Back in the autumn of 2022 it occurred to Tommie Nance that he lacked the artistic ability to express exactly what he was about to do with Sophie. For reasons he himself couldn’t fathom Tommie longed to put in writing - put into words - the misery he now had the opportunity to visit upon Sophie, her psyche and her body.
It would have been brilliant - thought the young, impulsive Nance - to relate how he’d marched Sophie down into his basement. Once he’d selected and acquired her. How she’d been fully clothed as Tommie led her along corridors that ended in stairwells. Stairwells always leading downwards. Tommie thought it would have made great copy to describe in detail how Sophie’s hands had been tied behind her back for the ‘parade’ to perdition. How the then twenty-eight year old had pleaded for mercy before ever having been raped even once. And how Sophie came across as awkward, helpless and shamed navigating the passages of her new prison.
Tommie regretted at the time not being adept enough with language to convey to his allies and/or his other victims how splendid it had been whipping Sophie across the outside of her legs with his leather belt. Once she’d been locked within a rape chamber and strung up by her arms in an agonizing half-strappado. It seemed a waste to fail to record the precise pitch of the brunette’s squeals of pain…as Sophie was beaten none too gently yet not so harshly as to leave an excess of bruising upon her sexy wheels. At the time of its application this welcoming Tommie granted to Sophie served as a declaration of her dependence upon him and him alone for her shelter, her sustenance and her physical well being. He just wished that he could have shared it at the time with the general public.
So in early October of 2022 - as Thomas L. Nance of Spencer, Illinois cut away every scrap of clothing from Sophie’s body - it came across as a sin to keep the act a secret from all and sundry in the World above. Tommie yearned to compose the prose that could faithfully portray the combination of expectancy (on his part) and humiliation (for Sophie) that accompanied the last few moments the helpless brunette could honestly claim herself as a female who’d never been raped.
Tommie would change all that.
The rapist imagined then that the tale would be a comedy in three parts. Act One might have depicted how Sophie’s nude body trembled violently as she was restrained painfully for rape sessions. The middle portion almost certainly would have dealt with how the brown-eyed girl’s breasts swayed sensually as the agony of Tommie’s fuck strokes split Sophie apart. And the concluding act certainly should have addressed how submissively the creature once known as Sophie Turner knelt long afterwards with her head bowed and her beautiful brown eyes downcast. Pleading with her kidnapper for mercy. And asking her Owner if her body has pleased him sufficiently enough to avoid another beating.
Damn but it would’ve made for entertaining reading!
But our young Tommie was then - and is now - a pragmatist. And any account of Sophie’s experience of sex slavery would have easily swollen to Dickensian proportions. As the weeks blended into months. By the time Sophie’s worthless body had provided sexual service to Tommie for a calendar year our hero ached less and less to document how his tortures of the brunette became more streamlined. More evil. And brutally effective in providing motivation for Sophie to perform in bed. Inside the basement.
Still the lack of a written archive of Sophie’s suffering struck Tommie as a lost opportunity. Filming the whore as she was writhing in agony from one of her Owner’s disciplinary methods provided some comfort. As did photographing Sophie providing oral sex to other slaves under duress. But to Tommie it was as if Sophie hadn’t truly suffered enough if he couldn’t find the words and phrases to cement it upon the written page.
So into 2024 and a beckoning spring Tommie continued to rape and torment Sophie with extreme prejudice. The pale, nude body continued to tremble violently. Delightfully. The soft, inviting breasts swayed sensually as a dozen excruciating rape strokes became a score…became a hundred. Became endless. And the hours Sophie spent kneeling before a mirror - her torturer lording above her submissive figure from behind - pleading for the ‘privilege’ of providing her captor with every sort of sensual delight he had every right to demand from her otherwise useless body.
It’d just be better if he could simply write about it.
It was sometime after lunch on Leap Day that Tommie led his favorite sex slave towards a torture chamber that incredibly she’d not yet visited during her visit. Sophie was naked and her arms were bound up behind her back at both the wrists and elbows. The brunette felt clumsy and ashamed atop the six-inch heels Tommy had chosen for her final days inside the basement. This was the last chapter. And it would remain unwritten. Tommie had accepted the fact that he just didn’t have the sentiment of a poet.
But I’ll be damned if that boy couldn’t make a pretty girl scream in agony……
