Chapter 4

Three weeks later things had gone from bad to worse.

He thought of all that he had already endured as he got dressed and hurried downstairs to prepare Lydia her breakfast, to feed the Great Dane and begin attending to the day's work. Since the day he had arrived at her house, he had not had any communication or contact with the outside world.

Only via newspapers, the radio and television, had he been able to keep up with events. And for the past week there had been no mention of the attempted holdup of the Stockton bank. Yet he was still dubious, wondering if this was merely a trap, a means of luring him out into the open.

After having gone through living hell for three weeks, he was more determined than ever to escape the police. If not, then all that he had suffered at Lydia Rinaldo's hands would have been endured in vain. He might just as well have gone to the police straightaways.

Thus is was that he was not about to give up so easily, not after he had already learned much through Lydia's daily tutelage. She was as adept at instructing him in the lore of bondage and discipline as she was in putting her unique and debasing theories into actual torturous practice.

He had learned his place, or eighty per cent of his place, in the three weeks he had lived under her roof, a virtual prisoner, forced to endure her punishing practices lest she contact the police. Now, as he quickly scrambled up some eggs and made toast, he looked vacantly out of the kitchen window to the metaphor of what he saw as the waste of his complete and total life -- the brick wall which stretched clear around the property.

This was Seth's cage and without the help of an outsider, he sensed that the longer he stayed here, the more he was forced to endure in the way of mud-slinging verbal abuse and ball-bust-ing physical abuse, the more difficult it would be to ultimately make the break and depart. That is if she ever allowed him to leave. And that, needless to say, was something he thought more and more about as the days passed one into the other.

"Is it ready yet, pig?" she called out from the living room where she sat in regal splendor, reading the morning paper and enjoying the way she was always being waited upon and served as if she was a queen.

But in Lydia's demented eyes she was royalty, deserving of such attentions, especially from a man as well-hung and outwardly virile as young Seth Garrick. She sensed that somewhere along the way something had happened to him, something he still was unable to deal with.

For she was certain that most other men would not have put up with the constantly demeaning and cruel treatment she made him suffer through. But then again, most men wouldn't have tried to hold up a bank, either. And since she held all the cards, she was quite confident that he would give her less difficulty with each passing day.

The more she taught him, the more she put him down, brining out what she felt were his basically latent masochistic and self-debasing tendencies, the easier he would become to completely tame and control, just as she had ultimately done with her dog, Count.

Now, she put down her paper and strode imperiously into the kitchen, standing by the doorway with her hands on her hips and a smug and conceited expression on her face. Seth heard the ever-ominous click of her high heels and hastened to put the dish of scrambled eggs and toast down on the kitchen table, setting out a bowl of canned dog food for Count.

The Great Dane had been watching him since he'd first entered the kitchen, almost as if the dog acted like warden and prison guard, overseer and constant canine observer of his every move, his every action. He couldn't put down a fork on the table without undergoing Count's silent and Degrading approval and he had learned to hate the dog almost as much as he hated and despised its owner, Lydia Rinaldo.

She took her place at the table, silently pleased and delighted that he had remembered not to set a place for himself. "Servants and lackies, of which you fit both categories admirably," she had told him two weeks before, "were not meant... nor are they fit company, to join their master at the table. You'll eat only when I'm finished, is that clear?"

Needless to say, he'd been forced to accept her decisions.

But now, as he stood off by the sink and watched her devouring her breakfast as avidly as Count gobbled down his dog food, he was forced to endure an additional slap in the face. "How many times have I told you that those clothes are not to be worn unless I expressly give you permission?" she said, eyeing him with a cool and detached look in her eyes.

"But ... but it's getting cold out. And you haven't turned on the furnace downstairs yet," he replied.

"Oh, so now you've decided to answer me back, is that it?" she hissed, making a move to get to her feet.

"I'll ... I'll go upstairs and take them off," he stammered, not about to get into a hassle so early in the morning.

"You're damn right you'll change ... and put on what I told you to wear, little man. It's perfectly suited for a whining puking little baby, of which you are, needless to say."

And so it was that just as she finished her breakfast, Seth came back downstairs, his bare feet padding across the floorboards as he moved back into the kitchen. He was blushing, hating himself for doing this, for obeying her and tormenting himself in the process.

Now, she looked up and grinned trium-phantly, pleased that once again she had gotten her way. For instead of wearing the jeans and polo he had had on earlier, he now wore nothing other than an oversized white cotton diaper with large safety pins holding it up around his waist.

"Now, that looks much better. It suits you, you know that, Garrick," she snickered. "After all, we wouldn't want you to go peepee all over the nice clean kitchen floor, especially since you waxed it yesterday. Even Count is house-broken."

"Yes, whatever you say," he mumbled.

But when he moved back to the counter by the sink to eat his breakfast, she jumped to her feet and snatched the plate from his shaking hands. "I've just thought of a new game to play with you, little man," she announced with obvious delight, taking the plate back to the table. "And where's the collar I gave you? You mean to say that when I give you a present you spurn it, you disgusting little chimp!"

"I'm .. . I'm sorry. I forgot. It hursts me when I sleep, so I took it off," he explained.

"Well, go put it back on, boy!"

Once again he trotted like an obedient retainer, back upstairs to his bedroom. There, cursing Under his breath, he stood before the dresser mirror and tried not to look at his all but naked body, the demeaning diaper in particular, as he fitted the studded leather collar she had given him around his thick, bull neck.

It was, he knew, another symbol of his respect and docility, his position that was beneath her, lowly and debased. When he returned to the kitchen his stomach was growling, but she ordered him to get down in front of her and beg for his breakfast. Count crowded over him, whining for table scraps so that more than half of his scrambled eggs ended up in the Great Dane's stomach and not his own.

"Now," she said, wiping her hands over his chest as if he was nothing more than a dishrag, "wasn't that a real fun game, little man? I thought it was most amusing, more amusing and enjoyable. And Count enjoyed it too, didn't you tiger?"

The dog moved to her and put its great jowly face in her lap. She stroked his head, cooing to it like a mother lulling a baby to sleep. Seth burned with rage, but he knew better than to say anything, for arguing with her was a useless occupation, one which would be swiftly dealt with.

She watched him washing the breakfast dishes and then drying them with a clean towel.

For a few minutes he was almost at peace, content to serve as her humiliated domestic, so long as actual physical pain wasn't on the menu.

But that was where he went wrong that morning, for pain was always uppermost in her thoughts, causing him pain that is, not herself or anyone else, for that matter. And as she watched his sturdy young body moving back and forth before her eyes, putting the dishes away and cleaning off the table and the kitchen counters, her eyes lit up as she thought of a new and novel -- for him, not her -- exercise in masculine debasement and sadistic humiliation.

"Seth, dearie, you and I are going to have some more fun this morning, some very interesting fun, at that," she announced when he had finished cleaning up the kitchen.

At the mention of the word fun his eyes took on a wounded cloudy look, for he had heard her announce her little games in the past and already knew what to expect. Her idea of fun was to put him through as much hell as he could take, but when she announced her little plan to "help pass the time of day," as she called it, he just stood there, open-mouthed and filled with disbelief.

"Don't look so surprised, dear. Why do you think I keep a dog around? Not only is Count a good watchdog, but I've taught him quite a number of tricks. And if you're worried, I assure you he's quite healthy. The vet checked him out just last month. And you bathed him the other day, didn't you? So he isn't particularly dirty."

"I ... I won't go through with it," he stammered, more flustered than ever. It seemed to him that what Lydia had just described was far worse than any of the humiliating and torturing punishments she had already subjected him to in these past three weeks of living death and anguish.

"Oh, is that so?" and she raised her eyebrows, cool and collected and determined, as always, to have her way with him.

"Yes," he whispered, hanging his head down with fear.

He remained in the kitchen while she turned on her heel. Without giving him the benefit of another word, she strode angrily from the kitchen while a silent Count stood over him. The degree of communication between Lydia and the Great Dane had often amazed him, for even now the dog seemed to sense what was happening. When Seth made a move to leave the kitchen, Count sprang forward, growling viciously and barring his way so that he could not leave.

It was a rare case of the dog which bit the hand that fed him, for even though it was Seth who had filled the dog's bowl with food every morning for the past three weeks, Count acted just as scornful and overbearing as his mistress.

So it was that Seth was forced to wait in the kitchen while he cocked his head to one side and heard Lydia storming up the stairs. He waited, counted off the seconds, wondering if he could get to the phone before she came down.

He had decided, right then and there, what he had to do. But as there was no extension phone in the kitchen and the Great Dane was not about to allow him to leave, he had to shelve the idea, at least for the time being. He'd wanted to place a long-distance call to his brother.

What he would say was something he hadn't figured out yet, but Seth had reached the point of no return and he was beside himself, completely and totally desperate. And, what was more, what Lydia had just proposed he do made his flesh crawl.

Yet all of his conflicting thoughts did him little good, for a few minutes later the sadistic and imperious dominatrice once again stood by the threshold, flaunting her body before his wide and although frightened, nevertheless always appreciative eyes.

If she had been ugly and physically unappealing, he knew things would have been entirely different. He would never have obeyed her for as long as he'd already done. But her beauty, her sex appeal, compounded of elements of cruelty as well as lust, combined to make him weak before her.

And this morning was no exception. "I call it my Seth-seducer," she quipped," letting him stare, even though his look was one she found both disrespectful as well as fawning.

But he meant no disrespect, in awe of her as she stood by the doorway. She had changed from her peignoir and leather cunt and nipple halter into an even more shocking and bizarre costume, one he hadn't seen her wear before.

If anything, the one thing she'd totally succeeded in doing to him since he'd arrived was to bring out his taste for leatherware. Seth's nose wrinkled up like a rabbit's, and he was easily able to inhale the pungent odor of her leather garment, the rawhide mingling with the musky scent that always permeated her body, even after she had just stepped out of a shower and he was there to dry her off like an attendant of Cleopatra.

Now, his eyes took in every detail, from the strangely exotic antique Victorian boots which reached up right past her ankles, fitted with dagger and rakish high heels, pointy toes and criss-crossing laces, to the pair of side mesh black stockings through which her supple creamy-white thighs emerged in shocking and delicious contrast.

The stockings were garterless, held up by a ring of elastic around each top. And then he studied with silent deference the black leather garment she sported for his delectation, scanty and so skin-tight it hugged her and seemed to caress her flesh with unseen fingers.

It was, he decided, almost like a one-piece leather bathing suit. But whereas such a suit is designed for modesty, Lydia's costume was specifically designed to expose and tantalize. Instead of concealing her treasured private parts, it revealed them and, in fact, accented and delineated them explicitly.

Panels had been cut so that her breasts emerged from their surrounding leather cover, ringed by a border of gleaming metal studs. Each nipple stood at firm attention, looking as if she had darkened them with coral lipstick, they were so prominently hued and so completely noticeable.

And, further more, instead of the V-shaped depression that would have been all a bathing suit would have allowed a man to see of her cunt, the leather garment was cut away so that once again her cunt was just as exposed as her jugs. It too was accented by a border of sparkling and almost jewel-like metal studs, faceted bits whose sides caught the light and almost made her box appear dazzling and incandescent.

He was gaping when she moved closer, revealing what she had been holding behind her back. He'd seen that before, even if he hadn't seen her "Seth-seducer." It was a "Seth-scalder," he recalled her saying once before, a vicious cat-o'-nine-tails with a bite like a panther, not like a purring kitten in the least.

She gripped the braided rawhide handle tightly, menacing him with the cat. The nine separate lengths of rough cowhide had, he recalled her telling him, been soaked for over a week in a strong salt solution. As a result, they were both extra-stiff and extra-lethal, for when the whip cut into his flesh, it would leave behind far more than just a bloodied souvenir of pain.

The salt would get into the gaping wounds made by the cat and he remembered -- for she'd used just this very weapon on him several times before -- the burning hellish pain, pain that lingered long after the leather had scored its searing lacerating mark upon his body.

Her heels clicked out a jungle rhythm, tapping against the tile floor with rising impatience. "Now then, my dear," she said "Have you decided to play my game with me? Or am I going to be forced to make you submit to the rules of this establishment? It's your choice, actually. See how fair and democratic a woman I am, Sethie my little spineless faggot friend."

"I ... I ..." he stammered, thinking at the same time, I have no choice. Even if I tried to knock her unconscious, the dog would get at me first. And then she'd have the police on my tail anyway, so what would be the use of it all?

The latter was an open-ended question, one without any conceivable answer or solution. But what made it worse was that she had known what his answer would be, all along. Now, he was forced to nod his head, to listen to her snide little laughter as she told him to remove the diaper pinned up around his crotch.

He undid the pins and folded it neatly over a chair, standing there nude and vulnerable. The very notion of what would soon be taking place made him gag, but when she told him to get down on his hands and knees, he was quick to obey, lest the cat sing out its stinging song.

The moment he was down on his hands and knees, she pushed Count toward him. The dog had done this numerous times in the past, though not with Seth and now the animal moved around, wagging his tail in Seth Gar-rick's face.

"Well chump, get to work. The puppy doesn't like to be kept waiting, just like his mistress," and saying this she moved behind him, raised the cat-o'-nine-tails in the air and brought it down against his naked and defenseless buttocks with a loud and searing thwack.

Her jerked towards Count, moaning with pain and making haste to do what she had already told him. That was, to put it in least disgusting terminology, to suck the dog's cock and eat out Count's asshole, in whatever order he chose.

Depravity may have been one thing, but this bestial linkage was disgusting to him as nothing else he'd already been forced to endure at her hands. "Come on, boy!" she snorted, laughing with glee as she took aim once again and didn't hesitate to use the cat to its best advantages.

All nine thongs of leather came down with a great rush of air, slicing across his trembling and naked buns. Her jerked forward, his balls swaying fearfully, for they too were in the line of fire and he prayed not one of the nine separate leather lashes would make contact with his sensitive scrotal sac.

He gagged at the smell of the dog's ass, for Count had defecated right before breakfast. And so it was that he found himself burying down between the animal's back legs, using one hand to jerk Count off. He rubbed his fingers back and forth along the bony hairy sheath which still concealed the dog's long pencil-like red pecker.

But Count responded almost instantaneously and the pointy tip of his bony dog-cock slowly but surely emerged out of its hairy and protective sheath. "I said to suck him off, not jerk him off!" yelled Lydia, not content until he was tasting Count's seed. She howled with amusement and as if to punctuate her laughter, took aim and brought the vicious and searing whip down across his ass, scoring a fresh series of long jagged red welts.

The pain mounted as steadily as his self-disgust and he felt himself on the verge of throwing up as he now licked the naked and glistening head of the dog's cock. Count pulled abruptly away then, spun around with an almost human moan and raised its forepaws up to Seth's shoulders. He began to pump at the air, aiming blindly at Garrick's twisted and cringing mouth.

"Suck him baby, suck him real good," warned Lydia.

He opened his mouth wide and the dog stabbed his naked and exposed length of meat right down his throat. It had a gamy and repugnant taste to it, the slippery secretions which covered the dog's bony tool making him choke with sheer revulsion.

But what was even worse was the whip, forever stinging and branding his nether globes. She increased the tempo of her strokes, scoring one hot searing mark on his wiggling rump after another. His ass was suffused with red, scored with long jagged and puckered weals of pain and anguish.

But she loved every second of it and her cunt began to juice up even as she heard Seth gagging as he took in the entire length of Count's penis. The dog continued to hump forward, stabbing and thrusting his meat down Seth's throat with blind animal excitement.

Seth's mouth had become the cunt of a bitch in heat and the dog took full advantage of it. He closed his eyes then and tried not to think of what was happening. That, however, was just about impossible to do, for even as he did what she had ordered him to, Lydia continued to revile him both with words as weli as with the whip.

The tip of one leather lash hit across his swaying balls and he jerked forward, screaming out with pain and falling flat on his face. Count growled angrily as his cock slid out into the open. "So you can't take it, is that it, boy?"

sneered Lydia, feeling the way her box had grown quickly feverish and demanding to be serviced.

He didn't answer, gasping for breath, knowing then that he just couldn't handle it anymore. But before he could say or do another thing, he felt her grabbing hold of his hair and yanking his scalp as a means of hauling him around to his knees.

He gasped for breath and an instant later was rewarded with the sight, smell and feel of her hairy trench. She just couldn't stop herself any longer and she slammed her muff over his mouth and thrust her hips back and forth.

Immediately, he gave it his all, willing to eat her out for hours on end. If this was punishment, Seth knew he could take as much of it as Lydia was willing to dish out. But what she was dishing out now was cunt juice, hot gushes of her abundant sap streaming down along the fluttering and overheated walls of her lusty trench.

He sucked down her vaginal nectar, cleansing his mouth of the taste of the Great Dane's penile secretions. The heavy and almost cloying aroma of Lydia Rinaldo's musky twat assailed his senses and he inhaled as deeply and avidly as he sucked her pussy, loving the spicy and pungent aroma of her luscious and juicy quim.

"That's it, boy, you're finally learning what it takes to turn a woman on," she moaned, savoring the feel of his long hot tongue as he lashed it in and out of her vaginal furrow. And then his hands came up to splay back each thick ragged-edged cunt flap, twin reddened rooster combs he peeled back and held as securely as he could, thus exposing her pulpy vulva and the succulent pea-shaped morsel that was her hot and wiggling clitoris.

He slammed his mouth over her clit, sucked in his cheeks and licked and tongued the juicy bud of erectile tissues as more and more cunt juice streamed down the walls of her snatch. She continued to thrust her hips back and forth, but even as he kept eating her out, Seth Garrick was suddenly and frighteningly aware of something else.

For Lydia had signalled to the dog and now Count didn't hesitate, as sexually maddenned as his mistress. Accordingly, he suddenly jumped upon the crouching body of Seth Garrick, clawing at his back and shoulders as he stabbed blindly, aiming the hard long thin length of his bony prick right between the cheeks of Seth's bruised and battered ass.

"Yeah, that's it, boy, do a good job on him, too, one he won't ever forget!" Lydia cried out, the sodomizing and bestial scene inflaming her jaded appetites and making her more aroused than ever.

Seth tried to pull away the instant he felt something hard and slimy, slippery as well, striking right between his trembling buttocks. But Lydia grabbed hold of his shoulders and held him down in front of her.

"You're not goin' anywhere, little man. The doggie here is gonna fuck you up the ass, just like you did when you were in school, kiddo," she snickered, her sense of loathing for him as heated as her own physical desires.

She gripped his collarbones and pressed her thumbs down in the hollows between his neck and shoulders, hitting each pressure point on either side. The pain of it made his head spin and he was dizzy and nauseous as Count continued to hump forward, trying to pierce and ultimately penetrate his fundament.

And even though Seth tried to keep his hole tightly clenched and thus unassailable and inviolate, his sphincter muscles contracting forcefully, the dog's bony penis proved to be an equal match. For once Count had figured out the location of his asshole -- for no one was guiding the animal to the promised land -- he didn't hesitate to keep at it, growing wildly excited with each successive thrusts of his canine body.

Lydia watched with wide and staring eyes and she knew, even if she couldn't see it exactly, the instant when the dog's cock began to make contact. For at that hellish moment, Seth screamed out and jerked forward, unable to pull free.

Count shoved up against his trembling and wounded buns and the head of his penis pushed apart the tight burning sphincter ring and began to move right into his dry and defenseless rectum. It felt almost as if he was being finger-fucked and though Seth knew that that particular act, in conjunction with others that is, could prove quite pleasurable, what was happening now bore little similarity to having his prostate tickled and massaged by a pistoning finger.

"Stop him! Do something, but stop him!" he groaned, his wild cry of mercy muffled as his mouth was covered with her hairy twat and he was forced to continue eating out Lydia until she came.

So there was no way to prevent Count from using his asshole for his own bestial physical needs. The dog's front paws clawed at his back, wounding him sorely and, on top of that, he now had to endure the way more and more of the Great Dane's long pencil of a cock was sliding deeper and deeper into the depths of his tight and burning rectum.

It was almost unendurable and he froze, trying to relax his sphincter muscles to alleviate some of his growing discomfort. His sight was filled with pussy, raw naked cunt which oozed musky oily droplets of sap.

Lydia was growling almost as loudly and excitedly as her pet and she strummed her hips back and forth, corkscrewing her body up against Garrick's tonguing lips and mouth. "Soon boy, soon, real soon, little man," she promised, not mentioning what the dog was doing, only referring to her own imminently approaching climax.

Nevertheless, now that he was once again in a position which afforded no escape, Seth worked on her cunt and performed with every last ounce of strength in his feverish and pain-racked body. He sucked and licked, chewed on her clit, captured it and curled his long raspy-edged tongue around it to give her as much sexual and physical pleasure as he was capable of bestowing.

She appreciated it, certainly, but of course made no attempt to compliment him or thank him for his efforts. She continued to push her thumbs into the pressure points near his collarbones and then picked up the cat and used its hard wood and leather handle to beat down across his trembling shoulders.

She was getting closer, so close in fact that there was no holding back any longer. A loud piercing shriek of ecstasy rose up in the air, drowning out the dog's loud barking grunts of animalistic pleasure. "Yes, now, now, you pig, you fucking stupid little cocksucking bastard!" groaned Lydia as she began to come with wild-eyed delight.

In front of him, a veritable gush of cunt juice sprayed out, drenching his lips and dribbling down his face and chin. And behind him, his anus was still suffering the maddened and lusty assault of Count's penis as the dog jerked back and forth, pumping his meat in and out of the tight clinging depths of Seth Garrick's wounded and tortured asshole.

The pain of being beaten with the handle of the cat felt tame in comparison with being sodomized by the Great Dane. Finally, when she had drained herself of every last rippling wave of orgasmic pleasure, Lydia stepped back and moved around, pushing him down until he was forced to brace himself with his palms flat on the kitchen floor.

In this degrading position, the dog now was able to really get into his asshole and Lydia straddled his back and pulled his wounded and blistery buns wide apart, watching the way the dog's cock slid in and out, surrounding the black and pitted hairy folds of Seth's manly and now decidedly abused bottom-hole.

"What a perfect fit... like a glove, dear boy, just like a glove. Who would have ever thunk it?" she giggled, overjoyed that he was being so debased, so put to shame.

This was her passion, her grand and sweeping delight, the one overbearing emotion that she was capable of feeling. To take a man and mold him, to twist a member of the opposite sex into a mere semblance of his former self, was what her entire life was built upon. And Seth was like clay in her powerful and relentless hands, clay she would sculpt into a cringing sniveling version of a man defeated both by her as well as by his own self-disgust and inner sense of self-hatred and unending despair.

Why this was so was something she fully understood but now had little if any reason to deal with. Seth was certainly in no position to ask her why she had become a dominatrice, a woman whose entire life centered upon brutally putting down men and using them for her own sadistic excesses.

And now, as she pulled his buns painfully apart, she was content to watch until Count had finished what he had been given a chance to start.