Chapter 7
I hung there in my harness with my naked cock several feet up off the ground, and this sado-masochistic madman was threatening to kill me.
And the woman I had fallen so passionately in love with was there by his side, dressed in skimpy studded leathers, creaming and juicing to every minute of it.
To be honest, I have to admit I was never more turned on in my life.
All my darkest and most hidden sexual passions were rising to the surface.
My latent sadism. Masochism. Debauchery. Voyeurism.
I can't say whether I finally made peace with my own perversions—or whether all men and women hold these deep repressed feelings.
If the latter is true, I was one of the rare ones who gets to act it all out.
Here in this dungeon room of the secret sex club run by the man named Hume.
The man who was in love with me and hated me all at the same time.
What mad schemes, what new twists on the old games of paddle and punishment could this devilish pan-sexual cook up next?
Diane did the talking.
Her voice was never sexier, more sultry.
She knew she had my cock hard and she loved the idea of keeping it that way until it hurt beyond belief.
"Ok, Mark, my lover. Time to bind your feet."
My feet had been swinging freely in the air while I was suspended from the ceiling by my wrists.
First I felt a clamp tighten around my left ankle.
Then my right ankle.
Then Diane fed Hume the length of heavy iron chain that came off each iron shackle.
I looked up above me and sure enough, the iron chains led to one large chain that led to the same pulley system on the ceiling.
Hume cranked the handle of the mechanism on the wall, and my feet rose up higher and higher.
Soon I was in a cat's cradle, my hands and feet up above me, my ass sagging down.
The whole process was slow.
Very slow.
They sure took their time.
All the while that my feet were being raised, the metal kept biting into my skin.
I was surprised that my wrists and ankles weren't bleeding profusely.
Through the whole sordid process, Diane kept talking.
"You little hard on. God, you suck," she kept saying to me.
When I first knew her, she would arouse me by playing up to my male ego, calling me a great lover and telling me how she admired the masculine beauty of my hard, rippling prick.
Now, things had changed.
Now she was degrading me.
But she was arousing me nonetheless. Diane knew the workings of the male libido—the male S-and-M libido in particular.
I guess this little plan had been in her mind ever since that first night when I tied her up.
I suppose that she could tell by the way I enjoyed it, that I knew I would have to be punished and abused as well.
It was certainly the revenge game all the way.
Hurt me, and then let me get even by hurting you.
"Look, Hume," she said to him.
"Look Hume, look at this little boy's teeny weenie prick. God, yours is so much bigger. Yours feels so much nicer inside my pussy."
Hume snickered his nasal villainous laugh while he watched me suffer and sweat.
My cock ran with love-juice, slippery and slick all the way around my purple stiff meat.
"Mark Lester is such a disgrace," she said to Hume, 'And yet, I'm really in love with him. I guess that makes me no better than the rest of us. No better than this festering sore on the face of the earth called man."
I felt my whole body being lowered.
I was still hanging in the cat's cradle, face down, but now I was only a foot or so up off the floor.
Diane crawled underneath me and lay on the floor.
My cock hung down, within an inch of her body.
She undid her leather harness outfit, and stripped naked below me.
I wanted to touch her, to fall from my iron prison and tuck her and suck her all over.
She was naked, but she still had those high heeled leather boots on.
I was so frustrated I couldn't stand it.
All the blood was rushing to my organ, too.
My cock.
My prick.
Her tits floated on top of her.
I opened my mouth but I wasn't close enough to lick her.
"You know, Hume," she kept talking, so softly, so sexily, squirming on the floor below my trussed body with every syllable, "If I'm such a lowly piece of shit as to be in love with this disgusting cock ... "
She spit the word cock at me.
Tiny droplets of her saliva sprayed my face.
" ... then I should be punished. Make me fuck him, Hume. Make me take his cock inside me."
Hume lowered me several more inches.
First by the arms, and then by the feet.
My limbs were aching. Simply aching.
But I was so close.
At last, I was close enough.
Diane raised her hips an inch off the floor.
She reached for my hard on.
She tucked the head of my erect cock inside the lips of her snatch.
And she just held it there.
For a minute.
It felt like an hour.
It felt like an eternity of unholy sexual frustration.
Then the chains lowered, and I was lowered inside Diane.
Oh, God, it felt like coming home.
After all these hours, to finally feel myself deep inside her warm and loving pussy.
To finally fuck this woman once more.
I forgot the pain for thee briefest second, but then the agony of being suspended in irons returned.
Even as I held my erect cock inside her.
I couldn't thrust.
I could hardly even wiggle.
I wanted to.
I wanted to perform my greatest fucking techniques on her. To exhaust my energies in a rapturous round of great humps.
I wanted to be a man for her again.
A sturdy, hard man.
To rape and ravage her.
But all I could do was hang there which her pussy hungrily devoured my immobile penis.
And I had to be grateful for every second inside her.
Because I didn't know how long I could stay there.
I was not in control of that.
I knew that at any second, Hume could yank my body right out of her.
So I tried my best to just relax and enjoy the waves of pleasure that cascaded over my body as Diane's hot and womanly pussy fucked my cock.
It was ironic, of course, that I should be so passive in the act of making love to a woman.
And that I should enjoy it so much.
I think I enjoyed it to the hilt.
Diane reached up around my suspended body and rubbed my back with her long and delicate fingers.
"Ooooh, yeah," she moaned as she enjoyed herself, fucking my helpless body.
She palmed my pecs.
She fingered the outsides of my nipples, eventually bringing the tips of her fingers over the heads of my titty-points.
Hanging face down makes the blood rush to the front of your body, and so it enhances all sexual contact you have with that part of you.
So when she brushed her fingertips across my blood-engorged nipples, she sent shivers up and down my spine and shockwaves of hot lust through my brain.
She was smiling.
And her tongue flickered out of her mouth like a snake's tongue, chancing to lick my hungry, convulsing lips every few seconds.
The tease was more than I could bear.
For, what could I do about it? Fuck her? Jesus Christ—I was fucking her—sort of.
For my cock was lodged deep inside her.
"Hump me, lover," she said, as if to make fun of my afflicted state.
I said nothing.
She grabbed my sides with her hands and started to push and pull me up and down, up and down.
My cock was so deep inside her that it barely rose and fell.
But the punishment of being roughed up that way—the way she made the irons bite more and more into my ankles and wrists by treating my body so callously—it was too much!
Simply too much.
I wanted to cum.
I wanted to spit my jizz, shoot my wad and get it over with.
I wanted to make it all come together in the final gratifying moment that I knew I would achieve.
I couldn't, though.
She was in control of that, as well as everything else.
I had lost my entire manhood, even as my erection was plunged in her soaking wet twat.
I forget how long I hung there.
But I do remember what it felt like when Hume undid the manacles from my hands.
I grabbed Diane's shoulders underneath me.
Even with my feet still in shackles to the ceiling, I could enjoy this new freedom, and I was determined to hump the shit out of her.
"The moment you cum, you die, Mark," Hume said, and he stepped over to the other side of our intertwined bodies.
He grabbed Diane by the hands and dragged her away from me.
My erect penis slid out of her.
He dragged her away kicking and screaming.
"No, I'm not done yet!"
"I told you to be patient, Diane."
He slapped her, and she quieted down.
Hume cranked the large handle on the wait, and once again my body rose up toward the ceiling.
This time, though, it was my feet that went first.
Now I found myself hanging upside down.
All the blood was rushing to my head.
It was one new sensation after another, making different parts of my body more or less sensitive than before.
I felt like I was some laboratory rat in this dungeon master's chemistry set of illicit sex.
As I hung upside down, I saw Hume toward me.
I think he was holding a gun.
I didn't know what his game was now.
"I tire of this charade," he said. "Diane, shall I blow his brains out now or wait?"
"I don't care," the bitch said.
He was walking the line between sadism and out and out murder—and the game had become awfully intense.
"Hume—Andrew—" I said, mustering my thoughts, playing the helpless captive to my role's logical extreme.
He riled when I called him by his real name.
"Look, man—you don't want to kill me. That won't solve anything. Think, my man, think."
He knit his brow.
"Who is to blame for the filth and slime that men such as you and I have had to wallow in? Think!"
I took a pause.
"Who found you masturbating? Whose incessant invasions of your pubescent privacy caused you to commit rape?"
I heard him whisper the word. His lips snarled.
"Women."
"Women—right, Andrew. Women. Aren't they the real objects of your—of our—total hatred?"
Years of field work around criminals gave me an insight into the minds of men such as Hume.
I was also psychoanalyzing myself, I suppose, up there in my sexual prison of delightful torture.
"Yes, Hume—think^ boy. Think how women have degraded you and abused you.
"Think. Think how resentful you are of their power over you. Their power over your hard-on ... your own manly penis!"
I didn't let up.
"Think, Hume! How jealous you were as a boy. THEY got to play with dolls ... not you! You were ridiculed for your sensitivity and emotional maturity—while THEY were PRAISED for THEIRS!
"How you HATE women! How you want to RAPE them! DESTROY them! They forced you into a life of crime! They twisted you into a perverted shadow of your former self!
"It wasn't ME who sent you to jail, Andrew Cole! I'm just another man! Another COCK—to be sucked and fucked and jerked off! It was WOMEN, boy—WOMEN!"
I kept going.
I'm sure I was working out my own most deep-seated emotions as well.
But first and foremost, it was Hume's head I was playing with.
"Yes, Hume—Andrew Cole, you miserable faggot! Society degrades YOU for wanting to suck cocks—but not WOMEN! They get away scot free!"
He turned the pistol away from my head and pointed it at Diane, who had run toward the door.
"Get away from that door, Diane," he said.
"Unstrap me from this torture device and let us both play out the final resolution to the terrors that have made us what we are, Andrew," I said, without missing a beat.
"Do it, Diane," he instructed her at gunpoint.
Diane unbuckled me after Hume cranked the handles down, and I was free.
I snickered at her.
I spit in her face.
I could tell by the strong unmistakable smell of pussy that she was turned on—but I mean really, really turned on.
"What SHALL we do with her," Hume said, with the stereotypical intonation of a gay man at odds with his future.
"I say we truss her up and degrade her until she cums," I said with cool precision, "and then we take turns fucking her."
"Good idea. Good idea. And then?"
I looked at Diane's pale, white face and her naked tits.
"Then we kill her."
"You know, Mark?" this man who called himself Hume said to me, "I like your style."
"You don't fool me," the naked woman said to us both, strutting her stuff in front of my naked cock like it was her last fling at a good penis-tease. "There are nothing but blanks in that gun."
Hume fired a shot at the ceiling and a piece of iron fell to the floor.
"Wanna bet?"
Her pussy quivered.
She was having another orgasm right then and there.
Hume blew the smoke from the end of the pistol and winked at me.
"You know, Mark, if we really are going to degrade this chick, we ought to do it up right. Let's make an evening of it."
It was probably well past midnight, but I was hip.
"Yes. Yes indeed. Let's have a shower and some coke and invite the whole membership down here."
"Excellent idea."
Hume and I walked out of the room, leaving Diane locked inside.
As he shut the door, locking her in there, I poked my head in the door for one last remark before Diane's grand ordeal.
"Diane?"
"Yes, Mark?"
"Remember—no jerking off!"
The former Andrew Cole and I took turns showering and we relaxed over a cup of coffee in the dining room.
It was good to take a breather and give my aching cock a rest.
After coffee, he took out a vial of some pink cocaine and spilled it out on a hand mirror.
Heather was waiting on our table and when she saw the cocaine come spilling out, she couldn't help but hover around and hint that she wanted some.
She sat down at the table.
Hume cut some lines.
I snorted.
Mmmm! Good shit—much better than the white stuff I had done with Diane.
This shit would keep me going all night.
Hume dictated instructions to Heather about how he wanted her to round up the available membership of the club for a late-night swing in the dungeon.
And the adventure began.
My leather jockstrap was a perfect fit.
With a pair of dominator boots, I was ready.
Hume was dressed appropriately, and as a final touch, he wore a black hood over his head with a leather face mask to preserve his anonymity during the torture session.
"Are you ready for Operation: Trapped Tramp?" he asked.
I told him I was and we proceeded down to the dungeon to do it to Diane.
We found her sitting on the iron bed, smoking what must have been one of a lot of joints.
There was a semi-spilled bag of purple and green marijuana next to her and a couple of crumpled rolling papers.
The place reeked of dope, and her eyes were stoned shut.
She was naked.
No leather, no nothing.
Just her.
And, oh yes.
Jesus was there, nailed to his silver cross around her neck.
As if he was going to do her any good at all.
Hume and I grabbed her, one man on each arm, and dragged her, as she stumbled, from the iron bed.
"Oh, God, Mark, I'm so horny, all I want to do is fuck."
She was a stoned out vegetable of a horny sex princess.
It was as if this bastion of American womanhood had degenerated into a creature who lived only for the moment—only for the pleasures of flesh—only for the next joint and thee next stiff penis.
It was Diane as I shall always remember her.
Diane as I knew her true self to be.
You don't pity a woman like that.
You just punish her.
That's what she wants.
It's the only way she knows how to be treated.
It's the only way to love her.
With leather and iron and smoke.
We handcuffed her arms to the wall, so that she was facing us.
"Stand up STRAIGHT, God damn you," Hume yelled at her and slapped her across the cheek with the back of her hand.
She stood up.
Straight.
She thrust out her boobs at us, her nipples erect and red.
The scratches on her tits from earlier in the evening had begun to heal.
Hume took out a delicious looking device. It's purpose was obvious.
One snap, and her left nipple was captive.
It was fun to watch her shake and writhe in pain.
It gave me a hard-on.
"Do the honors?" Hume asked me, and I nodded.
He handed me the same kind of little device.
It took me a second to figure out how it worked.
I opened it and snapped it shut in mid-air a few times to practice.
"Nasty little bugger, isn't it?"
"Hmmmm." Indeed, just the sound of those metal teeth clicking together sent shivers up my spine.
I looked hungrily at her other nipple.
"Beg for it, Diane."
"Fuck you, you stinking hard-on."
I kneed her in the stomach.
"I said, beg for it."
I just know that the pain of the kick in her stomach was nothing compared to the agony of tearing flesh in her captive nipple.
"Please torture me?"
"That's better."
"You stinking hard-on."
I laughed.
And my boner ached.
I snapped her nipple into the device.
Her mouth opened wide, and no sound came out.
Then just the faintest sounds.
I smelled pussy.
I knew she was juicing.
I stuck my index finger down into her crotch just to test the wetness.
She was wet, all right.
Really, really wet.
I rubbed the bulge in my leather jockstrap against her thigh, up and down, squat-thrusting.
I wanted to make her orgasm build and build.
I wanted it to be hell for her—sweet, sublime hell.
The kind I knew she wanted.
The kind she knew she deserved.
"Want my cock?"
"Yes."
Gone was the tempting teases and the seductive intonations.
Gone were the flirts and counter-flirts.
Gone.
It was all replaced by a new dialogue.
A dialogue of honest and open filth.
She looked at me straight in the eye, and, although her face was streaming with tears of horrible pain, she spoke clearly and directly.
"Yes, Mark. I want your cock. God help me, I love it. I love that boner and I want it deep, deep inside me."
"Here, Mark," Hume called to me and handed me something even more interesting.
Leather garter belts.
With the spikes on the inside.
I saw how to buckle them onto her leg.
I wrapped one around her inner thigh.
I pulled it tighter and tighter—until the spikes just poked in, indenting her skin without rupturing it.
It was really close to her cunt.
Then I did the other leg.
She was trussed and trapped against the wall, with spikes digging into her thighs and clamps torturing her nipples.
"What do you think, Hume?"
"Good work. Certainly giving ME a hard-on."
We looked at each other.
"Heather should be arriving soon with the others."
"Others?" Diane asked through her stupor of drugs and agony.
"Oh, yes, my darling," I said, kissing her under the earlobe and breathing heavily in her ear, "we aren't simply going to abuse you. We're going to humiliate you as well."