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Archive name: damians.txt (MF+/F, intr, beast, drugs, nc)
Authors name: Richard the Black (blackrichard@juno.com)
Story title : Damian's Revenge

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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
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Damian's Revenge (MF+/F, intr, beast, orgy, drugs nc, bd)
by Richard the Black (blackrichard@juno.com)

***

A former slut tries to turn over a new leaf. She marries 
a prosperous, conservative vanilla man in Indiana. In the 
process she offends an ex boyfriend who gets his revenge 
by drugging her and supplying her as a sex object for 
multiple women, multiple black men, and multiple dogs. 

***

Ali groaned faintly, and her previously deep, regular 
breathing speeded up a bit. Her head lolled on her neck, 
back and forth sleepily. Then she opened her pretty blue 
eyes and looked around the room she was in. Saw me. 
Stared at me without recognition for a few seconds... 
then realized who I was.

She tried to move and discovered she was splayed out, 
fastened spread eagled to the big bed she was on. Nothing 
torturous; I'd tied each wrist and ankle carefully with a 
nice silk sash, nothing as mundane as a rope or as harsh 
as a handcuff. Her limbs weren't pulled so tight she was 
in active pain, I saw no reason to inflict physical 
anguish on her... well, at the moment. I was planning to 
work her over pretty good a bit further down the road. 
But everything has its time and its place. 

I'd thoughtfully propped her head and shoulders up on a 
stack of comfy pillows so she could see around herself 
with no problem. This was for many reasons: to let me 
mount her mouth when I felt like it. After the facts of 
life had been explained to her and I was fairly sure she 
wouldn't bite; to let her look down and see that she was 
naked (completely naked, as under my urging, in her GHB 
induced docility over the past few days. I'd had her 
shave her cunt completely bare), and, I admit, to put a 
tiny bit of physically uncomfortable strain on her 
shoulders, as her arms were pulled back above and behind 
her by the ties binding her wrists to either end of the 
king sized bed's headboard. I didn't want her distracted 
by pain (yet) but there was no reason the bitch should be 
physically comfortable. 

I'd thought long and hard about simply leaving her in the 
condition she'd been in after the past three days of hard 
sexual usage I'd arranged for her at various hands, which 
is to say, pretty much covered in dried sperm from head 
to toe, and with various things like FUCK HERE written on 
her in lipstick, with arrows pointing to her various 
orifi, as well as other imaginative embellishments like 
SPERM BANK MAKE DEPOSITS HERE (written in two groups of 
words, one on either cheek on either side of her mouth) 
and THIS HOLE FOR BLACK DICK ONLY (written across her 
asscheeks, above and below her anus).

However, in the end I'd decided the extra humiliation 
wasn't worth the fact that I myself wouldn't really want 
to touch her, much less kiss her or use her, while she 
was in that condition, and personally, I think body 
writing is ugly, and Ali is much too pretty for that. So 
after ushering out her last set of ravishers the night 
prior (a guy named Barney and his especially trained 
Doberman), I'd led a tired, beaming, disheveled Ali into 
the adjoining bathroom, put her in the shower stall, and 
told her to get herself clean.

When she came out, all scrubbed and pink (except in the 
areas that were a bit bruised or chafed from slightly 
rough usage) with her hair freshly shampooed and combed 
out on her shoulders, I'd given her a little kiss on the 
lips, led her back over to the bed (she'd been yawning by 
then, but still eager) laid her down, tied her securely, 
played with her clit until she went off like a rocket 
three or four times, and then told her firmly to go to 
sleep. Five minutes later, she'd been snoozing like an 
exhausted lumberjack. 

Then I'd fucked her, once in the cunt so she'd have my 
cum in her, and once in her open mouth, pulling out to 
jerk off all over her face, so she'd have cum there, too, 
and the taste in her mouth. She stirred a little bit but 
was so exhausted she didn't even wake up. I'd fucked Ali 
tied up before, but I'd never screwed anyone while they 
were asleep. It was kind of interesting.

Then I'd spent several of the next ten hours, while Ali 
caught up on three sleepless days being gang-fucked in 
nearly every combination and position I could think of, 
using the expensive laptop I'd brought to edit out 
various stills from the extensive video footage I'd taken 
of the last three days. I wound up with a gallery of 131 
separate color.jpgs, all of them showing Ali's face (as 
well as a lot of the rest of her, generally) in detail 
that was not only immediately recognizable to anyone who 
knew her (like her husband, or her employer, or her 
family, or the members of her church).

They showed indisputably that she was not only 
participating in the various acts depicted in the images 
willingly, but with eager, delighted enthusiasm. I 
printed them all out, carefully arranged them in stacks 
face down on the bedside table with sticky notes on top 
of each saying 'Day 1 - Girl's Night Out', 'Day 2 - 
Affirmative Action', and 'Day 3 - Dog Day Afternoon'. 
Then I crashed for several hours on the single bed next 
to the big king sized that Ali was tied to. When I woke 
up, she was still asleep, so I ordered up some breakfast. 
Maybe the delicious aromas from the bacon, eggs, and 
french toast brought her around. 

Anyway, she started to stir, so I said, brightly, 
"Morning, baby" and walked over to sit on the bed next to 
her and lean down and give her a casual kiss on the 
mouth. I didn't prolong it or slip her my tongue, but it 
was more of a kiss than a nice proper married church 
going lady should be getting from an ex-lover in a hotel 
room while tied naked to a bed. She accepted it in some 
confusion, but she was passive, and after a few seconds, 
she turned her face away, pulling her mouth out from 
under mine. 

Normally that would make me mad, but... well. What goes 
around comes around, and it was definitely coming around 
for dear sweet Alisson.

I just sat up, smiling down at her in a friendly fashion, 
reaching out and gently holding one of her soft, firm 
tits almost casually, rolling the ball of my thumb tip 
over her nipple. It hardened immediately, and she gasped. 

"Dah... Damien," she said, her voice raspy, still 
sounding a little groggy. "What's... where am I?"

"Room 614 of the Marriott, sweetheart," I told her. 
"Don't you remember? You met me for a drink down in the 
bar, and one thing led to another..."

I could see her visibly forcing herself to remember back. 
Now, GHB is an interesting drug, since not only does it 
seem to release all sexual inhibitions in those who take 
it, it also wipes out all long term memory of what 
they've done under its effects.

To my mind, this would seem to indicate that what it does 
is, in effect, either free up, or actually create, a sort 
of sub-persona or split personality, one far more in 
touch with the id's rampant carnal desires. The person 
under the effect of GHB seems to actually become a 
different being for a time; an avid fuck machine, utterly 
open to any sexual act whatsoever no matter how depraved. 
Then when the drug wears off, the 'real' personality re-
emerges, with no memory of what their body has done for 
the past few hours, or days, or... whatever. 

Ali blinked several times. "Um..." She ran the tip of her 
tongue around her lips, probably without being aware of 
it. "Um, yes..." I knew she'd remember meeting me for 
drinks in the hotel bar; that drink, generously laced 
with GHB, was what had kicked off our little three-day 
tryst. She wouldn't remember anything afterwards, though, 
until waking up just now with the effects of the drug 
worn off.

"Um... Damien..." She hesitated. Back when Ali and I were 
briefly lovers, in our college days, before her first 
marriage, much less her second, we'd done a few fairly 
wild things, so I'm sure she realized that acting 
outraged and innocent wasn't exactly going to fly with 
me. In fact, I imagine she was probably afraid that she'd 
just gotten drunk and more or less willingly come up to 
my room with me... after all, it wouldn't be the first 
time she and I had hit the sheets together, nor would it 
even be the first time she'd let me tie her up. So I knew 
she was trying to figure out how to ask me exactly what 
was going on... and what had gone on... and how to get 
herself back into her clothes and out of my room without 
complicating things further.

I watched, keeping my face friendly and interested, and 
enjoying the sight of her trying to work out the best 
approach to make to me. "Um," she said, finally, somewhat 
weakly, "Damien... why am I... tied up?" She glanced down 
at her body, and I was watching for it, so I saw her eyes 
widen slightly as she realized her pussy was completely 
shaved... a realization that was doubtless immediately 
followed by her becoming consciously aware of what I 
would assume must have been a deep seated ache in both 
her cunt and ass, not to mention the residual ache from 
some of the bruises she had on her breasts, thighs, and 
hips.

I hadn't let anyone be deliberately rough or abusive with 
Ali... that was a privilege I reserved for myself, 
later... but when four big, husky, well hung African 
Americans are making free with a petite little blonde 
tramp who can't get enough of it, and who has very fair 
skin anyway, these things happen. Also, the four women 
who'd put Ali through some extensive lesbian paces on her 
first day had been surprisingly inventive in their 
methods of humiliating her, even without actually hurting 
her terribly, and they'd left some marks, too.

So I just looked at her, my eyes wide. "Why are you... 
Ali, you said you loved it. You don't remember? After the 
last of our guests left last night? And it was just the 
two of us? You said I'd given you such a good birthday 
present you wanted to repay me with something special, 
and I said, well, how about letting me tie you up and 
work my evil wiles on you, and you thought that was a 
great idea, and..."

I waved my free hand (the one that wasn't squeezing her 
tit and rubbing her nipple) about a bit, aimlessly. 
"Paradise ensued." I smiled. "I would never have thought 
it possible, sweetie, but you've gotten even better in 
the last couple of years."

Her eyes had grown wider as I'd spoken. Now she closed 
them tightly and groaned. Then she said, in a tiny voice 
full of dread, "...guests?"

"Oh, sure, hon," I said. "It was your birthday surprise."

I reached over, picked up the first stack of print outs, 
and then acted as if I'd forgotten she was tied up. I 
made sure she saw the sticky note on the stack. "Oh, 
well, let me just show you these." I turned the stack 
over so she could see the first one.

Her eyes widened and her face paled visibly. I leaned in. 
"See," I said, pointing helpfully, "that's Erin, and 
that's Darian, and that's Kelly, from Texas, and that one 
is Kelly, too, from Connecticut. I found them all at 
Yahoo.com, can you believe it? They're all married 
ladies, like you... very bisexual, very uninhibited... 
they just loved the idea of helping give you a wonderful 
birthday, especially when I told them how enthusiastic a 
little pussy licker you are. Most of them are usually 
very submissive, but when I told them you really wanted 
to be a slave to a big group of women, they got 
surprisingly into the whole dom thing."

I was slowly going through the pages of print outs as I 
said all this, showing Ali succeeding images of her 
eating the various women's pussies and asses, being 
fisted by them in her own pussy and ass, as well as being 
fucked with massive strap on dildos, being flogged (with 
floggers, not belts or whips, so they didn't leave any 
permanent or even many temporary marks, but judging from 
Ali's screams and sobs at the time, they'd hurt like 
hell), and, in the last six or so, kneeling in the 
adjoining tub to have them piss in her face and, in the 
last two, her open, obviously eager mouth. 

"Oh my GOD," she said, eyes wide. "I... I did all that? 
Oh NO."

Yet her pupils were large, which I knew was a sign of 
interest. Ali had been quite a little slut in her teens 
and early 20s, before her first marriage. I knew she'd 
tried to clean up her act since then, and to establish 
herself as a very proper suburban churchgoing wife, but I 
suspected that not too far under the surface, the old Ali 
still hungered for her old uninhibited lifestyle. The Ali 
I'd known in college had once eagerly entered a sorority 
pussy eating contest, even though she wasn't a member and 
didn't want to join; she just wanted to eat a lot of 
cunt.

If she hadn't been disqualified when she eventually told 
them she really didn't want to pledge, she would have 
won. (The sisters of Phi Beta Thi tried hard to talk her 
into pledging after the contest, too.) I had personally 
watched Ali munch her cousin's cunt, the pussy of an ex 
girlfriend of mine who was curious about girl/girl sex, 
and a girl we both casually knew from Cinema Board, and I 
knew from what she'd told me that she'd licked dozens 
more cunts in her time. I doubted she'd had any twat 
since her first marriage, and I could see that looking at 
those photos was turning her on as much or more as it was 
horrifying her.

"That was just the first night," I said. "I remembered 
you told me you liked mandingo sex, so..." I picked up 
the second stack.

Ali's eyes found the second sticky note and I heard her 
groan "Oh my God."

I started showing her the pics, one by one, of her second 
day in the hotel room, which she'd spent eagerly 
servicing, in every way they asked or I suggested, four 
well hung, dark skinned black guys. As I held up each 
pic, her eyes grew wider and her pupils got even larger.

These pics would destroy her marriage; her current 
husband is a well off, very conservative advertising guy 
from Indiana, where Ali lives now, and the kind decent 
normal folk of Indiana don't exactly approve of white 
women, especially married white women, getting impaled on 
huge black cock, in all their holes, often in all their 
holes at once.

I'd cleaned Ali up, like I said, but in many of these 
pictures the various body writings were quite clear, and 
in all of them, Ali's face was very recognizable. She 
looked like she loved every inch of it, and hell, as I 
remembered, she had. One pic, showing two of those 
monster black dicks shoved up her ass at once, made her 
visibly wince. When we got to the last six, showing her 
taking each of the four black guy's piss in her open 
mouth as well, she moaned and closed her eyes.

"Oh my god," she said. "Oh my god I didn't do that? I 
couldn't have done that?"

"What's wrong, sugar?" I said, making myself sound 
honestly puzzled. "I mean... you wanted it. You enjoyed 
it. What's the matter?"

She groaned... and opened her eyes again. There were 
tears in them now. "Damien, I swear to God, I don't 
remember any of this... oh shit... oh god, I'm dreaming, 
I must be dreaming..."

I frowned at her. "Sweetie, come on. You got a little 
looped, but you weren't that drunk. And as far as I could 
see, you were just acting like your normal self. I mean, 
let's face it, this wasn't exactly your first gangbang." 
I smiled. "I did come up with something new for you, 
though, on the third day. You really got into it, too. 
Remember?"

She stared at me in horror. "Nuh... new?" she squeaked. I 
could see her racking her brains through her extensive 
sexual experience to try to figure out what I could 
possibly have come up with that was 'new'. "Wuh... 
what... new?"

I smiled. "Now you're just teasing me. I know you 
remember this." I picked up the last stack, made sure she 
saw the sticky note... gave it a second to sink in... and 
when her face had gone completely dead white and I saw 
her starting to think to herself 'no, that CAN'T mean..." 
I flipped it over and showed her the first pic.

Which was, actually, fairly tame; it just showed her more 
or less french kissing with an obviously eager German 
Shepherd. Of course, you can't really kiss a dog, what 
Ali was doing was letting the dog lick into her open 
mouth and pretty obviously licking back. 

From there, the pics progressed more or less 
predictably... Ali under the dog with her hand on its 
cock, Ali blowing the dog, Ali up on all fours being 
mounted by the dog, then one of Ali lying on her back 
with the dog licking her cum smeared pussy. She was 
sucking the dick of a fat white guy in that pic who was 
kneeling next to her head; that's the traditional way a 
k9 slut pays off the guy who brings her a new, trained 
canine stud. 

There were two more sets of pics; Ali had done two more 
dogs (and their owners) that day. The second one, a big 
Rottweiler, had taken her anally after she'd initially 
sucked it off, I'd had to have the owner contort Ali's 
head around pretty good to get her face in that pic. 

The third one was the Doberman, and it was pretty 
typical... Ali making out with it, Ali rubbing its cock, 
sucking its cock, letting it fuck her, Ali blowing its 
owner. She'd actually fucked the Doberman three times and 
sucked it off twice, as she really liked its cock, and 
what didn't show in the pics was that the owner had also 
trained that Doberman to be fucked as well as fuck, and 
after he'd demonstrated by sliding his own cock up its 
ass, I'd taken a turn. Dog ass is very tight and very 
hot; I came in a hurry. I didn't film that, though.

"Oh Jesus," Ali whimpered, as I went through the stack of 
print outs with her. "Oh my GOD," she said, when we got 
to one showing the Rottweiler's fist sized knot opening 
her ass up as it pushed inside her. By the time we got to 
the last half dozen in that group, showing the dogs 
pissing in Ali's face and open mouth, she'd started to 
cry so hard I doubted she could see them clearly. 

I sat there and let my own eyes close, indulging in just 
a fleeting moment of pure pleasure in her utter shame, 
humiliation, and degradation. It takes some doing to make 
a slut like Ali feel ashamed of herself, although 
honestly, it was her own fault. First, for ever even 
trying to pretend, to others or herself, that she was 
anything BUT a slut. And second, for dissing me a year or 
so before all this, when I'd found her email address and 
gotten in contact with her again, and she'd been too busy 
with her new life and new fiance to correspond with me. 
If she'd just paid a little bit of attention to me then, 
she'd have spared herself all this now. But, as I say, 
what goes around comes around.

Doubtless, like so many others in my life before I won 
the Lotto, Ali had considered me safe to diss. Well, she 
was only first on a long list who were going to find out 
otherwise. Six million dollars, I was discovering, can 
buy a whole lot of revenge.

I picked the photos up, re-stacked them neatly on the 
bedside table, and let Ali get herself together while I 
went over to the DVD player and slipped in the disc of 
the last three days of her adventures. I started it up, 
turned the sound up just loud enough to make good 
background noise, figuring it would eventually get her 
attention when she quieted down a little, and provide her 
with a whole new realm of humiliation... color.jpgs are 
one thing, but there's nothing like high quality video 
with a full soundtrack of 'oh god harder' in a girl's own 
voice to really rivet the attention of a slut in denial. 

Then I started arranging the various pieces of equipment 
I'd gotten for Day 4 - Torture Chamber. A rather mundane 
looking braided leather belt was first out of the 
shopping bag, followed by a more sinister looking (and 
more expensive) leather cat o' nine tails, a nice wooden 
yardstick, a collapsible metal map pointer, a nice shiny 
stainless steel box cutter with a chrome handle, three 
police issue nightsticks, and a couple of very fat red 
and black candles. 

I heard a sharp little gasp behind me. Then: "Um... 
Damien," I heard her say (my back was to her), "wuh... 
what are you... what are those for?"

There was a tiny note of desperation in her voice, but 
Ali had good vocal control. I turned, with a friendly, 
even loving smile, on my face. I picked up the box cutter 
and toyed with it, pushing the button on the side to make 
the blade protrude from the stainless steel handle, then 
letting it slide back inside again.

"Nice," I said. "I'm sorry, what?" I looked at her. "Oh," 
I said, as if realizing something, and nodded. "That's 
sweet of you, Ali. Nice role-playing. That will make it 
more fun." I put down the box cutter and picked up the 
braided leather belt and letting it hang casually from my 
hand, I walked back over to her.

She was staring at it in a mixture of terror and horror. 
She looked up at me as I sat down on the bed next to her 
again. She started to say something and I leaned down and 
kissed her again, this time kissing her more deeply, 
curious as to how she'd respond.

She stiffened under me for just a second, and I could 
almost read her mind, as her thoughts and instincts 
quickly decided she'd get more cooperation from me if she 
gave some back. Then she moaned a bit under me and her 
tongue came up to meet mine. She kissed me back for a 
good thirty seconds or so, and then I straightened up 
again. "Well," I said, "good morning again. I see we're 
finally awake? Really awake? Ready to get started?"

She looked at me, trying to look shy. "Um... g'morning... 
um, Damien, sure, fine, wonderful... can you untie me, 
please? I'm... a little stiff..."

I smiled at her. "Sure thing, darling." I made no move to 
untie her, though, just sat there smiling at her.

She waited ten seconds or so, and then, with a little 
more strain in her voice, said, "Damien... please? It 
hurts..."

I looked at her. "Well, geez, Ali, it should, you know, 
given what you asked me to do to you today." I shook my 
head from side to side. "Still, it's a nice bit of role-
playing. Keep it up. Beg a little. I think I'd like 
that." I winked at her and stood up with the belt in my 
hand.

"Damien... what..." She stared at me. "Oh my God! Please, 
PLEASE let me go! I'm not kidding!" She started writhing 
and struggling against her bonds, but she was completely 
helpless. I stood there, smiling at her.

Finally, she stopped, her eyes full of tears again. 
"Damien, please, I don't know what I said last night, but 
please, PLEASE, untie me! PLEASE! I... I was drunk last 
night! I... I'm married now! I..." Her eyes widened. "Oh 
my god. John... my husband will be worried sick..."

I sighed. "Don't be silly, Ali. You called him Friday 
night, when you first got up here, and told him you were 
taking a long weekend with an old college friend to 
celebrate your birthday."

Her eyes, if anything, went wider. "I... I did?"

I smiled. She had; GHB makes a person very responsive to 
suggestion. I hadn't heard her hubby John's response 
clearly, but judging from the tone of voice, and the 
loudness of his voice, coming over the cell phone she was 
holding, he hadn't taken the news well. "Sure, baby," I 
said. "Don't worry, everything is fine. You called in 
sick at work yesterday, too... told them not to expect 
you until they heard from you." I had listened to that 
call; her boss had been less than thrilled, and I 
suspected, when Ali didn't show up for another few days 
without another call, she'd find herself unemployed. But 
that was fine with me. 

"Oh my God," she groaned. "Oh God, Damien, how drunk did 
I..." Her eyes focused on me. "You did this. You got me 
drunk! Goddam you, I'm not LIKE this any more..."

I patted her thigh, right in the crease between her upper 
leg and her lower stomach. "That's sweet of you, baby. 
You're making this even more fun than I thought it would 
be. Ready, now?" I lifted the doubled up belt in my hand 
and took careful aim.

"Damien don't you DARE, don't you DARE, I'll SCREAM..." 
Ali said, her eyes both furious and terrified now, as I 
brought the leather belt down across her lovely trim soft 
stomach with a crack.

She did scream; she screamed like I'd just set her on 
fire. I smiled, and lashed her again, this time across 
her sweet full pink nippled tits. Her scream went higher 
and shriller. I liked that, so I worked her tits with the 
braided leather for about ten lashes, welting them up 
nicely, and improving my aim to the point where my last 
three lashes were perfectly centered right across both 
her nipples. 

I let her scream herself out, and then, when she finally 
took a breath again, before she could say anything, I 
started again. My next lash was across her pussy, from 
the side, a horizontal stroke across the mound. Her 
scream was soundless and breathless and her eyes nearly 
bugged out of her head. I moved around to the foot of the 
bed and started to seriously lash her cunt, vertical 
strokes now, really whipping it good. It turned red and 
welted in a big hurry, and Ali nearly passed out from the 
shock, the pain, and from the fact that she couldn't seem 
to breath in, she was screaming so much.

I gave her a good ten lashes on her puffy cunt lips, then 
stopped, and waited for her to quiet down. 

Finally, after a minute or so, her shrieks subsided to 
groans, moans, and sobs. I smiled at her. "Well, that was 
a nice start. I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did." 
I went over, put the braided leather belt down, and 
picked up the wooden yard stick. "Let's warm you up a bit 
with this."

She was crying, quietly, and now she looked at me and 
said "You bastard. You prick. You piece of shit. Oh my 
god how can you do this to me? I never... oh GOD, Damien, 
please, please, please don't..."

I smiled and walked back over to her, flexing the wooden 
yardstick slightly in my hands. "You're sweet, Ali. It's 
really nice of you to role-play like this for me. I mean, 
I know you're really loving this, but I have to admit, 
you are making it even more exciting for me."

"GODDAMIT I'M NOT PLAYING!!" Ali screamed at me as I 
stood next to the bed. "Oh PLEASE don't do this..."

I frowned down at her. "You know, Ali, if I didn't 
know..." I paused. "Okay. If you're serious, then fine. 
Just use the 'safe' word and I'll untie you."

She drew in a long breath and stared at me through her 
tears. "Suh... safe word?" she said, and I relished the 
horror in her voice. "Oh my God. Oh no. Damien, I swear 
to you, I don't remember any 'safe' word, oh PLEASE..."

I shook my head. "You are a doll," I said. "You had me 
going there. Now, please, scream all you want."

"No no nooooo NOOOOOOO," she started screaming, as I 
moved up next to her. 

I whacked her first, almost gently, on the inner thigh. 
It was just a mild little smack, and she hissed, but 
suddenly stopped screaming. She stared at me wildly... 
then I saw her take hold of her emotions again. "Dah 
Damien," she gasped, her voice under somewhat ragged 
control, "please stop for just a suh second. Puh please. 
I... nuh need a break. Plah... please just suh sit and 
tuh talk to me."

I pursed my lips thoughtfully. "Tell you what," I said, 
"I'll do that, but I'm going to hit you three more times 
first. You thank me for each one and then we'll sit and 
talk."

"Oh FUCK," she groaned. I lifted the yardstick and 
brought it down, hard this time, across her right nipple. 
"FUCCKKK!" she screamed. Then, a second later, "Sorry, 
sorry, thank you, thank you!"

"Good girl," I said approvingly, and cracked her another 
good one across her other nipple. The one I'd hit 
previously, already reddened from the whipping with the 
braided leather belt, was visibly swelling and bruising. 

"Oh GAWWDDDDDD," she shrieked, followed by 
"thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

"One more, then we'll talk," I said, watching as her 
other nipple began to swell and purple up as well. I 
smiled, aimed carefully, and brought the yardstick down 
again, this time across her cunt mound right where it was 
plumpest. Her scream would have broken glass if she 
hadn't already been hoarse and out of breath. As it was, 
it made me wonder if anyone in the well carpeted hall 
outside might actually hear something through the door, 
despite the excellent sound proofing. 

It didn't matter; I'd tipped very generously and probably 
the entire hotel staff was aware, by now, of Ali's rather 
X rated 'birthday celebration' inside this suite. I 
hadn't been shy about letting room service people and 
maids inside the room for the last three days, since Ali 
was, to all observation, a very willing participant, and 
I knew the rumors getting around would only be additional 
humiliations for her later on. So even if the occasional 
remarkably loud or shrill scream leaked out, it shouldn't 
matter. By this time, anyone who'd hear it would be used 
to it.

After a couple of seconds, Ali looked up at me, took a 
deep, gulping breath, and whispered "thank you". So I put 
the yardstick down on the bed between her well secured 
legs, thought about it a second, and then pushed the end 
of it up her pussy. I noted, with an inward smile, that 
she was soaking wet, and fed a good eight inches of the 
yardstick up into her. She groaned as the flat length of 
wood pushed up into her, but didn't protest, probably 
intelligently realizing that if it was up her cunt, I 
couldn't be beating her with it. Of course, if she'd 
thought ahead, she'd have realized that that would mean 
I'd have to beat her with something else... 

I went and sat next to her. Smiled and kissed her 
forehead lightly, then wiped the tears off her cheeks 
gently with a tissue from the bedside table. "Having fun, 
sweetie? I have to say, your screaming and role-playing 
and pretending to struggle and forget the safe word... 
that's hot, hon. You're really good at this."

She looked me pleadingly, earnestly, her lower lip 
trembling. "Please, Damien," she said, her voice obvious 
strained and rasping. "Please, please, please believe 
me... I... I don't remember... I don't know what we said 
last night, I must have been really drunk, but... 
please... I... I have to go... I..."

I just smiled down at her and kissed the tip of her nose. 
"You're so sweet," I said. "Honestly, this is just so 
convincing. But Ali, you weren't that drunk. I mean, you 
stayed pretty well oiled all weekend to keep you loose, 
yeah, but it's not like you were having a black out or 
anything."

"Damien, I swear, I don't remember..." She sobbed and 
looked at the stacks of pictures on the bedside table, 
then at the big screen TV screen over my shoulder, 
playing Ali's Greatest Hits from the last three days. On 
it, she had her hands tied behind her back while Erin 
shoved her head down into her pussy and Darian fucked her 
ass with an enormous black strap on. "I don't remember 
ANY of this," she said. "Please... I don't know... 
whatever we said last night, I don't... PLEASE, 
Damien..."

I frowned. "Sweetie... well, let's see. After the last 
guy and his dog left..." She gave a little whimper at 
that... "you went in, took a shower, came back out... we 
got in bed, talked a little, made love... it was pretty 
vanilla, but you said you were in the mood for that... we 
snuggled, fooled around, made love again... then we 
started talking about really pushing you to new places, 
and mutual fantasies, and started talking about torture 
and rape role-playing..."

"Oh God," she said. "Oh my God. Damien, I never... I 
mean..." She looked at me. "Please, I'm sorry, I guess, I 
must have... maybe..." She took a breath and swallowed. 
"Dah Damien. I... I'm sorry if I said that. I'm... I'm 
sure... I'm sure you only wanted to give me a... a 
nice... but... but I'm not like this any more and... if I 
teased you or led you on, I'm suh sorry but... please... 
I don't want to! Please let me go! Please, please, PLEASE 
let me GO!"

I shrugged. "Okay, hon. Say the safety word and I'll 
untie you. That's our deal."

She moaned in frustration. "I don't remember the goddam 
safety word! Goddamit! I'm not playing here!" She writhed 
and arched her back in her restraints. "PLEASE!"

I smiled. "Ali, you specifically made me promise that I 
wouldn't let you out, or stop hurting you, or using you 
however I pleased, no matter how mean or rough I was, or 
how much you begged, unless you said the safety word. You 
said you wanted to be able to get totally into it, to beg 
and scream and plead and cry, and totally submerse 
yourself in the fantasy."

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Oh my GOD." She started 
crying again, quietly. "Oh my gawwwwdddddd...."

I sighed. I opened the drawer in the bedside table and 
took out a piece of paper. "Ali, look." She opened her 
eyes and looked at me miserably. I held up the closely 
printed document. Pointed to the bottom. "You insisted I 
type this up and print it out for you to sign. I didn't 
want to, but you insisted we have our agreement for this 
rape and torture role-play down in writing, and signed, 
for my protection, in case anything went wrong, or 
someone called the cops, or something." She stared in 
horror at her signature at the bottom. I pointed to the 
line under it.

"We had the manager come in and notarize it." 

That Ali had signed it was the truth; I'd put it in front 
of her and told her it was an insurance disclaimer form 
the hotel required for celebrations of this nature. She'd 
signed it without a second thought, but she'd been being 
flogged by one woman at the time while another was under 
her licking her pussy, so I don't think she was 
concentrating on it. The notary seal and signature were 
both the finest forgeries money could by. The document 
wouldn't stand up to extensive investigation, but it was 
just a prop, anyway.

Convincing Ali that she'd been a willing participant, and 
not drugged out of her right mind, was the essential 
first step in breaking her completely, and reducing her 
to the state of utter dehumanized degradation she so 
richly deserved. 

"Oh," she squeaked, in a voice that was almost too quiet 
to be heard. "But... but..."

I sighed. "Now, Ali," I said, "I'm enjoying the fantasy, 
too, but you're starting to worry me. Maybe you're 
getting into this a little too much. I mean, let's face 
it... your cunt is like a river, and your nipples are as 
hard as I've ever seen them. So let's not try to fool 
anyone, here... you're loving this. Every second of it."

"No, no, no, no, no, noooooooo," she sobbed, whipping her 
head back and forth in denial on the pillow, tears 
running down her cheeks. "Nooooo no I'm not I'm not I'm 
not I'm a GOOD GIRL..."

"Whatever," I said, with a sigh. "When good girl wants to 
get out of here, good girl can cough up the safety word. 
Until then, good girl is getting the living shit tortured 
out of her."

I stood up and walked back over to the array of tools and 
toys and started examining them, let Ali see me make a 
show of trying to decide which to use next. She sobbed 
for a minute or so, and then, in her weary, strained 
voice, said, "Damien? Wuh... what are you guh going to do 
with the puh pictures and the... the video?"

"Hmmmm," I said, picking up the cat o' nine tails and 
holding it up to the light, not looking at her. "You 
might want to worry about what I'm going to do with this, 
instead," I said, my tone teasing. I reached down and 
hefted the fat black candle. "Or this, for that matter."

I turned to walk back to the bed, and saw her close her 
eyes and shudder in the restraints. Then she opened them 
again. "Damien," she said, very quietly, and with an 
admirable (if utterly false) calm in her voice, "puh 
please... tuh tell me what you're going to do with the 
puh pictures. Please."

I walked over and sat down next to her again, leaning 
down to kiss her eyebrow gently. I let the cat o' nine 
tails rest against her welted up belly, and put the 
candle down on the bed too. I started to caress her 
breasts as I kissed her forehead and cheeks. "Baby," I 
said, "the pictures are for you. The girls you were with 
on the first day all have their own websites, and they 
suggested you might start one too, because you're so 
pretty, and you said you liked the idea, so..." 

"Oh my god," she whispered, squirming as I kissed her 
face. "Have you... have you puh posted any of them... on 
the Internet... yet?"

I straightened up and looked down at her. "Well, no, I've 
been a little busy, but if you want me to, I guess I 
could take a break and..."

"NO!" she gasped, and then, more quietly, said, "Please, 
Damien. Please. Um... please, if the pictures are for me, 
then... then just give them to me. Please?"

I shrugged. "Okay. Can't see why not. I emailed the whole 
thing to my home computer so we wouldn't have to worry 
about the lap top crashing, so I'll have a set for 
myself... so sure, you can have these." I smiled and 
kissed her, very lightly. "Maybe we should work your face 
a little next. I know you wanted to, but I said you were 
too pretty and it would be too visible... but your 
husband seemed okay with you spending a few days with me, 
so..."

"No!" she groaned. "Please don't! Please don't... work my 
face... please!" She made a tremendous effort and smiled 
up at me through her tears. "Puh please... let me stay 
pretty for you... Damien? Please?"

I shrugged. "Okay again." I stood up. "Now, what I was 
thinking was, I've beaten your tits and pussy enough for 
now. What do you think?"

"Oh, yes," she said, nodding frantically, looking 
pathetically grateful. "Oh, yes, please, Damien, please, 
just untie me..."

"Well, that's what I was thinking," I said. "Then I can 
retie you to the coffee table over by the couch, on your 
knees. Then I can start working on your back view." I 
smiled. "Sound okay to you?"

She closed her eyes and shuddered again. Then, in a very 
careful voice, she said, "Can... can I just be... untied 
for a while? Just a luh little while? I'll... I'll still 
let you... do whatever you want. Just... can I be loose 
for a little while?"

I looked at her surprised. "I thought you wanted a total 
captive scenario, Ali, where you would be tied down and 
tortured and used against your will and be completely 
helpless and have absolutely no choice. I thought that 
was the whole point."

She made an inarticulate sobbing sound, and then, very 
carefully said, "Yuh yes, Damien... and... and I love 
it... buh but... I... I... I thought... I could be... 
your suh sex slave, too... you know... and... and be 
loose... and duh do what you want."

I smiled at her. "Sure, sugar, if that's what you want." 
Ali thought she was being crafty, but she had no idea 
what was really going on here. Well, fine.

I untied her ankles first, and let her bend her legs and 
draw them up to her chest. I think she got her first idea 
then of just how stiff a night in bonds had left her, and 
how much strength even the minor physical abuse I'd 
already subjected her to had robbed her of. Her legs 
trembled as she tried to pull them up and I heard her 
groan. I ignored her, seemingly, as I was untying her 
wrists at the time. 

When I had her loose, she grunted... then rolled over, 
got to her feet, and ran for the door.

At least, I'm sure that was her plan. What she actually 
did was try to roll away from me on the bed. She did 
manage the roll, although I'm sure she was shocked by how 
difficult it was and how slowly she moved. She got a 
further shock when instead of springing to her feet, she 
rolled off the bed on the far side and fell to the 
carpeted floor with a heavy thump. 

I got up and strolled around the bed. Ali had, in the 
second or so it took me to do that, managed to struggle 
up onto her elbows and one knee. She looked up at me, 
tears running down her cheeks, breathing as hard as if 
she'd just won the decathalon... and wailed in misery and 
despair. "Oh my GOD," she groaned. "I can't muh muh 
MOVE..."

"Well, you've been tied up since last night, love," I 
said, bending down to take her wrists and help her up to 
her feet, taking most of her weight. "And the torture 
takes a physical toll, too. Wait until we get to the edge 
play. You get woozy pretty quick from loss of blood." I 
said it very matter of factly, and felt her shudder 
against me and moan in fear. 

I chuckled and kissed her neck, as she leaned 
involuntarily against me and trembled. "Don't worry, 
sweetie... no deep cuts. Just shallow scratches. You'll 
be fine."

"Please," she moaned, shuddering in my arms. "Please..."

I held her and rocked her back and forth, like a little 
girl. "What, baby? Tell me what you want. You need a 
break? Want something to eat? Got to go pottie? Tell 
daddy."

I could actually feel her thinking about that... what to 
ask me for, that would move the situation closer to 
getting her out of her. After a second or two, she said, 
"Please, Damien... I... I have to go to the bathroom." 

I picked her up in my arms, making it look easy (it 
wasn't; Ali is in nice shape, but she's a voluptuous 
woman) and carried her in and set her on the toilet. 
"There you go, sugar. That good?"

"Yes," she said, looking up at me, feigning a smile. 
"Can... can I be alone? Please?"

"No," I said firmly. "I'm going to fuck your mouth while 
you use the toilet. Growing babygirls like you need their 
breakfast."

She groaned and I could see she wanted to protest... but 
I knew she would also be thinking about the best way to 
get all the pics back from me... including the ones I'd 
emailed to myself. She'd probably be realizing right now 
that even if her mad dash for the door had worked, she'd 
just have been outside, in a public hotel hallway, 
completely naked... and with an angry ex lover behind 
her, who had a whole lot of embarrassing photos and 
videotape of her, a signed agreement that would destroy 
her if it ever got made public, and no reason whatsoever 
to want to be nice to her about any of it, either.

In short, she realized, given a moment to think, that she 
was utterly at my mercy, and the only chance she had was 
the apparent fact that she was actually here willingly, 
and I wasn't actually raping her or keeping her 
captive... we were just playing. And eventually, we'd 
stop and she could go back to her previous life... 
provided she could somehow persuade me to give her all 
the pics back.

Without realizing it, she'd been put in a position where 
she was almost forced to assume that she was taking part 
in this scenario willingly... otherwise, she had no hope 
at all. And once she did that, a whole emotional and 
psychic center of balance shifted in her mind, whether 
she knew it or not. Once she accepted that on some level 
she'd wanted this and consented to it... whether she knew 
it or not, at that moment, I had her.

After a moment, she looked up at me and opened her mouth 
and whispered the words I wanted to hear:

"All... all right, Damien..."

I admit, I was ready to fuck something; all the time I'd 
been torturing her (mentally and physically) I'd had a 
hard on you could break bottles over. I'd fucked her a 
few times during the weekend, and on the first day I'd 
had each of the other ladies at least once, not to 
mention the Doberman, but the last time I'd cum had been 
the night before, with her sleeping, in her pussy and all 
over her face. And this would be with her awake, and more 
or less of her own free will. Mmmmmm.

I held her head between my hands and she didn't hesitate, 
she reached up with a groan, grasped my cock, slid her 
open mouth over the head of it, and started to suck. Ali 
is no stranger to blowjobs, of course, and back when we'd 
first been together, she'd once confided to me that there 
was absolutely nothing she enjoyed more in the world than 
having a cock in her mouth. I knew that on one level she 
wasn't very willing. But as I suspected, once she had my 
dick actually in her mouth, the old Ali... the real Ali, 
Ali the Super Slut... took over.

She moaned deep in her throat, and bobbed her head 
forward, taking my modest (but very hard) six inches all 
the way down with no problem at all. (Of course, she'd 
deep throated a ten inch black dick earlier that weekend 
with scarcely less hesitation or difficulty; Ali is a 
very talented oral slut.) She started to swirl her tongue 
and bob her head, and as she did I heard her piss start 
to splash into the toilet. 

Ali gives a good blowjob, I have to give her that. This 
one started off a little less enthusiastic than others I 
remembered from her, but she got into it within a minute 
or so. I was holding her head and as I heard her moan and 
felt her start working her mouth in earnest on me, I 
began to fuck her face back, matching my rhythm to hers, 
pumping my dick in and out of her hot, wet oral orifice.

"Nmmmmmm," she moaned now, slurping around my cock as she 
bobbed and I pumped. Her piss was still running into the 
toilet. I felt my orgasm welling up quickly and didn't 
bother trying to hold it back. Within three minutes of 
her starting to blow me, I went off like a volcano in her 
avidly sucking mouth. She gulped it down without the 
slightest resistance, which was something else I 
remembered about Ali; she's one of these rare women that 
you not only don't have to ask to swallow your cum, but 
who, if for some reason you DON'T want to cum in her 
mouth, actually gets disappointed. She's a natural born 
sperm guzzler; she loves the stuff. 

So she gulped my cum down as I spurted it into her mouth, 
and I sighed as I felt and heard her doing it. Listening 
to an avid dick-slut slurping down my cum is, to me, 
nearly as pleasurable as the sensation of the orgasm 
itself. Ali might have started out reluctant, and only 
pretending to be willing to keep on my good side, but I 
knew for a fact that by the time we'd finished, she was 
loving it as much as I was... and I knew that would be 
making her feel terrible, too. 

Finally I sighed, pulled my cock out of her mouth (just 
as I remembered from ten years before, she whimpered like 
a puppy and strained with her head to keep me swallowed 
up; Ali hates to give up a dick once she's got it between 
her lips). I firmly held her head away, and wiped my dick 
off in her pretty blonde hair.

She groaned when I did that; one thing Ali has always 
hated is a mess. She's a slut, but she's weird that way. 
She told me on our first date that I could cum inside her 
anywhere I wanted, any time we were alone together, 
especially her mouth, as much as I wanted... but she 
preferred I didn't cum ON her. So I enjoyed wiping off in 
her hair a lot, just as I'd enjoyed watching four black 
guys earlier that weekend shoot their loads all over her 
face and body while she writhed around begging for more.

"Are you done?" I asked her, smiling down at her.

She looked revolted, at me, and probably at herself. Then 
she forced herself to smile back at me. "Yuh yes, Damien. 
Was... was I good?" Ali had always used to ask that; 
sexually, she's very insecure... although she hadn't been 
on GHB, that was for sure.

"You were perfect, angel," I said, running my fingers 
through a section of her hair not matted with my drying 
sperm. "But now I have to piss."

"Oh," she said, looking up at me. "Um... okay... let me 
up, and..."

"No, baby," I said, gently but firmly, "not in the 
toilet."

She looked up at me uncomprehendingly. Then her eyes 
filled with tears again as she realized what I wanted. 
"Damien..." she whispered. "Please..."

I frowned. "You did it for the black guys. You did it for 
the DOGS." I saw her shudder as she remembered the 
pictures. "You don't want to do it for me?" I let her see 
me looking hurt. "Fine, then. Come on, I'll tie you to 
the coffee table, and we can..."

Ali did an amazing thing then. She forced herself to 
laugh, and said, "Duh Damien, suh silly... I meant..." 
She hesitated, and I saw a momentary spasm of disgust go 
over her facial features, and then she continued, 
brightly, "please piss in your little Ali's muh mouth. Uh 
of course."

I patted her head. "Sweetie," I said. "I'm sorry. Thank 
you." 

She opened wide for me again, and I eased my cock back 
into her mouth. Staring up at me, eyes wide open and 
tears staining her cheeks, she tightened her lips on my 
half hard cock. I sighed... and started to piss.

She went 'gggghhhhhhhh' deep in her throat... and started 
gulping. Obviously utterly disgusted and grossed out, 
nonetheless, she started gulping and slurping and 
swallowing. She couldn't keep up with it; actually 
swallowing piss straight from a cock without spilling any 
takes a lot of practice in keeping one's throat totally 
open... you don't swallow so much as just let it pour 
straight down.

Ali didn't have enough experience to know how to do that 
yet, so my piss ran out over her lower lip and down over 
her chin in a steady stream, down her neck, between her 
tits, down her stomach, through her bruised and welted up 
cunt, and into the toilet. But she was swallowing a lot 
of it, too. Her eyes open and watching me all the time, 
going ulp, ulp, ulp, ulp, ulp...

I swear, it was sheer heaven.

Finally I finished up. I kept my cock in her mouth and 
told her to lick and suck to get the last few drops. She 
sobbed but did it. When I took my dick out, she closed 
her eyes and let her head drop onto her chest and started 
to cry. I let her for a minute or so. Then, finally, I 
put my fingers under her chin and tilted her face back up 
to me.

She looked up at me with miserable eyes. "Yuh yes," she 
said, sounding very tired. "What now?"

"That was nice," I told her. "Thank you. May I hit you in 
the face?"

She just looked up at me, very apathetically, for several 
seconds. Then, finally, she said, "What... why?"

I shrugged. "I just want to. Open handed. I won't mark 
you up."

Her eyes closed and I felt her chin tremble a bit against 
my fingers. I saw her lips compress. Then, finally, she 
said: 

"Oh... okay," in a very low, dispirited voice. "If... if 
you want to..."

I smiled. She was getting to where I needed her to be. 
But it wasn't quite enough. "Then ask me to," I said to 
her, quietly but firmly.

That got her to open her eyes again and look at me. 
"Wha... what?" she asked, sounding as if she really 
couldn't believe what I'd said.

"Ask me to," I repeated, gently. "Ask me to hit you in 
the face. Say 'please hit me in the face, Damien, I want 
you to'."

She just looked up at me dumbly. After several seconds, 
she finally said, in a very childlike voice, "But... 
Damien... I... I don't want you to hit me in the face."

"Yes, you do," I said, very firmly. "Now ask me to."

She blinked up at me. "But... but..." She didn't sound 
like she was protesting, just honestly confused. "But 
Damien... wuh why... why do I want you tuh... to huh hit 
me in the face? I don't understand."

"Because you love me, Ali," I explained, patiently. "You 
know I'd enjoy hitting you in the face, and you want to 
please me more than anything. Don't you?"

She groaned and closed her eyes for ten seconds... 
twenty. Then opened them again. 

Then she said, dully, "Yes, Damien. I... I luh love you. 
Puh please huh hit me in the... the fuh face."

So I slapped her in the face, so hard it knocked her 
sideways off the toilet and onto the tiled floor.

"Thank you, baby," I said, as she started to cry again, 
too weak to even get back up. 

Then I bent down and helped her to her feet again. "Now," 
I said, "do you want to go do the coffee table thing, 
sweetie? You really need some marks on your back, you 
know. To go with the nice set on your front. Or we could 
just get in bed and maybe I could buttfuck you...?"

She shuddered as I helped her, slowly and haltingly, to 
the door leading back into the hotel suite. "Wuh whatever 
you wuh want, Damien," she said, slowly and miserably. 
And looked up at me. And smiled a ghastly, trembling, 
utterly false smile.

I smiled back at her. "Well," I said. "Hmmm. Whatever I 
want. Well now." 

I picked her up and carried her to the bed. "Well, let's 
see about these candles, then..."

Five minutes later, I was watching with great pleasure as 
Ali, with two trembling hands, shoved the third of the 
police nightsticks up her ass, pushing it up alongside 
the other two which she had already, quite carefully, 
forced up there, at my urging. Prior to the nightsticks 
she'd worked the fat (and I mean fat... a good four 
inches across) red candle up her bruised and welted 
pussy, which was now stretched quite pleasantly around it 
as she lay on her side, reaching down between her spread 
legs, sobbing brokenly as she slowly and torturously 
worked the last billy club up her back entrance. 

Finally she got it worked a good ten inches up her, like 
the other two, and looked up at me. "Okay?" she said, 
voice full of tears. 

"VERY nice," I said. "You look really good, baby." She 
did, too. "Roll over on your tummy, please." She groaned 
but did it, reaching down to hold the candle in her as 
she repositioned herself. I picked up my digital camera 
and took quite a few pics of her. Her face didn't show so 
they wouldn't work for blackmailing her, but they'd look 
good on some websites I knew of.

"Now," I said, "do you want me to tie you or can you lie 
very still, like a mouse?"

She groaned. Then said, "I... I'll hold still, Damien." 
She cried as she said it. 

"Good girl," I said, and picked up the cat o' nine tails. 
"Now, this is just to warm you up. The metal map pointer 
is the one that will really sting. And then, when I start 
writing my name on your ass with the box cutter..." I 
clicked my tongue. "I have to tell you, Ali, you're one 
sick little slut. I mean, I respect that, and I'm 
enjoying this, too, but I wouldn't let someone beat me, 
torture me, write on my ass with a razor... I mean, damn. 
And you get off on it, too. That's pretty fucking 
depraved."

She moaned miserably and writhed, the nightsticks 
clacking together pleasantly as she did. Then she said, 
hopelessly, "Yes, Damien. I'm one sick little slut..."

We wound up staying in the hotel for another week or so. 
After that first day, Monday, I eased off on the beatings 
and torture; Ali's spirit had pretty much been broken, 
anyway, and she no longer put up even the feeblest 
resistance, no matter what I did to her or asked her to 
do for me. On Wednesday, Ali, head down and somewhat 
shamefaced, actually asked if, in addition to drinking my 
piss (which had become a regular part of our routine), 
she could clean me up after I took a shit. As she put it, 
"that's what a good toilet girl does, isn't it?" So I let 
her, and really enjoyed her tongue in my ass crack and up 
my ass. She did a very thorough job, and seemed to 
actually enjoy it... the degradation, if not the actual 
taste. 

By Thursday, she had a lot of her strength back and her 
bruises and welts had reached their most visually 
spectacular point. There was a full length mirror on the 
back of the bathroom door, and whenever I would let her, 
Ali would go in there and preen, staring at herself with 
a mixture of disgust, revulsion, and admiration. Once 
that afternoon, she came back to bed and snuggled up to 
me and said "Damien? Am I always going to have bruises 
and welts from now on?"

I kissed her and told her no, sometimes I'd want to take 
her to a beach or something and show her off, and then 
I'd want her to be unmarked. She sighed and said, "Yes, 
Damien... whatever you want. But... do you think I look 
pretty with them?" 

I kissed her again and said yes, very pretty. She seemed 
contented with that.

*

Later that night, she knelt beside me at the table and 
gave me helpful suggestions as I created a special Yahoo 
site just for her and uploaded all the pics I'd taken of 
her last weekend, and the ones I'd taken of our time 
together since. We set up an email address for her asking 
for interested partners (including K9 partners, Ali made 
sure I remembered to add).

In between her helpful suggestions, of course, she was 
blowing me, as she knows that's what a good slut does 
when she doesn't have anything better to do, and she's on 
her knees anyway.

Friday was busy. First thing, we got up and went out and 
I found a tattoo artist to inscribe Ali's ass with 
DAMIEN'S FUCK TOY in black and red gothic scrollwork. The 
place where I'd written my first name on her asscheek 
with the box cutter had almost healed up by then, but was 
still slightly visible, and even with the tattoo, Ali had 
already informed me that she wouldn't feel right if I 
didn't cut a new message into her ass whenever the old 
one healed up. So at the tattoo parlor, the woman who ran 
it looked on in interest as I carved SPERM BANK into 
Ali's untattooed cheek, while Ali whimpered and tried not 
to squirm.

When I asked if Ali could pay for the tattoo in trade, 
the woman, a rather skanky looking, rail thin bleached 
blonde chain smoker who was a walking advertisement for 
her own art, happily accepted. Ali must have made her cum 
four times with her tongue before she reluctantly 
admitted that the bill was paid and wrote out an invoice 
for us, on which I asked her to be very specific as to 
how Ali had paid.

The invoice finally said, "For Hannah Alicia Moore, One 
tattoo, on left asscheek, 'Damien's Fuck Toy', black and 
red, paid for in full with cunnilingus by recipient'."

I tucked it into my pocket, telling Ali we'd scan it and 
put it on the website, along with pictures of her new 
tattoo, her new body cutting, and the digital photos I'd 
taken of her doing the tattooer. She sighed in 
contentment and nodded eagerly, her fingers intertwined 
through mine as we left. 

On the way back from the tattoo place, the two of us had 
driven around the city from one ATM to another, cleaning 
out the joint accounts with her ATM card. (I hadn't 
wanted to risk taking Ali into the bank. She was very 
happily wearing a thong bikini I'd bought for her which 
left very little to the imagination, but a bank teller 
who saw her in it, saw all her bruises and welts, not to 
mention the tattoo and the ass cuttings, and realized she 
was closing her joint account, might well decide to call 
the cops.) We then drove to her former house, since she'd 
assured me her hubby would be at work all day.

We spent a few leisurely hours cleaning out all the 
easily portable valuables and loading them into the U-
haul we'd rented with her credit card (I could have 
afforded it myself, but so far I'd put everything, 
including the hotel room, on Ali's credit card, to 
provide further evidence of her willing involvement). 

After we'd loaded up the U-haul, Ali made a few impishly 
wicked suggestions, so we wound up setting up their 
camcorder on a tripod next to the bed, and making a 
videotape for her husband of me fucking Ali roughly in 
her cunt and ass, her eagerly sucking me off after that, 
and then, as a finisher, her begging me to punch her hard 
right in the face, which of course I happily did. She 
groaned and looked into the camera after I belted her a 
good one, and said, "Oh GOD it's so nice to be the 
property of a real man," licked her already swelling 
lower lip, smiled, and then reached over and turned the 
camcorder off. 

I then took her back to the hotel. Ali was in a state of 
near constant horniness by that point, almost like she 
was on GHB again, although she wasn't, and I let her suck 
my cock and lick my ass the whole trip back (we were in a 
rented limo) although I didn't come again. 

When we got back to the hotel, I had her start making 
phone calls. I had her call the four black guys she'd 
done the previous weekend and invite them back for a 
return engagement as soon as they could get there. They 
all eagerly accepted; I'd told them to hang around a week 
and paid for their motel rooms. I would have preferred to 
have the dog handlers come back, but you can't really 
organize an all dog gang-bang, despite some porn I've 
read; the male dogs tend to fight each other for the 
bitch, and don't cooperate. An all black gang bang should 
be fine for my purposes. 

When the black guys started showing up, I welcomed them 
all in. Ali was especially welcoming. I'd left the jpgs 
scattered around and put the DVD of her last weekend in 
the player, while carefully packing up all my stuff, and 
left a copy of the signed agreement in the bedside table. 
A few minutes later, when Ali was fully engaged on the 
bed, I slipped out the door, left it about six inches 
ajar, and headed down to the limo.

On the way to the airport, I called Ali's husband and 
told him where he'd find her... then smiled as I took out 
my list and started planning my revenge on Courtney, a 
girl I'd once worked with for two years who had laughed 
in my face when I asked her if she'd like to go to a 
concert with me... 


END

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. 

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Kristen's collection - Directory 19