My Masster's Rainbow (pt. 4)

I can see the light flashing in my mind before I even open the door to my flat. Setting my purse down on the table, my keys make their familiar clanking as they settle against the hard surface. My heels make their hollow clicks as I rush into the kitchen, the truth on the answering machine stops my heart. Immediately my hands begin to shake. He’s early, at least a week.

“White” The voice of my dreams echoes through my ears, long after I’ve finished playing this message. “White” Rewind. Play. “White” Rewind. Play. “White” Rewind. Play. “White”. This obsessive repeated listening is as much a ritual for me as the laws that govern our relationship. I can already feel the dampness in my panties begin to grow simply from the sound of the wind on his ‘W’.

White is the color of Master’s anger. Every color has a sacrifice. The sacrifice for pink is not getting to see his face, and the absence of penetration. The sacrifice I make in this name is a steep one. Before we meet I must make someone cry. It is the only part of our game that occurs away from the house, and extends beyond just the two of us.

It is with a heavy heart I lift the receiver to my ear. Quaking fingers dial the number I’ve known for years, missing the buttons, trying again. Third time is the charm and I try to keep my tone light as I invite my sister to lunch the following day.

On his stoop that evening, eyes still swollen from tears his laws help me create. Shivering in the snow, stripped to only white silk panties, garter belt and stalking set, and white three inch stiletto heels, I once more make the count. As the numbers fly through my mind so do the images of this afternoon. Choosing to see only the good things, because I know I will live the pain again only too soon. We pick a Bistro downtown, white tablecloth is Master’s order, although Mia has no idea of his existence. My mind circles around the giggly bits, her relaying the latest antics of her child. He’s ten and way too smart for her own good.

In the finishing room my mind sees the boy, smiling at Christmas dinner around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, as I part my hair and create a pair of french braids joining them at the back of my neck to form a single braid traveling to my mid-back. I hear the pride in her voice telling me his test scores and advanced placement, her hands toying with the strand of pearls at her neck, as I apply the fierce eyebrows, pearl shadow, and harsh crimson lips that make-up the face Master needs to see tonight.

The costume he has chosen is a satin corset, small silver rose vines stitched throughout, silk lacings drawn tight against my ribs, the boneing digging in a little as I float one more time, down the stairs. My mind is split between thoughts of Master’s sweet release, and the necessary evil of this afternoon. I feel myself being set down and suddenly hear his voice screaming in my head, “White, white, white,” over and over an angry bruise raising in my thoughts.

The bubble breaks, The Shoes have removed my cover, I feel his hand slip behind my neck, up between the braids, coming to rest with thumb and pinky each catching a braid and taking full control of my head and pulling me to my feet roughly. Bringing my face six feet from the eight by five screen. The first thing my eyes are allowed to focus on is my sister’s face, those quiet green eyes, widow’s peak and pixie chin, those heart shaped lips, tinted only a little, followed by her deep red hair tied back in a bun, a double twist, the rest spilling out in curls to her shoulders. Everything about Mia is chaste; from her hairstyle and sparse make up to her crisp pale yellow suit, that same string of pearls resting at her clavicle just above the lace of her clean alabaster top. I know Master appreciates my use of her in this way. She sits, larger than life before me, as still and straight as an arrow, not yet knowing the ways I am about to tear her soul open, wrapped for now in her armor of Christ’s Love and perceived moral superiority.

The broach I am made to wear is simple enough looking. A single white gold rosebud, a diamond set at the heart. It’s most interesting quality is something which would go unnoticed but to the eye trained to its discovery. Through a hole, no larger then the ball of a fine point pen peers my Master’s silent eye, the lens of the camera. Another mute witness to the art Master holds me with. I hear my own voice, tinny from the recording.

“Mia” I said. The camera catching a surprising amount of both the area and detail of the room restaurant, a keen eye might actually be able to pick out my inverted reflection in the water glass, “how long are you going to let this go on?”

I see her expression change, for the second time today, eyes widening, that ever present idiot grin slipping just a bit. And I have to admit to myself once again that this feels a little good. “The boy needs a father.” I hear myself say, and again watch her perfect chin begin to quiver. “Wasn’t that the agreement?” The ice on my last sentence chills me, then and now, and breaks her a little more.

“Please.” Is her almost whispered reply. The mic is a good one; at lunch the place was so loud it had been a lot harder to hear her.

On the mark of her word I feel his hands at my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. There is a distinct double slap as my heels hit the marble, having freed themselves at the bend of my foot. His hands remain, applying a constant pressure as I watch my sister’s heart begin to break on the screen just as it did before my eyes only a few short hours ago.

“We’ve had this talk before, Mia.”

“Please.” She said again, her eyes shaking, beginning to well with a mother’s tears. “I’m all he knows. I need him.” At the release of those words, I watch again as her breath pulls, her teeth coming down against her bottom lip with the realization this is the very wrong thing to say.

“You,” I hear myself hiss, “need him?” There is a venom on my tongue I have only heard on the tongue of one other. In so many ways he has taught me how to live. “Is that all you concern yourself with? You? What Mia needs?” –‘Stop!’ I cry again in my mind, just like the first time, ‘Don’t do it!’ But again I continue, “Is that why Grey still has no man to guide him? Is that why-“‘Oh God DON’T! Don’t use THOSE WORDS!’-“MY SON has been left at this tender age in want of a father?” ‘You did it. You stupid, stupid bitch!’

The tears fall, spilling across her salad, splashing onto the white table cloth. Back in reality I had seen myself at the table like a third party, watching myself hurt her, unable to stop, horrified at the sight of her and of myself. The bitch part of me taking over, I think, this is far too nice a place for her to be making a scene like this. Never mind I’m the one causing it.

“No. Please. Tobin.” I hear her begin. “You can’t. He’s just. He needs.” Choking back real sobs now the Mia on the screen breaks down as completely as I think she ever really can. At the height of her pain Master’s hands push harder, bringing me to my hands. He moves to face me, his hands moving now, left on the back of my head, right moving to free his cock

My Master's Rainbow (pt3)

Those words, on his breath, on my skin, are enough to let me come again, but Master is not quite that kind. As the heat from his breath fades, and my body warms toward the second wave of orgasm I feel the coin drop against the same spot my Master’s lips had just caressed. The cold metal burns into my skin and relieves me of any pleasure. The coin is larger than a silver dollar and twice as heavy, I have never seen it, but it’s liberal use is Master’s favorite way to draw out the sensation he has placed in me. He keeps it in a freezer, I’m sure, and there have been times its echo has been found upon my skin the next morning.

My body tries to move, spasming, and jerking against the restraints, no allowed enough freedom to shake the coin from my body, and I hear his amused chuckle from the corner of my ear. As it warms, and my body stills, he removes the coin, and leaves me a twitching mass of raw nerves.

“Sweetheart” The word seems to rain down on me from above. In everyday speech this is a term of endearment, but on Master’s tongue there is no sugar implied, not for pink. His accent drops the ‘R’ and twists the word giving it a much more sinister implication. The tone he applies expresses his distain for the honeyed terms that disguise lust.

“My Dear.” On anyone else’s breath ‘dear’ is a single syllable word; Master’s use brings out a second. I feel a chill in the air that tells me, from experience, he is just beginning. I know I will be treated to a litany of the sweetest words ever spoken, delivered in a way that sends images of poison dripping from a serpent’s fangs. Each word he gives me leaves its mark on my soul just as the accompanying scissor stroke creates a signature of destruction upon the fabric. Soon the dress will be a tattered collection of strips clinging hopelessly to my body.

“Cup Cake” The abrupt delivery of each hard consonant cuts into me. The ring of the twin blades meeting each other enters my ears and echoes through my mind like ripples in a pond. With each opening he creates in my clothing he places a kiss upon the newly exposed flesh beneath and bestows another of his poisoned words. This causes a storm of goose flesh to travel from one spot on my skin to another, a writhing cloud of tightening and relaxing flesh sending me reeling into my second orgasm. His attack comes at me from all sides, I have images running through my mind of him, spinning, crazily, pirouetting like some sex driven ballet dancer. At my hip. Snip. Kiss. “Sugar.” Against my sternum. Snip. Kiss. “Baby.” Along my ribcage. Snip. Kiss. “My Love.”

His voice like an electric shock upon my flesh, bringing the same kind of presence an actual touch could. Had my hips any freedom of movement they would be bucking uncontrollably. My stomach muscles contract, my thighs tighten, knees lock, I feel sweat break out across my body. Master brings the blade to the center of my panties; the cold steel against my labia is too much. I come so strong I can actually feel my lower lips kissing the blades as the walls of my cunt tighten within me. Snip. Kiss. “Sweetness.”

The sensations overcome me, and I am lost to them. It’s like an orgasm induced blackout, the pleasures mixing with each other, painting a mural of lust inspired moments on my most vulnerable flesh. Penetration is never an option for pink, the essence of the color demands it. Master’s artistry is demonstrated in his exactness, the lack of something inside me is of no consequence. The way he expresses his control, never fails to leave me awe inspired.

~x~

In the glow of the porch light, I gather my things; the yellow glass casts a sickly glow upon my bare flesh. All of my apparel, having been sacrificed to suit his needs I shiver, standing naked in the snow, in my patent leather flats. My, hair, long since released from its pigtails, falls across my eyes as I reach into the bag beside me, collecting the symbols of my outside life. I retrieve my heels, stepping lightly into them, leaving the flats at the doorstep, a calling card of sorts.

Next to return is my skirt, the expensive black silk now seeming somehow rough against my bare thighs. On with my blouse, the fabric nearly frozen from the countless hours in the cold, immediately crisping my nipples as the cloth embraces my shoulders. Giving my jacket a snap as I remove it from the bag, before I place my arms into the sleeves, the sensation created by the lining rushing against my skin brings me for a moment back into the cellar. Each time I leave, my heart breaks a little, and I find myself looking for anything that can bring me there again, even for a moment.

The weight of my necklace brings me the memory of Master’s hands. The earrings give me a sense of womanhood, an outward decoration to remind me of the beauty I am made to feel through him. Placing the bracelet across my left wrist brings me to my past, and the dire need to feel controlled. The return of my wedding band cuts my mind with joy to think of how much this man must love me to allow me to make a gift of myself, each month, to another man. Watch on my right wrist tells me that our time has ended, and each glance will mark the time until my glorious return.

Pulling my hair back, twisting it, and using the tortoise shell clips to fasten it I turn, spinning on one heel. I sling my bag across my shoulder and walk to the curb; I raise my hand to the street, calling for a taxi to steal me away into the fog. I brush another tear from the corner of my eye as I slip away into the night, the thought of the weeks ahead until I hear his voice on my answering machine again, a single word message naming his next color.

My Master's Rainbow (pt2)

My thighs begin to throb, my knees to ache. Shoulders stretched to feel like they will separate me at the breastbone, I must also keep my head thrown back, neck presented, soon that, too, will show me it’s delicious pain.

In all this time I have never understood how Master knows just when to call to me. I find myself pondering this each time as I wait. I remain as still as stone, my mind begging for his voice, eyes locked at the camera lens in the corner above and behind me. My pigtails brush my calves lightly, as they swing in time with my pulse. There is a small rush that comes through my soul, like one moment of fear. I know it does not show physically, but somehow he can sense it.

“Continue.” His voice is like velvet in my ears, deep round tones with a hint of salt. His accent speaks to me of subways and steaming grates, I’ve never seen. The small hairs all over my body stand at attention at the sound of it, my pussy moistens. Slowly, I am to drop my bottom to the floor, without releasing my ankles I must bring my breasts, also, the marble .As I place my shoulders and left cheek, against the cold stone, crossing my ankles as I release them, I bring my wrists together behind my back and let them rest.

Soon I will see The Shoes. Soundless on soft soles, they come in, two pairs of plain black loafers, men’s. As always I find myself wishing I could tell shoe sizes, for any other seed of information, because within moments I am blindfolded. At the same time I feel the leather lace between my wrists and ankles. Next will be the lifting, a set of hands at my shoulders, another at my hips, with a single movement I am shifted. I have no idea what The Shoes place me on. Something smooth, warm, and flat, I imagine a serving trey, myself being delivered for him to devour.

In the darkness behind my blindfold I wait. My skin, on fire from want of sensation, picks up the even slightest movement in the air as I am carried. The feeling of floating both relaxes and excites me, because I know what is to come. I feel myself lowering, but softly, I know we must be moving downstairs, although try as I might I have never been able to feel the steps. It is so much more like traveling down a river than being carried; the movements are so smooth. As always I find myself wondering about The Shoes, and how it is they move this way, I imagine them as dancers.

I am set down. My only clue to this is the absence of movement. In a few moments I will again be lifted, my wrists and ankles then unbound, temporarily, as I am repositioned. They bring me to a chair of some sort and redo my binds lashing my arms at the wrists, forearms, and biceps. My legs are opened, and lashed at the ankle, calf and thigh. The leather pulled just tight enough to bite into my skin. My head is pulled back; a single tie running across my forehead completes my immobility.

The Shoes are no longer moving near me, I only know this from experience, but they are still here, silent witnesses to my master’s pleasures. I sit, blind, waiting, never knowing how long it will be. My nipples harden, my breath grows shallow, and I again feel the small hairs all over me stand. Master knows the large part of my addiction is the anticipation; he pays me respect in this with the laws that bring me to him.

In the darkness behind my blindfold, I dream his face. The clean chestnut brown of his eyes, and the piercing way he uses them to rip into me. The soft look of his full lips contrasting with the hard words he forms with them. The relative smallness of his ears coupled with the intense way he listens. In my world of blackness my covered eyes release a single tear. The only thing I hate about pink is that innocence means I will not see him. This thought brings an exquisite stab into my heart.

Before that pain fades I hear his voice against my left ear, so close his lips brush the outer ridge. “Innocence” one word, but his tongue pulls on the consonants making it three, with a deep hiss trailing behind them. The very same moment his hands come to my breasts from behind cupping them, pressing me against the back of the chair, and disappearing just as suddenly.

For a truly indefinite amount of time I am victim to a barrage of such assaults, peppered in intervals of silence. My sight stolen from me, I have only my ears to lend clues to the direction of the next attack. But Master is blessed with a grace that leaves no mark upon the ear, and I am left blind to his movements.

His grace illustrated in a single movement I feel at once the pressure of the tool and the motor bringing it to life. This instant pleasure, having followed almost immediately the removal of his hands encircling my neck sends me spinning toward the first wave of climax. Just as my breath catches and a rush of fluid moves through my sex, the source of my joy is stolen from me, and I am left biting my lower lip and trying to stifle a whimper.

“Innocence” he says again, taunting me. I hear his fingers snap and a moment later I feel the binds keeping me pressed to the chair loosening. The Shoes, again, this time one at each side, are opening my restraints and pulling me to my feet. Leading me a few feet to the left, a hand at the back of my neck, held with fingertips pressing behind my ears gives pressure telling me when to stop. I feel my arms being lifted, but from behind, pulling them straight back and lashing my wrists to hold the angle. Moments later I feel a bar press across my waist, the hand at my neck pulls slightly communicating I must step back as the bar comes toward me. Three steps and I am lifted my hip bones placed against the bar so that my weight is split between it and my wrists. My ankles are then spread, and lashed as well, to what I can only guess is the base of the bar. My mind sees this device as being similar to gymnasts’ uneven bars. I love this tool. The pain from being hung by my wrists, the feeling of suspension, the cold metal chilling the front of my legs, all of these things haunt my dreams.

As I hang there, enjoying the position and the anticipation, my heart races. Before I fully get a chance to appreciate this feeling, the skin at my bum is met with the cold steel of his scissor. I feel its strength as it draws its line up toward the small of my back. I feel the fabric of the dress splitting against the blades, the combination of this and everything leading up to it forces my orgasm. I ride the wave of it as it travels up my body as though following the path my Master has set for it. Without warning my cunt surges and I feel a rush of fluid release and begin to trickle down my thighs.

I feel his lips brush the small of my back as he speaks against it, “Good girl.”

My Master's Rainbow

My Master’s Rainbow

I walk up to the door retrieving my key from beneath my left breast. My fingertips like ice from the December air cut a chilling path along my skin. Nothing in this world ever feels as solid as this particular key. I break out in goose flesh as I place the key in the lock. My breath catches as I set my bag down in the snow.

It is the same every time. Key in the door, but do not turn the lock, place the bag on the ground next to me. Take down my hair and place the clips in the bag, then my jewelry. Watch first, wedding ring, bracelet, ear rings, and necklace, always in this order. Next comes my jacket, my blouse, my skirt, and I’m left in my underclothes standing in heels in the snow, on the front stoop of his house.

My master’s rainbow has four colors, today’s color is pink. Pink is the color of innocence. My bra is chaste, cotton of this hue with a delicate lace trim, as are the partnering cotton briefs and thigh high stockings. I am to change my shoes, heels aren’t allowed today, patent leather flats will do. The steam from my skin fades as the weather steals the heat from my flesh.

Finished changing now, I stand, arms at my sides, the count is one hundred and twenty. Slowly I am to mouth the names of the numbers as I think them, a count down and zero matters. I am not allowed to react to the weather, although a desperate need to rub my arms with my hands is distracting. My nails are biting into my palms by the time I reach seventy five, I take a deep breath to calm myself into keeping the pace. By forty five my nipples harden to pebbles and the soft cotton of my bra feels like rough concrete against them. I fight to keep my jaw from chattering, the last ten are always the hardest, and at zero I am to take three deep breaths before reaching for the key in the door to turn the lock.

The harsh clicks of the tumblers followed by the hiss of the air being pulled through the opening door are sounds that, even in memories, quicken my pulse and send blood surging through my labia. I step in, leaving my things on the stoop for the duration, leaving that world in the cold as I am baptized in the wash of warm air that welcomes me, once more, to this place.

The laws state that I must step only on the black tiles to move through the hall. There are no electric lights here only a series of six foot candelabras placed every five feet or so to light the path. The third door on the left is the finishing room; before I enter I have to kneel, knees spread, at the threshold. The count is only thirty here, but I must place my right palm against my pussy and my left must twist behind my back and lay with fingers flat, first and pinky placed to touch each shoulder blade. These laws are in place whatever the color; it is always the same with this. I’ve grown to love the pull in my bicep as it stretches.

Entering the room and taking my place at the vanity I use the silver handled brush on the table. This too has a count, one hundred. Because today is pink I must use those hundred strokes to part my hair into low pig-tails and have them tied off with the fluffy hair ties he has set in my box. Pink isn’t allowed make up, I use the removing wipes provided. I must now stare into the mirror and watch myself say aloud, “I am unworthy of my master’s gifts, and he forgives me for asking.” I must say this 5 times, before I move to the costuming rack.

He has chosen for me a simple dress, a white jersey baby doll with large pink balloons. As always the dress is too small, it doesn’t matter, slipping it on I imagine the cold metal of the scissors against my skin as he splits the fabric against the blades.

Finished changing, again I must kneel at the threshold, once more my knees are open, this time my hands must find my ankles, I am to remain this way until I hear his voice on the PA one word will caress my ears ‘continue’.

For The Love Of Breathing

All forms of communication fascinate me, hand gestures, turns of phrase, a sigh, the words people choose to express themselves, even music, not just the lyrics, the actual sound. The way the guitar will carry a note or the drum will roll, that precious, tortured wail of a well played violin. I love to watch people just jamming with each other, the way they speak through their instruments, almost walking hand in hand connected through their sound.

I love to watch people, everywhere, doing anything (well almost anything). I sit in restaurants and listen and watch. By the time I pay the check I know what went on at each table around me. I know that the lady in the pink shirt is left handed, and very picky, I also know that the man across from her is tired, not sleepy, tired – of life or something like it. I ride B.A.R.T. and watch people think as they read, study, and work. I listen to their conversations and laugh, to myself. I make up lives for the still ones- the spacey or the sleeping (he’s an investment banker going through a nasty divorce; she’s on her way to the clinic to see about that infection).

One of my truest loves is to involve myself in passionate conversations, things people feel strongly about, things people just feel. From the obscure (paper towel brand preferences) to the universal (do I have to spell it out for you?). Conversations that begin at 7pm and just run on into morning, laughter, tears, “oh, fuck!” and “fuck yeah!” peppered with way too much to smoke.

I love visual art, the images people choose to create, the colors they use, the amount of emotion they can communicate through something as simple as an apple, or a clock. Any medium, oils, charcoal, aerosol, wood, metal, clay - it really doesn’t matter spray paint yourself and run screaming “I’m a pretzel! I’m a pretzel!” for all I care as long as it means something to you, as long as you’re trying to tell me something.

So this is for all you talkers, you musicians, you artists, you thinkers, you random interesting strangers. Thank you, keep it up because you keep me going.

Puppy's Tale

Puppy’s Tale

My Name was Keri and this is my story.

Gina and I decided to go camping together. Three weeks in the mountains, just the two of us. Sun, nature, and most importantly, no parents, not even a cell phone for then to check up on us. Bliss, peace.

We’d been up there for about a week and a half already. We’d found a spot that was quiet and beautiful, a place so perfect it was like a dream. Cozied up to the side of a cliff and surrounded by trees, even better a a tiny waterfall that came to rest in a small lagoon beside our camp. The water was cool and clear, and the sound of the waterfall made us feel even more secluded.

Most of our time had been spent sunbathing on the rocks next to the lagoon, hiking, or bird watching in the forest nearby. The whole time we never saw any sign of other people. We began to become very comfortable with our seclusion, we even began to sunbathe nude.

One afternoon we were doing just that, sunbathing nude and talking. I’d just come up from a quick dip and was climbing up onto the rocks to lay out and dry.

Gina looked up at me, her hand held at her eyebrows to shade her eyes, “You look so pretty right now,” she said, “your hair is slicked back, your nipples are hard, and your body is glistening from the water.”

I blushed; I’ve never been good about complements. “Not as good as you do,” I countered, “your tits are all full, and tanned, and your hips are all rounded and sexy.” I was surprised to hear myself saying this, usually, I’m shy, but I chalked that up to the solitude and this envelope of safety we were feeling.

I sat down next to her, stretched out and lay down, dozing a little in the heat. I was more relaxed right then than I ever remember being before.

“Keri?”

“Mmm?”

“How far have you gone? With boys, I mean?”

“Not far. Just kissing, mostly, but once Devin Alder put his hand up my shirt. How far have you gone?”

“Mmm…. Just kissing, mostly, too. Only this one time, Jerry and I got really heavy and he got his hand down my pants.”

“Really? What was that like?” My mind was reeling, even in my fantasies I hadn’t gotten that far.

“Kind of slippery, and just as I started to kind of like it, his sister came home and we had to stop.”

“Slippery?”

“Yeah, at first I was scared, I thought something was wrong with me or I started my period, or something, but he acted like it was normal, so I relaxed, When I got home I looked it up, it’s normal. I guess you’re supposed to get wet, it’s supposed to help the guy get it in.”

“So what was it like?”

“It’s hard to describe….”

“C’mon, try, please?”

She sat up suddenly and launched toward me, I was caught off guard. I laughed sharply when she landed on top of me. But she didn’t get off me right away, instead she slipped one hand between my legs cupping my pubes with her palm and holding me down in such a way that I wiggled but couldn’t get away.

“I can’t really tell you but I can show you.” She hissed in my ear. I gave up the struggle and lay there, silently consenting to her experiment. I relaxed a little, and spread my legs some, just a little, to give her some room. She wriggled her fingers around; I could feel her fingertips pressing slightly into my slit, and then slide up and press against my clit. Rubbing lightly, it began to feel good, and like she said, a little slippery. Soon my hips began to roll a little and my breath became ragged. My mind began to race, ‘Does this make me a lesbian?’ I wondered, ‘If I like it when a girl touches me? If I want to touch her back? I could feel myself moaning and just as I was getting ready to lose myself to the heat between my legs, she stopped suddenly pulling her hand away. I lay there, my insides twitching, for a moment, and then sat up.

“What did you think?” She asked me, when I’d caught my breath.

Blushing again, “I liked it,” I said quietly, “but was I supposed to? I mean because we’re both girls, does this make me gay?”

“Not any more than you were five minutes ago, I guess, I mean they’re just fingers, you know, boys’ or girls’, what’s the difference?”

“I don’t know, I guess you’re right. Something was happening, though right before you stopped.”

“Yeah, I think you were about to come.”

“All I know is it felt good. Like really good.”

“I wonder what coming is like.” She had this wistful expression on her face. Suddenly I grew bold.

“You want me to try?” ‘Say yes’ my mind screamed, I don’t know why. All I knew was nothing was more important to me, just then, than putting my hands on her body, making her squirm like she’d made me.

“Maybe we could do each other. I saw this thing, once, in this magazine. Have you ever heard of sixty-nine?”

“That’s like eating out, right?”

“Yeah but we do it at the same time. One of us gets on top and we put our heads between each other’s legs, and, like, lick and suck until we come. It’s supposed to be really cool”

“Okay, but I’ll get on top. I’m just not sure I’ll be any good at it.”

“Well I don’t really know what I’m doing either. It’s not like I have any expectations, you know.”

She seemed to make sense, so I nodded. She leaned back and I climbed on top of her, resting my elbows next to her hips and spreading her thighs with my hands. I placed each knee just above her shoulders and I could feel her breath against my pussy. I bent my head forward, down and lowered my lips against the skin there. I began to softly pet her with my tongue exploring her folds with its tip. I felt her shudder slightly and took it as an invitation to get bolder. I stuck my tongue out really far and began to lick her pussy like an ice cream, long wet strokes against the length of her slit.

All this time I could hear her breathing and feel her hips rocking in time with my tongue. As I put her clit in my mouth and started to suck I felt her buck hard beneath me, and her tongue, which had been echoing my own snaked deep in my pussy and her hot breath sent me over that edge I had been so close to earlier. I lost myself to her touch; I licked and sucked her randomly whenever my own orgasm allowed me any control. Soon she, too, began to moan and writhe beneath me, and I could tell she was coming. Quickly. I pressed my lips to her clit once more and sucked hard at the firm nub. Her hips bucked and she clamped my head between her thighs. My body rocked up and down with the force of her movements. I wrapped my arms around her thighs, hooking my elbows at her hips and tried to hold my position on her cunt. As I struggled, one of my fingers slipped into her asshole. This did something to her, because where before she was just moaning and bucking, now she began to cry out ‘omigod’ and grabbing and slapping my ass, digging her fingernails into my back and pumping her hips so quickly I could barely hold on to her. In the throws of her orgasm, she had thrown her head back and forgotten mine. I was cool with that, for some reason, all I wanted was to get her off.

Suddenly her cries stopped, her body was still rocking under me, but she didn’t make a sound. At the same moment I felt something piercing my twat, something long, thick, and hard. The pain is incredible and before I can react I feel someone’s hand at the back of my head, grabbing my hair, pulling my head back and up. I feel hot breath in my ear and another arm snakes around my waist, keeping me impaled on what I now know is someone’s cock.

I opened my eyes and saw someone, a man, pulling Gina from beneath me by her ankles, her kicking and trying to scream, but there’s a plastic bag over her head. I one behind me keeps fucking and it keeps hurting. A third man kneels in front of me, a black man; he pushes his dick in my face. I feel the gun before my focus on the barrel, it is warm and pressing against me forehead.

“Suck it bitch-girl,” he hisses, “But don’t get any ideas, believe I can pull this trigger before you can bite my cock.” I open my mouth and he shoves it in, deep down my throat, and I try not to gag because he’ll feel my teeth. I think, strangely, ‘I wonder if I’m any good.’ The one behind me keeps fucking, and I feel as if I’m being ripped in two. I can hear Gina’s muffled screams, and what sounds like slapping. It feels like hours these two strange men pumped at me, the one in my mouth pinching my nipples as his balls slap against my chin and neck, the one in my cunt slamming against my ass, his balls hitting my legs. His hand pulling my hair in tight, forceful fistfuls, keeping my head back, my neck open for his buddy’s cock. At some point, the pain in my cunt stops, and against my will, I orgasm hard, my pussy contracting against his prick. Also against my will, I begin to suck, confidently, the huge member in my mouth. They come, one shooting his load down my throat, and swallow, not even knowing how or why I am doing it. The other pulling his cock from my hole and spewed what seems like tons across my back and ass, I can feel some land in my hair.

They drag me across the rocks and dirt to the trees, pulling me to my feet and tying me, spread eagle, to them. There’s a board between my ankles, they must have brought it with them, it has leather straps at each end. A gag is in my mouth forced way back against my tongue. I have to breathe carefully through my nose so as not to choke against it.

I can see Gina now. The ones who’d gone after me are now at her. The black one is lying on his back with her on top of him, fucking her and biting her nipples, I can see the blood dripping down his chin. The other is lying on top of them, her sandwiched in between; he must be in her ass. This one has long, red hair; I can see his ponytail swinging as he thrusts roughly into her. I can tell she is trying to scream, but they’ve taken the plastic bag off her head and there is a leather belt wrapped around her neck. A third man, the one who took her from me steps in front of her, he has dark hair, black almost blue in the sunlight, he grabs her hair and shoves his cock into her mouth, I can hear her gagging against it.

I am surprised that as I watch this my pussy begins to tingle, and to moisten. I feel my breasts begin to tighten as my nipples become hard. It is a horror before me, my best friend being savagely raped in front of me, choked and bitten, her body being stretched out by men with only sex and pain in their heads. ‘We were virgins,’ my mind screams, ‘We’re only seventeen!’ And still, somehow I am turned on by the scene before me.

Two of them are finished with her, The Dark One, and Jet Black Hair, I begin to call them in my mind. Big Red is still plugging away at her ass. After all the cum he sprayed on me, I wonder how he’ll manage again. He has the belt in his hand now and is pulling and pulling, and fucking and fucking. Her body goes limp and he comes shortly after, picking her up by her hips like a rag doll and slamming into her. He takes off the belt and tosses her on the ground. He kneels next to her and bends down. I realize he’s using CPR to bring her around. She coughs and gurgles as she comes back. He slaps her roughly, and drags her over next to me, chaining her near my feet like a dog. I look down at her; she’s dirty and bloody, and crying. Her face is bruised from the beating she took, and her neck looks angry and soar, her lips are swollen and split; her nipples are bleeding, almost bitten off. There is blood on her thighs and ass cheeks, from the pounding that Big Red gave her, and from her deflowering. I know mine must look the same.

I cannot see the men, but I can hear them. I know they are close by. My hands and arms are going numb from hanging the way they are. I try to move them to regain circulation, my elbows flop and strike me in the face.

Two of them return, Jet Black and Big Red. They encircle us and I can hear Gina whimper below me. Black Hair stands beside her and grabs her roughly by her hair; he pulls her to her knees and shoves her face between my thighs.

“I know you like to lick twat.” He growls to her, the first words spoken to us since this whole ordeal began, save The Dark One’s instruction on sucking dick. “I felt how juicy your pussy was when we took you. You were all hot on this one’s tongue. Eat it, bitch. Eat her cunt, because your life depends on it. If I don’t hear her come, you die.” She began to cry and to lick me, alternately sucking my clit and taking gasping, sobbing breaths. As she did this that strange heat bean to grow inside me again. I cannot believe that I’m coming again, why does this urn me on? My knees grow weak and my hips begin to rock. My orgasm growing and my best friend being forced between my legs. Suddenly, a sharp pain rips through my asshole, Big Red is behind me but this is not his cock. I look down on Gina and see Black Hair crouching behind her, shoving a piece of re-bar into her ass. From the feel of my own pain I can only guess I am being raped with its twin. The pain is tremendous but strangely I still orgasm from Gina at my cunt. As I throw my head back I feel that same leather belt being slipped around my throat, but I still come, as my face pulses and grows hot and tight and I feel my eyeballs bulging, I still orgasm. My hips buck and my arms twitch, and I come, and the world begins to slowly go black, spots getting larger before my eyes. I pass out.

I am gasping, retching, my throat burns and I can hardly breathe. I am coming to. I am on my hands and knees choking on the ground. My neck feels strangely flat inside, my guess is that my trachea has been crushed, at least fractured, I taste blood in my mouth.

I roll over, Big Red is above me. I’m guessing he used CPR on me, too. He has a disgusted look on his face, he purses his lips and spits in my face. He kicks me, hard in the side, and again in the stomach. He picks me up by my hair and smashes his fist into my face. Pain explodes across my cheek and mouth, I feel teeth slide across my tongue, tow of them. I spit them onto the ground, as I do this he brings his knee into my nose, breaking it and bringing a torrent of blood through my nostrils. He drops me to the ground, bleeding and crying my head spinning, throbbing. I lay there as he walks away toward Gina, and the others.

They have her tied up now, in my place. More blood streaming down her thighs. At some point they’d begun cutting on her, I could see long slits along her ribs where they’d stripped away her skin. The Dark One was screwing her ass with his huge member, while Black Hair was using a straight razor to pull back the flesh from her abdomen. This seemed to excite The Dark One as he began pumping harder at her, his thrusts lifting his feet off the ground. She was trying to scream, I could tell, but they had her gagged, as I had been.

I could see Big Red sitting off to the side, pulling on his cock. I could only lay there, battered on the ground watching. As The Dark One finished fucking her, he stepped back, her body falling limp with exhaustion and pain.

“Drop her.” I hear Big Red call out to the others, “She’s almost done. Let her rest, she’ll last longer.”

They loosed the rope above her head and let her fall, like a rag doll to the dirty ground.

Black Hair came up to me and grabbed my arm, dragging me back to the others. He tossed on the ground next to Gina and sat with them in a circle around me. They all had folding chairs, ‘They must have planned this.’ I think and wonder why it occurred to me for only the first time.

As if he’d been reading my mind Black Hair speaks again, “We’ve been watching you two bitches.”

“All week, we’ve been watching you two.” This from Big Red, with a kind of crazed giggle.

“Been looking forward to killin’ you bitches for days now, too.” Black Hair again.

“Your little dyke-bitch friend is sweet,” says Big Red, “everything we expected. But you, you came. I could swear you did.” He giggled again, that sick giggle, and reached out and pinched my nipple, pulling at it roughly. And again I could feel the heat in my pussy. Even through all the pain wracking my body, I begin to get aroused.

“Didn’t you, bitch?” Says Black Hair, and slaps my ass.

“Yes.” I hear myself whisper through my tears.

“I KNEW IT!!” Cries Big Red, giggling wildly now. I glance up at him, he is nude, like the rest of them, like Gina and me his cock jumping against his thigh. All I can think of is how insatiable they all must be, I’d lost count how many times they’d each come, but it seemed they’d all been fucking us for quite some time now.

Yet as I watched, his dick grew long and hard again before my eyes. As I glanced at the other men I saw them all grow hard. ‘Again?’ I thought amazed and wondered what they had in mind this time around. I looked up to Big Red’s face, and saw him lick his lips. I glanced down to Gina, her crumpled, bleeding body lying at my feet, she moaned quietly. She’d taken a lot, and I saw what Big Red meant when he’d said she was almost done. I, on the other hand, was more alive than I had any right to be.

“Are you a dyke, too, bitch?” Black Hair asked me with a note of contempt in his voice.

“I- I don’t think so.” I whisper, wishing for there to be strength in my voice, but knowing there won’t be because of my encounter with the belt.

“You were coming on her face when we got you, but they tell me you fucked the hell out of his cock, and you sucked his dick like you were made for it.”

“Yes.” I tell them, almost proud of how I’ve taken it better than Gina. How much stronger than her I must be.

“So, are you a dyke or what, bitch?”

“I was a virgin, I don’t know.”

“Well I say she’s just a slut.” This from The Dark One, who hadn’t spoken much. Through most of this he had remained silent, pulling on his thick member, and just watching us. “Yeah, I say she’s just a little baby bitch slut.”

“You said you was a virgin?” Big Red again.

“Yes.”

“Well you must come by your shit naturally. I bet you just been waitin for a fuck.”

“Yeah, you must have just been waitin for it. I bet you just needed somebody to show you how much you like it.” Black Hair now chiming in with the others. “You know you like it now, bitch.”

I just nod, but he slaps me. “Don’t you bitch?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I like it.”

“Say you like the fucking.”

“I like the fucking.” My pussy growing hot again, growing wet again.

“Say you love it.”

“I love the fucking.”

“Now thank us for showing you.”

“Th-Thank you. Thank you for showing me how much I love the fucking.” And surprising myself, I realize as I say the words that I mean them.

“Now beg for it.” The sadistic grin on Black Hair’s face struck me as evil, and welcomed me at the same time.

“Please fuck me.” I whispered, and meant it. I heard myself begging them, pleading with them. Not for my life, as I should have been, but for an orgasm however I could get it. “Fuck my cunt, fuck my ass, fuck my lips.” Even though my lips were swollen and cracked and my throat was ruined. “Fuck me, use my body. I am a born slut and I need your cocks.”

And they did, Big Red taking my mouth as The Dark One raped my pussy, and Black Hair shoved his cock in my ass. The pain was torture, it was complete, and it was ecstasy. These men had taken me completely, filled my body with pain and cum, and I was fucking them freely, the ruined body of my friend at our feet as they pumped at me.

At some point, Big Red finished and began strangling me again, and again I came hard against the men inside me as the world grew black.

Once again I came to near the water. This time the liquid in my throat and the pain in my chest told me I’d been drowned. Big Red was standing above me again. Once again, as I lay there choking and gagging, he beat me and kicked me and left me lying in the dirt, dizzy and wheezing.

As I lay there, unable to move, I watched. They were going at Gina again, she was barely alive, but that didn’t seem to bother them too much.

I watched as Black Hair knelt before her, and something in his hand glittered in the moonlight. A knife, a huge knife. Not the hunting kind or even a wicked little pocket blade, but a ten inch chefs’ knife. As I looked on in horror, Black Hair thrust the blade into her, splitting her tiny pussy against the steel as he penetrated her. She let out a final scream and they laughed, as if her dying amused them. Black Hair continued to fuck her with the chefs’ knife, loosing her blood across her legs. He eventually lost interest in that and moved toward her head. I saw as he raised her torso by her hair and drew the blade across her neck, slashing through until she’d been nearly decapitated.

Big Red stepped up then and grabbed Gina’s ruined corpse by her shoulders, her nearly severed head falling back gruesomely. He then began to fuck the gaping hole in her neck, giggling wildly and crying out, “Look boys this one knows how to deep throat!!”

He meant it, too. I could see his intensity as he slammed his cock into the ragged hole and came deeply down her throat.

When Big Red finished with herbody, he tossed her to the ground, like a piece of garbage. He regarded her with as if she were a tattered blanket, not as though she had, only twenty minutes ago, been a lovely, caring, seventeen year old girl.

The Dark One came up me then, a rag in his hand. I thought again they would gag me, and that they would use me once again for their sick pleasures. Instead he grabbed the back of my head and covered my mouth with the cloth.

“Breathe deep, bitch.” He said.

I tried to hold my breath but he kneed me in the stomach, I gasped and tasted something acrid, chlorophorme or ether. Again, I passed out, thankful, only, that this time it wasn’t painful.

Epolague-

“….The next time I woke up I was here.”

“What shut up, your kidding, right?”

The dark haired beauty before me exclaims with large blue eyes.

“Oh, but it is,” I tell her and toss my head back to show her the scars on my neck that after ten years still haven’t faded.

“Haven’t you ever tried to escape?”

“In the early years, many times, but now you couldn’t pay me to leave.”

“What? Why? Aren’t you sick to death just bein here? These men raped you, killed you repeatedly, murdered your friend, and now you say they kidnapped you! How could you possibly want to stay?”

“Because they are my masters now.” I tell her, even though I know she can never understand. “A few years ago I got away. I was gone for six months, could have been forever. But I met a guy. Nice guy, my own age, real averge joe. I just couldn’t get into it with him. I tried, but his sex couldn’t turn me on the way my masters can. After a few months of it, I came back here, begging them to take me back.”

This girl just stares at me, eyes as big as saucers. Her skin has paled since she sat beside me earlier. She looks strangly small and confused, sitting in her fetish gear on the smooth leather couch. I can understand, this world is just a game to her, something for her and her boyfriend to play at when their vanilla grew boreing. She set her drink on the table that is strapped to my chest.

One of my masters, Black Hair I still call him, approaches me. He places his hand at my neck and squeezes, lightly. “Have you been entertaining the guests, Puppy?”

“Yes sir,” I say to him, “she asked me how I came to be your furniture. I told her my story.”

“Is that so?” He turned, and tipped his drink toward her “And what did you think?”

“I think you’re a sick fuck!” Her reply is spiteful. She doesn’t realize what a bad answer that was, but I do. I’ve seen this set up before, as I look over her shoulder I see The Dark One coming quietly up behind her, a dishcloth in one hand.

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