I asked her how old she was.
I knew, of course, exactly how old my captive was. I just wanted to hear her say it. I just wanted to impose a sense of dominance in that she was going to respond respectfully to each and every question I posed to her in the months ahead.
So she answered…and straight off I asked her what color her eyes were.
I knew, of course, that a line of questioning like this was going to make my captive cry. Invading her privacy. Stripping away her facade of invulnerability. I was looking straight into her moist eyes when I asked what color they were. And the sound of her voice answering submissively made me think that I’d chosen the right female for the job ahead.
I asked her if she was comfortable. I told her to be honest.
Left in only the blue jeans she’d put on this morning - and painfully roped to the chair upon which she was seated at her wrists. elbows, knees and ankles - I was dead certain how the whore was going to answer. I just desired to hear that she was frightened. And I insisted on bearing witness to her helplessness.
So she answered. And her exposed breasts jiggled tantalizingly as she admitted to being very UNcomfortable. And deathly afraid.
I kept asking her questions. Questions I already knew the answer to. I inquired as to when exactly she’d moved into the subdivision from which I’d just abducted her from. I asked the slut if she had a lover. When she replied in the affirmative I asked if that lover was male or female. Then I asked her if the bra I was holding in my hand belonged to her. And if so had she been wearing it when she had (too late) sensed me coming up from behind her in the hallway of her home to throttle her.
“Yes s-sir…that’s my bra. Yes…y-yes sir…I was wearing it today. You…you t-took it off me in the van upstairs. After you sliced away my blouse. Right…right after I gave you th-that blow job. When y-you said I couldn’t swallow until…until y-you gave me permission……”
I dangled the garment in front of her filthy face and ordered the bitch to watch me closely. I saw her eyes go wide as I retreated to the far wall of my dungeon and pinned the brassiere onto a strip of wood paneling that spanned the length of the wall. To the left of the now forsaken lingerie was arrayed a series of former trophies. For my new guest to see and come to grips with. Three other brassieres. At least one bikini top. And a fair number of silk and cotton panties that bespoke of earlier conquests.
Then I asked the whore if she felt I was any good at what I was born to do.
The evidence was there for the doomed girl to consider. Right in front of her tear streaked face. All those females. Lost in a sense…and yet serving their natural purpose with me. Here. In this cellar. Within this torture chamber. To my present victim it was obvious that I was adept at the procurement and punishment of worthless sluts. After all…I’d never been caught. If I had there would have been no way I could have obtained her own self just four hours ago from the subdivision. Then brought her here. To suffer.
“Please….”
Then I asked her a tough question. A question that even I had no clue as to how she might answer. I asked her what she’d do for me if she wanted to keep her nipples…
“Please……”
In the weeks and months ahead I would ask dozens of questions of the pretty girl I had chosen to be my sex slave. While she was being raped. Questions like what she thought her chances were of ever seeing home again. Or if she truly possessed an understanding of what physical torture entailed. And if she thought herself capable of pleasing me with her anus after I followed thru with my plans of painfully castrating her down here in the basement.
“PLEASE!”
One of the last things I asked the bitch (many moons later) was IF she was truly happy that there were now both a blue silk bra AND a pair of satin panties to the right of her own long forgotten brassiere along my trophy wall. She was sobbing as she piped ‘Yes sir’ and I forced her tear streaked face down into the pussy of one of the other females now repurposed to serve me sexually below 2112 Division Street.
This boy ain’t never gonna’ get caught!
