His pulse rate was slightly elevated. He’d carried ‘the package’ down three flights of stairs but that wasn’t what impacted the Controller’s heart rate and respiration. It was Caroline. There…on the floor. Still restrained and wide eyed. If what the Tarantino film said about Sharon Tate (while she was alive) having ‘a type’ was factual, well…this sadist pausing to fully appreciate his latest victim Belowstairs was equally guilty. Of having a type.
Caroline was perfect.
Especially so because of what she was wearing and what she wasn’t wearing the moment she’d been abducted.
“I can’t believe you were going to leave your apartment without panties on girl! Good thing I happened along…”
The Controller closed and latched a fourth and final door that separated the twenty-two year old from everything she’d experienced as her life. Up until falling into his clutches. The helpless girl with the light brown hair and what looked to be eyes of sea grey knelt pathetically at the altar of slavery. Caroline was barefoot, alone, trembling and too frightened to speak.
The cleave gag between her lips added to the pretty girl’s mute anticipation of ‘training’.
And severe discipline.
The Controller liked it when females less than half his own age were seen in leg wear that - to borrow a cliche - seemed to be ‘painted on’. Filthy slut. Caroline looked extremely fine to her new owner this happy Saint Valentine’s Day. On her knees…wrists handcuffed very painfully behind her back…and thongs of leather keeping her legs together at the ankles and hamstrings. Caroline had just been of the very few women who hadn’t been forced to walk herself down into the bowels of TheP.o.R.T. upon her own legs. For the Controller it’d been a labor of lust to carry his package lower and lower away from sanity and hope.
‘Needed the exercise’ thought the rapist and torturer to himself.
Within twenty minutes poor Caroline would learn what exercise entailed Belowstairs.
As she knelt and trembled and waited for the opportunity to beg for mercy the Controller eyeballed the reason he’d chosen this particular whore for punishment. Upon this most holy of holidays. After all…the Controller ‘had a type’.
You see, Caroline Mallory had on this sort of fabric weave top that served as both a sort of ‘come rape me’ top as well as a ‘please fuck my tits’ brassiere. The garment was black…revealed many sensuous contours of Caroline’s appealing breasts…and was made fast by tying off the straps behind her neck. The Controller thought his fresh slave looked positively enchanting in this top fit for a common whore. And he was going to make Caroline pay for it.
“In a few minutes I’m going to untie you” began the sadist. The young girl’s beautiful eyes went wider and wider as her kidnapper’s monologue confirmed her worst fears. “But before I untie you slut I am going to beat your legs and arms with this rattan cane. It’s going to hurt like hell, I can guarantee that. But I’ll enjoy it and you’ll deserve it. So…after the beating, after the greeting, you’ll be untied and - how can I put this? - you will be ‘allowed’ to undress for me. Center stage bitch! Sound like fun? That’s when I’m going to start raping your body in more ways that you can imagine whore. You shouldn’t have worn that top. Not ever…but especially not today. I was looking for someone - something - like you pig. When I saw you in that top girl, well…it was just a matter of carrying your worthless body down here so that I can begin amusing myself. See? Not complicated. Shall we begin? Like I said…the initial pain will be unbearable. Then we go to bed.”
(months later……)
The Controller was forcing a trio of women in their forties down into the torture chamber of TheP.o.R.T. Shamed, leashed and stark naked the three doomed females appeared as cattle to their Controller along this last transit from sex slavery to physical punishment. At one final threshold before the screaming began each whore noted what appeared to be a black woven lady’s garment hanging down from the door sill. In such a manner that each victim had to adjust their pace so as not to have the bra or bikini top or whatever else it was brush against their face. The Controller laughed as his trio avoided the item like it was laced with arsenic.
“Welcome to Suite Caroline whores. The easy portion of your imprisonment is at an end.”
As the three women were tormented (and repeatedly raped) they took turns having the black woven garment shoved inside their filthy mouths. To stifle their shrieks of agony. And to remind their Controller of his halcyon days with Caroline Mallory.
The Controller had a type.
But he disciplined every slut he could lay his hands on.
