Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 It was a quarter till midnight, and she was still shaking from the sting of
his whip, followed by fifty whacks from the horrid wooden spoon he kept in
the nightstand drawer specifically to tame her occasional insolent
behavior. Fifty.  He had never hit her that many times before with any
instrument, even in play, and that alone was enough to make her understand
that tonight would be different.

   She had been punished for her prideful tongue, this she knew, but there
was something else he wanted from her this time, he said, his eyes
searching hers for the fear he knew he would find there after he spoke the
words.  A sinister grin played upon his face that sent shivers down her
spine as he touched her cheek ever so lightly.  He carefully traced the
line of her jaw, eventually finding a lock of her long, curly hair, and
wound it around and in between his fingers, ever tighter, weaving an
imaginary tapestry, the design of which she could only anticipate, or
dread, as he led her over to the corner and ordered her to her knees...

   Now, all was silent.  The room was pitch black, thick and heavy with the
absence of light that shrouds one with its weight, slowly creeping inside
one's soul, until there is no division between inside or outside, body or
mind, only darkness, eternal and hopeless.

   In this darkness she sat, or rather squatted uncomfortably on the tile
floor in the alcove just at the edge of the bathroom door.  Shackled as she
was, she was unable to move more than an inch or two either up or down, or
to either side, as if she could be sure any longer the concept of self
direction, since the blackness had stolen not only her outside senses, but
the ones related to time and space as well.

   She had no idea how long she had remained there, awaiting his
instructions.  Once he had fastened her bonds to his liking, and drawn the
thick, heavy black curtains across the windows, designed specifically for
his particular intentions, he told her he would return shortly and tell her
what she was to do next.  His eyes had taken on a frightening look, deep
and swirling with a darkness of their own, and she could see he had gone
into the depths of his own depravity and arranged for her to be the medium
through which he would manifest every bit of his horrendous, evil thoughts.

   She squirmed inside her carefully threaded bonds like a helpless,
tortured puppet, not permitted to speak, unable to do anything but implore
him with a look meant to garner his sympathy, even for a brief moment.  He
rebuked her silent pleas as if they burned him, and commanded her to cast
her eyes down, that she was not worthy to look him in the eye, much less
hold her head up in his presence.  She was truly reticent for the way she
had spoken to him earlier, aside from the chains and the feeling of
impending doom that now crept inside her belly like a horrible insect, but
her apologies had of course, come far too late.

   She immediately complied, and heard him rise and walk over to the
doorway.  The moment he switched off the light, she was plunged into sudden
and utter darkness that caused a small gasp to escape her lips, as if to
protest, but she hushed herself, biting her tongue to keep from crying out,
knowing she would get the lash again for her complaint.

   Her thighs and ass were already sore from his beating earlier, and she
realized now she also was wincing from the pain within her bonds, drawing
blood from her lip as she bit down hard, trying to contain the tears that
refused to submit to her attempts to suppress them.  They burned and stung
her eyes, rolling in hot rivulets down her cheeks, but she could not brush
them away, chained as she was, with her hands behind her back, nor could
she bend down and wipe her face against her arms or legs, since she was
also chained snugly from collar to waist, neck bent back slightly, so that
moving her head forward even a small amount caused her to choke as her
collar pressed firmly to her throat.

   The chain continued between her ass cheeks, and around to the front, in
between her cunt lips, so that each way she moved caused an opposing
friction that was both painful, and at the same time frustratingly
arousing. Her nipples stiffened in excitement, bare of any instruments, as
he preferred them to be, so that he had access to torture them with his
cruel, twisting fingers at any moment.

   She felt the wetness building between her legs each time she struggled
to shuffle into a more comfortable position.  Quickly realizing there was
none, she settled for merely trying to keep balanced on the balls of her
feet, since any sudden movement to either side would surely cause her to
topple, lose her footing, and land on her side, rendering her utterly
helpless, and this she wanted to avoid at all costs.

   She squatted there for what seemed like hours in the thick blackness,
occasionally managing to make small, shuffling steps this way and that
across the cold tile, in an attempt to ease the cramps in her aching
muscles, which were already screaming to be loosed from their torment. 
Along with her growing fear and frustration at her predicament, she was
also forced to deal with the increasingly strong need to urinate, which she
had previously tried to ignore.  She frantically contemplated her options,
and reluctantly squeezed her inner muscles tighter inside herself, trying
to avoid the inevitable.

   It was then he spoke, punctuating the darkness with his thick, low
voice, startling her out of her private thoughts.  She could hear that he
was some distance from her in the room, and she had no idea how long he had
been there watching her struggle.  He had long ago proven to her that his
night vision was far superior to hers, and she was certain that despite the
darkness, he could see and sense every pitiful movement she displayed with
the keen eye of a cat toying with its prey before the kill.  She squirmed
uncomfortably in her shackles, ashamed for him to enjoy her suffering this
way.

   "Use the floor." was all he said.  Matter of fact.  Cold, with just a
hint of a smirk underneath.

   She bristled for a moment, unsure at first what he meant, and realizing
just as quickly his intention, wondering how he was able to discern her
plight.  She hesitated, hoping that feigning misunderstanding would cause
him to change his mind.  It did not.

   "Use the floor, cunt." he said again, this time less amusingly and with
a hint of malice.  "Piss." he clarified, extending the "s" sound, repeating
it slowly, as if he were simplifying his instructions to a toddler or a
small child.

   She hesitated yet again, and felt a swift, sudden movement as his foot
nudged her ass, nearly toppling her over to her side like an unsuspecting
cow.  Miraculously, she retained her balance, after a slight wobble, but
the sudden impact had startled her and caused a bit of urine to begin to
dribble out on its own, against her will.  How pitifully amusing she must
have looked to him, still trying to retain even a shred of dignity,
foolishly daring to think she even had a slight bit of control over her own
fate in this predicament.

   "Piss on the floor, bitch!" he commanded, loudly this time, and with
great impatience.

   Just as her body was able to respond instantly to his commandments to
cum during times when, at the pinnacle of rough and heavy play, her arousal
had built to such an extent that refusal was physically impossible, so too
was her body's response to this unexpected demand.  It was entirely beyond
her control.  Her bladder was too full to hold back any longer, and at his
command, she immediately let loose a flood of hot pee, helpless to stop it,
as it spread all around her on the cold, hard tile.

   The feeling was an odd mixture of horror, shame, and incredible relief
as her bladder mercifully emptied itself, her piss pooling onto and around
her feet.  The force of its contact with the floor caused it to splash onto
her legs, tits, and even onto her face.  She puffed and blew in an
unsuccessful attempt to try to avoid the spray touching her eyes and lips,
but she was doomed to her fate.  She would endure every bit of indignity he
meant for her, with none to spare.  Little did she know even this was not
the last of his insults.

   "Now clean up your mess, cunt." he spoke again.  She could tell his
voice had moved further away, possibly in an attempt to avoid the
backsplash of her piss and its spreading wake.  She bristled, not
understanding how he expected her to accomplish this task.  Her thoughts
raced at the options available, none of which were pleasant.

   "Bend down and mop the floor with your hair." he said.  She could tell
by his low, relaxed tone, and the slight creaking sound of something large
and wooden, that he had settled himself into his chair, the one with the
high back like a throne, where she undressed him lovingly every night,
looking into his eyes as he fondly cupped her breasts in his hands and
playfully pinched her nipples to try to distract her from her task.  It was
their game nearly every evening.  How she longed for a night like that,
instead of this humiliating torture.  Yet, despite her misgivings and
cringing at the thought, his words made her instantly wet.

   Her hair?  Surely he did not really expect her to do this.  He had very
strict rules in place as to how she was to care for it, which products to
use, its color, its length, the style in which she wore it.  Her hair was
his primary means of control, the leash by which he steered the direction
of her head while directing her through a scene, and the reins by which he
drew her onto himself deeply as he fucked her.  Her hair was the one thing
about her he nearly always complimented and admired.  She knew he cherished
it as much as she.  Surely this had to be some kind of cruel joke.

   "Apparently the cunt has a hearing problem tonight." he replied, as if
reading her thoughts.  She could hear the soft smacking sound coming
repeatedly from the direction of his voice and knew instantly he had
secured the dreaded spoon in his left fist and was hitting his right palm
with it.  "She had better comply or I shall become very impatient, and I
know she does not want the spoon again...or this."

   She heard another sound then too, more sickening than the first, the
soft click of metal upon metal.  It took her a moment, but she suddenly
realized with horror that it was the sound of scissors, cutting the air,
mocking her, threatening her hesitation to obey.  Although it was pitch
black inside the room, she could almost see his twisted smile before her
eyes, she shook her head violently from side to side as if to say "no". 
The clicking became louder and closer, until eventually it was just beside
her ear.  She became instantly still and shriveled inside herself with fear
and dread, until the sound disappeared once more.  "Better hurry." he said
with a dreadful lilt in his voice.

   In a panic, desperately willing her sluggish brain to speed up, the
matter now was not whether to comply, but how, since any level of bending
over at even the slightest angle would surely send her falling over, or
choke her to death.  She quickly reasoned that her hair was possibly long
enough to bend her head to the side just slightly, and be able to catch her
spilled fluids with the ends as a gesture of compliance.  She hoped it
would be enough.

   She clumsily tilted her head sideways, managing triumphantly to touch
the tips of her long tresses against the cold, wet tile.  As if mocking her
victory, from out of nowhere he was swiftly upon her again, managing to
grab a large handful of her hair and using it to bend her face forward
mercilessly onto the floor, so that it soaked up the spilled, shameful
liquid like a sponge, and became promptly saturated with piss, snot, and
spittle, since she had also against her will begun to cry and sputter
uncontrollably at this new harshness.

   Her sniveling face touching the floor made it impossible not to
inadvertently slurp small amounts of her own piss into her mouth and up her
nostrils.  This, along with the pressure upon her impeded airway left her
gasping for breath moving her mouth in a helpless rhythm, like a beached
guppy.

   His firm and unrelenting arm pressed her nose down further into the mess
of her own filth, moving her head from side to side as if she herself were
a human mop, a wet, pissy rag doll for his sheer amusement.  "This way,
back and forth, like THIS!" he hissed as he pushed her even further onto
the tile, the chains in her ass and pussy straining against her flesh,
biting and teasing her simultaneously.  "I swear to Christ, after all this
time doing the chores around here you still don't know how to mop a floor?
Stupid cunt."

   He abruptly let go of her head and hair with a grunt, as if disgusted by
her incompetency.  His swift abandonment caused her to finally fall over
onto her side, lying in the now cold puddle of her piss, sweat, and tears.
Her humiliation was complete, and she wailed softly from deep within her
belly like a wounded animal, in complete survival mode.

   Her obedience now having shifted into auto pilot, she somehow mustered
the strength to blindly begin swishing her head from side to side as he
instructed, wriggling in her bonds like some kind of human snake.  She
wrestled this way and that, managing against the odds to wipe every bit of
her urine off the floor, letting it seep into her long, brown hair,
saturating it, until it was dripping as if she had showered in it.

   Undone, she lay there in the utter darkness, sobbing and sopping wet,
covered in her own juices from every orifice, sputtering out feeble,
unintelligible cries that fell on his seemingly deaf ears.  He did not come
and smooth her hair to comfort her, or pat her head and tell her what a
good girl she was for her obedience as he normally would have done.

   Instead, he pierced the air once more with his voice and uttered one
word, and she was shattered.  "Come." he said, and she did.  No crescendo
or pleasant, rising waves, just one, instant, shuddering, thundering
orgasm, long and hard, making her limbs twitch and her teeth rattle with
its force.  She came until she thought she couldn't come any more, and as
if by insult, her body betrayed her and rocked her again with another
orgasm as large and as jarring as the first.

   Finished and spent, she lay there in the dark, silent, floating, not
even feeling or caring anymore whether he would loose her from her bonds or
turn on the light and shave her bald headed.  She only wanted to sink
deeper into the darkness of the animal he had forced from within her to
without.

   Just as her thoughts drifted down into the depths of her most primal
self, she sensed him move softly to her side and begin to loosen her
shackled wrists, feet, and neck, slowly, with precision, as if he had
memorized every point.  He scooped her up off the floor and onto the bed,
having placed a towel on her pillow for her, and she knew he meant for her
to sleep this way all night, covered in her own disgusting scent, but not
until he had fucked and used her thoroughly first, sweating over her with
growls and groans that seemed to come from a place so deep she hadn't known
it existed in him.  He filled her and marked her insides with his very
self, like a huge, hungry beast.

   Later, he lay spooned close beside her, one hand at the collar around
her throat, the other hand stroking the soft and tender skin on her ass,
and in between, tracing the bruises he had left there earlier, as if to
place his signature on her marks.  He leaned into her neck and inhaled
deeply.  "Mmmmm." he said, satisfied.  "Mine." he whispered, and she cooed
and moaned softly in spite of herself, enveloped now in his soothing
darkness.  Deeper, still deeper, until she finally slept.  Filthy.  Foul.
Complete.
   Copyright 2014 torikosoul