them. Timothy, with his mouth gagged, lay on the iron studded bed in the center of the room.
After some more chit chat, enquiring if she knew or did work for so-and-so, and a couple of glasses of Chardonnay, they discussed the plan for the evening.
The first thing Susan wanted was to shackle her slave somewhere so he wouldn’t get in the way. Alison offered her the use of any device in the room. Susan looked around and when her eye fell on the studded chair with six-inch studs, her face broke into a smile.
“The chair will be perfect.” She said.
With Alison’s help, Susan’s slave was strapped firmly into the chair. Susan took an inflatable gag from her tool box, and while pinching a nipple between her finely manicured finger nails, she shoved the gag into his mouth when he opened it to scream. With the gag locked in place and fully inflated, the slave was reduced to mere grunts and groans. Within a few minutes in the chair, he began squirming and moaning. The women simply ignored him.
“I assume you want me to demonstrate on Timothy?” Susan asked.
Both women nodded agreement.
Opening her tool chest, Susan took out her tools and markers and laid them on a nearby table. Then, she walked over to the platform, and strolled casually around Timothy, examining his body. As she moved around Timothy, she trailed a hand over his skin feeling the different textures. When she passed by his face, she said hello and asked him how he was doing. He moaned something incoherent, but Susan assumed he said he was OK.
When she finished her examination, Susan announced her plan. They nodded approval. Beginning with the least “invasive” technique, Susan proceeded to demonstrate the various techniques. She began with the indelible inks. She explained that they were similar to the lipsticks the women and Susan enjoyed wearing. The difference, however, was the inks penetrated all layers of the skin and formed a permanent chemical bond with the skin that could only be broken using a powerful solvent such as lie. Naturally if you used lye to remove the marking, it would not only remove the mark, but the skin as well. In other words, there was no way to remove only the mark with Susan’s inking pens without damaging the skin. Susan had seen a few cases where the Domme tried to remove an ink marking and had burned the skin down to the underlying tissue with strong chemicals. They had to have skin grafts, which looked really ugly.
The inks burned itself into to the top layers of skin. It was a kind of chemical branding, and caused some pain, but was not severe.
Taking a red marker, she unscrewed the cap and carefully drew a pair of lips around Timothy’s right nipple.
A soft moan escaped from Timothy.
“You see, that wasn’t too painful.” Susan explained to Alison and Rebecca.
Alison and Rebecca came over to closely examine the marking. Using a finger nail, Alison scratched the mark to see how deep the ink penetrated the skin. As Alison scraped the spot, Timothy let out a moan of pain.
“I love it, it’s cute.” Alison said.
All three women smiled and giggled.
From there, Susan moved on to tattoos. She got her needles and inks. She asked the women if they wanted a tattoo on a particular part of Timothy’s body, such as his cock or nipple? Alison suggested putting eyelashes around one of his nipples and coloring the areola to resemble an eye.
“Great idea.” Susan responded enthusiastically.
Susan knelt down on Timothy’s chest and leaned over his left nipple and began inserting a needle into the skin around his nipple. As soon as Susan climbed on top of Timothy, the combined weight of Susan and his own pressing down on the studs was excruciatingly painful. He screamed through the gag and tried to buck Susan off.
Alison jumped up and went to the wall where a variety of straps, whips canes, and shackles hung. Selecting a foot-wide leather strap, she laid it over Timothy’s chest and pulling it as tight as possible, she secured it to the underside of the platform.
She gave the strap a tug to see if there was any give. Satisfied, she turned to Susan:
“That should keep him from bucking.” Alison said.
Susan climbed back on Timothy and sat on her haunches and placed her elbows on either side of his breast bone. He howled in pain and Susan could feel Timothy’s stomach muscles tense in an effort to throw her off, but the strap did its job. Susan turned to her task. She proceeded slowly and methodically. She took her time and was very meticulous in drawing each eye lash. When she finished drawing upper and lower sets of lashes, she began drawing the eye lids, filling in the sclera, the iris, and the pupil.
Timothy moaned throughout the whole procedure, but when Susan began tattooing the areola, his moans reached a crescendo. But, as Susan told Timothy on the bus, she had no sympathy. But…faking sympathy, Susan spoke soothingly in baby talk.
“Poor baby. How you are suffering. You’re such a brave little thing.”
In spite of Timothy’s futile protests, Susan just kept on poking at his nipple until the job was done.
It took Susan more than an hour to finish her creation; and rather than evoke sympathy in Rebecca and Alison, Timothy’s moans provoked them to hurl abuse and insults at him, telling him to “man up…” and “this is nothing: wait till she starts cutting.”
When finished, Susan had tattooed a perfect representation of an eye, complete with eyelashes, a blue iris, black pupil and an angry red sclera. Alison and Rebecca got up from the couch and came over to see. They were very pleased.
“That’s really a work of art.” Alison exclaimed
Rebecca agreed. “It’s really amazing. It makes me want to get some ink. I must make a date with you. May be you can do a dragon on my back.” Rebecca gushed excitedly.
The women took a break and shared another glass of wine.
Before Susan demonstrated the etching technique, she removed a portable butane stove from her tool chest and lit it. She showed the women several branding iron designs she had created. They agreed on a figure of a devil with a pitch fork and pointed tail. Susan screwed the figure on to a steel rod and place the figure over the stove.
Susan next retrieved an etching tool from the tool chest. She asked where and what the women wanted her to etch. Rebecca suggest cutting: “BED WETTER” across his chest. Alison nodded agreement.
“Yes, that would be very appropriate.” She chuckled. “He really is a little sissy. I have to gag him before putting in his trunk because he screams like a sissy when I pick him up by his wrists and ankles.”
Susan explained that you never want to carve anything more than three eighths of an inch deep. Carving deeper than that risks cutting blood vessels. She uses an etching tool that won’t cut deeper than that, but many people just use a knife and run into problems with cutting vessels and tendons.
Rather than sitting on Timothy’s chest this time, Susan knelt on his stomach. Timothy moaned with pain of the weight pressing him down on the studded platform.
Susan first washed the area with rubbing alcohol. She knew it would sting like hell when she started cutting, but that wasn’t her problem. She then bent to her task.
Again, in her meticulous, deliberate manner, Susan took her time drawing two-inch high letters into Timothy’s chest. Each letter was carefully etched in a gothic block print that took several minutes to cut. Blood oozed from cuts which Susan washed away with the rubbing alcohol. That made Timothy howl.
When she finished, Alison and Rebecca again gathered round to examine the work. They were delighted with the results and high fived one another.
Susan next asked where they’d like her to place the brand. Rebecca and Alison discussed it and ask about placing it on a testicle or the tip of Timothy’s penis. Susan explained that a testicle was too soft and the image wouldn’t transfer well. They opted to place it on the tip of Timothy’s penis. She asked if one of the women would straddle Timothy’s stomach and hold his penis while she placed the brand.
“It would be even better if one of you could get it hard.” Susan suggested.
Alison offered and climbed on Timothy’s legs facing his head while Susan sat on Timothy’s stomach facing the opposite direction.
Alison spat on her hands to lubricate them, placed his dick between them and began stroking. Within a minute, his penis was rock hard.
“Perfect.” Susan said. She removed the branding iron from the flame. It now glowed a lovely sunset orange. “Hold it steady.” Susan instructed.
The brand measured two inches by two inches and Susan pressed the brand against the glans. Timothy struggled and tried bucking both women off. Susan held the iron for only a couple of seconds. There was a hissing sound like hot metal being dipped in water, and there was an odor of burning flesh.
Susan handed the iron to Rebecca and asked Rebecca if she would run the iron under water.
Susan and Alison continued to sit on Timothy for another few minutes until Timothy calmed down and his breathing slowed. Of course Susan’s and Alison’s weight pressing Timothy down on the studs were torture in themselves and Timothy couldn’t stop from screaming into the gag as loudly as he could.
After a few minutes, Susan applied first antibiotic cream to the burn.
“He’ll be ok now. Just treat it as a bad burn. Cover it loosely with loose gauze and make sure it stays clean. Supervise his urination to make sure he doesn’t get any urine on the spot and keep it dry. In a few days it should be pretty much heeled and you won’t have to keep it covered after that.” Susan directed.
Rebecca replaced Timothy’s gag with his water bottle.
Then Rebecca left and returned carrying a tray with three Champaign flutes filled with Champaign. They all took another tour around Timothy, admiring Susan’s work and making jokes about his being a bed wetter and a cry baby. Susan regaled the women with stories of some of her most interesting cases and some of the zany marking some of her Domme clients asked her to create.
Susan also told them she was into piercings. She offered to give Timothy a PA if they wanted it and described how they could prevent Timothy from obtaining hardons by chaining a penis ring to a ring pierced in his balls. It would be like chaining his wrists and ankles.
With his nipples now marked, piercing them with some jewelry would would make them look amazing. “For example…” Susan continued…. “A dark-blue stone piercing on the thing’s left nipple, right on the nipple, in the middle of the pupil will make the eye a sparkle. And I can put a red stone that resembles a tongue on the right nipple. It will really look outstanding. And…think of the pain it will cause when you grind your heels into them. Also consider having his tongue pierced. A stud in his tongue will really jazz up your orgasms.”
Alison and Rebecca looked at each other and laughed.
“That sounds awesome.” Alison said excitedly. “Let’s set up a time and we’ll bring it over to have you do the piercings.
Finally, Alison offered a toast to Susan. They all clinked glasses and drank up.
They hugged and thanked Susan for a wonderful demonstration. They released her slave from the studded chair, and they walked Susan and the slave to the door and again hugged and kissed her good night.
Alison and Rebecca turned off the lights, and arm in arm went to the bedroom to make love leaving Timothy on his bed of studs.
Within a couple of weeks, Alison and Rebecca bundled Timothy in the trunk of her Mercedes and drove over to Susan’s.
Susan lived in a modest ranch style house that had a spacious basement she had turned into a studio-workshop.
Carrying Timothy in by the chain linking his wrists and ankles, Alison dropped him on the cement floor. Timothy was moaning into his gag from the pain in his wrists and ankles, and when Alison dropped him, he grunted as his breath was knocked out of him.
Hugging and exchanging greetings, Susan gave the two women a brief tour of the combination studio-workshop and gave them a brief history of how she got started.
After the tour, Alison and Rebecca undid the chain binding Timothy’s wrist to his ankles, and lifted him on to the examining couch standing in the middle of the room. The three women secured Timothy to the couch, running heavy leather straps over his legs, chest, and head, making sure he couldn’t move a muscle.
Susan swung the lamp hanging over the couch and turned it on. It focused a bright spot of light on his face blinding Timothy. She moved the light down to direct the beam on Timothy’s left nipple.
Walking over to a small display case, Susan invited Rebecca and Alison to join her. She pointed to a collection of blue colored stones of different sizes and shapes. The sizes ranged from dollar-sized, to stud size and from deep, cerulean blue, to a pale blue.
The women spent several minutes inspecting the stones. Narrowing their choices to three stud-sized stones of different shades, Susan removed them from the display case and brought them over and placed one stone on Timothy’s left nipple, in the middle of the tattooed pupil and then looked over at the women to see their reaction. Then, she replaced the first with the second and again looked at the women. Then placing the third, she looked over and asked: “What do you think, which one do you like the most?”
Alison said, “I like the second one.”
Rebecca frowned, and said, “I could go with any of them. I think they all look cool.”
“So, we’ll go with the second one, OK?” Susan confirmed.
Both women nodded.
“Great! OK now the stone for the right nipple. I have this one stone I think will will be perfect.”
She walked back over to the display case. Susan pulled out a red football shaped stone, about an inch long and came back and placed it over Timothy’s right nipple in the middle of the surrounding red lips.
“That looks great…it looks just like a tongue.” Alison said animatedly.
Rebecca nodded. “It looks pretty awesome. And I can imagine grinding my heel on that and causing serious pain. Will it bare the weight of a Domme grinding down on it?”
“Oh, sure…” Susan said enthusiastically.
“I’ll tell you what. If it shatters or chips within a year, I’ll replace it for free. Does that work for you?”
“That’s excellent.” Alison replied delighted.
“Super.” She said, thrilled.
She then went back to the display case a brought back a barbell, a U-shaped ring a silver ring and a small chain with a clip on one end.
This is the hardware I recommend for the PA and scrotal ring and chain.” Susan said as she laid them out on Timothy’s chest.
“Cool.” Alison said, picking up the barbell and smiling. “This is pretty big. Will it affect his peeing?”
“Definitely. He’ll have to sit down to pee because it will spray all over the place.” Susan explained, amused. “This really transforms his dick into sort of a woman’s pee hole. With the U and chain attached to his cock, you fasten it to the ring in his balls or to something else. It’s a great control device.”
Rebecca peered over Alison’s and Susan’s shoulders and said, “I really like that. We could use it as a kind of leash, and I love the idea of locking his cock to his balls and then getting him hot. He’ll be in pain when his cock gets hard.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Here is the tongue barbell.” Susan said as she pulled out a small plastic sealed barbell from her pants pocket.
The women examined it. “Where will you put it?” Alison asked.
“Right on the tip of the tongue. So you’ll have easy access.”
“Awesome.” Rebecca said anticipating the feeling of the hard little knob rubbing up against her clit.
Susan brought out glasses and asked if the women preferred red or white wine. She filled the glasses and Alison and Rebecca sat on the nearby couch and sipped their wine while Susan went to work piercing and attaching the jewels.
With all the piercings finished, Susan came over, sat down on the couch and filled a glass of wine and took several swallows.
“OK, he’s done. Come on over and see how he looks.”
The women walked over and the three gazed down at him.
“Those stones look amazing.” Alison gushed.
Susan pinched Timothy’s nose, forcing his mouth open slightly. With her other hand, she reached into Timothy’s mouth with her forceps and pulled his tongue out so the women could see the stud.
I can’t wait to try it out.” Alison giggled.
“You’ll have to give about a week for everything to heal. Make sure you keep his mouth clean. Use salt water and rinse several times a day and especially after you feed him. The same goes for the PA and testicle piercings. Soak them twice a day in salt water and then wash them in mild soap. If you see any signs of redness, or the area feels hot, the piercing has gotten infected, and you’ll have to get an antibiotic.
Both Alison and Rebecca nodded.
Alison dug out her check book and wrote a check for $500.
They carefully lifted Timothy off the couch and placed him on his back and on to metal stretcher. From there, Alison and Rebecca picked up the stretcher and carried Timothy to the car where they laid it in the car trunk. There, they strapped Timothy down with cargo straps that hooked into hooks in the trunk bed. They made sure the stretcher and Timothy were securely fastened to the trunk bed and wouldn’t tip over.
With Timothy safely stowed, the women hugged, and bid goodbye.
When the women and Timothy arrived home, Alison and Rebecca carried Timothy on the stretcher into the dungeon and set him on the floor. They talked about first strapping him into the studded chair that had six-inch metal studs all over the seat and back, spaced every couple of inches as the most uncomfortable; but Alison thought they could treat his piercings better strapped to the studded platform bed that made of two-inch studs spaced an inch apart.
Rebecca was disappointed. She was up for making Timothy as miserable as possible. Actually she would have liked to lock him to one of the devices that would force him to a semi-sitting position and keep him there for the entire week while his piercings healed. Alison laughed and said with affection,
“You are a true sadist. I love you. I think he will be as miserable on the bed as in the chair, and it will be a lot easier to wash his piercings there. The purpose is get him healed as fast and back to his usual routine as possible. To do that we must make sure it is kept clean and I think the bed is better place to achieve that.”
For the next week, at bed time, instead of being hog tied and placed in the trunk, Timothy was strapped down to the studded platform bed. Before Timothy was securing him to the platform, the bed was washed down with an antibacterial soap.
During the day, however, he was kept to his daily bicycle exercising. The only change was the wires connecting his balls to the signal generator were not attached. The wires to the bike seat, however, remained connected. So, if Timothy slacked off in his peddling, his ass would still be zapped.
GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN
Rebecca was resourceful and playful. She enjoyed various forms of play and having been a star college athlete, she excelled in the kinds of activities that permitted her to display her strength and stamina.
To fill the hours between finishing Timothy’s exercise bike and dinner, she enjoyed playing several different games. After his exercise, Rebecca had Timothy crawl next door to the dungeon. Whenever she entered the dungeon, it was like going into a candy store. She wanted to play with every device in the room; and she wanted to go to the limit on each one. That is, her fantasy was to draw out a torture scenario to its logical conclusion: to destroy in the most sadistic and erotic way imaginable the male thing she has under her control. The problem, naturally, while it carrying this fantastic scene of absolute sadism would really send her to the moon, it would be short lived. Once she fulfilled her orgasmic fantasy of dismembering the male things limbs and gouging out his eyes and impaling him through his now hollow eye socket and driving her stiletto into his brain, what could she do for an encore? This was her—and presumably, Alison’s too—perpetual conundrum. She had to resign herself—in the parlance of the British legal system—to a duty of care in so far as she could creep up to but not cross the line in torturing Timothy to the point of killing him or causing serious injury. It seemed so unfair that she couldn’t do absolutely horrible things, like shattering Timothy’s knee caps with a sledge hammer or crush his finger by jumping up and down on them, and then miraculously restore them to their original condition so you could do it all over again. Realizing that miraculous bodily repairs was one of the many things that eluded her Domme powers, she carried on keeping her snuff fantasies at bay.
One of the many devices was an iron frame with a platform bed mounted on the frame about a foot off the floor sitting on iron posts bolted to the floor. The platform was wide enough for one person with attachment points at each of the four corners. The surface of the platform was made up of one hundred two-inch high studs placed about an inch apart. Lying on it was much like lying on a bed of nails, only they weren’t as sharp.
Rebecca would lift Timothy up on to the bed and lay him on his back. She undid the cuffs from behind his back and cuff his wrist to the two cuffs at the head of the frame and cuff his ankles to the two corners at the foot of the platform.
One game Rebecca enjoyed was seeing how many shades of lip prints she could plant on his face. Rebecca had some twenty different shades of red lipstick, ranging from shocking pinks to beet red. Climbing on top of Timothy’s chest, adding her weight to his, pressing down on the studs, she started by picking a shade at random.
Groaning under the combined weight of his and Rebecca’s bodies, pressing him against the metal studs, Timothy squirmed and tried to throw Rebecca off. Rebecca drove a knee hard into Timothy’s groin. “Calm down or we’ll spend the rest of the afternoon busting your balls:”
She planted a set of lip prints. Then, picking another shade, she planted another set of lip prints. She continued planting different shades of lip prints until his face was completely covered and there wasn’t an inch that doesn’t have a lip print.
She embellished the game by telling him she will remove the lip prints by washing them off with her tongue. But then she says she can’t remove the lip print on the one spot. She would kiss him on another spot and tell him she will try removing the lip print on the new spot. Of course the lip prints can’t be removed, but she tells him she will try another spot. She repeated planting lip prints and trying to wash them off with her tongue until his face was completely covered.
Planting kisses and giving Timothy’s face a tongue washing often got Rebecca horny. With Timothy conveniently bound to the platform, she would move her body up his chest up to his mouth. Squeezing Timothy’s head between her powerful thighs, she ordered him to eat her. Also, to add to Timothy’s torture, she would place her thumbs on his eyes and begin pressing down. This assured Timothy’s total cooperation and Rebecca enjoyed many orgasms this way. She especially liked fucking Timothy’s mouth during her time of the month, when her menstrual flow was the strongest. It was so wonderfully degrading to force Timothy to lap her menstrual discharge.
Having the stud in Timothy’s tongue gave her cunnilingus that extra something. She would maneuver Timothy’s tongue around her clit so the stud hit her button and…WOW! It gave her such a powerful charge to her orgasm. It was heavenly. It was positively amazing how stimulating the stud could be.
For a change of pace, she would unlock his cock from the scrotal ring and suck his cock until it got hard. Then, taking leather lacing she would tie it tightly around the base of his cock to prevent it from going limp. To ensure Timothy would get no joy from his penis, she would unroll five condoms over the head and down the shaft. Then she would take herself on several joy rides on his joy stick. “Poor Timothy, providing all this joy and getting none for himself….” Rebecca would muse to herself as she gyrated her pelvis on his cock.
After getting her rocks off, she liked standing on him and pressing her hands against the ceiling to help her balance, she would walk up and down his torso in her high heels. And doing a little jig, she would stab her stilettos into his chest and balls, puncturing and cutting his skin. To her it was funny how she could cause tiny spurts of blood to magically appear by stomping down with her stilettos. She just went pop, pop pop and, magically, little red spots appeared on the thing’s body. It was awesome how she could make a polka dot pattern on Timothy’s body with her heels.
With his new nipple jewelry, Rebecca couldn’t resist grinding her heels into his nipples. It was wonderful to hear Timothy scream as she pressed her stiletto on either the jeweled tongue or the blue stud. His screams were so much louder than they were before jewels were implanted. It gave a rush of power, knowing that she was causing Timothy excruciating pain.
Since Rebecca had been a striker on her college soccer team, she had a special thing for men’s testicles.
She often fastened Timothy into a thick steel rod bolted to the floor that extended upward from the floor at about a 60-degree angle. At the top of the rod was a three-inch wide steel ring that locked around his neck. Rebecca would adjust the height of the rod and the neck collar to force Timothy into a semi-kneeling position. Because the rod holding the neck cuff slanted away from the neck collar, Timothy was forced into this kneeling position without support. The position placed enormous stress on his body. His ankles were locked to the rod preventing attempts to find a more comfortable position.
Aside from having access to his cock and balls, she could leave him in this very uncomfortable position for hours. She could spend a half hour practicing penalty kicks with his nuts, leave for a couple of hours while his muscles tensed up and went into spasm, and then return to give him a several dozen more kicks.
For this game of kicking the balls, Rebecca would wear special square, hard-toed boots. With her well-muscled legs, she would practice giving Timothy’s balls a thorough working over. As she smashed her boots into his defenseless balls she teased and taunted him with mock sympathy and jeers.
“Aw, did that hurt your iddy biddy balls? Oh, they are getting bigger and…. Oh my, they are turning red and becoming the size of oranges…. You’ll have a hard time with those melons. They’ll hurt for a good couple of days….” STOP CRYING YOU SISSY. TAKE IT LIKE A MAN.”
Another device in the dungeon Rebecca enjoyed using for destroying Timothy’s balls consists of two steel rods, one inside the other. The outer rod stands about 18 inches tall and is bolted to the floor. The inner rod telescopes upward and can be set at a desired height by sliding a spring loaded pin into one of the many holes drilled into the rod. At the top of the inner rod is a triangular shaped steel bar that extends one foot out at right angles. At the end of that bar are two flat metal plate welded at right angles, perpendicular to the floor. At one end, the two plate were fastened in a way that allowed the top plate to pivot up and down. The two plates had semi-circles cut out of them, and when the second plate was in the down position, over the first, the two plates formed a circle, trapping the balls. At the other end of both plates were holes through which a bolt or pad lock could could be passed.
Timothy was placed so the triangular bar was between his legs. His cock hung over the bottom metal plate, and with the second metal plate pivoted into the down and locked, his balls are trapped.
With Timothy’s ankles shackled, he couldn’t avoid the the triangular bar’s edges cutting into his thighs; and with his balls locked between the metal plates, his crotch was forced down against the bar’s top edge. With all three edges cutting into the soft flesh of his thighs and crotch, it made for a very uncomfortable perch. But, not having any choice, he had to suffer the pain.
Similar to the slanting rod device, the feature Rebecca liked most was being able to set the height forcing Timothy into an unsupported semi-kneeling position. Also, with the device, she could easily tease him by sucking his cock to the point of coming and then punch his balls; taking great delight in watching his expression change from bliss to despair as his cock deflated. Also, by chaining his PA to the scrotal ring, Rebecca could play with his nipple jewelry, getting Timothy hard. But, unfortunately for Timothy, with his cock chained to his balls, his dick couldn’t get erect, causing considerable pain.
Rebecca took great pleasure in teasing Timothy over not being able to get erect and the pain he had endure.
“Aw, what a shame. Your dick would love get hard, wouldn’t it? But it can’t. Poor dickypoo. It’s all chained up. You’d love to stick it in my pussy. But alas, you can’t. Too bad.” Rebecca teased.
When Alison returned home, she joined Rebecca in the dungeon, combining her passions with Rebecca’s. After an afternoon of Rebecca pounding Timothy’s balls to the point of near destruction, they would be the size and color of large purple tomatoes. Alison would heat a dozen or so long, thick hat pins over a butane stove. Then, while Timothy was locked between the metal plates holding his cock and balls, sitting on a stool in front of him, Alison would slowly and carefully insert the needles, one by one, into his balls and the tip of his penis. The total effect was quite pretty, Alison thought as she stepped back. Each needle had a different color tip and when she finished sticking all the needles in, she had created a multi-colored display adorning Timothy’s balls and a small circle of needles that resembled a pinwheel with Timothy’s penis as the hub.
With each needle prick, Timothy let loose an avalanche of screams. The screams made both women giddy with laughter as they watched Timothy’s face reddened and tears flowed down his cheeks. When they played with Timothy in the dungeon, they didn’t gag him. His screaming added to the thrill. Also, they didn’t want him to choke if he vomited.
Another favorite game the two women loved to play was to strap him to a specially built horse. Timothy was forced to lie over the horse, face down toward the floor, and with his ass was raised and his legs were forced into a semi-recumbent position. The device was constructed out of steel and the surface Timothy was forced to lie on was covered in six-inch high studs. Using a single tail whip or canes—which ever suited their mood at the time—they would lash his ass to a bloody pulp; again accompanied by Timothy’s wails and screams.
When they had gratified their sadistic needs, they strapped him into a steel chair that was also covered with six-inch high studs. Unlike the medieval torture device on which the chair was modeled, the studs did not pierce the skin, but because they were spaced a few inches apart, Timothy’s weight was supported by a relatively few spikes. It made sitting on them for more than a minute unbearable—especially after Timothy’s ass had been savagely beaten.
Adding to their fun--and Timothy’s pain, Alison and Rebecca took turns launching themselves at Timothy sitting in the chair. Crashing into him at speed crushed hard against the studs. They took turns sitting and bouncing on his lap, grinding their hips and asses into his groin arousing him. They would coo and moan as his cock got hard and penetrated into their asses. And that would stimulate them to grind harder, causing him to moan as well, but his moans were caused by pain, not pleasure.
Over in a far corner of the dungeon, Alison had built a large wooden X Cross. She had bought the materials early in her Domme days moved by a crucifixion fantasy of actually nailing a male thing to the cross and torturing him to death by piercing him with large needles and other sharp implements. But of course, just as Rebecca couldn’t reconcile her short-term sexual high with long-term sustained enjoyment, she never followed through.
Yet Alison did not completely abandon her fantasy of sticking needles into bound and helpless male bodies. She liked to use the cross for her needle play. Having researched the points on the human body that were the most sensitive to pain she knew exactly where to stick her needles to achieve maximum results, which in this case, meant maximum pain for Timothy. In addition to sticking needles in Timothy’s genitals, she also amused herself with sticking needles through his fingertips, the bottoms of his feet, and his ass and sticking small pins in his forehead. Also by gathered folds of skin together in fleshy parts of his body she poked needles through the folds so they protruded out through the skin.
For most of her needle work she preferred hat or stick pins that came with all sorts of decorative tips--ranging from the elaborately bejeweled to the simple black bulb. Alison used nothing smaller than 8 gauge needles, with diameters of 4.5 mm. This assured her the best results for breaking through of Timothy’s pain threshold.
By squeezing his lips together, puckering them outward, making them an ideal target for pushing needles through the upper and lower lips. She was very tempted to use needle and thread to simply sew his mouth shut. But then again, there were always those nagging practical considerations, such as having to remove the thread every time she or Rebecca wanted to make use of his tongue; and that was far too often. So, fuck it. Just be happy with needle sticks that didn’t require a lot of work, Alison mused.
For her fine needle work, such as around his nipples, Alison had smaller gauges, especially on his right nipple where the big red nipple stone was imbedded. There simply wasn’t enough room to use large needles. Oh, well, sacrifices had to be made she said to herself.
In her needle play, Alison was not only trying to vent her sadistic urge, but was also attempting to create a sort of work of art—granted a bit macabre—but a work of art none the less. Her placement of needles around Timothy’s body was for achieving a visual effect. The idea was to draw attention through color and design to various regions of the body and create patterns and surfaces incorporating body contours and elements. As examples, Alison used needles with a variety of tips and colors for piercing his fingers to draw attention to each finger’s unique character. The needles embedded in his forehead were arranged to create paisley patterns of wild color combinations.
Every time she produced one of her needle creations, she photographed it and kept the pictures in a separate file. One day, she hoped, she would have a private exhibition of her works for a select group of her Domme friends.
Throughout the torture sessions, Timothy’s screams filled the small room, and even with the sound deadening materials all over the room surfaces, it super aroused Alison and Rebecca. By the end of the evening they simply had to release their pent up needs.
Most of the time, they would simply leave Timothy bound to the last device, slip a condom-like sheath over his cock with a tube that drained into a bucket they put between his legs, turn up the heat, turned off the lights, and rush up to the bedroom. But occasionally, the force was too strong, and they couldn’t wait to get upstairs. It was usually Alison, who was entering her prime, who grabbed Rebecca and began peeling off her clothes. Although Rebecca was physically stronger than Alison, she didn’t resist and let Alison push her to the couch where Alison landed on top. What followed—in full view of Timothy—was a blur, in almost cartoon fashion, of arms, legs, faces changing positions, first on top, then on bottom. All the frolicking was accompanied by sounds of laughter, sucking, kissing, slurping, giggles, and orgasmic shrieks of joy that lasted about an hour.
In the morning, they would release him, take him to shower, eat his usual food, and and secure him to the exercise bike. He had to make do with whatever sleep he was able to get bound to the cross, studded bed or kneeling bench. The women had him work out on the bike regardless of his condition, day in and day out. That didn’t matter. The women forced him to exercise regardless. Timothy’s energy, however, would give out at some point long before the allotted five hours was up; and he just couldn’t continue peddling. When that happened, the signal generator performed its job flawlessly--it zapped him with 35,000 volts every 15 seconds until Rebecca came in at the appointed time and turned it off.
Since Timothy was useless on those days, she would drag him to the guest bathroom in the dungeon and chain him to the toilet and leave him there until dinnertime.
THE WOMEN KICK A FEW TEETH
Shortly after Rebecca moved in, Alison made good on plan to kick in Timothy’s teeth. On a Sunday morning, after Timothy’s workout on the bike, Rebecca led him into the dungeon. She took a metal posture collar from the supply cabinet, and without explanation, locked it around his neck. The collar locked Timothy’s head in position, preventing him moving his head up or down and side to side. He could only look straight ahead. The collar also pushed up against his jaw, forcing his mouth shut.
Kicking his ass, Rebecca directed him toward the stocks standing in a corner of the room.
The stocks were constructed from heavy gauge steel and the posts holding the stock stood five feet tall. The whole apparatus rested on a steel base, four feet by four feet. The stocks had the usual small holes on the right and left sides for locking a person’s wrists, and a larger center for securing the person’s head. The apparatus also was equipped with locking shackles to hold a person’s legs in place. These were attached to the base with bolt that allowed them to be adjusted or removed.
Rebecca unscrewed the bolts holding the shackles and removed them. She, then, lowered the stocks to about a foot from the floor and stepped back to check the height. She took a practice swing with her foot and judged the height satisfactory for the task she and Alison were about to carry out.
Next, she slid the upper stock locking plate up and inserted two pins to hold it in place leaving ample room for inserting Timothy’s head into the gap. Once more, giving Timothy’s ass a hard stab with her stiletto heel, she ordered him to crawl and place his head in the bottom half of the stock. Checking that Timothy’s head was properly positioned, she removed the pins holding the stock upper half, letting it slam down over his head, locking it in place. Timothy winced as the stock crashed into his posture collar with a loud clang. Rebecca chortled. She replaced the pins in the posts, locking the plate and preventing Timothy from moving his head.
The stocks had holes drilled in the plates for attaching accessories on to the stocks and used with them. To eliminate any chance of Timothy’s head moving out of position, Rebecca bolted three six-inch square steel plates to the stock. One plate was placed on top of Timothy’s head and the other two were placed on either side. All three were positioned to press against Timothy’s head, making sure there was absolutely no chance of his head moving even a fraction of an inch. The plates on the side of Timothy’s head were pressed so tightly, they compressed his ears against his head and muffled all but the loudest noises. All conversations came through only as background hum. He certainly couldn’t make out Alison and Rebecca hatching their sadistic plans.
Once, Rebecca got Timothy secured, she again stepped in front of him and swung her leg up to touch his mouth. It was perfect. Timothy’s mouth was placed at just the right height to allow a full power kick.
When Rebecca’s boot touched Timothy’s mouth, Timothy realized what was going to happen. Alison was carrying through on her promise the remove his teeth, seeing them as a nuisance and pointless to allow him to keep them.
Immediately Timothy began screaming through clenched teeth and struggled to free himself. But of course, his screams came out as loud screeching sounds and his struggle to extricate himself from the stocks were useless.
Rebecca turned to him and laughing said: “Yes, we’re getting rid of your useless teeth this morning. So enjoy them while you have them.”
With his gaze restricted to looking only down at the floor he wasn’t aware that Alison had come into the dungeon until he saw two pairs of boots standing in front of him. He noticed that one of the boots had an unusual harness with a special toe attached to it. It extended about an inch from the toe of the boot and was slightly concave. Timothy guessed that boot must belong to Alison.
Alison raised the boot and placed the toe extension squarely against Timothy’s mouth and held it there for a minute. Timothy couldn’t hear what was being said, but guessed that Alison was sizing up the extension with his mouth. Finally, the boot disappeared, and Alison’s upside down face appeared. She looked beautiful, with her blond tresses hanging loose and wearing her favorite ruby red lipstick that showed off her perfect teeth to their best as she smiled at him. The way she showed her teeth through her lips seemed to exaggerate the fact that she had beautiful teeth and he soon wouldn’t have any. But maybe, he was imagining she was deliberately taunting him. But, then again, perhaps she intended to drive home the point that she will keep her teeth while he will soon lose his.
She was saying something to him but he couldn’t hear her voice. It came through as a soft hum with no words. But he could read her lips as she exaggerated the words with her lips so he could figure out—more or less. But, since he had already figured out what was going to happen, it really didn’t matter anymore if he understood her or not. What was going to happen was going to happen, and understanding it wouldn’t change anything.
Alison took another practice kick, bringing her boot up to Timothy’s mouth to test the distance. Mercifully, all Timothy could see was a big black boot come to just under his nose and then drop from view. He wouldn’t see the kick coming until it was there, so he wouldn’t know when it was coming.
The next time he saw the boot, it was a blur. It crashed into his mouth. For a second, his mouth felt numb, but then the pain came. He tasted blood and felt odd things in his mouth.
He howled. His vision was filled with dancing stars, and blood poured out of his mouth and Timothy tried to spit the stuff—his broken front teeth—out. Next, he saw latex covered fingers reaching into his mouth and pulling out smashed bloody teeth.
“Ok, you take your shot.” Alison said to Rebecca. Timothy only heard more humming sounds.
Rebecca extended her foot up to Timothy’s mouth. Then with her powerful legs, she let loose a powerful kick that pushed Timothy’s head against the metal plate with an audible bang. Rebecca’s boot was imbedded about half way into Timothy’s mouth. He shrieked through the boot which came as a muffled gurgling sound. She removed her boot slowly, and wiggling as she pulled it out. More blood gushed from Timothy’s mouth and more teeth fell out on to the floor: and Timothy saw more stars. His lips were badly cut and were sunken in because his front teeth were now gone.
After probing his mouth further to remove loose teeth, Rebecca and Alison released Timothy from the stocks and unlocked the posture collar. They kicked his ass in the direction of the punishment chair and locked him in it. Alison then forced his mouth open with her fingers and examined the inside of his mouth, and probed his mouth with her index finger.
“His canine and front teeth are completely gone. I think your kick did the trick. He just has his molars. We’ll have to decide if we want to remove those ourselves, or ask Janice to do it.” Alison said.
“It might be more fun if we did it.” Rebecca replied.
“Yeah, but I don’t really feel like mucking around in a mouth figuring out how to remove teeth. Janice can do it a lot faster and neater than we can. We can still enjoy the screaming and his struggling to escape.” Alison replied.
With that, Rebecca handed Alison several cotton balls that she stuffed into Timothy’s mouth. Next, Rebecca handed Alison a face harness that Alison strapped around Timothy’s jaw and head and tightened securely to clamp his jaw closed around the cotton.
“You better not swallow those cotton balls. You’ll choke and no one will be around to save you. One of us will be back in a while to remove them, but we’re going to leave you hear for the day. Also, we’ll start you on your liquid diet today for dinner.” Alison said in a flat voice.
The appointment with Janice was made. Janice was a fellow Domme and an oral surgeon. To transport Timothy, the women rented a hand truck and secured him to it using the belt that wrapped around the frame and was tightened turning a crank on the back of the truck. They put him in the back of Rebecca’s SUV and drove to the doctor’s office.
It was late at night and Janice was the only person in the office. Timothy was wheeled in and strapped down to the dental chair with straps across his chest, legs, arms, and wrists. Timothy’s head was clamped firmly to the headrest with straps running across his forehead and made tight to prevent any movement of his head.
Without any ceremony or “by your leave,” Janice inserted a Jennings clamp in Timothy’s mouth and then started working. There was no chit chat and certainly no anesthetic. Janice was all business—quick and efficient.
As soon as the clamp was inserted in his mouth, Timothy began screaming and struggling to get free. Janice, who was accustomed to extracting teeth from unwilling subjects, ignored the protests and went about her business. She used her forceps and within a half hour she removed all of Timothy’s remaining teeth the women were unable to kick in.
Without anesthetic, the pain was unbearable. He screamed, cried and struggled against the bonds the entire time.
At one point, he passed out. Without missing a beat, Janice fetched some smelling salts and passed them under Timothy’s nose a couple of times. Timothy coughed and his eyes popped open.
“We lost you there for a while.” Janice said in mock sympathy.
While Timothy screamed and desperately tried to free himself, Alison and Rebecca were having a wonderful time. They laughed at Timothy’s pathetic efforts to get free, and ridiculed him for being such a crybaby and told him to take it like a man. With each tooth she pulled, Janice held it for the women to see. They cheered. Janice looked over at the women and smiled.
When she finished, she expressed her delight, and thanked the women for giving her to opportunity to have some fun. They said they would see her at the next party, and then undid the straps holding Timothy to the chair, slid him off and bound him to the hand truck. They left feeling good while Timothy softly moaned in the cargo section of the SUV.
Alison and Rebecca loved dungeon parties. They went to parties every couple of weeks and held one in their dungeon every couple of months. Typically, they invited ten women and their slaves. Most parties were play events, but sometimes they would invite a mistress to do a demonstration. Alison and Rebecca were taken with Susan’s presentation and invited her back to do demonstrations for their fellow mistresses. Rather than use one slave, she would use five slaves, of which Timothy was one.
As with ordinary vanilla parties, Domme parties served the vital need for information and gossip exchange, and where you came to see and be seen. There was the perennial complaint about finding a good male thing or slave—the terms were frequently interchanged and served as synonyms. Women who didn’t have a male thing complained about the lack of suitable things, while those who had male things complained about all the work they had to put in to get any joy. Listening to these complaints, one might get the impression that no one was happy. Certainly not the male things who suffered horribly at the hands of these women. Of course the latest clothing, shoe and boot styles and bargains were hot topics, and the women with fat bank accounts and pencil-thin bodies were eager to flaunt their latest Gucci or Christian Louboutin acquisitions. The parties were the places where a Domme could strut her stuff and the women dressed to impress.
The adventurous Dommes—whether they had a male thing and simply enjoyed stalking the wild male, or they didn’t have one--bragged about their latest conquests, going into lurid details of the male things they snared into their dungeons. They regaled their audiences with the specific punishments they inflicted on their hapless captives and how they then brutally use them to satisfy their rapacious sexual appetites.
There were always a couple of techno-cyber geek Dommes dressed in the latest Goth style with black lips, eye shadow and nails. But with black being the dominant color at Domme parties, the Goth thing didn’t have the shock value as it might have at a vanilla gala. The geeks reveled in their computer and smartphone smarts, sprinkling their conversations with obscure reference to apps and web sites, befuddling the non-geeks with their cyber babble.
There Thing was to control their male things with their smartphone and if need be, their laptops. The prime directive was maximum physical and psychological control over their male things without having to actually touch them. Radio controlled shock and cock collars were standard fare for these women. But exotic methods of inflicting suffering were what they lived for. Their idea of a good time was inserting electrified anal probes up their males’ rectums, then programing their smartphones to induce orgasms every half hour for the entire day or night, driving their male things to the point of, and over the brink of sanity. By inserting needles in arm and leg muscles and sending electrical currents through them, they caused painful muscle contractions that could last for hours. They controlled these from their smartphones that they might activate at work, on a date, or even while they slept.
Acceptance of the geek world was mixed. The more open minded and adventurous non-geek Dommes freely borrowed torture techniques from wherever and whomever, believing that anything that extended their control and amplified their power over their male things was a plus.
The old school, “the establishment,” those who would rather die than abandon their sacred principles of direct and personal domination, however, saw the geek invasion as a corrupting force that would lead to the erosion of the traditional Domme-thing roles. They saw these geek nubees—their average age was 22 compared to the “establishment” age of 37—as dehumanizing the scene and ruining the deep personal connection between Domme and thing. They saw them as bombing at 30,000 feet. What was the fun in that, they argued? You couldn’t see the effect you had on your subject. You couldn’t feel its pain and get the high that came from directly experiencing the full effect of their suffering. It was all long distance with no human contact. The old school devotees believed you had to get up close so you could see the fear in your thing’s eyes as—metaphorically speaking in most cases, but literally in a few--you plunged your bayonet into their gut. Of course the whole argument could be interpreted as a turf battle, with the old guard Dommes defending their power base against these cyber insurgents, with their cyber gadgets, threatening to overthrow their tried and true, more personal—and in their view—more human approach.
When the women held a party, Timothy was splayed out on his back in the middle of the dungeon floor to greet the women guests. From Timothy’s floor’s eye view, he observed that all the women wore four-inch stiletto heels. Most wore boots but some wore stylish patent leather pumps or closed-toed strappies adorned with dangerous, spiky ornamentation. He noticed that some of the boots were also adorned with spiky ornaments on the toes. Timothy suspected that the ornaments were for inflicting wounds on the slaves when they were kicked. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw women kicking male things in the nuts. The male things were badly cut and bleeding after being smashed with the boots.
As they arrived, the women guests used Timothy as door mat. Without teeth, women could easily push their boots past Timothy’s lips deep into his mouth. He was forced to suck and lick the dirt off their boots. Driving their boots into his mouth was often brutal and painful. Of course, with a boot rammed down his mouth, Timothy’s screams were stifled. Sometimes, if the woman’s boot were especially filthy—and some women deliberately had walked through garbage or mud before coming to the party—licking the dirt off the women’s boots caused Timothy to vomit and suffer intestinal disorders for days.
As women sipped wine or cocktails, smoked cigarettes, cigars, or joints, they walked over him, and engrossed in conversation, they took their time stabbing him with their stilettos, or dragged them across his body, leaving criss crossing trails of blood. Naturally, they were oblivious to Timothy’s pain. His screams didn’t enter their consciousness; they were too engrossed in their own world to be bothered with a mere male thing screaming his lungs out.
After a couple hour so, when the party got going and the guest were getting loose and getting into the mood, Alison and Rebecca would release Timothy from the rings in the floor and hoist him on to the studded bed and lash him securely.
There, women loved using him liberally as an ashtray, grinding out cigarettes and cigars into his chest and face. Adding to the pain of the burns, women ground their boot heels on the burns sending Timothy into paroxysms of pain. His screams of pain were often met with derision and more stomping. Also, women took great pleasure in stomping on Timothy’s nuts just hard enough to elicit howls of pain, but not hard enough to rupture them.
As the drinking and drug consumption progressed into the night, inhibitions were kicked to the curb. The booze and drugs did their thing and the feeling of invincibility and power drove many of the women often broke into spontaneous high jinx, kicking and stomping on anything that stood still long enough for them to stab their heels into.
At these times, they fell to holding impromptu dance contests and inevitably Timothy ended up being the dance floor. Women jumped up on Timothy’s prone body strapped to the studded platform and with the help of a woman partner, began stomping him with their stilettos in time to the music. Frequently, the music switched to a Spanish Flamenco rhythm, and the women would follow with many heel stomps.
The women would hold “contests” to see who could inflict the most and deepest punctures and scratches with their heels. Eventually, a winner would be picked. Usually it was the woman who showed the greatest zeal in driving her stilettos into Timothy’s flesh and leaving the biggest gashes. As a reward, Timothy was given over to the woman’s tender mercies. These mercies usually expressed themselves in being bound to the spiked kneeling bench to be followed by a vicious caning or whipping that lasted as long the woman—who was often high and or drunk—could weald her chosen instrument of punishment.
Timothy’s screams of pain were largely ignored. They simply blended in and added to the general din of women’s laughing, chatting, and the techno music blasting a throbbing base beat to which the guests stomped or kicked Timothy and the other male things trussed up around the dungeon. Even if the screams could be heard, the women were having too much fun to care.
Meanwhile, Alison and Rebecca, having a vested interest in protecting their property engaged in damage control. They monitored the dancing and stomping on their male thing to make sure his bones weren’t being broken, or the skewering with stiletto heels wasn’t life threatening. Once in a while, a woman got a bit too wild and repeatedly stabbed Timothy in a vital organ, threatening to puncture his spleen or liver, and they had to ask her to stop. At parties their friends held, they did the same thing, fulfilling the promise Alison made to Timothy at the first meeting, to protect him from the more vicious women of her acquaintance.
But, short of serious injuries, Timothy was on his own. He had to endure any indignities and pain a woman wished to bestow.
As the years past, the permanent restraints Alison and Rebecca kept Timothy under; the frequent beatings and whippings in the dungeon; the electric shocks from the exercise bike; women crushing out their cigarettes and stabbing with their stilettos on his chest and balls all took their physical and psychological toll. Timothy’s body bore countless scars, burns, and punctures. The deterioration on Timothy’s mind was equally as profound.
During the first couple of years he obeyed instructions. When he was ordered into the bathroom or kitchen or exercise room he complied. After a couple of years of his transformation into a “thing,” Timothy became depressed and sullen. He resisted, in whatever way he could, their control over him. At some point he stopped following instruction. Alison assumed that day would come, when Timothy would resist all verbal commands and she had planned for the eventuality. At their initial sit-down meeting, the day he agreed to become her thing, she had told him that if there were two ways of getting him to do as she wished, she always preferred the one that caused him the most pain, and the greatest pleasure for her. When she wanted him to do something, she preferred to physically force him to do it.
Her method of moving Timothy around the house once he adopted his recalcitrant attitude was to repeatedly apply a cattle prod to his ass. Both Alison and Rebecca relished applying the prod. There was a magical quality of poking him with the prod: squeezing the trigger, and then seeing him lurch uncontrollably forward. They couldn’t see a physical connection between pressing the trigger and Timothy suddenly falling forward, but obviously there was one. There was similar magic when one of the women stepped on Timothy’s balls at one end of his body, and in the next second, a scream came out of the other end. It made them laugh every time and they might repeat it several times just for giggles.
Alison also was very aware, that should Timothy have an opportunity to get hold of a knife or poison, he would attempt to kill himself. Their protocols, however, never left his hands or feet unbound except when he was being transferred to a piece of equipment for torture: and then either his hands or his ankles were bound and they had a firm grip on the unbound extremity. In effect, Timothy was never free.
Timothy’s morose mood also had an effect on his response to torture. All of Timothy’s responses became depressed. It seemed as though he had become less sensitive to pain. The women found they had to whip or cane him harder and apply higher voltage to their prods and signal generator to illicit the level of screams they had come to expect. Alison realized that Timothy’s pain threshold had risen and would continue to rise to the point where they would need to apply so much force that they risked killing him.
Alison was not prepared to kill Timothy. It was not a matter scruples about destroying a male. In fact, she often fantasized about ways to destroy a male, and she often shared her thoughts with Rebecca. That was one of the many feelings they shared and that formed the foundation of their friendship. No, the problem for Alison was, she simply was not set up to destroy a human thing. She lacked the equipment to carry out a termination in a way that would entertain or arouse her. And it would involve a substantial capital outlay to purchase equipment and redesign her house or purchase a space for housing the equipment and staging the denouement. She calculated that expending such a huge sum of money—not to mention the time planning and overseeing the project—simply to destroy, at most, a couple of male things, was not worth it, especially when there were Dommes who specialized in male thing terminations.
After chewing over the problem for a few weeks, the women agreed, they needed to find one of their women friends who specialized in eliminating human things and give Timothy to her. They decided to hold a party and invite women they knew who would be delighted to take Timothy off their hands.
The invitation list was prepared and the invitations emailed. Because the invitees were a very select group of Dommes, they all shared information with each other. They figured out from who was invited, that Alison and Rebecca were looking for someone to dispose of their male thing. There was a lot of speculation and gossip as to who would be picked.
As far as Timothy could tell, the party was much like the other parties Alison and Rebecca held. He recognized a few of the women from previous events but most he didn’t. Then suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he saw her—Christine. His memories of the time she kicked and tortured him at Amanda’s came rushing back. She was here. Would she torture him and beat him worse than she did at Amanda’s? There was all this equipment here that she could use and beat him to within an inch of his life. Timothy was trembling.
Christine observed Timothy for a few minutes as he was spread out helplessly on the floor. She wore shiny black boots with 4-inch heels that ran up leather slacks to her knees. Her breasts were covered by a calfskin bustier. Long, slinky diamond earrings hung from her elegant ears, and her hair was piled high on her head and held with a silver barrette. Her lips were painted a glossy deep red and matched her perfectly manicured fingernails. She strolled over to Timothy’s prostrate form and casually placed her heel on his left hand and pressed down. Timothy looked up at her with an expression of both pain and fear.
“It’s been a while.” She said as she gazed down at him.
“You look a lot worse for wear since I saw you. I wonder if Alison is interested in giving you to someone here to dispose of you?” Christine said coolly.
“Who knows, she might offer you to me. Wouldn’t that be fun? Just like old times. I could have a lot of fun with you. Anyway, I’ll talk to Alison and see if we can reach a meeting of the minds. Ta ta.”
Timothy’s stomach was tied in knots. Was Alison really thinking of giving him to one of these women who would DISPOSE of him? What could he do? He remembered that at that fateful breakfast meeting many years ago, she told him that she could give him away at any time. But he never imagined that she would actually do it.
From his prone position, he could make out Christine talking to Alison and Rebecca but the music and the talking and laughing of the other guests drowned out their conversation. They were smiling and laughing. Then, they hugged. Timothy was sure, that Alison and Rebecca agreed to give Timothy to Christine. But when the three women separated, nothing happened. Timothy relaxed a little but he was wary.
Through the course of the evening, several women stepped on Timothy’s hands and nuts and a couple of women crushed out their cigarettes on his chest. It was not until the party started winding down that Timothy saw Christine wheel in a hand truck. Alison and Rebecca came over and unlock Timothy from the rings in the floor. They shackled his ankles, cuffed his wrists and stuff the gag in his mouth. Christine brought the hand truck up to the women and Timothy. Timothy’s eyes darted back and forth from Alison to Rebecca. His face revealed his panic. Alison and Rebecca spoke soothingly to Timothy like mothers reassuring a child going to the first dental appointment. They covered his face with kisses, marking his face with lip prints. They told Timothy they would see him in a couple of days and not to worry. But Timothy knew what Christine was like. He knew she would kill him, slowly and very painfully.
Without saying a word to Timothy, Christine strapped Timothy to the hand truck using the moving strap. She cranked the strap so tightly Timothy could barely breathe. The three women hugged and Christine told them she would call them when she was ready.
Hearing the word “ready,” Timothy legs trembled and he would have collapsed if he were not bound to the hand truck. His head was swimming and he thought he would pass out. But while he didn’t, and as Christine wheeled him to her Escalade, everything was a blur.
Christine wheeled the hand truck up a ramp and into the back of her Escalade. When she got home, she was too tired to bother with Timothy. She threw a tarp over him and left him there for the night.
The next morning, she dropped the tailgate and was hit with a pungent odor of urine. “Oh, shit.” She muttered. She hauled Timothy out and stood the truck on its loading skid.
“You fucking piece of shit!” She yelled at Timothy. “You pissed in my car.” This morning Christine wore heavy work boots. With her right boot, she stomped down hard on Timothy’s left foot. With her right hand that bore the three rings she had worn on that day five years earlier to scratch his face to shreds, she punched him as hard as she could in the stomach. The three rings left pronounced indentations on Timothy’s belly. Timothy moaned and tried to bend over to protect himself, but the moving strapped binding him to the hand truck held him upright.
Having anticipated Timothy relieving himself during the night, Christine had spread a tarp over the cargo bed. She carefully gathered it up and removed it from the bed. She carried it over to where Timothy was standing and poured the collected urine over Timothy. “That will teach you to piss in my car.” She said icily.
She brought Timothy into her dungeon, unstrapped him from the hand truck and moved him on to an Ambrose Cross. In addition to wrists and ankle restraints Christine strapped restraints above and below his knees and elbows.
“I need to make arrangements for the party tomorrow. See you later.”
She then left after turning off the lights.
Not having eaten or drank anything since his last bowl of dog food the previous day at Alison’s and Rebecca’s, Timothy felt as dry as a desert and famished. In the dark, he wondered what lay in the future. Christine made it clear that she was going to make him as miserable as a person could be. She was going to inflict more pain on him in whatever time he had left to live than Alison and Rebecca had inflicted in all the time he was with them. He could no longer recall how long that was. May be this was a blessing. May be Christine was the answer to his wish to die. But Timothy was certain that if she was going to end his miserable existence, he would have to go through hell to get there.
At some point—Timothy had no idea how long she had been gone—Christine returned. She was carrying a bottle of water in her hand. Facing him, she took a long drink.
“You’d like some, wouldn’t you?” Christine asked mockingly.
She brought the bottle up to Timothy’s lips and let him have a few swallows.
“That’s enough.” She said flatly as she withdrew the bottle.
“Now, it’s play time.”
Christine sauntered casually over to a cabinet and rummaged around. Finding what she was looking for she returned with a container in her right hand and pulling a stool in her left hand.
Sitting herself in front of Timothy, she was eye level with Timothy’s cock and balls.
“I have 100 needles here…” She held up the canister. “We are going to put all these needles in your cock and balls.” Christine chortled. “Do you think we can do that? I do. We’ll find a place for all of them. It will be fun.”
Christine observed Timothy’s expression as she informed him of her plan. Timothy was on the verge of tears. His body trembled.
“Aw, it won’t be that bad. I mean it’s not like you’re going to die—although I bet you wish you could. Well, not to worry. That will happen soon enough. You know why Alison gave you to me, right?” Christine said with a positively sinister smile and twinkle in her eye.
Timothy’s body went ridged and he clenched his fists, shut his eyes and strained against his restraints.
Christine observed all of this and smiled.
“Ok, here we go.” Christine announced cheerfully.
In a manner reminiscent of Susan Kramer, Christine took her time inserting the needles into Timothy’s cock and balls. She had all the time in the world; and Timothy had nowhere to go and nothing to do except hang on the cross and scream is lungs out.
Christine enjoyed hearing the screams. It excited her. For her it was a form of music. She was intrigued with making Timothy scream in different pitches, going from a base growl to a high pitched screech.
Every fifteen minutes or so, Christine would get up and stretch, and standing in front of Timothy, take a drink of water, smacking her lips and exhaling noisily after taking a swallow.
After an hour. Christine announced that she stuck about half the needles in his balls.
“We’ll have to start working on your cock. Hmmm, I wonder if we can fit 50 needles on your cock? We will just have to see.” Christine said thoughtfully as she examined it. Again she looked up into Timothy’s face to see his reaction.
Returning to the task, she began slowly sticking needles into the base, starting at the base. Sticking needles into the penis required more effort because she was going into muscle. But that was no deterrent. She just pushed a bit harder. And of course, Timothy screamed louder. His body went completely ridged and he thrashed against the restraints.
Ignoring the screams and commotion, Christine kept sticking each pin slowly and carefully into Timothy’s cock. She stuck them all the way through the penile shaft so they stuck out the opposite side, just as she had done with his balls. Occasionally, just for fun, and to hear a different level of screaming, she flicked the needles with her index finger. It had the desired effect.
After the second hour, Christine inserted the last needle in the penis tip. She had saved the best for last. The tip being the most sensitive part of the penis, she loved sticking needles there. Hearing the positively anguishing screams it produced in her victims, gave her such a rush. Timothy was no exception. His screams were really music to her ears.
She was impressed at how long Timothy was able to scream. As a sort of reward, she allowed him a long drink of water.
But the next thing she did canceled out any relief Timothy got.
Stepping a couple of feet in front of Timothy, she took a practice kick at Timothy’s balls to gauge the distance. Then moving a couple steps closer, she let loose a powerful kick at Timothy’s balls.
The effect was instantaneous and for Christine it was mesmerizing. The howl that came from Timothy was amazing. It was such a turn-on; she felt moisture gathering in her crotch. The power she felt in her thighs was intoxicating. She repeated the kicks several more times. And each time she let loose a kick, she giggled as Timothy groaned in excruciating pain. He jerked violently against his bonds and that heightened Christine’s excitement.
At this point, her feeling of arousal overcame her and she had to go over to the nearby couch, pull down her pants and, grabbing a vibrating she kept just for such occasions, she worked herself up to a couple of orgasms.
She was exhausted and dozed for an hour. When she woke up, she realized it was dinner time. She pulled herself together, and went over to Timothy and gave him a deep, lingering, wet kiss.
“I’ll see you later.” She said in a sultry voice, and laughed. With that she left to eat dinner.
When Christine returned she was carrying her small, single shot pistol. She sidled up to Timothy, and smiling she held the pistol up to his temple.
“This is my little friend. It has one bullet in it. It’s a small bullet—only a .22, but it can do the job.” She said very coyly. “All I have to do is pull the trigger, and all your suffering will be over. HA! But that would ruin my fun. That would be far too fast, and it would deprive Alison and Rebecca of their fun. No, no. You have a way to go, before the end my love.
“What I plan to do with my little friend will cause much more pain. You see, tomorrow, you will be unbound and unshackled. So to make sure you don’t run away or cause any trouble, I’m going to shoot you in your knees, ankles and wrists: destroying them. I use hollow point bullets. They don’t penetrate very deeply, but when they hit you, they mushroom out and do a lot of damage, and, of course, a lot of pain.”
Christine emphasized “a lot” as she smiled maliciously. “It will be very painful. And of course your legs and hands will be useless. You won’t be able to support yourself. But that’s ok, you don’t have anywhere to go; and I’ll carry you to the one place you have to be for tomorrow’s party.”
Christine strolled over to the cabinet where she had retrieved the canister of needles earlier and returned with a set of ear protectors. She placed them on her head and adjusted them. She then knelt down so she was level with Timothy’s knee caps. Holding the pistol steady in her right hand a couple of inches from Timothy’s left knee, she pulled the trigger. The gun fired with a moderately loud bang. Instantly, as though by magic, Timothy’s knee cap shattered and blood and bone fragments exploded. Through the ear protectors, Christine heard the faint howl that came from Timothy. There was a hole in the leg where his knee cap had been about an inch in diameter, from which tissue and bone fragments protruded. Some blood trickled out.
Christine stood up and with her face, inches from Timothy’s she smiled and said: “Pretty bad, eh? Now for the other knee.”
She knelt down again and aimed the pistol at the right knee. Firing the pistol into Timothy’s knee, the knee exploded, and Timothy let out another shriek of pain.
Standing up and looking at Timothy thoughtfully she said suddenly: “Ok, I know what we will do. I’m going to shoot your feet, then I’ll nail your hands to the cross, undo the wrist restraints and then shoot your wrists. How’s that for a plan?”
Timothy’s head simply hung in despair and lethargy. All the events up this point, with all the pain and yelling had drained all his strength.
Christine wasn’t fazed by Timothy’s lack of enthusiasm. She knelt back down, reloaded her pistol, aimed at the outside of Timothy’s left ankle and fired. Just as happened with the knee caps, his ankles exploded into shards of bone and tissue. Christine examined the wound closely and thought for a moment. She reloaded and this time aimed at the inside of the ankle and fired. When the smoke cleared, Timothy’s ankle was completely obliterated. The only thing connecting his leg to his foot was skin and some tissue. All the bone that made up the ankle was blown away. The leg no longer lined up with the foot but hung at an unnatural angle. This time however, Timothy did not shriek in pain. Rather he let out only a moan.
Christine reloaded the pistol and repeated the shots to the outer and inner ankle bones of the right foot. She looked up at Timothy smiling and saying: “You’re not going anywhere on these legs.”
The next step was to destroy Timothy’s wrists. To do this, Christine first needed to transfer the way Timothy’s wrists were restrained. Pulling a nail gun from a utility closet, Christine placed it against his left palm and fired two nails into his hand. Then she moved to the right and fired two nails into the right hand. Again, Timothy only let out moans.
With his hands now secured to the cross, Christine undid the wrist cuffs. His arms sagged slightly, now being held by his hands.
After reloading her pistol, Christine took aim first at the left wrist and then at the right wrist firing the hollow nose bullets into the bone and tissue, pulverizing them. This time there was more blood because of the veins running down the arm into the hand. But like Timothy’s ankles, his arms hung loosely to his hands.
“That’s it!” Christine announced triumphantly. “It’s such a thrill to demolish your knee caps, your feet and your hands in very painful ways. It energizes me to see your body bones explode into pieces as bullets smash into your body; and knowing that destruction is total and irreparable.
“It’s rare I get a specimen as healthy as you who can take so much punishment. Most the subjects I get are derelicts I have to take off the street who are in terrible health. I have to spend a week rehabbing them just to get them to a point of hanging them on the cross so I can destroy their arms and legs. I don’t bother sticking needles in their balls. They’d never survive. Getting you from Alison and Rebecca was a real coup. I could do the full Monty on you. It’s so much fun taking a man apart body part by body part.
“I’m feeling very aroused now. It’s too bad I can’t use your mouth to get off, but I doubt you the energy to jerk me off. So I’ll have to use my toy. And you need your rest. Tomorrow will be another big day for you.”
After bandaging his wrists to stop the bleeding, Christine did as she did before she went to dinner, she pressed her lips against his, and pushing her tongue past his lips into his toothless mouth she probed deeply and grasping his face in her hands she pressed her mouth hard against his. After a long minute, she broke the kiss, and gazed into Timothy’s half-closed eyes and exhaling, she smiled.
In a barely audible whisper, she said: “Bye.”
Christine turned off the lights, closed and locked the door and went to her bedroom to get some intimate joy.
The next morning, Christine entered the dungeon dressed all in black leather, and made up flawlessly. She approached Timothy smiling. Timothy had to admit that she looked stunning with smoky gray eye shadow, dark mascara erotic ruby red lips.
“This is your day.” She announced. “This is all about you. You will be the guest of honor. Alison and Rebecca will be there and a bunch of my Killer Bee pals will be on hand. We’ll be going over to the warehouse around 10. I want you to be fully awake and alert. I want you to savor every moment. So, I’m going to give you a shot of Dexedrine. That will get you going.”
Walking over to the cabinet, Christine took out a small black fabric pouch. Unzipping it, she removed a hypodermic. Next she took a small vile and inserted the needle into the vial’s rubber stopper and holding the vile upside down, she pulled down on the plunger, sucking a few cc’s of the liquid. Then holding the hypo up, she pushed the plunger up until she had the right amount. Liquid gushed out the needle.
Walking back to Timothy, and with a gloved hand grabbed one of his ass cheeks, jabbed the needle into his ass. Then with a smile, and applying force, she pushed down on the plunger. Timothy let out a loud “OUCH.”
Christine left to check on the preparations. In about an hour she returned. Going to the utility closet, she retrieved a claw hammer. She tilted the cross to which Timothy was bound to a horizontal position with Timothy facing up. Then, taking the claw end, and gouging Timothy’s hands, she yanked out the nails. His arms immediately fell toward the floor, and his hands hung limp, being connect to his arms only by skin.
Next, she undid the bindings around Timothy’s legs and ankles. She picked him up and slung him over her shoulder with his head hanging down her back and his legs over her chest. At this point, Timothy weighed at most 120lbs, and his limbs flopped around like a rag doll. Pressed up against her, each step Christine took, pushed the needles in Timothy’s balls and cock deep into his organs. But with her shoulder blade, pushing into Timothy stomach, restricting his breathing, he could only get out soft moans.
Carrying him out to the Escalade, Christine unceremoniously dumped him in the back and threw a tarp over him. With his wrists, knee caps, and ankles shattered, he was a total cripple. Restraints were completely unnecessary. All he could do was lie where he was dropped.
Christine drove about five miles to a low, single story warehouse in the outskirts of the town. She pulled up to a large door and got out and inserted a key into a metal box on the wall next to the door. Turning the key, the door slowly rolled up. Christine got back in and pulled into the building and parked.
The building was empty except for a large industrial machine in the middle of the floor. The machine consisted of a ten-foot-long stainless steel platform that was slightly concave. A channel, a couple inches wide, ran down the middle of the platform. At one end of the platform was a large assembly that held a large electric motor and a large stainless steel roller that was slightly convex and precisely complimented the concave curve of the table. Clear plastic panels about three feet high were attached to the platform perimeter.
Christine walked over to the far wall where some chairs were stacked. She made several trips setting up 10 chairs in a semi-circle around the platform’s open end. She checked her watch. She walked over to a door in the front of the building and unlocked the door. Within a few minutes, her Killer Bees girlfriends began arriving. They hugged and kissed and chatted.
Finally, Alison and Rebecca arrived. All the women greeted them with and congratulated them on their decision to dispose of their male thing.
Christine went to the car and brought out and set up a small table. On the next trip to the car she brought out of bottles of Champaign and then several bottles of wine and glasses. A couple of the women helped Christine, opening the wine and filling glasses. Then she brought out a bundle of plastic ponchos and goggles and placed them on a chair. Women went over and dawned the apparel and goggles.
One of the Killer Bees explained to Alison and Rebecca the reason for the ponchos and goggles. Pointing to the massive roller at the far end of the platform, the woman explained that in crushing a male thing, a lot of blood and guts will be spewed out in all directions. The plastic guards around the platform will block most of the guts, but they won’t stop all of it. So, ponchos and goggles will stop any blood and guts the guards don’t.
Finally, Christine went back to the car and hauled Timothy out and hoisting him, again, over her shoulder, she carried him to the table and placed him in the middle so he lined up, head to toe with the channel in the middle of the platform.
Sipping their wine, the women gathered around him to examine him. They took note and commented on his shattered joints and ooed and ahed over the needles in his cock and balls. They complimented Christine on a masterful job of preparing Timothy. Alison and Rebecca came over and gazed down at Timothy. He had tears in his eyes.
“Aw, poor thing…. You can’t use your hands and legs anymore.” Alison said in mock sympathy. She bent down and gave him a hard wet kiss, leaving big ruby red lip prints on his cheek.
Rebecca, chimed in. “We had some fun times, but you’re just no fun anymore. So you have to go.” She bent down and gave him a hard wet kiss, leaving cherry-red lip prints.
“OK everyone…” Christine announced. “Everyone who is anyone is here. I want to give a special welcome and thanks to Alison and her partner, Rebecca who made this event possible by donating their male thing to the cause of furthering the art of snuffing out useless male things.”
The women applauded.
“I have the smelling salts so we will make sure this male thing feels every excruciating moment possible.” Christine continued.
“So without further ado, let’s begin.”
As she spoke, Christine held a large industrial switch in her hand, and as she finished, she pulled the switch into its down position. As soon as the circuit was closed, there was the whine of an electric motor starting.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the roller at the foot of the platform began moving toward the head of the table. A couple of women “woohooed” as they saw the roller moving toward Timothy.
Christine came over to where Alison and Rebecca sat and described the setup.
“The gap between the table and roller is very precise. It is one eighth of an inch between the bottom edge of the roller and the platform top. The roller moved a little less than a quarter of an inch every minute. It moves the length of the table in five hours. The thing that you and everyone came to see—the pulverizing of Timothy’s body into powder and liquid--would begin in about a half hour from the moment I flipped the switch; and Timothy would probably be dead in a little over an hour and a half. But the devotees—dubbed the “Die Hards” --would stay until the end. They want to see the crushing and exploding of the vital organs in the torso, and then of the brain as the skull was crushed.” Christine explained.
The women continued to chat and sip wine until the roller reached Timothy’s feet. But when the roller began pulverizing his feet, the women rushed to the spot and some women whooped and yahooed. Some took out their cell phones and snapped pictures.
Christine moved to the control panel and pressed a button. Water began spraying from the machine behind the roller. The water pressure washed the guts and blood the roller crushed out of Timothy’s body into the platform’s central channel.
As the roller moved over his feet, Timothy did not react. Having smashed his ankles, all the nerves were destroyed. But as the rolled began crushing his legs, the screaming began. Timothy’s screams, mingling with sound of cracking bones, reverberated through the massive room. The women fell silent, but exchanged knowing smiles of satisfaction.
Accompanying the screams and cracking bones, blood and tissue flew out both sides of the roller. Most of the guts splattered against the guards on the roller but a fair amount flew out and landed on the floor and some even hit the surrounding walls. And of course some landed on the ponchos of the women who were standing close to the platform, mesmerized by the slow motion destruction.
Timothy rocked from side to side as an involuntary effort to escape with his head rolling back and forth violently. His arms rose and fell repeatedly also uncontrollably; and with his useless hands his arms simply flapped with no purpose.
About a half hour into the crushing, Timothy’s voice began to fail. Christine checked Timothy’s pulse by placing a finger on his neck to check his pulse. Satisfied that his heart was still beating, she held some smelling salts under his nose. He coughed and eyes shot open and started screaming again. Christine looked around at the women smiling.
As the roller began flattening his scrotum, Timothy’s yelling got louder—as though that were possible—and the sound of needles being crunched could be heard; then there was sound of his pelvic bones being shattered into dust.
At this point, Timothy fell silent. Christine bent over Timothy and again placed a finger on his neck to check his pulse, and then held the smelling salts under his nose. This time however, Timothy only moved his head but did not open his eyes or vocalize.
“He’s still alive, but he must now be in shock.” Christine said in a flat voice.
The gathered women weren’t phased. They simply resumed chatting and observe the slow unstoppable progress of the roller.
Alison and Rebecca approached Christine, hugged her and thanked her for putting on this show. They appreciated her taking their thing off their hands. and hoped it provided her with lots of fun. This demonstration was very instructive and enjoyable. They were going. They hugged again and left.
In the car, they both exhaled and relaxed.
“WOW! That was intense.” Alison said, turning to Rebecca. “I’m glad that’s not my thing. But I have to admit, that I’d love to do some of the things she did with the thing. I’d love to shoot the balls off some men and destroy their joints. The problem is you can only do that once and unless you are going to snuff them, what are you going to do with them after you destroyed them?”
“Yeah.” Rebecca nodded.
“I think it’s a lot more fun to just torture the shit out of them and make them wish you’d kill them. I love it when they try resisting and get into the space where you physically force them. That really gets my juices going. I’m getting wet talking about it. I think we did the thing just right. We used him up and then we dumped him. Now we have to find a new thing.”
“I think I need a break—be free of the responsibility of having to care for a thing for a while. Having a male thing is like having a dog: they are high maintenance. May be in six months or so, I’ll be ready for another male.” Alison responded.
Rebecca smiled remained silent and just stared ahead.