Chapter One

 

"Is Kelly coming?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good. Hate to think of what these lovely tits would look like if the weights hang too long. I assume they're uncomfortable. You want more? Another pound or two?"

"Please no sir. She'll be coming late."

The man stands over the kneeling woman, hands gently cradling her head, his now tranquil tone

in contrast to the sharp commands and lustful grunts of moments before. He is satiated and quiescent. In opening a girl, anal sex can be laborious, but the ecstatic release, when combined with the raw exchange of power, like no other form of carnal pleasure.

"Clean me!" his tone returning to authority as his hips press forward to present a firm but rapidly softening phallus. "And don't eat strawberries or whatever fruit before I take you. The seeds can irritate."

"It was kiwi, sir," the girl craning her neck, humbly taking the offered appendage.

"Well... whatever... you'd think you'd be more attentive back there. You know you're going to clean whatever my pecker encounters. Most girls keep it neat. But you seem to enjoy the sloppiness. It degrades... and adds to your sick thrill... doesn't it?"

Mouth filled with cock, the girl carefully nods her response, swishing her tongue then swallowing the remnants of anal coupling. Her humbleness brings a paternal smile, the sadist knowing of the needs... and so graciously accommodating.

There comes silence as the man revels, oral servitude augmenting his power. Then, penis deemed presentable, he steps back, the flaccidness exiting with a plop, turns and reaches for his clothes.

"Ask Kelly about Nusquam. It may be best for you. Some day you're going to run into a guy who cares little... some amateur who does not know of limits... or enjoys too much taking a girl past them. Hate to see you hurt... truly hurt... or permanently marked... against your will."

In smugness, the man dresses, his enjoyment now more subtle in surveying the well tethered nakedness he has spent the afternoon tormenting.

"Out of town next week," the man informs in stepping behind the kneeling form.

He pauses, admiring the rosebud opening, traces of milky white male essence oozing past the worn and reddened sphincter.

Then the left hand reaches down. As the fingers splay open the outer labia, there comes a sense of accomplishment in feeling the warmth of the buttocks... a degree of intense heat remaining. In encountering wetness, he smiles the right hand easily slipping inward his offering. Too easily. The girl moans in need. The sopping vagina evidences her excitement... her unfulfilled concupiscence. He often wonders... is it the pain... the humiliation... the sense of complete capitulation? What brings such unsatiated lust? Her submission is thorough... and though denied the ultimate gratification of orgasm, she finds enjoyment.

"Kelly has her own key?" patting a well welted right cheek.

"Yes sir," the girl grimaces.

"Good. I'll lock the door behind me," reaching forth to motion the weights dangling from the left nipple.

The grimace turns to low moans of slow suffering. Well restrained, she cannot still the pendulums, forced to submit to ponderous trinkets.

"Nusquam," he reminds, flicking the light switch, leaving the girl to suffer in darkness.

 

Chapter Two

 

"Caned, butt fucked and the nipple torture continues. You had a long afternoon. Really Pattie, don't you think you're getting a little too deep into this?"

There comes a welcomed click. The room brightens to bring cheer. The suffering will end.

"I... I... it's something I need, Miss Kelly." the voice quaking.

The woman of calm demeanor steps into the chamber, a spare bedroom turned dungeon. She pauses surveying a scene she has so often encountered... yet one which would shock the unwary of the vanilla world.

The apartment's sole resident, Miss Pattie LaMange kneels naked, wrists and neck encumbered in heavy wooden stocks. Welts on well rounded globes are readily counted, six perfectly parallel stripes on each hillock, evenly spaced... the sadist pridefully sending his message of exactitude.

There glistens traces of male essence, the leisurely flow exiting to coat the inner thighs. And there is to be noted the ongoing breast torment... mouse traps clamped about right nipple and left, weights hanging below to proclaim the mastery of the sadist long after his departure.

"Please Miss Kelly... my tits."

The plea brings a smile... and little haste. Kelly knows... the body of the masochist suffers... yet the psyche so much covets.

"We'll take care of you... all of you," sliding a low stool before the forcibly lowered head.

Kelly sits. Pattie cranes her neck to look upward, the sight of the white uniform welcomed and comforting. The nurse is pretty... raven hair, her mid thirties age offering experience with a remaining aura of youthfulness. Her presence brings a wane smile, knowing the long ordeal will end... and another is to begin.

Hands reach to the left breast, the tender flesh purple, circulation too long impeded. The fingers work, loosening the sprung bar of metal... so slim yet so imposing.

"Take a deep breath," Kelly's words matronly.

Yes, the toil of the sadist survives his departure. For as the trap and connecting weights are removed, the rush of circulation brings renewed pangs of pain, the cerebral cortex awakened anew. Pattie LaMange cries out. The smile of Nurse Kelly broadens.

"Shush, you've brought this on yourself. And within, you know you enjoy the rush."

She does, Pattie shamed, chagrined to realize Nurse Kelly understands so well.

"You're late Miss Kelly," the words labored in enduring the intense agony.

"Not sure how you would know, kneeling in the stocks for so many hours... but yes. One of my girly boys needed a fanny spanking before I gave him a bath and put him to bed."

"You spank?" Pattie unaware of such aspects of her services.

"When needed. There are so many roles to be fulfilled, so much discipline required. I try. Another deep breath," the fingers gently working to free the right trap.

The scene repeats... the returning circulation to again bring a crashing wave of suffering.

"Will you bathe me?" the tone meek.

"Easier to groom you just like this. You're nicely immobile... and I have access to all I require."

Weights tossed aside, Kelly steps to the adjoining bathroom, shaking her head as she crosses and surveys the chamber. Pattie LaMange is sick... suffering from a mental/emotional addiction. Thousands upon thousands of dollars have been spent equipping the sizable spare bedroom. There is no imaginable form of torment that cannot be offered by the many devices and implements of pain. Limbs to be twisted, squeezed, restrained in unending immobility... flesh to be clamped, pinched, excoriated... openings oral, vaginal and anal to be stuffed... penetrated with objects of every shape and size.

In addition there is the bizarre furniture, the humiliation of submitting to a visiting sadist enhanced by an array of bondage apparatuses. Yes, Pattie will be made to lie, sit, squat, stand, hang in a variety of poses, the gear intricate and expensive.

In the bathroom Nurse Kelly under the sink reaches for a porcelain bowl. She then fills a basin with warm water, fragrant suds to bring olfactory delight, tossing in a soft chamois cloth.

"Do you think your father had any inkling of how you would be spending your inheritance?" Nurse Kelly calls out, swirling the chamois to bring a froth of white to the warm wetness. "I can't imagine how much you've spent on all this... not to mention the cost of my visits."

Grasping a straight edged razor, Kelly returns stepping to the rear of the kneeling naked form. The buttocks, though welted in red, are delightfully shaped, the smooth layers of subcutaneous fat bringing both envy and thoughts of wastefulness in how she chooses to offer her charms. And the dangling breasts have returned to shapeliness as well, perfect hemispheres of young plumped flesh.

"There's plenty. I can afford it," Pattie's tone out of place in somewhat lecturing.

The porcelain bowl is placed between well parted knees, Kelly well aware of the need after many hours in bondage. It is then that Kelly notes the sphincter, the pink rose bud worn and chafed to the point of crimson. The sight brings a cringe and a question.

"You've been specially prepared here," her observation coming as she begins tenderly soaping the welted flesh of the buttocks. "Tooth brush... sand paper?"

"Steel wool, Miss Kelly. I... I... well he wanted to assure I offered myself without attaining pleasure."

"Of course. It's a power thing with men."

Kelly's attention focuses on the vaginal opening, noting that a spindled sheet of green partially protrudes past inner labia engorged in arousal. For Pattie, submission thrills, to either gender.

"What's this?" the fingers of the right hand working to retrieve the deeply implanted cylinder of green.

She pulls... slowly... gently... knowing of the extreme sensitivity.

"Your visitor left you a little something," unscrolling the tight roll. "A portrait of Ulysses S. Grant. How thoughtful," Nurse Kelly mocks. "You've been caned, fucked and breast tortured for a fifty dollar bill. And it's soaking wet, hinting at how much you enjoyed. Tsk, tsk."

The greenback is laid to the tiled floor then pushed forth to where the recipient can see.