Chapter 6
"You needn't look so surprised, little man" she chortled when she realized he was awake, staring at her as best he could. It was just about impossible for Seth to turn his head over his shoulder as a result of the way the ropes had been secured to the studded dog collar and the slats of the chair back
But he still was able to see her out of the corner of his eye. She was almost done, putting on the last finishing touches to her own special and unique form of body-painting. Concentric rings had been painted over his ass, from the small of his back to the bottom edge of his buns, right where they merged into the backs of his thickset and muscular thighs.
She had alternated the colors, first a red ring and then a black until she'd gotten down to the bull's-eye, right over his bottom-hole. It was black with wiry pubic hair to begin with, the perianal folds a brown, pitted and now clenched tightly and inviolably together when he had realized what was happening.
But she'd still dabbed some black paint over the slit-like aperture that was his virginal asshole, an asshole that had already been assaulted in genuine dog-fashion, not only attacked from the rear, but attacked by a dog, in addition.
But other than that, and the bout of bestial sodomy had left its traumatic scars imprinted deep within his psyche, she was yet to really take his anal virginity. Many women, even those as adept as she was in the lore of the lash and the tenets of torture, usually commenced their instructive and debasing sessions with an introduction to anal abuse.
Lydia, however, had waited three weeks. For other than Count's heated and penetrating rape, other than having occasionally punctured his sphincter ring and his anal defenses with a well-aimed and sharply-nailjabbing finger, she had not yet used anything else on his bottom-hole.
But this evening all that was going to change, and frighteningly so, at that. Dramatic was the way she saw it, but for Seth Garrick, merely watching her completing the job of painting the black and red target on his ass, was enough to scare the shit out of him, figuratively speaking, of course.
Had it come to that, had he actually found himself unable to prevent himself from defecating right then and there, he knew her punishment would have been meted out swiftly and mercilessly. But though his fear was such that he felt his bowels churning, he clenched his anal muscles as tightly as he could, both to stop himself from crapping out of sheer and unmitigated terror, as well as to stop her from abusing his asshole in ways he was yet to imagine or completely figure out.
She still hadn't brought out her piece de resistance.
But the moment she was finished, the oil paint glistening over the trembling rounded surface of his tightly clenched and dimpled buns, she strode nonchalantly across the concrete basement floor, ignoring his loud imprecations, his moans and beseechments.
The more he whined, the more he begged for mercy, the more turned on and thus the more determined Lydia became. His words of anguish aroused her passions to the boiling point and almost unconsciously she once again rubbed her trembling fingers across the V-shaped depression made by her hairy and meaty mons veneris.
Her cunt was burning, tingling and itching, smarting as more and more musky sap drooled down the fluttering walls of her overheated vagina. It will be taken care of, rest assured, she told herself, knowing as she did that everything must come in its proper and perhaps even rightful order.
And the order of the night was torture first, tonguing second and tool third. This unspoken schedule of events was now about to be enacted, as if she was calling a meeting to order. Domi-natrices arise, present your weapons and attack! she thought to herself with a wicked and savage grin, her lips curling back to expose the two even rows of her pearly-white teeth.
She had once thought of having special dental work done to sharpen her blunt canines and thus effect an even more shocking and frightening appearance. But she'd given up on the idea when her dentist had informed her that it would only serve to ultimately weaken the teeth by being so unnaturally -- for human beings, that is -- sculpted to resemble an animal's slashing canines.
Nevertheless, she wished she had those teeth, teeth she could use as efficiently as Count used his claws or she herself used her many whips, paddles and other instruments of punishment and sadistic excess. In fact, even as she moved back to him, carrying the special tools of her trade in her arms, as lovingly as a mother holds her newborn babe, she told Seth exactly what she had just been thinking.
He listened, though his eyes and his thoughts were centered upon one thing and one thing only. Her words droned in his head, but it was what Lydia Rinaldo held in her hands that put the fear of death itself into him.
"Oh, so you're more interested in my archery act," she giggled when she couldn't help but notice the way his eyes were bugging out, staring with dread at the rather unique and original "bow and arrow" set she held in her hands.
They were not regular arrows, needless to amy. Rather, she had had them so constructed so that they were still able to be shot from the bow. But these missiles of pain could not penetrate flesh as could real pointed arrowheads. Rather, they could only penetrate natural openings, such as mouths, cunts and, in this case, assholes.
The lightweight but firm "arrows" were fashioned to resemble phalluses, hollow hard rubber dildoes she would now shoot at the target she had painted on his butt. The bow itself gave these splendidly torturing missiles the advantage of incredible penetrating speed and when she'd used this particular little beauty of a device in the past, she had always ended up scoring a bull's-eye, managing to aim precisely. Thus it was that sooner or later one of the dildoes, and she had about a dozen to use, would hit the mark and rush like a bullet straight into the depths of a man's tender and sodomized bottom-hole.
"Who designed that ... that thing?" he moaned. "Satan?"
"What a nice compliment, comparing me to the devil. I'm actually flattered, Seth dear. In fact, I've always thought of myself as the devil's advocate ... if that's the right word I'm looking for. Or at least an emissary here on earth to do his good work. Actually, I am rather pleased with their design. I thought it up myself, I'll have you know."
"I wouldn't have doubted it for a minute," he muttered under his breath, straining at his bonds and doubly agonized to discover that even when he exerted all of his strength, the knotted ropes only seemed to get tighter, rather than loosening up as he had hoped.
"Oh yes, they've been soaked in cold water, in case you're interested," Lydia went on, her cool and calculatedly blase tone angering him all the more.
But he knew as well that cursing her would get him nowhere. Nor would straining his muscles to free himself. And so he could do nothing but "sit" there in this painful position, a perfect sitting duck, a perfect target with no puns intended.
She knew all this beforehand, needless to say, and made sure to take her time, thus drawing out the ultimate moment of horrifying and emasculating pain. She stood several feet behind him, aligning one of the dildo-arrows right at the bull's-eye.
He tried not to look, but he couldn't help but stare. And when she grinned and winked at him sarcastically, he felt that if he ever managed to escape -- without calling the police down on his head, that is -- he wouldn't think twice about ripping her limb from limb. If not that extreme, then a nonstop re-enactment of all the sundry and perverted tortures she had already subjected him to in the past three weeks.
But then his mind became a total blank, for she drew the bow back until it was arched and quivering, ready to let its phallus fly. "Ready ... on your marks ... get set... go!" she cried out, releasing the arrow so that with seemingly bullet-like speed -- though actually it moved much slower -- the hard rubber dildo rushed through the air.
He jerked forward, the ropes which kept the chair balanced creaking and straining as he exerted pressure and tried to topple it over. And even then he winced as the rounded glans-like head of the anatomically exact artificial penis hit the bottom of his buns.
"Drat," she snorted, stamping her foot and annoyed that her first shot hadn't hit the mark. She didn't hesitate after that, getting another arrow ready, increasingly petulant as well as impatient to score a win and pierce his fundament.
He was forced to remain silent and unmoving, his buns trembling with fear as the next two missiles got closer and closer to his anus, wounding the tender and sensitive flesh of his bum furrow. One hit high and the other low, right above his balls so that his testicles seemed to contract, pulling themselves up protectively within his dangling scrotal sac.
But then, on the fourth try, Lydia Rinaldo met with success.
He hardly knew what was happening. But suddenly a fire seemed to have been ignited in his tortured rectum. The tender folds of anal tissue, the dark-brown and hairy sphincter ring he'd tried keeping tightly clenched and thus, in his mind at least, virtually unassailable, proved no match for the speed of her well-aimed sodomizer.
With a loud and high-pitched shriek of agony, he felt the hard rubber dildo stretching his anal folds wide and tunneling halfway up into the depths of his previously virginal anus. It all happened so quickly that it was almost hard to believe.
But still she was not totally content. The dildo was a good seven inches long and as thick as Seth's own massive arm of manflesh, which meant just about as big around as the circumference of her wrist, six inches at the very least.
But one glance showed her that the dildo had only gone in not more than three or four inches, at the very most, a goodly portion of it still sticking out of his gaping and grotesquely widened and distended fundament.
It wiggled from side to side as he moaned with hellish pain and began squeezing and contracting his sphincter muscles as violently as he could. He was trying to evacuate it, to push it out of his burning rump. But she was upon him in a flash, not about to let him win this little round of her debasing entertainment.
"Does your little tushie hurt, dearie," she snickered, affecting a New York accent as she took hold of the end of the hard rubber dildo and hammered it deeper and deeper into his quivering and tortured asshole.
"God, no, no more," he begged as he felt her shoving the dildo into his rectum, all seven hard unwieldy inches. The walls of his rectum burned as the rubber scraped and frictioned along them, rubbing the tender dry flesh raw. She had used no lubricant, neither on the arrows nor on his asshole and the pain was trebled as a result of this bone-dry condition.
The pain was something Seth was completely unable to deal with. On one level it was physical anguish of the most excruciating kind, for he was yet to discover that the moment he relaxed his anal muscles, some of the agonizing burning pain would fast depart. And, on another level, he could not cope with the entire concept mentally.
The notion of being fucked the way a man fucked a woman, buggered and corn-holed, sodomized with seven ravishing inches worth of hard bristling rubber, was just too fiendish for him to deal with. "Please, please take it out, even for a little bit," he whimpered, unable to stop the tears from overflowing his reddened eyes and dripping hotly down his cheeks.
"You mean to say it really hurts?" she snickered, corkscrewing the dildo in and out, piston-ing it back and forth with her hand. She loved the way he squirmed and shuddered as a result, his dilated and stretched perianal tissues twitching and convulsing as they were rubbed blistery raw by the rubber phallus.
But it had reached the point once again where her own body was in need of relief. Despite the pleasure she was deriving, she had done what she had set out to accomplish and now she wanted to feel him sinking his hard throbbing meat down between her legs, giving her cunt the kind of attention it so justly -- in her eyes, certainly not his -- deserved.
Thus it was that she ripped the dildo brutally out of his asshole, pulling it so violently that for a moment he was certain she was taking part of his burning rectum along with it, for the hard rubber was sticking and clinging to the dry spongy walls of his fundament.
But somehow, she managed not to wound him as severely as he had first imagined. The dildo gone, he could nevertheless still feel it, as if its ghostly reminder was wedged all the way into his butt, blocking his rectal canal and making his prostate burn and quiver with searing pain.
He slumped down on the chair, the blood rushing to his head and making him feel dizzy, on top of everything else. But then, as if he was in a trance and so filled with the remnants of her excruciatingly debilitating torments that he didn't know what was happening, he found himself being untied and then led back up the stairs and into the house.
They went up another flight of stairs together, Lydia's high heels doing all the talking, clicking harshly as she dragged him to her room on the second floor of the house. He was thrown onto the bed and lay there like a dead man, his eyes glassy and reddened his breath coming in short agonized gasps of despair.
Ten minutes later, lacking both the strength and the resolve to stop her, as if he had given up, accepting her cruel torments as a just reward for what he saw as a life of complete and utter failure and misery, she was ready to start in all over again.
Now, lengths of clanking iron chain were festooned around his body. Leather anklets and wristlets were attached to his four limbs and from these shackles great lengths of chain were stretched, tied around each of the four upright bedposts.
And in addition to this, a length of chain rose up from the studded dog collar around his neck, arch symbol of his debasement and humility. It in turn was tied to one of the overhead beams by the head of the bed. He could move somewhat, from side to side and back and forth. But he was ultimately penned and caged, reminded of how elephants used to be treated when they were considered mad.
But I'm not mad, I'm me, he kept telling himself.
It did little good, nor did it change the situation he was now forced to participate in. Lydia worked silently and efficiently as usual and when she got back on the bed he was rewarded with the tantalizing sight of her all but naked body.
She had removed the skintight sheath dress with its rustling rawhide fringe, replacing it with simpler costuming: black mesh hosiery, a black satin garter belt that daringly defined the creamy-white expanse of each supple thigh, and her omnipresent spike-heeled leather pumps, twin stilettos which made him since involuntarily.
Her jugs were lush, rounded and completely naked, buoyed up by their own succulent and juicy volume. They swayed like twin balloons festooning her chest, each nipple shining and taut, blood-red and ripe for the picking.
But by this time Seth was too exhausted to even bother. It was only when he caught sight of what Lydia had put on her hands that the old fears returned, all over again. "I'm reminded of a certain kind of finger pick steel guitarists occasionally use," she told him then, her usual cool and snidely calculating self. "But these, I daresay, were not meant for picking strings, my dear. They were designed by the Chinese for more exquisite forms of music, the music of screaming and sadistic pain, that is."
He held his tongue, staring at the ten gleaming extensions which adorned her fingernails. They were claws, five or six inches of burnished steel, their edges honed to a near-razor sharpness. She waved them excitedly, chattering all the while like a magpie, telling him how marvelous it would feel to take these steel nail down over his body, gouging out his flesh so that his cries would come back to her like a cacophonous symphony of pain and pleasure.
"For there will be pleasure too, for both of us in fact, little man," she went on, sliding down in front of him so that he was forced to rear up on his knees as best he could, the chains clanking loudly, stretched taut on every side.
She wiggled into position, plumping the pillows and resting her head and shoulders against them. He was now directly in front of her, her thighs spread-eagled and her hairy cunt fur angled less than six inches from his limp and dejected cock.
But despite the pain and all that he had already been forced to endure, this evening alone, his meat didn't fail him. Just staring at her lush naked body, divorcing her person from her voluptuous and sensual figure, got him going all over again.
Without even touching his pecker, his cock began to harden, to lengthen and thicken as blood was trapped inside the shaft of his burgeoning penis. He kept ogling her twat, the raw and ruddy-hued flaps of meat, the curly bush that was thickest above the edge of her cunt and then narrower and sparser gown over the folds of her vagina, stopping abruptly as if cleanshaven along the insides of her thighs.
She pushed her hips up and down, eying him with sadistic cunning and rare delight. And as he held his tongue and watched, her own slim pointy tongue slid out from between her lips. She wiggled it before him, taunting and egging him on.
"Come on, little man. Let's see if you can handle me, if you're man enough ... if you've got balls, that is," she snickered, thrusting her hairy pubic mound up towards his crotch.
He didn't need an engraved invitation, accepting her offer without a moment's hesitation or indecision. By stretching his hand he was just able to wrap his fingers around the middle of his thick rigid hard-on and once he had a good grip on his cock, he pushed forward, sliding his legs back behind him at the same time.
I want to drown in pleasure, he told himself, knowing that that would be the only one to forget what she had done to him, both this evening as well as in the accumulated past three weeks. Thus he rammed down as if his cock was a steam-hammer, plunging down into the warm wet cavity that was her musky trench.
She held back her actual response, not wanting to feed his ego or his sense of manliness. But at this point he wasn't thinking of pleasing her. He couldn't have cared less and, in fact, hoped she wouldn't come, trying desperately to get off before she beat him to it and then denied him the pleasure of shooting his load down into the depths of her deliciously tight and gripping twat.
And so he rammed down with one agile thrust, piercing her to the quick, spearing his meat all nine solid inches down into place. She suppressed a groan of feverish pleasure. Then, lifting her legs up so that she was able to press the heels of her pumps down against the pressure points along the backs of his knees, she raised her rapier-sharp metal fingernails and wrapped her hands almost lovingly around his neck and shoulders.
He held his breath, even as he savored the way the walls of her muff rippled in response to the steely presence of his manly weapon. He slid back and then pistoned his meat into place, her cunt flaps squishing loudly, smeared with juice and now clinging tightly as rubber bands around the thick and sloping sides of his moving cock-shaft.
But then her poisonous ways were once again demonstrated, and most painfully and agonizingly, at that. Cackling uproariously, Lydia Rinaldo squeezed her cunt muscles tightly and then raked her long razor-sharp fingernail extensions down over his back.
He screamed with agony as he felt the razor-sharp claws, all ten of them, gouging into his flesh, leaving long gaping bloodied wounds as if he had been attacked by a tiger or a huge beast of prey. "Comfy?" she snickered, slashing out a second time.
And even then she was still writhing up and down, thrusting her cunt against his hairy crotch as pain and pleasure mingled together, just as she had promised him. He slammed his cock even deeper, hammering down until he could feel his groin banging against her hip bones.
But even that, this renewed force and vigor of his sexual attack, only spurred her on, goading her into a frenzy of violence and clawing action. The nails slashed and raked again and again, mauling him alive. His screams only seemed to make her more incensed and Lydia was now in a rage, one that was compounded of her explosive sexual excitement as well as her bloodcurdling taste for violence and debasement.
This was the way she liked her sex, mean and throbbing, the sight of blood dripping down his back seemingly causing hot gushes of cunt juice to spill down the walls of her well-filled muff almost as if to complement the sadistic brutality of her new fiendish torture.
No matter how he tried to twist and turn, to pummel her cunt with a force he hoped would prove to be more painful than pleasurable, she only acted as if she was begging for more, moaning and gyrating back and forth as he continued to plow and hammer his meaty prong in and out of her burning quim.
"Yes, do it, fuck me you little faggot shit, fuck me harder, harder!" she screamed, wailing and moaning like a cat in heat. And again and again the silvery sharp fingernails did their gruesome work.
She was not content until his back was a mass of wounds and gaping sores, slashed and scored with ten times the pain and anguish of a whipping. But then he got his way, finally and at long last. Having been denied complete sexual pleasure for so long, he had worked hard at coming, at achieving his climax.
And suddenly it happened and Seth groaned, trying to blot out the pain as pleasure engulfed him, inundating his senses. His body stiffened, each muscle contracting and bulging out in taut hot relief. And then his balls were pulled up involuntarily, high within his scrotal sac.
The moment was finally at hand, his and his alone.
The first contraction and throb of his cock made him scream out. His hands clenched her shoulders violently and his body underwent a series of rhythmic and violent contractions, each one matching the rhythmic ejaculations of his dick. Hot gushes of pent-up cream poured into her muff, thick and viscous.
She knew what was happening, knew that he had beaten her to the punch and she was now incensed beyond all reason. Lydia screamed and tried to join him, but she felt blocked then, unable to climax. Her hands wrapped themselves around his throat and she squeezed, clawing at his neck and pressing her thumbs down against his windpipe.
He couldn't bear it and ripped her hands off of him. Despite the chains which shackled him to the bed, he pinned her arms down and began to laugh, pumping one thick wad of cream into her cunt after another, not content until he had given her every last hot thick drop of semen.
Only then did the pain return to flood him as pleasure had done moments before. The after-throes of his climax were filled with agony and she raked the claws over his face until he had released her. "Oh, you're gonna be very sorry, little man, very sorry indeed!" she yelled, his impertinence, his display of retaliation and, most of all, the fact that he had poured his load into her cunt so that come now oozed out around her wet and heated gash, all combined to anger her to the point of madness and psychosis.
Oh please, please get here, Jeremy, Seth Gar-rick thought to himself, knowing that her's were not idle threats.
She slid back, pushing him off of her so that his thick limp dong plopped out of her hot and come-filled muff. And then she began to get back at him until oblivion engulfed him and he slipped mercilessly into unconsciousness.