Chapter 5
Lydia did not have the pleasure of seeing Seth throwing up moments after she and Count had left him alone in the kitchen, there to bear up to his misery and sense of mounting self-disgust. He was reacting exactly the way she wanted him to and had she been able to see him puking, the sight would have delighted her to no end, additional proof of his inability to deal with the life he was now being subjected to.
Dog-come still oozed down out of his sore and burning anus, trickling down along the insides of his thighs. Lydia was off on a romp with the dog and the last thing she suspected was that as soon as he had cleared his head and washed the taste of vomit out of his mouth, Seth would grab the telephone as if he was holding onto the very staff of life itself.
He didn't even bother to shower and clean himself off, not about to lose this precious opportunity, for it was rare that she left him alone, left him to his domestic chores, the cleaning and sweeping, the dusting and polishing that filled a good part of each waking day.
Now, he got long distance information and found out the telephone number of the advertising agency which employed his younger brother, twenty-five-year-old Jeremy Garrick. He kept glancing nervously out the French windows, unable to see her and hoping and praying she wouldn't come back to the house and surprise him in the midst of his hurried and frantic conversation.
But at last, hours later it seemed to him at the time, he was able to get through. Jeremy's initially pleased reaction to hear from his brother was quickly dampened when Seth hurriedly filled him in on the details surrounding the events of the last three weeks.
"I can't explain everything. She might come back any second. But you've got to get here, Jeremy. It's either you or the police. I... I can't take much more. It's getting too much for me. Please, you've got to come, you must!"
Jeremy needed little more convincing.
Hurriedly, he gave his brother instructions as to the location of Lydia's house, hoping he had gotten them across correctly. But he gave her name just in case Jeremy got lost and couldn't find the house where his brother said he was trapped, a prisoner caught in the hellish grip of a woman he likened to a monster, to medusa or Medea who murdered her children in a jealous rage.
By the time he got off the phone he was suffering from a fit of chills and his body was covered with cold sweat. He bounded up the stairs two at a time and headed for the bathroom. But though he stood under the spray of the stinging hot shower for as long as he dared, he was unable to wash away either his fears or his growing sense of acute and agonizing despair.
It seemed to him then that things were not going to ever get better, but that they would only continue to get worse, so bad in fact that one day, sooner than he liked to believe, either he'd suffer from a complete and total nervous breakdown or else she'd see to it that he never had a chance to be the person he'd ultimately tried to escape from in the first place.
It was that person, that inner self which had goaded him into attempting the holdup, to whom Seth now longed to return to as if to a long lost friend. For he knew then that no matter how unhappy and miserable with his life he had felt three weeks before, it was absolutely paradise in comparison to what had happened to him since.
At least she won't get the phone bill until after I'm gone, he thought to himself, trying to cheer his head up as he put on the diaper again and went back downstairs to finish cleaning up the house as well as preparing lunch.
That night, as if Lydia had not forced him to endure more than enough for one day, the nightmare continued where it had seemingly left off that morning. He'd done his work well and the house was spotless.
He'd even cooked a dinner that had surprised him, for it had only been since arriving at Lydia
Rinaldo's house that he'd really been forced to learn how to prepare meals properly. When he lived alone, more often than not pizza or a hamburger sufficed, but this evening he had laid out a veritable feast, a gourmet banquet the purpose of which he hoped would quiet her down somewhat so that he would end up having a relatively un-hassled and un-painful evening.
But even though he'd busted his ass cooking and cleaning all day for her, gratitude was the last thing she intended to show him. Not that she was that blase that she didn't realize the trouble he had gone through to prepare dinner, but it was this very slavishness on his part which seemed to trigger a fresh burst of venomous excitement.
Now that she was beginning to feel that he was putty in her hands, incapable of either disrespect or insubordination, it gave her all the more pleasure to abuse him. And that, needless to say, was exactly what she went about doing, methodically and almost scientifically, at that.
She had in her possession a most clinical and remarkable little gadget, one she had designed herself, though after she had assembled it she'd read somewhere that similar devices had been used by the Japanese to torture prisoners during the last world war.
But even if it was not totally original, it still served its purposes well. And so it was that after she had eaten her full, she got up from the table and left the dining room without a word leaving him there in Count's company and good keeping.
Upstairs, she primped before her vanity table, her appearance as important as the activities she had already planned for the evening. Diverting though they would be for her, they would be torturing for Seth Garrick.
And had she known of the phone call he had made late that morning, she would not have hesitated to be even more wanton in her display of dominating cruelty and sadistic cunning. But she was ignorant of the call Seth had made to his brother and now, she stood back before her cheval mirror and studied her reflection in the glass, completely and totally pleased with herself and her scintillating and dramatic appearance.
For now she sported what perhaps can best be described as a leather-lover's version of an evening gown. It was a floor-length black pigskin sheath, slit revealingly up along both thighs, the bodice connected to the skirt of the leather gown by means of one oversized and highly polished chrome buckle.
The gown was long-sleeved as well, each sleeve fitted with wide flaring wristlets, gaunt-leted cuffs that accented her long slim fingers and polished nails. The low-cut neckline was trimmed with long lengths of leather fringe, such as are more often seen on Indian costumes.
And at the end of each fringe was a chrome stud so that when she moved there emanated from her body a dull clinking and almost bell-like sound, though far more ominous and scarifying. The gauntlets too were edged with similar chrome bolts and long dangling leather fringes hung down from each sleeve, giving the dress almost an Oriental effect.
To complement the leather gown she wore a narrow black velvet collar around her neck from which dangled a solid gold miniature punishment paddle, an article of jewelry a former admirer had designed and then executed for her several Christmases before. The paddle was a fitting symbol, a gold metaphor of her life and she wore it whenever she felt particularly rakish and wanton.
Her feet were buoyed up nearly seven inches in unadorned but quite respectable high-heeled pumps and she shook her hair over her shoulders and smiled with delight, pleased with the daring and awesome affect her appearance would soon have on Seth Garrick.
Then, armed with the device she had chosen to inflict torture such as he was yet to imagine or even experience at her hands, she went back downstairs and gathered up rope and a large metal pan which she found in the garage.
He saw her moving through the house and stopped short, staring with wide and utterly entranced eyes. But when she ordered him to follow her downstairs to the basement, fear returned and he shuddered with dread, wondering
¦
what she had planned for him.
"Make yourself comfortable, darling," she said with calculating off-handedness, motioning to a folding bridge chair stacked against one of the concrete basement walls. He pulled it open and sat down, shivering and wishing she'd turn on the boiler, for it was getting cold, particularly at night and he was only wearing the cotton diaper and nothing else.
But as soon as he had seated himself, she was upon him like a horde of screaming vixen, laughing and reviling him as she lashed the rope securely around his body, pinning him down to the chair. He knew it was useless to fight back and the only thought that kept him going was the promise he had exacted from his brother, the fact that tomorrow or the next day, Jeremy would be coming to free him from Lydia Rinaldo's insidious clutches.
Yet even Seth, as accustomed as he was to her sadistic temperament and her flare for devising bizarre and hellish torments which he and he alone was forced to endure, was nevertheless shocked and stricken with terror when she made her new plans clear.
Once she had pinned his arms behind his back, tying rope around his chest, his thighs and his calves so that his ankles were roped to each leg of the chair and his body was immobilized, she filled the bucket she'd brought with her with icy cold water and set his feet in it, acting cool and nonchalant all the while.
"What ... what are you going to do?" he asked, his voice cracking with fear.
She merely laughed and unpinned the diaper, pulling it off of him so that now he was stark and completely naked, his cock once again in a position of vulnerability, unable to be protected now that his hands were tied tightly and securely behind l^s back.
"Why, Seth dear," she told him then. "I'm going to try to electrocute you, that's all, sweetheart."
"You're insane. You'll never get away with murder. My ..." and he stopped himself, just in time.
"Your what, darling?" she said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "And who said anything about murder? I'm merely going to give you electro-shock therapy, that's all, since it's quite obvious that a man who allows a Great Dane to fuck him up the ass has to have something the matter with him. So let's pretend that I'm your doctor and you're my crazy patient."
He looked at her with sheer and unmitigated loathing, but before he could even reply to her insidious remarks, she brought forth the object she had never used on him before. At first, he couldn't tell what it was.
It had a stout rubber handle which she now gripped tightly, as well as two curved metal rods which were less than an eighth of an inch apart. A long extension cord was attached to the handle and he followed its torturous path until he saw how she had plugged it into a socket at the other end of the basement.
Then, moving right in front of him, eying him with considerable sadistic delight, she didn't hesitate to make good her threats. She knew the voltage level and from past use and past experience, knew just about how much a man could take before he'd black out.
Now, switching the insidious instrument into the on position, she allowed him a moment of silent shuddering horror. He saw a spark dancing from one wire tip to the other, anode to cathode as it were, a sharp miniature flash of lightning that made his teeth chatter as if he was stuck out in a snow storm.
But the pain he would feel would not be composed of coldness and frigidity, despite the fact that his feet were turning blue, immersed in the chilling icy water she had poured into the foot bath. Now, she laughed with pleasure and lunged towards him. The chair tipped back and forth as he instinctively jerked away and tried to protect himself.
But it was once again a useless and pointless gesture.
"You can't go anywhere, Sethie dear," she reminded him, loving the sight of his firm muscular body tied and bound before her, totally impotent. And likewise his cock, hanging shriveled and limp over his balls, as if it was purposely assuming the smallest possible dimensions.
But small or not, and she knew how it looked when it was fully erect, she nevertheless was able to slowly and torturously extend her arm, taunting him as the buzzing electrodes with their hellish spark of electrical pain edged closer and closer to his genitals.
"Please, please you mustn't, no, God no!" he suddenly shrieked.
But his cry of pain and mortal anguish came too late. She was deaf to his plaintive emasculated entreaties and without waiting any longer, the game about to be put into action, she pressed the buzzing electrodes down against the limp wrinkled head of his circumcised cock.
A pain such as Seth had never dreamed of made him groan and gurgle with wild alarm. His flesh felt as if it was being burned and his glans, so richly endowed with nerve endings and blood vessels, for it was a most highly sensitive and tactile part of his body, responded accordingly, almost screaming out as he trembled and felt the current of electricity moving through his body, making the hairs on his head and chest and thighs stand up as if with fright.
She pulled back the sparkling hissing instrument of terror an instant later. He slumped back in the chair, shuddering and twitching as the electric current flowed out of his body. It reminded him of when he was a boy, having accidentally plugged in a lamp while holding onto the ends of the naked plug.
He'd shocked himself then, barely able to let go and now it seemed as if it was happening all over again, only ten times as bad. Only his eyes registered his inner defiance and he tried to get a grip on himself, even as she giggled and made a snakelike jabbing motion, pressing the sparkling armatures down against his balls.
He could almost smell flesh burning and his eyeballs rolled up as loud gurgles of impotent terror escaped his lips. There was no way of dealing with her, no way of preventing this from taking place. He was frozen to the chair, groaning and shaking as she kept the electrodes flush against his sensitive and tortured scrotal sac.
And when she pulled them back, and not a second too late at that, for he was on the verge of losing consciousness, he slumped down in the chair, closed his eyes and gasped for breath. His thoughts seemed as murky and confused as if he was indeed undergoing electro-shock therapy. Except that in the latter the patient is already unconscious right after the first jolt.
"Now, don't you feel saner already?" Lydia asked him then, rather pleased with the way things were working out, the way he was reacting to her insidious and almost scientific torture methods. And as if she was still not totally satisfied, though her pleasure was making her body burn with the first telltale traces of sexual arousal, she took perverse delight in pulling his face up and slowly and agonizingly moving towards him, the crackling electrical hiss ringing deafeningly in his ears.
The electrodes were an inch from his chest, right between his paps and then they touched his flesh again and this time she made an error in judgment, keeping them in place a few seconds too long. As a result, he at least had the mercy of oblivion, screaming and then sliding down in the chair, limp and unconscious.
"The poor dear," she said aloud, switching off the device and clucking her tongue almost maternally at the same time. His head hung down over his chest and she saw how she had singed his torso, a small but revealing burn mark visible where the electrodes had pressed down against his chest.
But just because Seth Garrick was now unconscious didn't mean that Lydia intended to put an end to her grotesque and demeaning torture. Not in the least, for after putting down the "Seth-shocker," as she now decided to term it, she made ready for the next phase of her sadistic operation.
"Seth-shocker," she said aloud with a laugh. "Like having a lisp and trying to say sex-shocker. How clever of me, how dreadfully amusing I usually can be." Her ego was buoyed up by her success, but the fact that in the past three weeks displays of defiance and disagreement had been few and far between.
She knew that if he'd wanted to, he could have stopped her from roping him to the chair. But there was always the threat of calling the police which hung over his head as ominously as a whip flashing snakelike before his wide and frightened eyes.
Psychological emasculation went hand in hand with actual physical torture and debasement. And Lydia Rinaldo was a taskmaster of the old school, adept at getting her way, teaching young men such as Seth Garrick the rudiments and then the subtleties of bondage and its sister art, discipline.
B & D, she thought to herself as she now began to untie the ropes from his shackled and still unconscious body. She had it all worked out in her mind and now she went about her business with methodical efficiency, anxious to finish up the job before he awakened from his shocked and muddled "sleep."
She was pleased that the wooden chair was so constructed that there was a wide opening, a space between the actual seat and the slatted backrest. For now she pushed and shoved his unconscious body so that his head and neck stuck out through the opening, his shoulders wedged so tightly between the back slats and the slatted seat.
In this position there was no other place for his ass to go but up and it stuck out in a most revealing and vulnerable way, exactly how she had pictured it in her mind. The chair, however, had a tendency to topple now that the weight was concentrated not on the seat and the chair's center of gravity, but somewhere between the back and midair.
As a result, she was forced to tie additional lengths of rope to each leg, tying these in turn to the overhead pipes so that when she was finished, the bridge chair was suitably stabilized and no amount of rocking or jarring could topple it, either free of its moorings or onto the floor.
Next, she tied more stout hemp rope around his neck and the studded dog collar so that when he jerked his head up he would come close to strangling himself. She took hold of limp heavy arms and pulled them behind his back, tying his wrists tightly together.
Last but not least, she secured his ankles and calves to the legs of the chair, coiling more rope which she had soaked in the icy water all around his chest. As it dried it would become even tighter, constricting his body most painfully in the process.
Once this was accomplished, and with no small amount of effort either, for he was heavier than she was, dead-weight now that he was still unconscious, she stepped back to catch her breath and admire her handiwork.
Perfect, she thought to herself, knowing that even if he did try to escape, if it reached the point where he was ready and willing to let her call the police rather than endure any more of her torturing regimen, he still would be unable to escape or remove himself from the insidious and intricately unknotted bonds which virtually immobilized, imprisoned and nearly paralyzed him, as well.
The sight of his rounded naked ass, each dimpled buttock firm and resilient, the muscle tone reminding her of a ripe apple just ready to be gnawed, made her tremble with rising and frantic sexual fervor. She had begun to sweat as a result of hauling and pulling his naked body this way and that in order to secure it to the bridge chair.
Thus, sweat shone across her forehead and the top of her lip. But, even more than its overt signs, perspiration coated her skin with a thin liquid sheen. And it was this natural moisture which now caused her to tremble even more hotly, for her sweaty flesh was now rubbing and frictioning with delicious tactile pleasure, back and forth against the supple inner surface of her pigskin sheath dress.
The leather seemed to caress her as nylons swish and caress a woman's calves and thighs. She swayed back and forth, rocking on her long tapering high heels, savoring the feel of the leather against her skin.
She could even smell the way her sweat and the tanned leather mingled together, merging into an elusive and highly arousing natural perfume. It was an aroma she had smelled before, an attar composed of the very craft in which she excelled, disciplining men such as Seth Garrick to accept her way and her will with uncompromising belief.
She ran her hands up and down her flanks, shuddering and feeling the way cunt juice was slowly but surely oozing out from between the thick puffy and tingling outer lips of her cooze. It ran down, all hot and oily, over the front of her hairy snatch and between her pussy and the leather dress a kind of sparkling electricity could be felt, for she had no panties on, nothing to prevent her body from coming in actual physical contact with the leather garment.
She pressed the palm of one hand down across the front of her skintight outfit, rubbing her hand briskly and frictioning her cunt flaps against the leather. And the more she did this, the more aroused she became.
The swaying rawhide fringes that hung down from her dress and each tapering long sleeve, rustled and moved hotly, almost signalling the intensely erotic ripples of pleasure which were beginning to flow through her body.
Soon, Lydia knew for certain, she would be quickly engulfed by figurative flames of smoldering passion, ignited by the tortures she had already subjected Seth to, by the tortures which she was not about to continue.
Any second he would awaken and she made haste to complete her plans before he was able to see her putting them into action. Methodical in every way, from her personal life to her sadistic instructions, Lydia had laid out everything she might need in advance.
And so it was that she found the paint and brushes right where she had put them late that same afternoon. Laughing to herself, one part of her psyche genuinely amused and the other part genuinely incensed, she began to enact her fantasies, just as she had dreamed them.
In fact, it had all come to her in a dream less than a week before, though it had taken nearly seven days to get everything ready. And now the moment was at hand and she stepped back, held up her thumb the way she had always imagined artists doing when they got ready to paint a picture, perhaps even their masterpiece.
This, she decided, would not be her masterpiece, for she knew that she still had years ahead of her in which to perfect her art to a peak of perfection. But it would be one of the highlights of her dominating career, nevertheless.
And so it was that when he groaned and sluggishly tried to move his body, Seth not only discovered the awkward, painful and highly uncomfortable position he had been placed in, but he also discovered with even more horror and disbelief that at that very moment Lydia was busily engaged in painting.
Painting on him that is. Painting a target, a bright black and red bull's-eye, the center of which figured right over his naked and trembling asshole!