Marie Vella submitted to the man who’d chosen her by accepting his hands being traced along the lines of her bare flanks. As he outlined the contours of her exposed breasts with his fingertips. With his lips and tongue. In truth of fact the twenty-eight year old submitted to all this because her hands were cuffed behind her back. And what could only be described as shackles immobilized her ankles and naked legs. Because a leash attached to the slave collar Marie had been wearing for the past three days was tethered to the cinder block wall behind from where she stood helpless before the Controller.
Which isn’t to imply that the pale, buxom girl would have resisted had her restraints been less well thought out or less humiliating. In just over seventy-two hours Marie had learned that having the Controller’s hands and eyes and lips all over her nude body meant that the sadist’s mind was on sex. On rape. And gratefully (to poor Marie) NOT focused on the other ways it’d become clear that her body could be used to entertain a man Belowstairs.
The trembling victim with the hazel eyes and perfect breasts had no idea where her clothes had got to. Which didn’t matter anyhow because the Controller had boasted to Marie that she wasn’t to wear anything for the next several weeks.
A blatant lie. For if Marie was to be kept completely naked for the amusement of her kidnapper then why (oh why) had that same kidnapper spent a good thirty minutes back at her apartment three days ago rummaging for items he felt were essential to Marie’s captivity? Like the six-inch stiletto heels that Marie was displayed upon at this moment? As the Controller’s deft hands edged his victim’s legs just enough apart so that a set of dairy milk creamy thighs could be explored? Like the royal blue, two-piece bikini from her slutty lingerie drawer? The lower half of which was currently sealed inside Marie’s mouth with silver duct tape. Why even the Miami Dade hoodie taken from the furthest recesses of Marie’s closet? Since altered with a Sharpie to read ‘Miami Dade Whore’ and exhibited upon a hanger next to Marie’s body when piccies and fotos of her nudity were archived by the Controller.
When a suitable portion of Marie’s helpless body had been fondled, kissed, fingered and licked the Master of 2112 Division Street removed the shackles from his slave’s exceptional legs. Legs whose sensuality could not be dimmed even by the raw abrasions left behind by the cruel steel implements used to restrain them. Next the Controller unhitched the degrading leash from the wall behind Marie but left IT (and the slave collar about the blonde’s neck) in place. It was a short walk for the pair to gain access to the portion of the Controller’s torture chamber that sported, not one, but two wide beds. Furnishings provided for the express purpose of ‘sport’.
Marie - tears brimming in her incredibly beautiful eyes - knew what was coming. And meekly positioned her battered body accordingly. Earlier - as she had been strung up for pre-rape playtime - Marie had been casually informed of how many times she’d be raped today, in what positions her body would be forced to submit itself and (most importantly) the precise order in which specific sexual deviations would be administered.
As a result (without being prompted in the slightest by her Owner) Marie clambered atop the nearer of the two rape beds. Submissively she went down on her belly - her face - like a dog. Being careful to keep the stilettos upon her feet pointed at such an angle that her Controller could appreciate her shame. Which was made manifest by how Marie hoisted her ass cheeks up into the air (causing indescribable pain in her shoulders and lower back due to the still attached hand cuffs) so that her aching vagina could be reused and enjoyed from the rear. Eyes open. And wholly negated.
[…at this point - but for the bikini bottoms taped inside her filthy, lying mouth - Marie normally would have respectfully ‘announced’ to her tormentor that her body was ready to be used. That she was ‘here’ just so that he could have a good time. That ‘he’ could do anything he liked with her. Anything. And that she was grateful that now - after three days and nights of humiliation and torture - she was finally gaining a bit of value in her Master’s eyes…]
The Controller stripped down. mounted the bed behind Marie’s exposed pussy and prepared to spear his victim as convincingly (and as painfully) as he could. His balls weren’t too, too swollen so pretty Marie had a prolonged, arduous fuck ahead of her. Already the sadist could hear his slave sobbing. The reality of Marie’s agony contrasted with the surreal nature of her prison. And her uncertain fate.
“Time to writhe…”
Marie awaited the inevitable. Awaited what her body - twenty-eight years prior - had solely been created for. Until the waiting…was at an end.
“Mu - uuggh! Uugh…uugh…uugh…muuuugggghhhhhh! Maagh - maarrgggghhhhhh!!”
As she was vaginally ruined Marie concentrated on the only other artifact her Controller had brought along from the apartment. Back then - that night - Marie had been very tightly hogtied and left to suffer in excruciating pain as her home invader went through her things - raped her roommate twice - made decisions as to which of Marie’s belongings could be of service inside TheP.o.R.T. and finally tortured her roommate senseless. First on her own bed. Then atop Marie’s. Six hours of Hell. Prior to being brought to her present Hell.
That ‘other’ object was a framed photograph of Marie’s baby sister. In a sun dress. In heels.
“Time to decide if you like it here…or if I need to gather up Stephy.”
“Maagghh! Mu - uugghhhhhh! Magh, magh, magh, muuuugggghhhhhh!!”
The Controller - as per usual - had chosen well. Marie Vella checked all the boxes. And the best thing was that Box #22 stated clearly that once raping and torturing Marie’s fine body became mundane to him, well…
…Stephy Vella sure did look exquisite in heels and a sun dress.
