The Controller could tell that Erin thought highly of herself. In the manner in which she had dressed. And especially in the way the tall, brown haired girl (had once) exuded confidence in her body. Such thoughts filled his head as the Controller pounded the stake of his cock painfully back up and inside Erin’s aching vagina. Two levels BELOW the basement of the unassuming brick and steel of a partially renovated brewery dating from the 1930s.
For his part the Controller thought very little of what constituted ‘Erin’. Items like identity, self esteem and dignity withered away to nothingness underneath the glare of the naked and eco-unfriendly 75-watt lightbulbs giving reality to the horror Belowstairs. The sadist slapped his victim across her pretty face quite sharply. Erin shrieked. And foolishly tried to gain a footing of mercy with a babble of words that her rapist would have ignored even IF he had understood them. The Controller’s cock was spearing Erin again…this time from beneath his victim as the pale female with the heavy breasts accepted being manipulated and arranged for sexual punishment.
Time within this hellish place was measured in increments of pain. And Erin contorted in agony as what had to be her fourth or fifth session of rough sex that day stretched into a marathon of being beaten, mocked and humiliated. This fourth or fifth session…on what had to be Erin’s fourth or fifth day of captivity. She sobbed for relief as her spent body was again rotated so that her tormentor’s penis could penetrate and pierce Erin optimally. She sobbed and craved another opportunity for respite. To simply eat a ham sandwich as her kidnapper took photographs of her nudity. Her helplessness. Her shame. Her beauty under his boot.
As the rape meandered agonizingly to a far off, far away climax the Controller insulted his slave as czarina. As ‘Katya’. Erin - suffering intensely - waited to be called a whore again. In the English that had come to dominate her nightmares…whenever the Controller wasn’t fucking her. And allowed her to fitfully sleep. With a mug of hot, strong tea offered as a ‘reward’ upon wakening…from the Controller. A paltry consolation prize that merely presaged another physical beating. Another bout of violent sex. Another session of misery.
The Controller could tell - that once upon a time - Erin thought very highly of herself. But he reckoned she looked much better now. Beneath the glare of his unblinking 75-watt bulbs. Crying. He knew what was best for Erin. The Controller was simply helping the bitch realize her place. And her sole purpose. That is…until he grew bored with her.
Torture awaited young Erin. The czarina had been brought here to scream.
