I began to breathe a bit easier…knowing that I finally had Stephanie truly under wraps. To the end of my days I’ll never forget the thrill - at that moment - when I leapt out from within the Dark and imposed myself upon Miss Grave’s life. How her body felt (and yielded) inside the circle of my arms. And then the texture of Stephanie’s lips as a hand gag powerfully applied stifled her brief hopes of rescue.
Yes…air in, air out. Breathe. She’s safe. Here with me now. Moving forward. There are two stages in realizing the success of any foray. The first being when the prey is tucked inside the boot of my Mercedes. Or within the back doors of the beat up, nondescript van I utilize to collect female victims. For sex slavery. And torture.
The second is when my vehicle idles inside the deep bank of my garage. And the double panel door swings low and closed. Imprisoning a new girl, a fresh subject. That’s when I can truly begin to breathe.
Twenty-two year old Stephanie Graves had just entered my garage. My domain.
Air in, air out. But be careful lad. Not downstairs yet. Still not behind the soundproofed walls of the basement. Breathe. Steady yourself. The wildcat - the kitten - has one last trek to make until she’s truly helpless.
“On your feet slut.”
I like it when they whimper in the very, very beginning. When their innate submissiveness to the certainty of their fate overwhelms silly thoughts of resistance or defiance. I especially like it when they stagger themselves into a vertical position at my command; hands bound up so painfully behind their backs…left already in only jeans and a bra…barefoot and trembling. Sobbing behind bright red ball gags that lock sets of panties from previous victims neatly inside their filthy mouths.
“Stop sniveling bitch. We’ve barely started…”
In all actuality Stephanie was well on her way. As a result of the ‘prompts’ I had afforded to her ass cheeks and the outsides of her shins with my rattan cane. Inside the van. As a result of the discomfort and shame in being forced to lie still as my expert hands violently stripped away footwear and top from the girl I had been stalking for eleven months.
“Good girl. I like you in that brassiere. Learn the rules and there’s a good chance you’ll still have titties worth groping when - and if - I let you go free.”
Fear. Humiliation. Vulnerability. Stephanie had all three in spades.
So in column - with myself behind and a good grip of my victim’s long brown hair acting as a sort of control leash - the pair of us set forth. Downstairs. Down the three heavily fenced stairwells to the place where I could at last breathe completely free of anxiety. To the place where after almost a year of waiting I could finally play all those games I yearned for with Stephanie’s fine young body.
“You fucked up girl. Now you submit to me. To the left whore…one more flight of steps. Sort of intimidating, ain’t it? Ha! This is your new home Stephanie. And once we get those jeans off your sexy, sexy legs and that bra displayed on my trophy shelf you’ll learn what it is to feel at home with a good strong man. I SAID STOP SNIVELING WHORE!!”
I ‘prompted’ Stephanie one more time with the rattan and my personal goddess yelped in blinding pain. It’s wise to lay it on thick with a new arrival. When the feminine object is still physically strong. Comparatively speaking. And retains foolish notions that maybe - just maybe, if she does anything and everything I demand - she’ll be home by Christmas.
“Mu - uugghh - UUGGHHHHHH!!”
So fucking beautiful……
Without any further misconduct from my slave I got Stephanie inside the first of several chambers with which she would become very familiar in the weeks ahead. Immediately I accomplished two essential housekeeping chores. First I hitched the bindings holding the brunette’s wrists behind her back to a gripe in the west wall. In such a way and at such a height that it made it very uncomfortable for Stephanie to stand upright without incurring waves of pain racing up her spine and across her bare shoulders.
Next I took my time - breathing gulps of fetid cellar air - in pulling those amazing blue jeans down the exquisite length of Stephanie’s even more amazing legs. Then, as if to attach a bow to my creation, I lastly circled a strip of soft leather about my victim’s legs two inches below her knees. Agonizingly forcing Stephanie’s legs tight together and giving her body - left in only the alluring jade colored brassiere - a totem like appearance inside my torture chamber.
“There! Voila! Perfect…”
Have I mentioned the soundproofing? All around? That’ll have an impact on Stephy’s welfare a little bit later……"
“Slut…if you promise to behave I’ll take that ball gag away from your pretty face. Hmmm? All set to kneel before Master girl?”
There is always a chance - in scenes like these - that it is ‘I’ who’ll be the last to view any female when she’s utterly naked. And then to be the very last man to sexually enjoy said female. I think Stephanie had a sense of that as she nodded her head furiously indicating that she’d follow my rules if only I’d show mercy and remove the debilitating gag from her kissable mouth.
(…and, by the way, there IS some truth to the rumor within my social circle that a properly focused Male seeks to be the first man to rape a particular woman AS WELL AS the last man to fuck her……)
“Good girl. Swing your head back a bit…yes, I know your shoulders hurt. Don’t fret…I’ll untie your hands in a few hours. There we go…sooooo pretty! Now…Master will reach in and very slowly remove Lisa’s panties from your worthless mouth. Good girl! Jesus I picked the right whore for my bed! All done. Now……say ‘thank you’. Say it Stephanie…unless you want your new Owner to lose his temper girl.”
All that naked, tanned flesh looked so achingly beautiful in my dungeon. Even the bra remaining on Stephanie’s doomed body cupped her breasts in a way that implied my victim’s sensuality was a mere physical property that I could steal away, harness and then revisit as often (and as brutally) as my sadism deemed necessary.
“Ma - aarrgghh..th-thank…oh, God…th…thank y-you sir.”
Absolutely perfect. A successful foray. I could breathe easy…
I must have spent the next twenty minutes verbally informing Stephanie of what the next several hours of her existence would entail. Here inside this prison. I told the slut about the dozens of photographs I was going to take of her nude and/or half naked body. I apprised her of the lengthy video she would be obligated to provide of her ‘confession’. Pertaining to what I referred to as her previous life as a prostitute (Stephanie was actually a barkeep) and to the fact that everything she was about to endure inside my sex prison was entirely her own fault (Stephanie was actually an innocent girl caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time and impacted upon by the worst sort of Man who’d decided to obtain her).
“Please…sir, pl-please…I’ll do anything you want. I’ll…I’ll submit s-sir. Please! Just kindly untie my hands sir. PLEASE! I promise…this whore will do everything her Owner desires…”
Later I showed Miss Graves the beds at my disposal upon which her body could be used for specific purposes. Shortly after that (the slutty bra having finally found its permanent home beside the trophies of former victims) I began to rape Stephy. Vaginally. Constantly.
Very painfully.
Sometimes - at the apex, as the agony seared her soul - I reminded my Stephanie to breathe during the endless rape sessions. ‘Breathe girl, open your eyes, be grateful you have a reasonable Master’ I would taunt.
Strange how having the perfect slave in his bed prompts a decent Man to enlist in another foray. To obtain another female. To provide more amusement.
I couldn’t wait to place Stephanie’s panties inside the filthy, worthless mouth of my next acquisition. By then - if she was indeed fortunate, if she’d behaved - Stephanie would be enjoying the fetid clime of Istanbul or Caracas. Like Lisa.
Sometimes to truly punish a girl it’s best that you are NOT the last man to see them naked. Or to repeatedly fuck them. I knew Lisa and Stephanie were in very good hands the afternoon I marched Jaimee HIlliard down, down, down inside my torture chamber. Wearing only her office skirt and a lace brassiere.
“Stop sniveling cunt! We’ve barely started……”
