Chapter 1
The beautiful woman stood inside her torture chamber with her whip firmly clenched in her right hand.
The whip was a riding crop, a horse whip, like those used by jockeys to beat the living shit out of the haunches of their mounts during neck and neck homestretches out at the racetrack.
The whip was made of leather and fine imported bamboo.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch nodded at her diminutive female assistant and the little blonde in the nurse's uniform returned her gaze. Her hypnotic gaze.
The little girl shivered. She could sense that the beautiful woman with the whip was intrinsically superior in every way. The little girl feared the woman.
As a matter of fact, she feared the woman more than anything else in the whole wide world. That was probably the reason that the little girl in the white nurse's uniform loved the dominatrix bitch so much.
She sighed.
"Nurse Joanna?"
"Yes, Mistress Marjorie?"
"Bring in the next victim," the woman exclaimed.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch gave her riding crop a little squeeze. She squeezed at the handle of the whip so hard for a moment or two that each and every one of her knuckles turned white.
"Here he is," Nurse Joanna said, leading the man in the business suit into the torture chamber.
"Ummmmmmmmm, and quite a hunk he is too," Mistress Marjorie said.
The woman turned up one corner of her mouth, forming a half-smile of self-amusement.
"Yes, this is his first time in your torture chamber, so you may be wanting to ask him a few questions, Mistress Marjorie," Nurse Joanna exclaimed subserviently.
"Yes, yes, yes, I do, indeed, want to ask the sex slave a few questions," the shapely yet cruel woman said with a slow nod.
"I will b-b-b-b-b-b-b-be glad to answer any questions you m-m-m-m-m-might have, Mistress," the man said.
"What is your name?" the dominatrix bitch inquired.
"My name is Thomas Froelich," the submissive yet muscular man answered.
He was very good looking, and the dominatrix bitch could tell by the clothes he was wearing that he had a lot of money. She could tell that he certainly had the money to pay her bills
That's right. The leather-clad dominatrix bitch made her living hurting and humiliating people, and then charging them for it.
The beautiful woman was one of the richest and most influential women in all of New York City, and she had never had a "real" job in her entire life. All she had ever been was a professional dominatrix bitch.
And a good one too. Mistress Marjorie was the best.
"You may go now, Nurse Joanna," the leather-clad bitch said.
"Yes, Mistress Marjorie," Nurse Joanna replied.
The little blonde in the nurse's uniform left the room.
Only the dominatrix bitch and her new slave remained inside the creepy, damp torture chamber.
Although the room existed in a New York City apartment, there were no windows. When in that room a victim could not tell if it was daytime or night. The room was decorated so that it looked like a torture chamber right out of medieval times. The man was frightened, but he enjoyed being frightened. This Thomas Froelich could only become sexually aroused when he was afraid, when he was being hurt and humiliated by a gorgeous woman who was so obviously superior to himself. Just like Mommy used to be.
The windows had been painted black and the walls had been covered with a synthetic material that resembled cobblestones.
Dangling from the ceiling of the torture chamber by strings were what appeared to be human skulls.
Thomas Froelich wanted to ask the woman where she had gotten the human skulls, but he didn't have the guts to make this query.
The submissive hunk decided, after giving the matter a moment or two of thought, that he didn't want to know the answer.
"How old are you, slave?" the woman inquired.
"I am thirty-two years old," the huge man said...
"And please tell me why you need to be abused."
"Because my m-m-m-m-m-m-m-mother used to abuse me."
"I see, and you want all of your lovers to be just like Mommy, is that it?" she asked.
"That's c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-correct," he stammered.
"Tell me the sort of things Mommy used to do to you."
"She used to make me get completely naked."
"Yes, of course, and then what did she do?"
"She used to called me t-t-t-terrible names."
"Uh huh, go on, this is getting most interesting, slave."
"And she used to tie me up very tightly, usually to the bed."
"Well, we have a wooden torture table here."
"I th-th-th-think that will d-d-d-do nicely."
"Then what did she do to you, slave?" the woman asked.
"Then she used t-t-t-t-t-t-to beat me, with a stick."
"I will be using a riding crop, slave," the woman informed the subservient hunk matter-of-factly.
"That's okay, I g-g-g-g-g-g-guess," Thomas said.
"And then what did she do to you, slave? What did she do to you after mommy beat the shit out of you with a stick?" the woman asked.
"Then she used to do something h-h-h-horrible to me. It's hard to s-s-s-s-say what it w-w-w-w-w-was," the man said.
"Come on, spit it out. Spit it out before I slap the shit out of you." The leather-clad dominatrix bitch made it clear through the tone of her rather deep voice that she was not now, nor would she ever be, in the mood to take no for an answer from the intrinsically submissive male.
"She used to push a br-br-br-broomstick up my ass," the man said. There were tears in his eyes.
"And that is what you want me to do to you?"
"That's r-r-r-r-r-right," Thomas Froelich said.
"Then let's get started, slave. I say get naked."
"Yes, Mistress Marjorie," the handsome man replied, staring down at the toes of his black, and obviously recently shined shoes.
"And I mean PRONTO," the beautiful woman said. The leather-clad dominatrix bitch raised the riding crop high up over her head, as if to threaten the man. She could see that he really was quite a hunk. She could feel herself getting horny as she watched him remove his tailored clothing. She ran the tip of her pink tongue back and forth across her lips to moisten them as she watched him get naked. The woman could feel an ache in her cunt. She could feel the hot blood of her arousal pumping downward in her delicious body.
She could feel all of that blood heading for the pink delta between her finely tapered thighs.
The beautiful woman could feel her pussy tissues swelling rapidly, heading toward the point of thorough engorgement quite quickly.
The dominatrix could tell that it wouldn't be very long at all; before all of her pussy's tissues, both her inner and outer cunt lips, would be as swollen as they could possibly get.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch could feel her pussy getting a little bit wetter with each passing second.
Mistress Marjorie could feel the little glands inside her pussy starting to secrete a plentiful and healthy amount of her natural lubrication.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch could feel her cunt getting moist, but she was smart enough and experienced enough to know that it wouldn't stay moist for long. Soon it was going to be more than just moist.
Soon her poontang was going to be more than just damp.
Soon, the beautiful woman knew, her pussy was going to be SOAKING WET because of the steady flow of slippery aromatic nectar inside her aching twat. She could feel the ache in her loins, inside her soft womanly underbelly, getting steadily worse.
The insides of the woman's thighs felt hot, and she could tell that the skin there was flushed to a crimson hue with her intensifying horniness.
She whimpered a little, but tried to keep her exclamation of pleasure to herself, so that her sex slave would not notice it. She could see that Thomas Froelich stood well over six feet tall.
The sex slave stood six four, to be precise.
She could tell that the muscular young hunk tipped the scales at well over two-hundred pounds.
This is not to intimate in any way that the man was obese, however, nor that he was even the slightest bit overweight for that matter.
The truth was that Thomas Froelich did not have an ounce of fat on his body. He was all muscle.
Iron-thawed muscle. He had muscles that looked and felt as if they were made of iron.
The woman could see that the man had extraordinarily broad shoulders. His entire upper torso was massive, in fact.
The man had thick slabs of muscle covering his shoulders, his chest, and his back.
The handsome man had a thick rug of fur covering the front of his body. He looked just as much like an ape as he did like a human being, as far as the professional dominatrix bitch was concerned. She liked hairy men. She liked men who at least looked like they were uncivilized in nature.
It was easier, she had found, to treat a man as if he were an animal, if he looked to her like an animal.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch could feel her clitoris growing, along with the rest of her poontang's tissues. She could feel that fiery bulb pushing out from under the fleshy sheath that usually all but covered it. Mistress Marjorie could feel the little man in the boat pushing out from under the fleshy sheath that usually all but covered her clitoris.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch could feel her clitoral foreskin being pushed upward and out of the way by the bulging focal point of her womanly desires. The woman could see that, in spite of the fact that the man's upper torso was massive, her sex slave had a waist and hips that were remarkably slender.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch could see that the man was shaped like a triangle with it's point down. She could see that there was a large ratio between his chest and his waist measurements.
On the other hand, the woman could see that there was hardly any ratio at all between his waist and his hip measurements.
The woman could see that his thighs were thick and heavily muscled.
She knew that she would never get around to measuring, but she suspected from the instant she saw him naked that one of Thomas Froelich's thighs had greater girth than her entire waist. Of course the woman did not have a very large, waist, you understand.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch had a waist that measured a mere twenty-two inches.
The man had long legs, and he had extraordinarily large hands and feet, as, the woman could see right away, was the case with another all-important part of the man's masculine anatomy.
He had a humongous cock.
His balls were pretty huge too. The woman liked that. She liked a man who had been furnished by God with the proper equipment.
She gave her riding crop another tight squeeze. When the man pulled down his pants his cock came popping out of the crotch of his trousers like some sort of horny jack-in-the-box or something. Her eyes went wide with ire and lust and desire as she gazed upon his sexually aroused genitalia for the first time. She could feel her mouth watering. She could feel her salivary gland working overtime.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch could tell that it wasn't going to be long before she had to swallow more frequently than usual to keep herself from drooling clear and steamy hot saliva onto her chin.
The handsome yet subservient stud had a full-fledged erection by the time he got his pants down.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch could feel her natural lubrication gathering at the mouth of her fuck hole.
Mistress Marjorie could feel her pussy's nectar accumulating at the base of her pussy slash.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch could feel the juices gathering directly in between her protruding and slightly curled back inner cunt lips, and she was smart enough and experienced enough to know that it wouldn't be long before that juice began to spill right out of her cunt. She could tell that it wouldn't be long before her natural lubrication began to flow right down the insides of her finely-tapered thighs, just like sweet nectar oozing from a split in the fuzzy skin of an over-ripe peach.
"I am naked, Mistress Marjorie," the man exclaimed.
"I can see that. Do you know what to do next?"
"Do you want me to get up onto the torture table?"
"That's right, slave. You guessed it. I guess you must not be as dumb as you look," Mistress Marjorie exclaimed with a laugh.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch tossed back her head and looked upward at the human skulls that were dangling from the ceiling of her torture chamber as she laughed loudly.
"Would you like me to get up on the t-t-t-t-torture table on my back or on my b-b-b-b-b-belly?" the hunky businessman inquired.
"I want you to get on your belly so you can receive the whip," Mistress Marjorie said.
The handsome yet subservient stud shivered when he heard those words, yet the head of his cock throbbed even harder than before.
For many years the man had been confusing fear with horniness, and the problem for him was getting worse rather than better. At that moment, as the man stood in the professional dominatrix bitch's torture chamber, he found that his fear and his lust were almost indistinguishable inside the reeling gray matter of his brain. He could feel his entire body becoming soaked with perspiration.
He got onto the torture table-on his belly.
"Good slave."
"Thank you."
"Know what comes next?"
"The whip?"
"Nope."
"What?"
"Bondage."
"That's right."
"You forgot."
"I did."
"You must be bound."
"Yes. I must."
The woman approached the table and went right to work. She set her bamboo and leather horse whip on the edge of the torture table so she would be able to use both hands to bind her brand new slave, her brand new sex mate, her brand new VICTIM.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch grabbed the man by his left wrist tightly.
The woman tugged his arm violently up over his head toward the head of the torture table. She tugged hard. She tugged as hard as she possibly could, as a matter of fact.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch could feel her natural slippery lubrication starting to spill down the insides of her thighs toward the tops of her sexy stockings as she began to bondage process.
The sex slave was about to be bound stringently.
The man could see that there were four steel cuffs attached to the four corners of the torture table via thickly-linked chains.
The man knew that he was about to be bound tightly in the spread-eagled position.
The handsome yet subservient stud felt his left arm being tugged up over his head so hard that he half-expected to hear his bones snapping at either his wrist or his elbow at any second. He could feel his elbow being locked in the straight position.
She yanked at his arm so tightly that he feared for a moment that his shoulder was about to be tugged right out of its socket. He let out a scream of discomfort.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch looped the opened steel cuff around the man's left wrist. She closed it as tightly as she could get it-and then she locked it securely.
The handsome yet subservient stud realized at that moment that the inside of that icy steel cuff was sharply toothed.
He could feel those sharp steel teeth biting painfully into his wrist flesh. He could feel tears welling in his eyes-just as they always did when he was a little boy and he was being abused by his Mommy, his depraved Mommy. He could feel his eyes swelling.
The handsome yet subservient stud could feel his eyes turning red. The first tears fell from his tear ducts onto his cheekbones.
His eyes became so swollen that he discovered, to his dismay, that he could only blink with an ever-increasing amount of difficulty.
The handsome yet subservient stud discovered that the insides of his eyelids felt as if they had been magically and suddenly been transformed into a particularly rough variety of sandpaper. His eyes were killing him, there could be no doubt about that.
He looked as if he had recently been exposed to tear-gas, or mace.
The steel cuff fit around the sex slave's wrist so tightly that it completely cut off the flow of blood to the man's hand.
The handsome yet subservient stud could tell without looking that the tips of his left fingers were turning a deep purple color-the same color as the head of his cock at that moment.
The sex slave could feel the entire length of his cock being pinned painfully between the hard wood platform and his equally flat and hard tummy.
His balls were swollen. The handsome man felt as if his balls were swollen to three times their normal size. He could feel the temperature of his semen increasing. His silver seed felt as if it were anxiously approaching the boiling point.
The handsome yet subservient stud could feel his come swimming around his swollen balls impatiently. His manly spunk was beginning to feel more and more as if it were anxious as hell to get out of there. He wept.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch did not work quickly. She wanted his discomfort to last.
There were many professional woman in New York City who always seemed to be in a hurry. They were anxious to abuse and appease their sex partners so they could make more money, plowing through more slaves in the same amount of time.
But this was not how Mistress Marjorie thought. She liked to linger over one slave, and give him the thorough treatment. She didn't want any of her subservient customers to feel gypped or cheated or ripped-off.
She was a businesswoman, and she knew that she administered the best sadomasochistic sex sessions in all of New York City, which was why she felt no guilt about charging the highest hourly charges of any dominatrix in Sin City. New York City: City of Leather.
"Hurt?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"Hurts so bad."
"Suffer."
"Please..."
"Please, what?"
"Please, have a little mercy."
"Mercy?"
"Y-y-y-y-y-y-yes," the man replied.
"Ha," the woman said throwing back her head.
"No?"
"I don't even know the meaning of the word mercy," the woman said. The leather-clad dominatrix bitch laughed until there were tears in her eyes, just as there were tears in the eyes of her sex slave.
The gorgeous black-haired female could feel her nipples getting hard. The leather-clad dominatrix bitch could feel the feminine erections at the tips of her large breasts getting steadily larger, harder and more sensitive. She stroked her own nipples as she watched her slave suffer. She knew that his cock had to be killing him because of the way it was pinned between the torture table and his tummy.
The handsome yet subservient stud could feel pins and needles in the tips of the fingers on his left hand, and he could tell that he was not going to be able to feel those pins and needles for very long.
The handsome yet subservient stud could tell that soon he wouldn't be able to feel anything at all in the tips of his fingers-or in his entire hand, for that matter.
He knew that soon his entire left hand would be numb because of the stringent and cruel steel bondage the bitch was administering upon him with gusto.
The man found that he could only wiggle his fingers at the knuckles with an ever-increasing amount of difficulty.
His knuckles were getting stiffer and stiffer and he could tell that it wouldn't be long before he wouldn't be able to wiggle his fingers at all.
His hand was soon going to be rendered both feelingless and motionless by her bondage.
In spite of the fact that the torture table was right out in the middle of the woman's torture chamber, she walked all the way around the foot of the wooden platform to get to the other side so she could repeat the process with her new sex slave's right arm.
The man could feel the left cuff biting harder and harder into his wrist. He could tell that that cuff was leaving an ugly red ring around his wrist, a ring that would take several days to fade away, even after his bondage had been removed. She repeated the process with the other arm.
The man lost sensation in his right hand. He could feel steel teeth biting his right wrist. He found that he was losing the ability to move his right fingers.
The handsome yet subservient stud soon couldn't feel anything more in his right hand than he could in his left.
The dominatrix bitch moved down toward the foot of the torture table. She took long strides as she made circles around the torture table.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch moved with grace. The gorgeous black-haired female moved like a cat in heat.
Mistress Marjorie looked and felt as if she were encircling her helpless prey. That was very much how the man felt at that moment. The handsome yet subservient stud felt just like the woman's helpless prey-and that was just how the man wanted to feel.
"Tell me how you feel, slave," the woman said.
"I feel fr-fr-fr-fr-frightened, Mistress," he said.
"Can you feel your heart pounding?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Does your heart feel as if it is racing?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Does it feel ready to pound out of your chest?" she asked.
"Yes."
"You are all wet. Why are you sweating so?"
"I am n-n-n-n-n-'n-n-n-nervous, I guess," he said.
"How does your tummy feel?" the dominatrix. inquired. "It hurts."
"Tell me about it, slave," the leather-clad woman queried.
"My stomach has butterflies in, Mistress."
"Butterflies? Hmmmmmm, are they fluttering around?"
"Yes, just like they want to get the hell out of there."
"You don't feel like you are going to throw up?"
"No."
"Good. You would be punished if you puked."
"Punished?"
"Yes, slave. I would rip out your tongue."
"Oh my."
"That's right. You had better not barf."
"I'll t-t-t-t-t-t-t-try," the man stammered.
The man had his long thick legs stretched out behind him toward the foot of the torture table. He had his knees locked in the straight position.
He had his ankles and his knees very close to one another-but the man could tell that the dominatrix bitch was going to see to it that his ankles and his knees did not stay close together for very much longer. He shivered.
He could feel the entire surface area of his body becoming covered with a thick layer of bumpy gooseflesh. He could feel the little hairs at the nape of his thick neck, just below the base of his skull, standing on end.
The woman stood facing his rump at the rear of the torture table. The leather-clad dominatrix bitch then jack-knifed at the waist.
The gorgeous black-haired female reached down with straightened arms and gripped tightly at both of the man's ankles at the same time. She had her elbows locked in the straight position.
The leather-clad dominatrix bitch, with a single outward sweep of her arms, yanked the man's legs apart.
The gorgeous black-haired female looked as if she were making a wish over a human wishbone as she yanked apart the stud's muscular legs in that fashion.
The handsome yet subservient stud could feel his ankles being cuffed into place. He could tell that his super-thick thighs had been opened to a perfect ninety-degree angle.
He was bound in place.
He could not move.
Nary a muscle.
The handsome yet subservient stud found that he could tense and relax his muscles, but he couldn't move any of them.
The steel was holding him fast to the torture table. His cock was crushed against the wood even harder than before and the discomfort he was experiencing there increased accordingly for him.
He loved this pain.
The handsome yet subservient stud found that the only part of his body that was still mobile was his head. He could lift his face away from the wood and move his handsome kisser from side to side of he wanted to.
But this took a lot of energy, and he decided that it wasn't worth it. He kept his head still-correctly assuming that he was going to need all of the pooled energy he could muster before the S and M sex session was completed.
He could tell that it wouldn't be long before he wouldn't be able to feel any more in his feet than he could in his hands.
The handsome yet subservient stud struggled against his bondage in a futile attempt to free himself, and only stopped when he realized that this struggling was making those sharp and savage steel teeth bite even more deeply than before into the flesh at his wrists and his ankles.
"You know what happens now, slave?" the woman asked.
"Yes."
"What?"
"The whip?"
"That's right."
"Good."
"You want the whip?"
"Very much."
"You NEED the whip?"
"Uh huh."
"Good attitude, slave. That attitude will save me time."
"How's that?"
"I won't have to train you to need my whip."
"Hardly."
"You already love being whipped," the woman said.
"Just about more than anything," the handsome man replied.
"Tell me why you love the pain," the bitch asked.
"Because it is the closest thing I have even known to-"
"To what?"
"To love."
"You're pathetic."
"Yes, Mistress."
"You are scum."
"Yes, Mistress."
"You are aromatic vomit."
"Yes, Mistress."
"Motherfucker."
"Please don't call me that."
"Motherfucker."
"Please-"
"You are a mother-fucker, aren't you, slave?"
"Yes."
"You are also a piece of home-made shit."
"Yes, Mistress Marjorie, that I am," the man said.
"Now you are going to get the whip," she said.
"Yes, please."
"You deserve it."
"I certainly do."
"Tell me why you deserve it, slave," she said.
"I've been bad."
"In what way."
"I have been incestuous."
"How, slave?"
"I am a mother-fucker."
"Confession is good for the soul, you scumbag."
With that the beautiful woman picked up her riding crop. She held it tightly in her right hand.
She then raised her right arm high over her head. She looked as if she were cocking the hammer of a pistol before firing. Then the woman brought the whip down as hard as she could.
The whip made a vicious whistling sound as it moved through the air.
Then the whip struck the cheeks of the man's ass.
CRACK.
The sound of the horse whip striking the man's ass made a sound that reminded Thomas Froelich of a gunshot, or a shotgun blast.
The sound reminded the bound subservient male of a car backfiring out on the street-or maybe of a cherry-bomb going off on the Fourth of July. The sound of the whip striking his flesh alone was enough to make his facial features contort with a wince.
He heard the sound a fraction of a second before he felt the pain.
His nervous-system took that long to get the awful message to his brain.