He lay in bed, the covers pulled up tightly around his neck. His hair, black, thick and curly, pressed down against the plump down pillows. The curtains were drawn and no light entered the room, though on the other side of the draperies the late morning sun was filtering through, strong and glaring in a cloudless and brilliantly blue sky.
But for the time being he was lost in his dreams, his breath deep and regular, his body curled up into a fetal position with his knees tucked up towards his chest. Nothing disturbed his slumber, not even the ominous and almost frightening click, rhythmic and staccato, of Lydia Rinald's slim and tapering high heels.
They seemed to grow louder, the sound of bullets richocheting, tapping an indecipherable message along the smooth and highly polished parquet floors. And then a hand with long sinewy piano fingers, fingers whose nails were glossed with blood-red polish, nails that were long and nearly as sharp as the talons of a raptor, an eagle or a hawk, gripped the glass doorknob and turned it, ever so slowly.
The door swung open silently.
She stood there, bathed in the stark light that seemed to fill the house. Her eyes narrowed to mere pinpricks and their deep and scalding blue irises shone like sapphires. She was a woman no one, no man in particular, could look upon lightly.
Now, she stood there, smug and regal, confident of herself and her powers of domination and control. She saw the figure of the young man sprawled out on the double bed, the outline of his body visible beneath the bedcovers.
A thin trickle of drool sluiced out of the corner of his mouth, dampening the pillowcase. She continued to smile, gripping the object she held in one of her hands all the more tightly and securely. And then, not content to merely stare, to study Seth Garrick in the posture of sleep, she moved slowly and steathily into the room, not even bothering to close the door behind her.
But why should she? After all, this was her house and for the time being at least, they were the only ones there, their privacy, their peculiar and unique life style observed by no one else, save their own alter-egos, their own consciences.
"Sethie dear," she whispered, her sarcasm as obvious as the fact that he was still sound asleep. "Come now, Sethie. Lydia's waiting for her breakfast, little man."
She waited, but got no response. Downstairs, she could hear her harlequin Great Dane, Count -- namesake of the notorious Count Donatien de Sade, occasionally known as the Marquis -- padding restlessly around the kitchen, growing increasingly fretful and impatient for his breakfast.
That too was Seth's job, among numerous others.
But the night before their ritualistic "games" -- for want of a better term -- had, in his mind at least, turned sour. He had been sorely bruised both physically and mentally and had retreated to his room, forgetting his responsibilities, forgetting to set the alarm at seven o'clock sharp so that he would be able to get up and prepare Lydia's breakfast as well as feed the dog.
But his insubordination, as she saw it, only gave her a perfect excuse to exercise her powers over him, both mental as well as physical. Fc: what she held securely in one hand, her fingers wrapped around the handle as one would wrap their fingers around a hard and throbbing cock, was none other than a long and frightening whip, a bull whip of stout braided rawhide, already darkened with the purple-black stains of dried blood.
"Sethie, you're not listening, dearie," she snickered.
And when he still failed to hear her, for the covers were pulled up high around his face, Lydia Rinaldo no longer hesitated. Her thick sensual lips curled back in an ugly and frightening grimace and she held the bullwhip before her, uncoiling it like a snake ready to spring and attack its prey.
Then, with a maddened and diabolical laugh, an infernal cackle which normally would have caused his hair to stand up along the back of his neck, she didn't hesitate to aim and lash out. The whip coursed through the air, coming down across the outline of Seth's sleeping figure.
It struck hard and fast, her mind cool and the whip hot, the long lashing length of leather twisting tightly around his slumbering body. Instantly she heard a scream, a scream which made her double up with laughter.
Seth groaned and tore at the bedcovers, instantly awake. He blinked and looked up, knowing how he would see even before his eyes focused on the insidious figure of Lydia Rinaldo. "Good morning, my precious little fawning dear," she laughed, rocking back and forth on her slim stiletto heels. "It's ten a.m., dear boy. And breakfast isn't ready!" The last was spat out, her tone of voice changing rapidly as she didn't hesitate to raise the whip in the air once again.
"No, don't..." he started to say.
But as usual, his words fell on deaf ears. Determined as always to have her way and with Seth Garrick in particular, Lydia didn't hesitate to bring the whip down with the crash of cymbals, its leather tongue coiling painfully and searingly around his covered body. The blanket was torn and he felt the leather etching its agonizing mark right across one thigh and buttock.
Seth groaned and jerked to the side, trying to avoid the hissing path of the whip, a virtual extension of her hand, for he knew from past and painful experience that she was an expert at its use. The collision of flesh and leather set her nerves on edge and she trembled with rising delight.
To have such an excuse, a "legal" excuse that is, to wound him sorely, could not have turned her on more. His eyes narrowed and he stared up at her, taking in the bizarre yet undeniably arousing nature of her costume. Bizarre for some, but not for him, for her outfit was tame in comparison with the many other fetishistic bondage garments she wore around the house.
Now, as she contemplated his shuddering figure, not sure if an additional lash would be worth her effort, she was also aware of the way he was studying her. At least she got his respect willingly on that level and so now she openly flaunted her lush and voluptuous body before his wide and staring eyes.
"Suitably matutinal, wouldn't you say, my little robber boy," she giggled, shoving her chest forward so that he could get a better look at her massive and heaving jugs.
Seth nodded his head, struck dumb and almost hypnotized. He was yet to figure it out, the kind of trance she put him in, the way her body called out to him, demanding to be noticed, respected and ultimately obeyed.
"It is sweet to rule, my precious, but even sweeter to obey," she had once told him.
Now, the words came back to him as he pierced her nearly diaphanous and transparent peignoir with his eyes. It reached down to her black patent leather spike-heeled mules backless platform shoes that made her carriage seem even more imperious and arousing than ever.
And beneath the lacy nightgown he was able to see the strange yet frighteningly exciting arrangement of leather straps and chrome buckles. It was a halter-like arrangement of cinches which crisscrossed her breasts, concealing only each hard and turgid button nipple. He saw this quite easily, though he didn't know the pleasure Lydia was beginning to feel as the inner rawhide surface of the leather straps now rubbed and frictioned excitingly against her erogenous zones.
Her nipples were tingling in response, rubbing back against the rawhide while between her legs a narrow strap was fitted securely, flushed against her pitted and trembling asshole, wedged tightly and delightfully between the lush drooping lips of her black-haired snatch.
His eyes moved down, past her rounded heaving melons with their leather-clad nipples, farther still until he could see how she had arranged additional cinches between her thighs, right between her cunt lips and down between the cheeks of her ass.
Then, Lydia moved forward and savored the way the leather burned and itched against her muff and bottom-hole. The click of her heels made him jerk to attention, but before he could avoid the path of the whip, the leather cobra struck out in his direction.
It coiled tightly around his thighs a second time and he tried to claw it free as the blankets ripped further and she was rewarded with a telling and revealing glimpse of his own private parts. Seth slept in the nude, not so much a concession to Lydia as an ingrained habit he had practiced long before he'd met her.
And now, she could just about see the thick wiry black bush which marked his pubic region, that and the first delightful glimpses of his morning cockstand. Seth hadn't urinated yet and as a result his cock arched up towards his lean washboard stomach, a product of a full bladder and a full view of Lydia Rinaldo's body.
He turned to the side to avoid the whip as she screamed with glee, stepped even closer and brought its blood-stained and salt-impregnated length down across his trembling haunches. A low-pitched groan of misery and self-disgust escaped his lips and he shuddered under the shredded blankets, praying that she would soon vent her spleen and leave him to his misery, his private hell.
"I'm sorry, the alarm didn't go off, I'm sorry," he moaned, shaking with self-disgust as she giggled uproariously, pleased that she was discovering him easier to tame with each passing day. "It'll never happen again, never!"
"Quite right it won't, my little robber boy," she snickered, reminding him of their little unspoken arrangement. And with those words ringing in his ears, she turned on her heel, coiled the whip lovingly under her arm and strode hurriedly from the room, not even bothering to close the door behind her.
"I'm waiting, remember that. And Count is getting hungry ... and you know what happens when he's kept waiting, little man!" he heard her call out when she was out of sight.
Cursing her under his breath, he pulled the torn covers back and slid his legs over the side of the bed, pushing his ass gingerly off the mattress so that he didn't further traumatize the wounds she had etched across his bare and naked flesh.
He glanced down and examined the welts, eying their livid and puckered configurations. Fucking sonuvabitch, he said to himself and got to his feet, knowing as he did that the last thing he should do was keep her or her dog waiting any longer.
But as Seth Garrick hurriedly pulled on some clothes, stuffing his long limber cock into the crotch of his blue jeans and adjusting his basket so that his meat rested comfortably as well as revealingly inside his jock, his thoughts turned back to three weeks before, when he'd first met Lydia Rinaldo, when he'd first accepted the "deal" she had made with him.
It wasn't so much important why he'd done it as what had happened as a result. She'd called him robber boy that morning, for that was precisely what he was, a wanted criminal with a warrant for his arrest and a thousand dollar reward on his head from the bank he had tried -- unsuccessfully at that -- to rob.
Everything had gone wrong and the why of what he had done, the reasons he had been ultimately forced to try such desperate measures to get money, were not nearly as important as what had happened afterwards, when Seth had at least been able to effect a getaway.
Some getaway it had been, for he ran from the police right into Lydia Rinald's hands. He'd ditched the stolen car he'd been driving several miles from the scene of the crime, not far from the outskirts of Stockton. From there, he'd gone on foot, tired, frightened and desperately alone.
It was then that he'd spied the house, guarded by a high brick wall and iron gates, dense shrubbery, an air of mystery and the supernatural emanating from every brick and cranny. He'd had no choice but to swing the gates back -- miraculously unlocked, he'd thought at the time, though now he was almost sorry he'd been able to get to the house as easily as he had -- and see if he could get some food and shelter.
But before he even had an opportunity to meet Lydia, he'd run smack into Count, the huge and savage Great Dane who patrolled the grounds as well as providing other dubious though interestingly bestial services for his sexually insatiable and dominating mistress.
The harlequin Great Dane had come hurtling out of the shrubbery, its huge dagger -- like canines tipped with flecks of foam, its eyes blazing with maddened delight as if, at long last, his job had meaning and a purpose.
Imagine the look of horror on his face when he'd seen the great savage beast hurtling towards him. Seth had let out a shriek of surprise and fear, trying desperately to hurl himself back over the brick wall.
He'd managed to grab hold of the top, only to discover it was fitted with shards of broken glass set in a cement base. Nevertheless, he'd had no choice but to hang on for dear life, his palms and fingers ripped and bloodied as the dog bounded towards him, growling and yelping with delight.
As prey he couldn't have been more trapped and he'd cried for help when Count had lunged forward, digging his jaws into the seat of his pants and shredding his trousers. It was no laughing matter, no joke in the least.
The dog kept lunging forward, clawing at him, ripping at his trousers until they hung in tatters from his body, his under shorts as well. His naked ass and the backs of his thickest and burly thighs were marked with the scars left by the dog's teeth and claws and he'd wondered then if it just wouldn't be better to give himself up to the police and forget whatever had happened, what he'd done less than an hour before.
But before he could even make up his mind, he heard a woman's high-pitched voice echoing into the air. Instantly, the dog froze and stopped its frenzied assault, growling and hissing while Seth turned his head over his shoulder and called out for help.
"Count, here, come here!" the woman cried out and the dog gave him a last growl, glaring at him with rage before trotting out to his mistress.
"Can I jump down now?" he'd asked, almost innocently and not waiting too long for an answer either, for by this time his hands were nearly useless, bloodied and torn from the needle -- sharp shards of broken glass set across the top of the brick wall.
"You shouldn't have been here in the first place, feller," the woman said, emerging in plain view so that as he got to his feet he stopped short, in absolute awe of her majestic appearance. The thought that immediately came to mind was what a bitch and a half. He tried to remove some of the glass fragments buried in his hands, looking up with a guilty expression his face.
Lydia held onto Count's studded leather collar, keeping him off of Seth. "What business do you have around here? You were lucky he didn't kill you. He's to do that, you know, to all intruders."
"I -- my car got stuck," he lied, something about the woman immediately frightening and yet arousing him at the same time.
She ran her fingers through her thick raven-hued shoulder-length hair and stared at him with obvious and open disdain. "What did you do to your hands? Here, let me take a look at them."
He'd moved slowly towards her, almost as if he was being drawn forward by a magnet. She wore an incredibly arousing outfit, a black suede mini skirt with matching knee-high black leather high-heeled boots, as well as a black suede vest thrown over her cashmere sweater.
Her eyes were made up to resemble a cat's and she'd taken one look at his hands and had led him into the house, situated at the end of the drive he'd seen when he'd first pushed the gates open and walked onto the grounds.
That was how it had started, the very beginning of their relationship together. He'd wondered if he was imagining things, or if the sight of his bloodied hands, plus the gaping wounds on his ass and thighs, were somehow serving to turn her on.
She'd gloated at the marks Count had left upon his body and he'd blushed with a mixture of fear and embarrassment, realizing too late his ass was sticking out, just about totally exposed. She'd used tweezers and then iodine to first remove the glass fragments and then decontaminate the wounds.
"You'll have to take those off so I can put some hydrogen peroxide on," she'd said, motioning offhandedly to his torn slacks. "Or else the cuts may turn septic."
"But ... but I don't have anything else to wear. I mean, the shorts are torn, too," he'd replied. Strangely enough, he realized even then that under any other set of similar circumstances, with any other woman that is, he'd have been more than willing to undress, to display his naked body.
Modesty was certainly the last thing he felt, for Seth took great pains with himself, vanity and self-satisfaction combining in a program of vigorous physical fitness. And, on top of that, he was the kind of young man who, at the age of twenty-six, was just hitting his prime.
And one of the things that was, indeed, prime meat and not even choice, was the long limp length of manflesh which dangled down over his balls, already showing signs of renewed life and vigor. Just looking at Lydia had begun to have the desired effect and, as a result, he was beginning to get physically aroused.
Yet there was still something about her which put him off and he was embarrassed to reveal to her all-consuming and narrowed eyes that he was already well on his way to sporting a full-grown and stiff-standing erection.
And, on top of that, Seth Garrick was a young man who was doubly blessed with what is usually referred to as "big meat." There could be little doubt of his virility, especially when she took a look at his hard and throbbing joystick, his meaty cock a good six inches around and, to match its marvelous full thickness, nearly nine inches long from hairy base to leaking plum-shaped glans.
"So what," she'd said when he blushed and mentioned that he was just about naked. "I suppose you think I haven't seen a man without his clothes on before. What are you, anyway, kiddo? I don't believe your car got stuck for one second. In fact, I just heard a most interesting report on the radio. About how the Fourth City Bank over in Stockton had an aborted holdup, how they're on the lookout for the guy who did it. Age about twenty-five or so. Five foot ten or eleven. Muscular build, black curly hair. Sort of fits you to the letter doesn't it, mister?"
He'd turned and made a move to escape, lunging towards the door. But before he could even reach the doorknob, Count had once again shown his stuff, hurtling himself forward and pulling Seth down to the floor.
"Okay!" he'd cried out. "Just get him off of me and I'll do whatever you want!"
His hands were almost useless, bandaged to allow his wounds to heal. She'd called out her dog and stood over him, tapping the heel of her boot on the tile floor of the kitchen where she had first taken him when they'd entered the house.
"Don't lie there like a perfect asshole, kiddo. I still have those other cuts to attend to," and saying this she'd reached down and dragged him to his feet, her strength amazing him as much as her hot lush body did, for she was more of a woman than he'd ever known before in his entire, life, save for his mother, that is.
He stood there, shaking before her, not understanding his newfound fear. And it was then that her eyes had chanced to glance down towards his crotch. She'd taken one look at the way the front of his tattered slacks were tented out, bulging with the hard and painfully stiff outline of his virile poker, and she'd thrown her head back and rocked back and forth, laughing uproariously.
"What's so fucking' funny?" he'd said, though he was blushing despite himself. "I don't find it a joke, lady. Sure they're looking for me and maybe I should just get my ass in gear and keep moving. You don't look like a very friendly person, after all."
"Tsk, tsk, you poor little bank robber, couldn't even pull off a job when you tried. Boy, you've got a lot to learn and my name isn't Lydia Rinaldo for nothing. You've come to the right woman, all right. Because I'm gonna teach you everything you don't already know. And that's obviously just about everything, right!"
That was how it had started, how he had come to be a virtual prisoner in her house. But the day he'd arrived on the scene he still hadn't figured her out yet. She was a tough cookie all right, but he didn't understand her real temperament, the kind of sado-sexual acts she got off on, the rituals of debasement and degradation, masculine abuse and obedience.
Those kind of things, however, were soon enough quickly revealed to Seth Garrick. And sooner than either he or even Lydia would have ever thought possible. In fact, it was almost midnight of that first day, little in the way of future plans having been discussed, when the beginning of the truth and the exposure of the real Lydia Rinaldo, were made crystal clear and blatantly obvious.
And much to his considerable shock and surprise, at that.
CHAPTER TWO
She'd taken him upstairs from the kitchen and he'd turned his back on her, peeled down the remains of his briefs and trousers and had quickly gotten onto the bed, having a feeling that the last thing he should attempt was anything remotely resembling a sexual advance.
But Lydia made no mention of sexuality, despite the fact that she was able to catch a revealing glimpse of that part of Seth Garrick's anatomy which he had then tried to hide. He'd stretched out on the bed and with a minimum of fuss she'd taken care of the cuts, bruises and abrasions across his buttocks and the backs of his thighs.
Though it was perhaps a most perfect opportunity for the two of them to become better acquainted in far more intimate ways than through the medium of speech and interpersonal communication, she acted strictly professional, playing nurse to his wounded patient.
"You'll find some clothes in the closet, kiddo," she'd said after she'd made sure the wounds were now antiseptic and wouldn't turn infectious. "So take a nap. I have things to attend to, and don't worry about the police. I have no intention of calling the coppers on you. I'll tell you what I have in mind for us later tonight."
"Thanks ... I really appreciate what you're doing," he'd told her.
"Oh really?" she had replied, raising her pencil-thin black eyebrows at him in an expression that later on he would grow to fear and distrust. But at the time, he was too exhausted and pain-ridden to even think straight or take the time to worry about interpreting the hidden meaning of her glance.
She'd left him alone and the minute the door had closed behind him, he'd gotten slowly to his feet, checking out the window and his means of escape, should she decide to double-cross him and call the police.
And once that was taken care of, he moved cautiously to the closet, opened it wide and stared inside with a mixture of surprise and lack of understanding. The closet was filled to the brim with a variety of men's clothes, just about all of them -- so he thought at first glance -- almost designed to fit him perfectly.
They were worn but not exceedingly so and he wondered who had lived here before him and why the guy had not bothered to take his things with him. It was a mystery as far as Seth Gar-rick was concerned. But then, satisfied that so far she had not lied to him, he returned to the bed and sank into a fitful and exhausted sleep, dreaming of nightmarish visitations by the police as well as by a horde of slobbering Great
Danes, all intent upon tearing him limb from limb.
He was alone with himself, as alone as he'd ever been in his life. The only other person he'd ever been able to talk to, the only person who had ever seemed to understand what made him tick, was his younger brother, Jeremy. Now, just about a year younger than Seth, Jeremy was working for an advertising agency in Los Angeles, taking theater courses at night and performing various unheralded roles in little theater productions in the outlying suburban townships.
He hadn't spoken to his kid brother in months, but he thought of him along with his fears, wishing he could explain why he'd attempted the holdup, the fact that everything had begun to close in on him and he'd seen the only means of escape as a form of running away, getting ahold of enough money to last him a year or so while he set out in search of adventures, those and his own self, as well.
He was awakened that night by a knock on the door and instantly he was alert, as if he was indeed a trained and hardened criminal, not a young man who had seen too many detective films and cops and robbers television serials. He'd copied his plan right from a television show, only in the show it hadn't gone sour. In real life, however, it had been a complete and total bust, an absolute and disastrous failure from ill-fated beginning to even more ill-fated and abortive end.
If indeed, it was over, and that was something he still didn't know, especially when the police were on his trail and Lydia was still an unknown quantity, having not yet revealed her plans or the reasons why she had been ultimately so blase and nonchalant, so unconcerned about his sudden appearance on the grounds or the fact that he was now lying naked on the double bed in her guest room.
So when she'd knocked on the door that first evening, he'd become instantly alert. "Yes?" he'd called out.
"Dinner's on the table, unless you're not hungry, mister whoever you are. You still haven't told me your name and the police don't have a lead on you," she'd said from the other side of the door.
"I'll be down in a minute. I just have to throw on some clothes," he replied, feeling a little stiff as he slid his legs over the side of the bed and heard the click of her high heels moving from the door.
" That was one of the first things he'd noticed, the fact that she wore high heels at home, and not even ordinary heels at that. The heels on her boots had been at least five inches long, if not longer and his curiosity got the best of him as he quickly pulled on the first thing he could find, a pair of old faded jeans and a cotton polo shirt.
They don't know my name because I'm not a hardened criminal," he had said when he'd gotten downstairs and found her already seated in the dinning room, eating her meal and not waiting for him to join her. "Sorry I'm late," he mumbled, almost feeling as if he was at home with his mother, years before, forced to apoligize for coming to the supper table late.
"I didn't think so. You don't seem bright enough," she'd snickered with a mouthful of roast beef. "Those clothes fit you perfectly I see."
"Whose are they?" he'd asked, innocently enough.
"None of your business, mister nameless. Just be glad you have a place to stay," she replied, silencing him quickly and effectively.
"My name is Seth," he'd told her then, wanting to start things off on the right track.
"Seth was the third son of Adam, according to the Bible."
"Yes, I know. My mother used to tell me that, especially when I didn't behave myself," he'd laughed, wolfing down his food and realizing that he was hungrier than he'd even thought.
"Well, my dear Seth, you're not going to be misbehaving any longer, not if I have anything to say about it, not when you're freeloading in my house, either."
He should have gotten the hint then, but he didn't pick up on it. She was virtually silent during the rest of the meal and quite naturally it seemed, once he was finished he got to his feet and stacked the dinner plates, taking them into the kitchen to wash.
After all, he was freeloading, though he hoped he'd be able to make up for it by doing odd jobs around the house. He had a feeling she wasn't going to kick him out so soon and the longer he laid low until the heat was off, the safer he felt he'd ultimately be as a result of keeping out of public view.
It was around midnight, however, when things became totally clear to him, even if he didn't understand their real meaning, the psy-cho-sexual motivations behind them. He'd tried to draw her out of herself, to make conversation, but she'd refused to speak much, preferring the movie she was watching on TV to any fitful attempts he made at communication.
It was only when he'd gotten to his feet, deciding that the best thing to do was go upstairs and get some sleep, when she'd emerged from her veil of silence. "And just where the fuck do you think you're going?" she'd suddenly announced, causing him to stop dead in his tracks.
"Upstairs, to go to sleep," he'd said, unable to cope with his mounting fears, the rapidly emerging sense that he was more of a prisoner in Lydia Rinaldo's house than if he'd been locked up behind bars, charged with attempted robbery, a common criminal.
"Not so fast you're not, Sethie boy," she'd laughed. "You have some chores to take care of, to earn your keep around here. You'd like to stay around awhile, wouldn't you? At least until the cops start to give up on you, isn't that correct, boy?"
He winced when she called him boy, but of course said nothing to refute her snide little jibe. "Well, yes, I would. If it's okay with you, of course."
"Sure it's okay with me. But I think it's time certain things became apparent, that's all. You are, after all, wanted by the police. And since I'm allowing you to stay under my roof, technically and no doubt actually, I am now just as guilty as you are, since I'm giving shelter and being an accomplice to a wanted man. Therefore, Mr. Seth third son of Adam, get the fuck over here and get down on your knees. My boots may have been made for walking, as the song states, but they've become rather dusty as a result."
Her little speech, each word enunciated clearly and precisely, had the combined effect of frightening and arousing him. There seemed to be an incredible amount of power and authority behind her voice and he'd found himself moving awkwardly towards her, almost shuffling and, if he'd had a tail, it most certainly would have now been between his legs in an attitude of submission and obedience.
He got down in front of her, resting on his knees and the backs of his legs. His eyes roamed over her body and though she was still wearing the same outfit she'd had on when she'd found him in the clutches of Count, her Great Dane and devoted servant, he still couldn't stop gaping.
"Well, what the fuck are you waiting for? I said my boots are dusty, boy. Start polishing them and make sure you do a good job of it, too," she'd gone on, tapping her fingers impatiently on the arm of her chair.
"I ... I don't see a cloth, or a shoe brush," he muttered, hating himself for blushing, but unable to prevent it from happening, either.
"Of course you don't, boy. Because you're going to use your tongue on my boots. After all, saliva is so much better for good leather than any other preparation. Or didn't you know that? No, I guess not. No doubt you've never been called upon before to lick a lady's boots. Well, now's the time when you're going to start," she'd gone on, lording it over him as he knelt before her.
"Hey, I mean ... let's be reasonable. That's ... that's absurd," he'd said, hoping she was merely joking around with him.
"Absurd did you say!" she'd yelled with anger. "How dare you say anything I do is absurd, you little piece of trash! You'll do what I say in this house and like it, unless you want to take your chances with the cops. Because if you don't start licking these boots, little man, I won't hesitate to call the police, so get that straight, once and for all!"
He didn't doubt the sincerity of her words after that.
With his cheeks stinging from her verbal abuse, a blush of anxiety and self-disgust suffusing his face, Seth had lowered his head and had extended his tongue. He thrust it out from between his lips and began to lick and slobber across the upper surface of each gleaming patent leather boot.
They were adorned with stiletto heels, tightly laced up the front so that each boot fit her leg revealingly, snug arid tapering, highlighting and accenting the splendid proportions of her calves. Her mini skirt slowly rose up around her thighs and he was pleased to see that she wasn't wearing stockings.
He glanced up at the revealing expanse of creamy-white thigh flesh and even though he hated himself for doing this, for putting up with what he saw as her malicious and kinky ways, he was nevertheless becoming rapidly aroused by the sight and close proximity of her body.
Seth could even feel the heat of her leg permeating the leather boot and his tongue skidded up and down across each instep, licking off the dust which covered her boots. She said nothing for a minute or so and then pushed him back with a sharp kick of her foot.
He gasped as the blow sent him flying backwards until he had landed painfully on his can. "Did ... did I do anything wrong, Lydia?" he'd whispered, realizing how increasingly frightened as well as aroused he was fast becoming.
"Everything," she'd said. "You're too slow boy, so get it through that thick skull of yours that when the lady says lick, she means it, not dainty little motions, boy. Now just sit there and wait while I attend to something. And don't move, either!"
He hadn't, despite himself. He was still kneeling there by her chair when, a minute or two later she returned to the living room. And what an awe-inspiring entrance she made, he remembered later. He'd looked up at her, determined to control his temper, knowing that he shouldn't bite the hand that was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, feeding him and safeguarding him from the police, no matter how painfully self-debasing he felt as a result of obeying her orders.
But when he'd looked up at her, he no longer cared half as much about licking her boots as he had a few minutes earlier. For now she had shed her cashmere sweater and though she still sported the black swede cowgirl vest, it was opened wide, rubbing up against her body and allowing him to see what he'd only ogled the outlines of before.
For her breasts were all but naked, just the nipples hidden from sight, half of each wide ruby-red areolae revealed, as well as the expanse of white and winsome tit-flesh. Her rounded boobs bounced hotly before his wide and staring eyes, buoyed up by their own firm resilience, proportioned according to the classic concepts of feminine beauty.
She snickered when she caught him ogling her jugs, returned to her chair and once again tapped her heels impatiently. He'd gulped loudly, unable to tear his eyes away so that when he'd lowered his head once again, he'd stared up at her tits, wishing he had the nerve to reach out and fondle them, stroke them and devour them with his lips and tongue.
Perhaps soon, soon she'll let me, he'd thought to himself, his tongue slurping quickly and heatedly across every inch of her boots. He wanted to prove himself to her, sensing that she would never be satisfied with him nor would she ever allow him to take liberties with her person, unless he demonstrated his willingness to obey and follow her orders, no matter how abusive or degrading he felt them to be.
Thus, he concentrated upon doing a good job. And when she ordered him to suck on each five-inch spiked-heel as if he was sucking on a cock, Seth hadn't hesitated to do the job, all eyes to her hot lush melons as he lifted one of her boots and held it lovingly in his hands, his mouth opened wide so that he was able to stuff the length of heel right between his lips.
The dirt encrusted on them made him gag, but it was far too late for him to stop. Never before had he done this kind of thing, had he taken orders from a woman, especially such disgusting orders as these. But it ultimately seemed worth it if he'd be allowed to have sex with her.
He hoped that would be the case, unless of course she had removed her sweater only to tease him, to turn him on and then leave him panting and horny while she went off on her merry and malicious way.
He hoped things would turn out more positively and believe it or not -- and he could hardly believe it, either -- the more he licked and slobbered over her boots, sucking each heel sparkling clean in turn, the more he got into what he was doing, actually getting off on the strong taste of the patent leather.
She snickered all the while, watching him with narrowed and staring eyes, delighted with the way things were progressing. He was making a good start, about as good a start in fact as she could ever hope for, and she couldn't have been more delighted or turned on by his willingness to obey her orders, even orders as loathsome as these.
"Not a bad first job, little man," she'd complimented him, a rare compliment, at that. "Just keep going, a little higher now. The tops are still filthy, boy."
Obediently he'd raised his head, extending his tongue up along the crisscrossing black rawhide laces, chewing them slightly and then licking with long lapping strokes of his wide raspy-edged tongue. He could feel her trembling, her leg moving gently against his face and he smiled to himself, sensing that she was pleased.
And if Lydia was pleased, he felt that soon he'd be pleased, as well. He licked with outward devotion, still not happy with his odious chore, but realizing it was certainly a helluva lot better than being penned up behind bars, forced to walk back and forth like an animal in a cage.
His tongue scaled the heights of her boots and she made no move to stop him. So he took the liberty of licking up along the flat bony cap of her knee, concentrating on one leg at a time. It was then that she'd made the first of what was destined to be many many moves of a similarly punishing kind.
Without so much as a word of warning, not fending him off as he slid his tongue up along her white and supple thigh, she reached out and grabbed a hank of his thick curly black hair, yanking his scalp to such a painful degree that he was forced to cry out and try to pull free of her abusive clutches.
"Who gave you permission to touch the goods, boy?" she'd giggled then, delighted with the pain he was obviously feeling. She held onto his hair securely, refusing to let him move out of her grasp.
"Please, don't, come on, Lydia, don't do this to me," he'd whined, feeling more like a little boy than a man. And that, needless to say, was the emotion she wished to draw out of him, to bring out into the open.
Clucking her tongue scornfully and sarcastically, she'd finally flung him away from her, rising haughtily and imperiously to her feet. "You must learn one thing, Seth my boy, and that is to never never touch the lady until she asks you to. Now follow me, boy. It's getting late and you'll have more than enough to do around here tomorrow morning."
He'd followed her like a docile and obedient puppy, out of the living room and up the stairs to the second floor of the house. Then, keeping behind her, led on by the alluring and jutting swell of her luscious and succulent looking behind, he'd followed her right into her bedroom.
It was a perfect reflection of her tastes, a room of black and red, stark and almost foreboding. And commanding the entire room was a magnificent modern chrome bed with four high square chrome posts that rose up at each end, as well as adjoining chrome bars linking each square post to the other. The whole gave the effect of a steel skeleton, a canopy bed without the overhanging cloth covering.
He stood by the opened door, afraid of making a move unless she gave him permission. Although he was yet to come to grips with what was happening, there could be no doubt of his sexual excitement, the fact that he was more turned on to her than ever before. She knew it too, for one glance at the front of his skintight dungarees told her everything she needed to know.
Now, she was ready to put into action the plans she had made for the evening, the plans which centered about Seth's initiation into the strange world of bondage and discipline, the world of savage sexual conquest and female domination.
Turning to face him, she smiled nastily and slipped out of her vest, letting it drop to the floor. Her lush naked jugs stared him in the eye and his mouth dropped open at the tasty sight. Each ruby-red nipple stood taut and firm, at rigid attention. They were tingling with the anticipation of the pleasures soon to come and he held himself steady and unmoving, almost afraid to blink lest she see that as a form of insubordination, motion that had not been granted permission.
"Tell me, Seth," she'd announced then, her hands on her hips and her ripe melons swaying gently and excitingly from side to side, "what would you most like to do, right now, right this very minute?"
He'd hesitated for only an instant. And then he'd said, "Fuck you. I'd like to take you to bed, Lydia."
"Oh really?" and she'd giggled uproariously as if the very notion was absurdity personified. "But you're not half the man I need, dearie. You probably wouldn't know anything about what to do to turn me on. Unless of course ... why certainly," although she'd known it all along and was now merely playing with his ego and his masculinity. "You can ball me, little man, but only after I've taught you one of my favorite little games."
"Which is?" he'd asked, still somewhat naive and innocent of her highly treacherous and untrustworthy nature.
"Monkey bars," she'd snickered, pointing to the open-sided chrome bed. "Ever swing from monkey bars when you were a kid? These are designed to support a pay-load of two hundred and fifty pounds and I daresay, you weigh considerably less than that. Are you up for it, boy? Or are you chicken?"
"Not a chance," he told her, cocky once again, despite the fact that he had no idea of what her little "game" entailed.
But that, needless to say, would soon enough be explained.
She went over to her dresser, opened the bottom drawer and pulled out what at first glance appeared to be a set of iron rings. Then, not saying a word to him, she pulled over a chair and climbed up on the wooden seat, opening the rings and attaching them to the top bar by the foot of the bed.
Once this was accomplished, she moved over to him and took hold of one of his hands. He flinched when she opened another iron ring and slid it like handcuffs around one wrist and then the other, clicking them shut. "Now get up on that chair, open them up again and attach them to the other rings. I'll tell you what to do after that, little man."
Although he was growing more and more suspicious of this game, as she insisted upon calling it, he was nevertheless more interested in balling her than anything else. And if he had to perform in a kinky manner as he had done when he'd licked her boots, well, he was willing to go through with it, thinking that the ends justified the means, so to speak.
So it was with a mixture of sexual excitement and inchoate fear that he got up on the chair, opening the iron rings and clicking them shut around the rings on the chrome bar, linking one to the other. He held onto the square post and looked down at her as she suddenly laughed uproariously and kicked the chair away so that he was swinging, his feet no longer having support or something beneath them.
He gripped the iron bar and swung back and forth as if was on a high-wire or a trapeze, glancing down at her as he moved like a pendulum on a grandfather clock. "Is this all there is to it?" he'd asked, still naive and innocent of her true plans.
"Almost, Seth dear, almost," she'd assured him, moving back to her dresser and retrieving something else, something he couldn't see until she put it to good use.
With swiftness and self-assurance, she suddenly grabbed hold of one of his feet and lashed a length of stout hemp rope around his ankle, pulling his leg apart, spread-eagling it and then tying the free end of rope to the base of one of the posts at the foot of the bed.
"Hey, what's the big idea!" he'd yelled, trying unsuccessfully to kick himself free. He was afraid of attempting to undo the iron rings lest he lose his balance completely and hurtle to the floor.
And before he had a chance to figure out a means of escape, she succeeded in spread-eagling his other thigh, once again tying the rope around his ankle and then connecting it securely to the bedpost. When she was finished there was absolutely rib way for him to escape unless he undid the iron rings and lost his balance completely.
As it was he was somewhat afraid of heights and he was at least eight feet, if not more, off the floor. His legs tied and pinioned securely, iron rings around his wrists and thence attached to the rings she had clicked into place over the upright steel post, Lydia now got ready to begin in earnest.
This was, after all, only the start, as poor Seth Garrick was almost immediately going to learn ... if he hadn't figured it out already.
CHAPTER THREE
Rather than whipping the clothes off of him, she decided not to waste the time. Rather, despite his protests, she didn't hesitate to move towards him with impunity. She got up on the bed and holding her tongue, began to remove his clothes.
He froze and stopped shaking against the chrome posts, feeling the way he was quickly growing exhausted. His muscles were being pulled taut and painfully so, for his arms were raised up above his head. And, what was more, his legs were thrust so far apart it was almost as if he had been forced to do a split in midair.
"Don't, come on, let me down. I'll ... I'll lick your boots some more," he pleaded.
"Isn't that adorability personified. The little man wants to lick Lydia's boots," she said sarcastically. "Now if that isn't the cutest thing I've heard all day." And without saying anything else she rapidly un-snapped his jeans, unzipped the fly and pulled them down as far as she could.
When she realized that because his legs were spread-eagled she'd never be able to get his jeans off completely and likewise his polo shirt, Lydia didn't hesitate to climb down off the bed and hunt up a pair of shears. He continued to plead with her, but when he realized she wasn't paying him any attention and that, if anything, his plaintive moans only served to incite her all the more, he bit down on his lower lip and he too held his tongue, realizing that silence would serve him better than verbosity.
She came back and used the scissors with dexterity, though he winced as she cut through the faded denim of his jeans, fearing that her hand would slip and he could be circumcised beyond use or recognition.
But she was quite adept at frightening him without even touching his body and with a series of expertly applied snips, the jeans fell off of his body. He hadn't bothered with underpants and she was secretly delighted to find herself staring at the remains of his hard-on, for when she'd tied his legs up he'd begun to lose his stiff and steely erection.
Nevertheless, even half-erect, his cock was still more than just impressive, draped over his heavy hairy nuts and twitching gently from side to side. She eyed it critically, neither complimenting nor insulting his obvious well-hung state.
Next came the polo shirt and this was much easier to remove as she slit it up the front and back and peeled it off of him as one would remove the skin on a piece of fruit. When she was finished he was stark and utterly naked and
Seth glanced down at her, more alarmed than ever, just as frightened as he'd been when the holdup had failed and he'd been forced to run and escape the police.
For now, his vulnerability was etched upon his skin and his birthday suit was prickled with goose bumps. He didn't for one minute think that she was playing a joke on him, for her little game had turned as sour as the stick-up and in both cases, he had somehow come out on the losing end.
"Not a bad body, kiddo," she snickered, reaching out and flicking her hand across his meat.
He trembled but said nothing, knowing that any lack of respect on his part would be treated harshly, punishment obviously being Lydia Rinaldo's special forte. But even then he didn't expect her to go to such drastic -- in his eyes, not her's of course -- lengths as she did a minute later.
Returning to the dresser, that treasure-trove of instruments of pain and pleasure -- her pleasure, certainly not Seth Garrick's -- she found what she had had in mind ever since she'd gotten him to lick her boots. Now, she didn't hesitate to pull them out of the drawer and when he turned his head over his shoulder to see what she was up to, a look of acute anxiety came into his eyes.
"Ever see these little beauties before, dearie? A doctor friend of mine got ahold of them for me, in case you're interested. They're used when someone has to handle radioactive material behind a shield, sort of like robot arm-extensions, only I've modified them somewhat, as you can see," she explained, waving the steel apparatus before his wide and frightened eyes.
They were, indeed, like robot arms, except that at the end of each prosthetic arm he was able to see two sets of crab-like pincers, each of them gleaming and razor-sharp. "What... what are you going to do with them?" he stammered.
"Play with you, of course," she snickered and moved back onto the bed. But before she put them to use, and she used them before needless to say, she decided to make herself more comfortable and get him fully aroused, at the same time.
Accordingly, she slipped her thumbs underneath the waistband of her mini skirt and pulled it off of her. But instead of being stark-naked save for her knee-high boots, Seth found himself ogling two new things at the same time.
The skirt was tossed over the side of the bed and she leaned against the head of the bed and let him devour her all but naked body with his wide and staring and certainly appreciative eyes. For even in the midst of his mounting and undeniable fear, he could not stop looking at her, more turned on than ever.
She sported a waistlet of black patent leather, fitted with tight crisscrossing rawhide laces as were the boots, and paneled with whalebone struts so that her waist was tight and narrow, yet her hips flared out, dramatic and voluptuous, all at the same time.
But, even more than this weird and yet tantalizing leather corselet, Seth Garrick was finally and for the first time since he'd met Lydia Rinaldo, able to see her cunt in all its hot naked glory. It was as raven-hued as the hair which she tossed back over her shoulders, a thick wiry crop as dark and abundant as his own pubic bush.
But that was where any similarities ended. After that she was all woman and he ogled her box with wide and excited eyes, drooling with delight as he saw the way the outer folds of meat which bordered her gaping split trembled and fluttered like two thick ragged-edged pink butterfly wings.
The abundant growth of pubic fur was glistening with droplets of her cunt juice, for even then the walls of her muff were palpitating, sending down hot musky rivulets of sap which oozed out of her gaping and dilated split.
He stared like a man possessed, realizing that at this moment he'd do anything for her, just as long as he could fuck the shit out of her afterwards. But then, satisfied now that his cock had once again assumed its full rigid proportions, Lydia picked up the two prosthetic devices she had put down on top of the red velvet bedspread.
Now that his cock was fully hard, arching nearly straight up along his lean flat stomach, she was ready to continue the game she had planned all evening. She moved closer, holding onto the two robot arms tightly, her fingers adept at working the controls so that he began to tremble and shudder involuntarily as she made the sharp razor-honed pincers open and shut, menacing and alarming him as never before.
"Look at the little crab, dearie," she giggled hotly, aroused as he was, but not yet ready to ball in conventional ways, not now at least. She had to turn herself on even more, had to inflame her passions to the boiling point and the one way she knew that always succeeded lay right before her, the path of punishment, abuse and bondage.
She intended to discipline him as he had never been disciplined before. And if Seth had any lingering doubts that she was playing a game with him, they were abruptly forgotten the instant she pushed the prosthetic arms flush against his muscular chest and began to tighten the razor-sharp pincers around each of his taut and pale-brown nipples.
"Oh no, no don't, don't, I beg of you!" he groaned, his cry of woe ending in a horrifying shriek of hellish pain as she dug the metal claws into his sensitive mammaries, nipping and pinching them as if she was digging razor blades into his skin.
"Does it tickle, robber boy?" she smirked, loving the way fresh hot droplets of bright red blood now began to ooze down from his wounded mammary glands, dribbling down along his chest, over his flat stomach and bypassing his cock to trickle down the front of each hairy and thick-set thigh.
"No more, please, I can't, can't take it," he stammered, the pain about as blinding and severe as anything he had ever endured in his entire life. Yet, through it all, and she didn't stop so quickly, his cock continued to remain staunchly upright, turgid with lusty delight. It was all he could do to remain from fainting and he stared at her naked muff as if the sight of it was the only way for him to deal with the agonizing pain of her hellish torture devices.
She didn't care, one way or the other.
Finally, she opened the claws of each metal arm and then slid them teasingly down along his chest, moving closer and closer to his hairy crotch. He froze and held his body as stiffly as possible, though by this time his arms were numb, the muscles contracted so tightly and his fingers gripping the overhead post so firmly that his hands seemed glued to the bar.
"You're... you're not gonna..." he started to say as she continued to laugh, shuddering with glee and waving the pincers around his upright and throbbing cock.
She moved them so close that he felt any false motion and he'd be mortally wounded. But Lydia had no intention of damaging the goods, that one specific part of him at least which she knew how to use for her own advantage and her own insatiable sexual pleasures and desires. But she enjoyed tormenting him nearly as much as actually abusing his body and so she kept circling his pulsating cunt-rammer again and again, snapping the pincers until he was shaking like a leaf, his body glistening with a thin liquid sheen of cold sweat.
So this is what I've let myself in for, he'd thought at the time. It was one hell or another. Either the police or Lydia and he had a hard time deciding which was the better of the two. But at the same time, he certainly was in no position to stop her from tormenting him and so he bit down on his lower lip and tried to hold his cries of fear back, sensing that the more he moaned, the more pleased she would become.
The game began to bore her, for by now her cunt was on fire, twitching and shuddering and demanding to be satisfied. Thus it was that she tossed the pincers onto the floor and managed with some difficulty to unlock the iron rings from his wrists. He held on, afraid to let go lest he topple backwards and snap his spine in two.
But when she untied one of his legs, he jumped forward and she slid out of the way as he landed with a thud on top of the bed, secured now by only one ankle. She decided to leave the rope on for the time being, warning him not to untie it. Had Seth been a hardened criminal instead of an ordinary young man whose personal unhappiness and need for escape had driven him to such desperate lengths as robbing a bank, he probably would have murdered Lydia long before, when he'd first arrived on the scene.
But that, needless to say, was not his style.
He accepted her orders, wondering how long he would be able to endure her constant abuse, for it seemed things were growing more difficult to handle and more insidious with each passing second and each fresh torturing revelation.
Licking her boots had been child's play compared to the pincers and blood still flowed from the gaping wounds she had made all around the perimeter of his nipples. She twisted him over onto his back then and hurriedly got into position, wanting to feel his cock surging in and out of her box more than anything else, at least for the time being.
There was more abuse to come, of course, but now the needs of her body were more important. Lydia prayed that she would come before he had a chance to shoot off his load. For that, she knew, was yet another way of showing her disdain for his very manhood, his virility as it were.
Thus it was that she didn't hesitate to straddle him, sitting lightly on the tops of his thighs, her lush hairy love nest poised inches away from his throbbing and jutting boner. Reaching out with one hand, she grabbed hold of the hairy base of his cock. Her touch made him nearly delirious, for after the pain he'd endured, the slightest bit of pleasure seemed like ecstasy incarnate.
He tried to get the blood flowing into his arms again while, at the same time, he hunched his hips forward as she stared down at his crotch with narrowed slit-like eyes. Holding onto his cock securely, Lydia now rubbed the leaking plum-shaped head of his massive arm of man-flesh back and forth across her soaking wet cunt furrow.
He moaned with pleasure as his cock head tickled the fat blubbery outer lips of her hairy cooze. And then, taking him by surprise, she raised her plump rounded ass off of his thighs and plunged down, impaling herself on his meaty rod. It was with a scream of pleasure and no longer pain that accompanied the sudden downward motion.
He watched and felt her cunt consuming his dick, sucking it right up into the depths of her succulent and overheated trench. Even as he panted and kept thrusting his hips forward, she was concentrating on what she was doing, ignoring him and ramming her pubis down as more and more of his penis slid into the tight dripping wet depths of her horny snatch.
She could feel his meaty shaft scraping and rubbing briskly along her cunt walls, stretching them wider than usual and giving her pleasure such as she had been denied ever since her last young man -- whose clothes Seth had seen in the closet -- had left her.
"Don't make a fucking move, you little fairy," she hissed, plunging down like a bucking bronco, snorting so that her nostrils flared wide as if she was a dragon. But all the animal allusions which came to his mind were far less important than the frenzied savage jungle pleasure he was feeling at that moment.
No matter what might be, before or even after, he knew he would never forget this moment, this sense of total lust, complete and undeniable bliss. To feel his cock now buried all the way up to the hairy root, a dense thicket of jet-black wiry pubes surrounding their crotches, was what life was all about.
It was for this he had robbed, having been without sexual satisfaction for longer than he even could accept or deal with on a personal level. But now, it seemed to him as if he was making up for it in spades.
He held himself as steadily as he could while she began to swivel from side to side, corkscrewing her hips so that the friction of her vaginal walls against the rounded overheated sides of his slick throbbing cock were too good to be true. She pushed up and down, her ass cheeks bouncing along his thighs, moaning and crying out with maddened sexual delight.
But as if this was still not enough for her, and it most certainly was not, she didn't hesitate to stretch one of her booted feet out, pushing the slim sharp heel right towards his mouth. "Open up and suck it like you'd like to suck a big fat black cock, boy," she snickered nastily, pushing the heel of her boot flush against his lips.
By this time, he was so turned on, so consumed by pleasure, that he didn't hesitate to continue obeying her, no matter how depraved and debasing her orders happened to be. He didn't want Lydia to stop what she was doing and so he opened his mouth and accepted the heel as she rammed it right between his parched and thirsty lips.
He sucked it right down his throat and she didn't hesitate to ram it all the way in so that the sole of her boot was flat against his lips and chin. His tongue moved almost on its own accord and all this time she was bouncing up and down, riding his cock as if it was a pogo stick.
"Yeah, that's it, little man," Lydia groaned, savoring the way Seth Garrick's marvellously thick and meaty rod was darting and plunging in and out, scraping along her fibrillating vaginal walls and giving her the kind of wanton sa-do-sexual ecstasy her body seemed to crave like an addictive drug.
And now that she had succeeded in getting from him what she wanted, the first signs of his burgeoning respect and willingness to be slavishly devoted and obedient to her every word, her every whim, she didn't think twice about lifting her other booted foot.
The patent leather gleamed in the soft light of her bedroom, polished and shining from the tonguing job he had done on it downstairs in the living room. But even Seth, filled with raw lusty excitement, didn't expect the degree of torturing excess she now began to put him through.
For even as she jerked up and down, shoving her hips forward, eating his cock alive and then rising up to expose its slick cunt-juice smeared surface before plunging down again, even as he sucked on the slim stiletto heel of her boot, she now rammed the other heel right against one of his eyes.
Fortunately, he managed to shut the lid an instant before the rubber tip of the heel made contact. She pushed forward with just about all of her might and he screamed with wild blinding pain. His eyeball seemed on the very verge of being crushed like an eggshell and he tried to twist his head out of the path of the wicked and spikelike heel.
"God no, stop it, you're blinding me!" he screamed out, raising one hand and violently shoving her boot aside.
She was not one to take such impertinence sitting down.
But the best way to show her true colors and her sense of anger and livid rage, was to come before he did, to deny him the warm sucking grip of her hot and juicy muff. Accordingly, she held her tongue, spite being one of the tools of her trade.
I should have tied his fucking hands behind his back, that's what. Then he never would have been able to stop me, she thought to herself. But it was too late to do that now and so she quickened her motions, lunging forward, rising and falling and bouncing down over his massive and burning penis.
He was almost there, almost about to spew out the long pent-up load of semen that was now churning like butter in his heaving balls. But before Seth even had a chance to enjoy the mindless ecstasy of his release, Lydia suddenly came like gang-busters, screaming out with maniacal excitement as her orgasm descended upon her like a tidal wave.
The flood of crashing eddying ripples of delight seared her very being and coursed through her loins. A hot gush of musky sap drenched his buried pole and she shuddered as if she was having an attack, convulsing against him.
His cock was completely hidden from sight and he could feel her wiry pubic hairs scratching the insides of his thighs as well as his groin. She used her boot to push him down on the bed, not allowing him the pleasure of moving, of responding just as heatedly and joining her in her release.
And as he lay there, trying to push upwards, the muscles braided and contracting around his crotch, she suddenly and just as quickly as she had come, slid off of him, lifting her box up so that his cock was left homeless, deprived of the warm searing and clinging embrace of her luscious and juicy quim.
"Too bad you didn't come when I did, sucker," she snickered as he gave her a pained look.
She pulled the heel of her boot out of his mouth, reached down with one hand and took hold of his heavy furry scrotal sac. Before Seth could do anything to stop her, she'd managed to grip his balls right around the top of his scrotum. She squeezed them as if she was putting his nuts in a vise and he howled with horrifying pain.
But her only response was to laugh uproariously at his considerable discomfort, that and to push one of his balls up into its inguinal canal. She held it there, shoving his testicle up into the canal from which it had first descended.
The pain made his eyes bug out and he twisted violently, groaning and doubling up, unable to catch his breath nor endure the pain which was as ferocious as if she had kicked him in the balls. Finally, still laughing and relishing his considerable discomfort, she released the testicle and he lay back, his cock starting to go limp as a result of the physical agony he had been forced to endure.
"Well, I've had enough of you for one night, boy," she told him then, untying his leg from the bedpost and moving over to push him over the side of the bed.
He caught himself just in time and shakily got to his feet, his cock now a long limp juice-smeared sausage which hung down forlornly, draped like an ornament over his pain-racked testicles. "Well?" she said with annoyance. "Get your ass in gear, boy. I want my privacy. After all, you're just a hired stud and I've had my fill of you for one evening."
Something told him not to say a word, to collect his clothes -- useless now that she had used the scissors on them to first remove them from his body -- and depart without a comment. He closed the door behind him and still filled with both the memory as well as the reality of the pain she had forced him to endure, crept silently to his room.
His cell, as he saw it then.
Outside, the police were no doubt still looking for him, hunting him down, prowling through the darkness. But here, in the seclusion and privacy of Lydia Rinaldo's house, he knew he might just as easily have been in another prison. A prison without bars, but a prison nevertheless.
And perhaps, he thought to himself that night, I'm worse off than if they'd have caught me and locked me up in jail.
It was to be a recurring theme in his subconscious, for from that night on he began to have nightmares such as he had never suffered from before.
CHAPTER FOUR
Three weeks later things had gone from bad to worse.
He thought of all that he had already endured as he got dressed and hurried downstairs to prepare Lydia her breakfast, to feed the Great Dane and begin attending to the day's work. Since the day he had arrived at her house, he had not had any communication or contact with the outside world.
Only via newspapers, the radio and television, had he been able to keep up with events. And for the past week there had been no mention of the attempted holdup of the Stockton bank. Yet he was still dubious, wondering if this was merely a trap, a means of luring him out into the open.
After having gone through living hell for three weeks, he was more determined than ever to escape the police. If not, then all that he had suffered at Lydia Rinaldo's hands would have been endured in vain. He might just as well have gone to the police straightaways.
Thus is was that he was not about to give up so easily, not after he had already learned much through Lydia's daily tutelage. She was as adept at instructing him in the lore of bondage and discipline as she was in putting her unique and debasing theories into actual torturous practice.
He had learned his place, or eighty per cent of his place, in the three weeks he had lived under her roof, a virtual prisoner, forced to endure her punishing practices lest she contact the police. Now, as he quickly scrambled up some eggs and made toast, he looked vacantly out of the kitchen window to the metaphor of what he saw as the waste of his complete and total life -- the brick wall which stretched clear around the property.
This was Seth's cage and without the help of an outsider, he sensed that the longer he stayed here, the more he was forced to endure in the way of mud-slinging verbal abuse and ball-bust-ing physical abuse, the more difficult it would be to ultimately make the break and depart. That is if she ever allowed him to leave. And that, needless to say, was something he thought more and more about as the days passed one into the other.
"Is it ready yet, pig?" she called out from the living room where she sat in regal splendor, reading the morning paper and enjoying the way she was always being waited upon and served as if she was a queen.
But in Lydia's demented eyes she was royalty, deserving of such attentions, especially from a man as well-hung and outwardly virile as young Seth Garrick. She sensed that somewhere along the way something had happened to him, something he still was unable to deal with.
For she was certain that most other men would not have put up with the constantly demeaning and cruel treatment she made him suffer through. But then again, most men wouldn't have tried to hold up a bank, either. And since she held all the cards, she was quite confident that he would give her less difficulty with each passing day.
The more she taught him, the more she put him down, brining out what she felt were his basically latent masochistic and self-debasing tendencies, the easier he would become to completely tame and control, just as she had ultimately done with her dog, Count.
Now, she put down her paper and strode imperiously into the kitchen, standing by the doorway with her hands on her hips and a smug and conceited expression on her face. Seth heard the ever-ominous click of her high heels and hastened to put the dish of scrambled eggs and toast down on the kitchen table, setting out a bowl of canned dog food for Count.
The Great Dane had been watching him since he'd first entered the kitchen, almost as if the dog acted like warden and prison guard, overseer and constant canine observer of his every move, his every action. He couldn't put down a fork on the table without undergoing Count's silent and Degrading approval and he had learned to hate the dog almost as much as he hated and despised its owner, Lydia Rinaldo.
She took her place at the table, silently pleased and delighted that he had remembered not to set a place for himself. "Servants and lackies, of which you fit both categories admirably," she had told him two weeks before, "were not meant... nor are they fit company, to join their master at the table. You'll eat only when I'm finished, is that clear?"
Needless to say, he'd been forced to accept her decisions.
But now, as he stood off by the sink and watched her devouring her breakfast as avidly as Count gobbled down his dog food, he was forced to endure an additional slap in the face. "How many times have I told you that those clothes are not to be worn unless I expressly give you permission?" she said, eyeing him with a cool and detached look in her eyes.
"But ... but it's getting cold out. And you haven't turned on the furnace downstairs yet," he replied.
"Oh, so now you've decided to answer me back, is that it?" she hissed, making a move to get to her feet.
"I'll ... I'll go upstairs and take them off," he stammered, not about to get into a hassle so early in the morning.
"You're damn right you'll change ... and put on what I told you to wear, little man. It's perfectly suited for a whining puking little baby, of which you are, needless to say."
And so it was that just as she finished her breakfast, Seth came back downstairs, his bare feet padding across the floorboards as he moved back into the kitchen. He was blushing, hating himself for doing this, for obeying her and tormenting himself in the process.
Now, she looked up and grinned trium-phantly, pleased that once again she had gotten her way. For instead of wearing the jeans and polo he had had on earlier, he now wore nothing other than an oversized white cotton diaper with large safety pins holding it up around his waist.
"Now, that looks much better. It suits you, you know that, Garrick," she snickered. "After all, we wouldn't want you to go peepee all over the nice clean kitchen floor, especially since you waxed it yesterday. Even Count is house-broken."
"Yes, whatever you say," he mumbled.
But when he moved back to the counter by the sink to eat his breakfast, she jumped to her feet and snatched the plate from his shaking hands. "I've just thought of a new game to play with you, little man," she announced with obvious delight, taking the plate back to the table. "And where's the collar I gave you? You mean to say that when I give you a present you spurn it, you disgusting little chimp!"
"I'm .. . I'm sorry. I forgot. It hursts me when I sleep, so I took it off," he explained.
"Well, go put it back on, boy!"
Once again he trotted like an obedient retainer, back upstairs to his bedroom. There, cursing Under his breath, he stood before the dresser mirror and tried not to look at his all but naked body, the demeaning diaper in particular, as he fitted the studded leather collar she had given him around his thick, bull neck.
It was, he knew, another symbol of his respect and docility, his position that was beneath her, lowly and debased. When he returned to the kitchen his stomach was growling, but she ordered him to get down in front of her and beg for his breakfast. Count crowded over him, whining for table scraps so that more than half of his scrambled eggs ended up in the Great Dane's stomach and not his own.
"Now," she said, wiping her hands over his chest as if he was nothing more than a dishrag, "wasn't that a real fun game, little man? I thought it was most amusing, more amusing and enjoyable. And Count enjoyed it too, didn't you tiger?"
The dog moved to her and put its great jowly face in her lap. She stroked his head, cooing to it like a mother lulling a baby to sleep. Seth burned with rage, but he knew better than to say anything, for arguing with her was a useless occupation, one which would be swiftly dealt with.
She watched him washing the breakfast dishes and then drying them with a clean towel.
For a few minutes he was almost at peace, content to serve as her humiliated domestic, so long as actual physical pain wasn't on the menu.
But that was where he went wrong that morning, for pain was always uppermost in her thoughts, causing him pain that is, not herself or anyone else, for that matter. And as she watched his sturdy young body moving back and forth before her eyes, putting the dishes away and cleaning off the table and the kitchen counters, her eyes lit up as she thought of a new and novel -- for him, not her -- exercise in masculine debasement and sadistic humiliation.
"Seth, dearie, you and I are going to have some more fun this morning, some very interesting fun, at that," she announced when he had finished cleaning up the kitchen.
At the mention of the word fun his eyes took on a wounded cloudy look, for he had heard her announce her little games in the past and already knew what to expect. Her idea of fun was to put him through as much hell as he could take, but when she announced her little plan to "help pass the time of day," as she called it, he just stood there, open-mouthed and filled with disbelief.
"Don't look so surprised, dear. Why do you think I keep a dog around? Not only is Count a good watchdog, but I've taught him quite a number of tricks. And if you're worried, I assure you he's quite healthy. The vet checked him out just last month. And you bathed him the other day, didn't you? So he isn't particularly dirty."
"I ... I won't go through with it," he stammered, more flustered than ever. It seemed to him that what Lydia had just described was far worse than any of the humiliating and torturing punishments she had already subjected him to in these past three weeks of living death and anguish.
"Oh, is that so?" and she raised her eyebrows, cool and collected and determined, as always, to have her way with him.
"Yes," he whispered, hanging his head down with fear.
He remained in the kitchen while she turned on her heel. Without giving him the benefit of another word, she strode angrily from the kitchen while a silent Count stood over him. The degree of communication between Lydia and the Great Dane had often amazed him, for even now the dog seemed to sense what was happening. When Seth made a move to leave the kitchen, Count sprang forward, growling viciously and barring his way so that he could not leave.
It was a rare case of the dog which bit the hand that fed him, for even though it was Seth who had filled the dog's bowl with food every morning for the past three weeks, Count acted just as scornful and overbearing as his mistress.
So it was that Seth was forced to wait in the kitchen while he cocked his head to one side and heard Lydia storming up the stairs. He waited, counted off the seconds, wondering if he could get to the phone before she came down.
He had decided, right then and there, what he had to do. But as there was no extension phone in the kitchen and the Great Dane was not about to allow him to leave, he had to shelve the idea, at least for the time being. He'd wanted to place a long-distance call to his brother.
What he would say was something he hadn't figured out yet, but Seth had reached the point of no return and he was beside himself, completely and totally desperate. And, what was more, what Lydia had just proposed he do made his flesh crawl.
Yet all of his conflicting thoughts did him little good, for a few minutes later the sadistic and imperious dominatrice once again stood by the threshold, flaunting her body before his wide and although frightened, nevertheless always appreciative eyes.
If she had been ugly and physically unappealing, he knew things would have been entirely different. He would never have obeyed her for as long as he'd already done. But her beauty, her sex appeal, compounded of elements of cruelty as well as lust, combined to make him weak before her.
And this morning was no exception. "I call it my Seth-seducer," she quipped," letting him stare, even though his look was one she found both disrespectful as well as fawning.
But he meant no disrespect, in awe of her as she stood by the doorway. She had changed from her peignoir and leather cunt and nipple halter into an even more shocking and bizarre costume, one he hadn't seen her wear before.
If anything, the one thing she'd totally succeeded in doing to him since he'd arrived was to bring out his taste for leatherware. Seth's nose wrinkled up like a rabbit's, and he was easily able to inhale the pungent odor of her leather garment, the rawhide mingling with the musky scent that always permeated her body, even after she had just stepped out of a shower and he was there to dry her off like an attendant of Cleopatra.
Now, his eyes took in every detail, from the strangely exotic antique Victorian boots which reached up right past her ankles, fitted with dagger and rakish high heels, pointy toes and criss-crossing laces, to the pair of side mesh black stockings through which her supple creamy-white thighs emerged in shocking and delicious contrast.
The stockings were garterless, held up by a ring of elastic around each top. And then he studied with silent deference the black leather garment she sported for his delectation, scanty and so skin-tight it hugged her and seemed to caress her flesh with unseen fingers.
It was, he decided, almost like a one-piece leather bathing suit. But whereas such a suit is designed for modesty, Lydia's costume was specifically designed to expose and tantalize. Instead of concealing her treasured private parts, it revealed them and, in fact, accented and delineated them explicitly.
Panels had been cut so that her breasts emerged from their surrounding leather cover, ringed by a border of gleaming metal studs. Each nipple stood at firm attention, looking as if she had darkened them with coral lipstick, they were so prominently hued and so completely noticeable.
And, further more, instead of the V-shaped depression that would have been all a bathing suit would have allowed a man to see of her cunt, the leather garment was cut away so that once again her cunt was just as exposed as her jugs. It too was accented by a border of sparkling and almost jewel-like metal studs, faceted bits whose sides caught the light and almost made her box appear dazzling and incandescent.
He was gaping when she moved closer, revealing what she had been holding behind her back. He'd seen that before, even if he hadn't seen her "Seth-seducer." It was a "Seth-scalder," he recalled her saying once before, a vicious cat-o'-nine-tails with a bite like a panther, not like a purring kitten in the least.
She gripped the braided rawhide handle tightly, menacing him with the cat. The nine separate lengths of rough cowhide had, he recalled her telling him, been soaked for over a week in a strong salt solution. As a result, they were both extra-stiff and extra-lethal, for when the whip cut into his flesh, it would leave behind far more than just a bloodied souvenir of pain.
The salt would get into the gaping wounds made by the cat and he remembered -- for she'd used just this very weapon on him several times before -- the burning hellish pain, pain that lingered long after the leather had scored its searing lacerating mark upon his body.
Her heels clicked out a jungle rhythm, tapping against the tile floor with rising impatience. "Now then, my dear," she said "Have you decided to play my game with me? Or am I going to be forced to make you submit to the rules of this establishment? It's your choice, actually. See how fair and democratic a woman I am, Sethie my little spineless faggot friend."
"I ... I ..." he stammered, thinking at the same time, I have no choice. Even if I tried to knock her unconscious, the dog would get at me first. And then she'd have the police on my tail anyway, so what would be the use of it all?
The latter was an open-ended question, one without any conceivable answer or solution. But what made it worse was that she had known what his answer would be, all along. Now, he was forced to nod his head, to listen to her snide little laughter as she told him to remove the diaper pinned up around his crotch.
He undid the pins and folded it neatly over a chair, standing there nude and vulnerable. The very notion of what would soon be taking place made him gag, but when she told him to get down on his hands and knees, he was quick to obey, lest the cat sing out its stinging song.
The moment he was down on his hands and knees, she pushed Count toward him. The dog had done this numerous times in the past, though not with Seth and now the animal moved around, wagging his tail in Seth Gar-rick's face.
"Well chump, get to work. The puppy doesn't like to be kept waiting, just like his mistress," and saying this she moved behind him, raised the cat-o'-nine-tails in the air and brought it down against his naked and defenseless buttocks with a loud and searing thwack.
Her jerked towards Count, moaning with pain and making haste to do what she had already told him. That was, to put it in least disgusting terminology, to suck the dog's cock and eat out Count's asshole, in whatever order he chose.
Depravity may have been one thing, but this bestial linkage was disgusting to him as nothing else he'd already been forced to endure at her hands. "Come on, boy!" she snorted, laughing with glee as she took aim once again and didn't hesitate to use the cat to its best advantages.
All nine thongs of leather came down with a great rush of air, slicing across his trembling and naked buns. Her jerked forward, his balls swaying fearfully, for they too were in the line of fire and he prayed not one of the nine separate leather lashes would make contact with his sensitive scrotal sac.
He gagged at the smell of the dog's ass, for Count had defecated right before breakfast. And so it was that he found himself burying down between the animal's back legs, using one hand to jerk Count off. He rubbed his fingers back and forth along the bony hairy sheath which still concealed the dog's long pencil-like red pecker.
But Count responded almost instantaneously and the pointy tip of his bony dog-cock slowly but surely emerged out of its hairy and protective sheath. "I said to suck him off, not jerk him off!" yelled Lydia, not content until he was tasting Count's seed. She howled with amusement and as if to punctuate her laughter, took aim and brought the vicious and searing whip down across his ass, scoring a fresh series of long jagged red welts.
The pain mounted as steadily as his self-disgust and he felt himself on the verge of throwing up as he now licked the naked and glistening head of the dog's cock. Count pulled abruptly away then, spun around with an almost human moan and raised its forepaws up to Seth's shoulders. He began to pump at the air, aiming blindly at Garrick's twisted and cringing mouth.
"Suck him baby, suck him real good," warned Lydia.
He opened his mouth wide and the dog stabbed his naked and exposed length of meat right down his throat. It had a gamy and repugnant taste to it, the slippery secretions which covered the dog's bony tool making him choke with sheer revulsion.
But what was even worse was the whip, forever stinging and branding his nether globes. She increased the tempo of her strokes, scoring one hot searing mark on his wiggling rump after another. His ass was suffused with red, scored with long jagged and puckered weals of pain and anguish.
But she loved every second of it and her cunt began to juice up even as she heard Seth gagging as he took in the entire length of Count's penis. The dog continued to hump forward, stabbing and thrusting his meat down Seth's throat with blind animal excitement.
Seth's mouth had become the cunt of a bitch in heat and the dog took full advantage of it. He closed his eyes then and tried not to think of what was happening. That, however, was just about impossible to do, for even as he did what she had ordered him to, Lydia continued to revile him both with words as weli as with the whip.
The tip of one leather lash hit across his swaying balls and he jerked forward, screaming out with pain and falling flat on his face. Count growled angrily as his cock slid out into the open. "So you can't take it, is that it, boy?"
sneered Lydia, feeling the way her box had grown quickly feverish and demanding to be serviced.
He didn't answer, gasping for breath, knowing then that he just couldn't handle it anymore. But before he could say or do another thing, he felt her grabbing hold of his hair and yanking his scalp as a means of hauling him around to his knees.
He gasped for breath and an instant later was rewarded with the sight, smell and feel of her hairy trench. She just couldn't stop herself any longer and she slammed her muff over his mouth and thrust her hips back and forth.
Immediately, he gave it his all, willing to eat her out for hours on end. If this was punishment, Seth knew he could take as much of it as Lydia was willing to dish out. But what she was dishing out now was cunt juice, hot gushes of her abundant sap streaming down along the fluttering and overheated walls of her lusty trench.
He sucked down her vaginal nectar, cleansing his mouth of the taste of the Great Dane's penile secretions. The heavy and almost cloying aroma of Lydia Rinaldo's musky twat assailed his senses and he inhaled as deeply and avidly as he sucked her pussy, loving the spicy and pungent aroma of her luscious and juicy quim.
"That's it, boy, you're finally learning what it takes to turn a woman on," she moaned, savoring the feel of his long hot tongue as he lashed it in and out of her vaginal furrow. And then his hands came up to splay back each thick ragged-edged cunt flap, twin reddened rooster combs he peeled back and held as securely as he could, thus exposing her pulpy vulva and the succulent pea-shaped morsel that was her hot and wiggling clitoris.
He slammed his mouth over her clit, sucked in his cheeks and licked and tongued the juicy bud of erectile tissues as more and more cunt juice streamed down the walls of her snatch. She continued to thrust her hips back and forth, but even as he kept eating her out, Seth Garrick was suddenly and frighteningly aware of something else.
For Lydia had signalled to the dog and now Count didn't hesitate, as sexually maddenned as his mistress. Accordingly, he suddenly jumped upon the crouching body of Seth Garrick, clawing at his back and shoulders as he stabbed blindly, aiming the hard long thin length of his bony prick right between the cheeks of Seth's bruised and battered ass.
"Yeah, that's it, boy, do a good job on him, too, one he won't ever forget!" Lydia cried out, the sodomizing and bestial scene inflaming her jaded appetites and making her more aroused than ever.
Seth tried to pull away the instant he felt something hard and slimy, slippery as well, striking right between his trembling buttocks. But Lydia grabbed hold of his shoulders and held him down in front of her.
"You're not goin' anywhere, little man. The doggie here is gonna fuck you up the ass, just like you did when you were in school, kiddo," she snickered, her sense of loathing for him as heated as her own physical desires.
She gripped his collarbones and pressed her thumbs down in the hollows between his neck and shoulders, hitting each pressure point on either side. The pain of it made his head spin and he was dizzy and nauseous as Count continued to hump forward, trying to pierce and ultimately penetrate his fundament.
And even though Seth tried to keep his hole tightly clenched and thus unassailable and inviolate, his sphincter muscles contracting forcefully, the dog's bony penis proved to be an equal match. For once Count had figured out the location of his asshole -- for no one was guiding the animal to the promised land -- he didn't hesitate to keep at it, growing wildly excited with each successive thrusts of his canine body.
Lydia watched with wide and staring eyes and she knew, even if she couldn't see it exactly, the instant when the dog's cock began to make contact. For at that hellish moment, Seth screamed out and jerked forward, unable to pull free.
Count shoved up against his trembling and wounded buns and the head of his penis pushed apart the tight burning sphincter ring and began to move right into his dry and defenseless rectum. It felt almost as if he was being finger-fucked and though Seth knew that that particular act, in conjunction with others that is, could prove quite pleasurable, what was happening now bore little similarity to having his prostate tickled and massaged by a pistoning finger.
"Stop him! Do something, but stop him!" he groaned, his wild cry of mercy muffled as his mouth was covered with her hairy twat and he was forced to continue eating out Lydia until she came.
So there was no way to prevent Count from using his asshole for his own bestial physical needs. The dog's front paws clawed at his back, wounding him sorely and, on top of that, he now had to endure the way more and more of the Great Dane's long pencil of a cock was sliding deeper and deeper into the depths of his tight and burning rectum.
It was almost unendurable and he froze, trying to relax his sphincter muscles to alleviate some of his growing discomfort. His sight was filled with pussy, raw naked cunt which oozed musky oily droplets of sap.
Lydia was growling almost as loudly and excitedly as her pet and she strummed her hips back and forth, corkscrewing her body up against Garrick's tonguing lips and mouth. "Soon boy, soon, real soon, little man," she promised, not mentioning what the dog was doing, only referring to her own imminently approaching climax.
Nevertheless, now that he was once again in a position which afforded no escape, Seth worked on her cunt and performed with every last ounce of strength in his feverish and pain-racked body. He sucked and licked, chewed on her clit, captured it and curled his long raspy-edged tongue around it to give her as much sexual and physical pleasure as he was capable of bestowing.
She appreciated it, certainly, but of course made no attempt to compliment him or thank him for his efforts. She continued to push her thumbs into the pressure points near his collarbones and then picked up the cat and used its hard wood and leather handle to beat down across his trembling shoulders.
She was getting closer, so close in fact that there was no holding back any longer. A loud piercing shriek of ecstasy rose up in the air, drowning out the dog's loud barking grunts of animalistic pleasure. "Yes, now, now, you pig, you fucking stupid little cocksucking bastard!" groaned Lydia as she began to come with wild-eyed delight.
In front of him, a veritable gush of cunt juice sprayed out, drenching his lips and dribbling down his face and chin. And behind him, his anus was still suffering the maddened and lusty assault of Count's penis as the dog jerked back and forth, pumping his meat in and out of the tight clinging depths of Seth Garrick's wounded and tortured asshole.
The pain of being beaten with the handle of the cat felt tame in comparison with being sodomized by the Great Dane. Finally, when she had drained herself of every last rippling wave of orgasmic pleasure, Lydia stepped back and moved around, pushing him down until he was forced to brace himself with his palms flat on the kitchen floor.
In this degrading position, the dog now was able to really get into his asshole and Lydia straddled his back and pulled his wounded and blistery buns wide apart, watching the way the dog's cock slid in and out, surrounding the black and pitted hairy folds of Seth's manly and now decidedly abused bottom-hole.
"What a perfect fit... like a glove, dear boy, just like a glove. Who would have ever thunk it?" she giggled, overjoyed that he was being so debased, so put to shame.
This was her passion, her grand and sweeping delight, the one overbearing emotion that she was capable of feeling. To take a man and mold him, to twist a member of the opposite sex into a mere semblance of his former self, was what her entire life was built upon. And Seth was like clay in her powerful and relentless hands, clay she would sculpt into a cringing sniveling version of a man defeated both by her as well as by his own self-disgust and inner sense of self-hatred and unending despair.
Why this was so was something she fully understood but now had little if any reason to deal with. Seth was certainly in no position to ask her why she had become a dominatrice, a woman whose entire life centered upon brutally putting down men and using them for her own sadistic excesses.
And now, as she pulled his buns painfully apart, she was content to watch until Count had finished what he had been given a chance to start.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lydia did not have the pleasure of seeing Seth throwing up moments after she and Count had left him alone in the kitchen, there to bear up to his misery and sense of mounting self-disgust. He was reacting exactly the way she wanted him to and had she been able to see him puking, the sight would have delighted her to no end, additional proof of his inability to deal with the life he was now being subjected to.
Dog-come still oozed down out of his sore and burning anus, trickling down along the insides of his thighs. Lydia was off on a romp with the dog and the last thing she suspected was that as soon as he had cleared his head and washed the taste of vomit out of his mouth, Seth would grab the telephone as if he was holding onto the very staff of life itself.
He didn't even bother to shower and clean himself off, not about to lose this precious opportunity, for it was rare that she left him alone, left him to his domestic chores, the cleaning and sweeping, the dusting and polishing that filled a good part of each waking day.
Now, he got long distance information and found out the telephone number of the advertising agency which employed his younger brother, twenty-five-year-old Jeremy Garrick. He kept glancing nervously out the French windows, unable to see her and hoping and praying she wouldn't come back to the house and surprise him in the midst of his hurried and frantic conversation.
But at last, hours later it seemed to him at the time, he was able to get through. Jeremy's initially pleased reaction to hear from his brother was quickly dampened when Seth hurriedly filled him in on the details surrounding the events of the last three weeks.
"I can't explain everything. She might come back any second. But you've got to get here, Jeremy. It's either you or the police. I... I can't take much more. It's getting too much for me. Please, you've got to come, you must!"
Jeremy needed little more convincing.
Hurriedly, he gave his brother instructions as to the location of Lydia's house, hoping he had gotten them across correctly. But he gave her name just in case Jeremy got lost and couldn't find the house where his brother said he was trapped, a prisoner caught in the hellish grip of a woman he likened to a monster, to medusa or Medea who murdered her children in a jealous rage.
By the time he got off the phone he was suffering from a fit of chills and his body was covered with cold sweat. He bounded up the stairs two at a time and headed for the bathroom. But though he stood under the spray of the stinging hot shower for as long as he dared, he was unable to wash away either his fears or his growing sense of acute and agonizing despair.
It seemed to him then that things were not going to ever get better, but that they would only continue to get worse, so bad in fact that one day, sooner than he liked to believe, either he'd suffer from a complete and total nervous breakdown or else she'd see to it that he never had a chance to be the person he'd ultimately tried to escape from in the first place.
It was that person, that inner self which had goaded him into attempting the holdup, to whom Seth now longed to return to as if to a long lost friend. For he knew then that no matter how unhappy and miserable with his life he had felt three weeks before, it was absolutely paradise in comparison to what had happened to him since.
At least she won't get the phone bill until after I'm gone, he thought to himself, trying to cheer his head up as he put on the diaper again and went back downstairs to finish cleaning up the house as well as preparing lunch.
That night, as if Lydia had not forced him to endure more than enough for one day, the nightmare continued where it had seemingly left off that morning. He'd done his work well and the house was spotless.
He'd even cooked a dinner that had surprised him, for it had only been since arriving at Lydia
Rinaldo's house that he'd really been forced to learn how to prepare meals properly. When he lived alone, more often than not pizza or a hamburger sufficed, but this evening he had laid out a veritable feast, a gourmet banquet the purpose of which he hoped would quiet her down somewhat so that he would end up having a relatively un-hassled and un-painful evening.
But even though he'd busted his ass cooking and cleaning all day for her, gratitude was the last thing she intended to show him. Not that she was that blase that she didn't realize the trouble he had gone through to prepare dinner, but it was this very slavishness on his part which seemed to trigger a fresh burst of venomous excitement.
Now that she was beginning to feel that he was putty in her hands, incapable of either disrespect or insubordination, it gave her all the more pleasure to abuse him. And that, needless to say, was exactly what she went about doing, methodically and almost scientifically, at that.
She had in her possession a most clinical and remarkable little gadget, one she had designed herself, though after she had assembled it she'd read somewhere that similar devices had been used by the Japanese to torture prisoners during the last world war.
But even if it was not totally original, it still served its purposes well. And so it was that after she had eaten her full, she got up from the table and left the dining room without a word leaving him there in Count's company and good keeping.
Upstairs, she primped before her vanity table, her appearance as important as the activities she had already planned for the evening. Diverting though they would be for her, they would be torturing for Seth Garrick.
And had she known of the phone call he had made late that morning, she would not have hesitated to be even more wanton in her display of dominating cruelty and sadistic cunning. But she was ignorant of the call Seth had made to his brother and now, she stood back before her cheval mirror and studied her reflection in the glass, completely and totally pleased with herself and her scintillating and dramatic appearance.
For now she sported what perhaps can best be described as a leather-lover's version of an evening gown. It was a floor-length black pigskin sheath, slit revealingly up along both thighs, the bodice connected to the skirt of the leather gown by means of one oversized and highly polished chrome buckle.
The gown was long-sleeved as well, each sleeve fitted with wide flaring wristlets, gaunt-leted cuffs that accented her long slim fingers and polished nails. The low-cut neckline was trimmed with long lengths of leather fringe, such as are more often seen on Indian costumes.
And at the end of each fringe was a chrome stud so that when she moved there emanated from her body a dull clinking and almost bell-like sound, though far more ominous and scarifying. The gauntlets too were edged with similar chrome bolts and long dangling leather fringes hung down from each sleeve, giving the dress almost an Oriental effect.
To complement the leather gown she wore a narrow black velvet collar around her neck from which dangled a solid gold miniature punishment paddle, an article of jewelry a former admirer had designed and then executed for her several Christmases before. The paddle was a fitting symbol, a gold metaphor of her life and she wore it whenever she felt particularly rakish and wanton.
Her feet were buoyed up nearly seven inches in unadorned but quite respectable high-heeled pumps and she shook her hair over her shoulders and smiled with delight, pleased with the daring and awesome affect her appearance would soon have on Seth Garrick.
Then, armed with the device she had chosen to inflict torture such as he was yet to imagine or even experience at her hands, she went back downstairs and gathered up rope and a large metal pan which she found in the garage.
He saw her moving through the house and stopped short, staring with wide and utterly entranced eyes. But when she ordered him to follow her downstairs to the basement, fear returned and he shuddered with dread, wondering
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what she had planned for him.
"Make yourself comfortable, darling," she said with calculating off-handedness, motioning to a folding bridge chair stacked against one of the concrete basement walls. He pulled it open and sat down, shivering and wishing she'd turn on the boiler, for it was getting cold, particularly at night and he was only wearing the cotton diaper and nothing else.
But as soon as he had seated himself, she was upon him like a horde of screaming vixen, laughing and reviling him as she lashed the rope securely around his body, pinning him down to the chair. He knew it was useless to fight back and the only thought that kept him going was the promise he had exacted from his brother, the fact that tomorrow or the next day, Jeremy would be coming to free him from Lydia Rinaldo's insidious clutches.
Yet even Seth, as accustomed as he was to her sadistic temperament and her flare for devising bizarre and hellish torments which he and he alone was forced to endure, was nevertheless shocked and stricken with terror when she made her new plans clear.
Once she had pinned his arms behind his back, tying rope around his chest, his thighs and his calves so that his ankles were roped to each leg of the chair and his body was immobilized, she filled the bucket she'd brought with her with icy cold water and set his feet in it, acting cool and nonchalant all the while.
"What ... what are you going to do?" he asked, his voice cracking with fear.
She merely laughed and unpinned the diaper, pulling it off of him so that now he was stark and completely naked, his cock once again in a position of vulnerability, unable to be protected now that his hands were tied tightly and securely behind l^s back.
"Why, Seth dear," she told him then. "I'm going to try to electrocute you, that's all, sweetheart."
"You're insane. You'll never get away with murder. My ..." and he stopped himself, just in time.
"Your what, darling?" she said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "And who said anything about murder? I'm merely going to give you electro-shock therapy, that's all, since it's quite obvious that a man who allows a Great Dane to fuck him up the ass has to have something the matter with him. So let's pretend that I'm your doctor and you're my crazy patient."
He looked at her with sheer and unmitigated loathing, but before he could even reply to her insidious remarks, she brought forth the object she had never used on him before. At first, he couldn't tell what it was.
It had a stout rubber handle which she now gripped tightly, as well as two curved metal rods which were less than an eighth of an inch apart. A long extension cord was attached to the handle and he followed its torturous path until he saw how she had plugged it into a socket at the other end of the basement.
Then, moving right in front of him, eying him with considerable sadistic delight, she didn't hesitate to make good her threats. She knew the voltage level and from past use and past experience, knew just about how much a man could take before he'd black out.
Now, switching the insidious instrument into the on position, she allowed him a moment of silent shuddering horror. He saw a spark dancing from one wire tip to the other, anode to cathode as it were, a sharp miniature flash of lightning that made his teeth chatter as if he was stuck out in a snow storm.
But the pain he would feel would not be composed of coldness and frigidity, despite the fact that his feet were turning blue, immersed in the chilling icy water she had poured into the foot bath. Now, she laughed with pleasure and lunged towards him. The chair tipped back and forth as he instinctively jerked away and tried to protect himself.
But it was once again a useless and pointless gesture.
"You can't go anywhere, Sethie dear," she reminded him, loving the sight of his firm muscular body tied and bound before her, totally impotent. And likewise his cock, hanging shriveled and limp over his balls, as if it was purposely assuming the smallest possible dimensions.
But small or not, and she knew how it looked when it was fully erect, she nevertheless was able to slowly and torturously extend her arm, taunting him as the buzzing electrodes with their hellish spark of electrical pain edged closer and closer to his genitals.
"Please, please you mustn't, no, God no!" he suddenly shrieked.
But his cry of pain and mortal anguish came too late. She was deaf to his plaintive emasculated entreaties and without waiting any longer, the game about to be put into action, she pressed the buzzing electrodes down against the limp wrinkled head of his circumcised cock.
A pain such as Seth had never dreamed of made him groan and gurgle with wild alarm. His flesh felt as if it was being burned and his glans, so richly endowed with nerve endings and blood vessels, for it was a most highly sensitive and tactile part of his body, responded accordingly, almost screaming out as he trembled and felt the current of electricity moving through his body, making the hairs on his head and chest and thighs stand up as if with fright.
She pulled back the sparkling hissing instrument of terror an instant later. He slumped back in the chair, shuddering and twitching as the electric current flowed out of his body. It reminded him of when he was a boy, having accidentally plugged in a lamp while holding onto the ends of the naked plug.
He'd shocked himself then, barely able to let go and now it seemed as if it was happening all over again, only ten times as bad. Only his eyes registered his inner defiance and he tried to get a grip on himself, even as she giggled and made a snakelike jabbing motion, pressing the sparkling armatures down against his balls.
He could almost smell flesh burning and his eyeballs rolled up as loud gurgles of impotent terror escaped his lips. There was no way of dealing with her, no way of preventing this from taking place. He was frozen to the chair, groaning and shaking as she kept the electrodes flush against his sensitive and tortured scrotal sac.
And when she pulled them back, and not a second too late at that, for he was on the verge of losing consciousness, he slumped down in the chair, closed his eyes and gasped for breath. His thoughts seemed as murky and confused as if he was indeed undergoing electro-shock therapy. Except that in the latter the patient is already unconscious right after the first jolt.
"Now, don't you feel saner already?" Lydia asked him then, rather pleased with the way things were working out, the way he was reacting to her insidious and almost scientific torture methods. And as if she was still not totally satisfied, though her pleasure was making her body burn with the first telltale traces of sexual arousal, she took perverse delight in pulling his face up and slowly and agonizingly moving towards him, the crackling electrical hiss ringing deafeningly in his ears.
The electrodes were an inch from his chest, right between his paps and then they touched his flesh again and this time she made an error in judgment, keeping them in place a few seconds too long. As a result, he at least had the mercy of oblivion, screaming and then sliding down in the chair, limp and unconscious.
"The poor dear," she said aloud, switching off the device and clucking her tongue almost maternally at the same time. His head hung down over his chest and she saw how she had singed his torso, a small but revealing burn mark visible where the electrodes had pressed down against his chest.
But just because Seth Garrick was now unconscious didn't mean that Lydia intended to put an end to her grotesque and demeaning torture. Not in the least, for after putting down the "Seth-shocker," as she now decided to term it, she made ready for the next phase of her sadistic operation.
"Seth-shocker," she said aloud with a laugh. "Like having a lisp and trying to say sex-shocker. How clever of me, how dreadfully amusing I usually can be." Her ego was buoyed up by her success, but the fact that in the past three weeks displays of defiance and disagreement had been few and far between.
She knew that if he'd wanted to, he could have stopped her from roping him to the chair. But there was always the threat of calling the police which hung over his head as ominously as a whip flashing snakelike before his wide and frightened eyes.
Psychological emasculation went hand in hand with actual physical torture and debasement. And Lydia Rinaldo was a taskmaster of the old school, adept at getting her way, teaching young men such as Seth Garrick the rudiments and then the subtleties of bondage and its sister art, discipline.
B & D, she thought to herself as she now began to untie the ropes from his shackled and still unconscious body. She had it all worked out in her mind and now she went about her business with methodical efficiency, anxious to finish up the job before he awakened from his shocked and muddled "sleep."
She was pleased that the wooden chair was so constructed that there was a wide opening, a space between the actual seat and the slatted backrest. For now she pushed and shoved his unconscious body so that his head and neck stuck out through the opening, his shoulders wedged so tightly between the back slats and the slatted seat.
In this position there was no other place for his ass to go but up and it stuck out in a most revealing and vulnerable way, exactly how she had pictured it in her mind. The chair, however, had a tendency to topple now that the weight was concentrated not on the seat and the chair's center of gravity, but somewhere between the back and midair.
As a result, she was forced to tie additional lengths of rope to each leg, tying these in turn to the overhead pipes so that when she was finished, the bridge chair was suitably stabilized and no amount of rocking or jarring could topple it, either free of its moorings or onto the floor.
Next, she tied more stout hemp rope around his neck and the studded dog collar so that when he jerked his head up he would come close to strangling himself. She took hold of limp heavy arms and pulled them behind his back, tying his wrists tightly together.
Last but not least, she secured his ankles and calves to the legs of the chair, coiling more rope which she had soaked in the icy water all around his chest. As it dried it would become even tighter, constricting his body most painfully in the process.
Once this was accomplished, and with no small amount of effort either, for he was heavier than she was, dead-weight now that he was still unconscious, she stepped back to catch her breath and admire her handiwork.
Perfect, she thought to herself, knowing that even if he did try to escape, if it reached the point where he was ready and willing to let her call the police rather than endure any more of her torturing regimen, he still would be unable to escape or remove himself from the insidious and intricately unknotted bonds which virtually immobilized, imprisoned and nearly paralyzed him, as well.
The sight of his rounded naked ass, each dimpled buttock firm and resilient, the muscle tone reminding her of a ripe apple just ready to be gnawed, made her tremble with rising and frantic sexual fervor. She had begun to sweat as a result of hauling and pulling his naked body this way and that in order to secure it to the bridge chair.
Thus, sweat shone across her forehead and the top of her lip. But, even more than its overt signs, perspiration coated her skin with a thin liquid sheen. And it was this natural moisture which now caused her to tremble even more hotly, for her sweaty flesh was now rubbing and frictioning with delicious tactile pleasure, back and forth against the supple inner surface of her pigskin sheath dress.
The leather seemed to caress her as nylons swish and caress a woman's calves and thighs. She swayed back and forth, rocking on her long tapering high heels, savoring the feel of the leather against her skin.
She could even smell the way her sweat and the tanned leather mingled together, merging into an elusive and highly arousing natural perfume. It was an aroma she had smelled before, an attar composed of the very craft in which she excelled, disciplining men such as Seth Garrick to accept her way and her will with uncompromising belief.
She ran her hands up and down her flanks, shuddering and feeling the way cunt juice was slowly but surely oozing out from between the thick puffy and tingling outer lips of her cooze. It ran down, all hot and oily, over the front of her hairy snatch and between her pussy and the leather dress a kind of sparkling electricity could be felt, for she had no panties on, nothing to prevent her body from coming in actual physical contact with the leather garment.
She pressed the palm of one hand down across the front of her skintight outfit, rubbing her hand briskly and frictioning her cunt flaps against the leather. And the more she did this, the more aroused she became.
The swaying rawhide fringes that hung down from her dress and each tapering long sleeve, rustled and moved hotly, almost signalling the intensely erotic ripples of pleasure which were beginning to flow through her body.
Soon, Lydia knew for certain, she would be quickly engulfed by figurative flames of smoldering passion, ignited by the tortures she had already subjected Seth to, by the tortures which she was not about to continue.
Any second he would awaken and she made haste to complete her plans before he was able to see her putting them into action. Methodical in every way, from her personal life to her sadistic instructions, Lydia had laid out everything she might need in advance.
And so it was that she found the paint and brushes right where she had put them late that same afternoon. Laughing to herself, one part of her psyche genuinely amused and the other part genuinely incensed, she began to enact her fantasies, just as she had dreamed them.
In fact, it had all come to her in a dream less than a week before, though it had taken nearly seven days to get everything ready. And now the moment was at hand and she stepped back, held up her thumb the way she had always imagined artists doing when they got ready to paint a picture, perhaps even their masterpiece.
This, she decided, would not be her masterpiece, for she knew that she still had years ahead of her in which to perfect her art to a peak of perfection. But it would be one of the highlights of her dominating career, nevertheless.
And so it was that when he groaned and sluggishly tried to move his body, Seth not only discovered the awkward, painful and highly uncomfortable position he had been placed in, but he also discovered with even more horror and disbelief that at that very moment Lydia was busily engaged in painting.
Painting on him that is. Painting a target, a bright black and red bull's-eye, the center of which figured right over his naked and trembling asshole!
CHAPTER SIX
"You needn't look so surprised, little man" she chortled when she realized he was awake, staring at her as best he could. It was just about impossible for Seth to turn his head over his shoulder as a result of the way the ropes had been secured to the studded dog collar and the slats of the chair back
But he still was able to see her out of the corner of his eye. She was almost done, putting on the last finishing touches to her own special and unique form of body-painting. Concentric rings had been painted over his ass, from the small of his back to the bottom edge of his buns, right where they merged into the backs of his thickset and muscular thighs.
She had alternated the colors, first a red ring and then a black until she'd gotten down to the bull's-eye, right over his bottom-hole. It was black with wiry pubic hair to begin with, the perianal folds a brown, pitted and now clenched tightly and inviolably together when he had realized what was happening.
But she'd still dabbed some black paint over the slit-like aperture that was his virginal asshole, an asshole that had already been assaulted in genuine dog-fashion, not only attacked from the rear, but attacked by a dog, in addition.
But other than that, and the bout of bestial sodomy had left its traumatic scars imprinted deep within his psyche, she was yet to really take his anal virginity. Many women, even those as adept as she was in the lore of the lash and the tenets of torture, usually commenced their instructive and debasing sessions with an introduction to anal abuse.
Lydia, however, had waited three weeks. For other than Count's heated and penetrating rape, other than having occasionally punctured his sphincter ring and his anal defenses with a well-aimed and sharply-nailjabbing finger, she had not yet used anything else on his bottom-hole.
But this evening all that was going to change, and frighteningly so, at that. Dramatic was the way she saw it, but for Seth Garrick, merely watching her completing the job of painting the black and red target on his ass, was enough to scare the shit out of him, figuratively speaking, of course.
Had it come to that, had he actually found himself unable to prevent himself from defecating right then and there, he knew her punishment would have been meted out swiftly and mercilessly. But though his fear was such that he felt his bowels churning, he clenched his anal muscles as tightly as he could, both to stop himself from crapping out of sheer and unmitigated terror, as well as to stop her from abusing his asshole in ways he was yet to imagine or completely figure out.
She still hadn't brought out her piece de resistance.
But the moment she was finished, the oil paint glistening over the trembling rounded surface of his tightly clenched and dimpled buns, she strode nonchalantly across the concrete basement floor, ignoring his loud imprecations, his moans and beseechments.
The more he whined, the more he begged for mercy, the more turned on and thus the more determined Lydia became. His words of anguish aroused her passions to the boiling point and almost unconsciously she once again rubbed her trembling fingers across the V-shaped depression made by her hairy and meaty mons veneris.
Her cunt was burning, tingling and itching, smarting as more and more musky sap drooled down the fluttering walls of her overheated vagina. It will be taken care of, rest assured, she told herself, knowing as she did that everything must come in its proper and perhaps even rightful order.
And the order of the night was torture first, tonguing second and tool third. This unspoken schedule of events was now about to be enacted, as if she was calling a meeting to order. Domi-natrices arise, present your weapons and attack! she thought to herself with a wicked and savage grin, her lips curling back to expose the two even rows of her pearly-white teeth.
She had once thought of having special dental work done to sharpen her blunt canines and thus effect an even more shocking and frightening appearance. But she'd given up on the idea when her dentist had informed her that it would only serve to ultimately weaken the teeth by being so unnaturally -- for human beings, that is -- sculpted to resemble an animal's slashing canines.
Nevertheless, she wished she had those teeth, teeth she could use as efficiently as Count used his claws or she herself used her many whips, paddles and other instruments of punishment and sadistic excess. In fact, even as she moved back to him, carrying the special tools of her trade in her arms, as lovingly as a mother holds her newborn babe, she told Seth exactly what she had just been thinking.
He listened, though his eyes and his thoughts were centered upon one thing and one thing only. Her words droned in his head, but it was what Lydia Rinaldo held in her hands that put the fear of death itself into him.
"Oh, so you're more interested in my archery act," she giggled when she couldn't help but notice the way his eyes were bugging out, staring with dread at the rather unique and original "bow and arrow" set she held in her hands.
They were not regular arrows, needless to amy. Rather, she had had them so constructed so that they were still able to be shot from the bow. But these missiles of pain could not penetrate flesh as could real pointed arrowheads. Rather, they could only penetrate natural openings, such as mouths, cunts and, in this case, assholes.
The lightweight but firm "arrows" were fashioned to resemble phalluses, hollow hard rubber dildoes she would now shoot at the target she had painted on his butt. The bow itself gave these splendidly torturing missiles the advantage of incredible penetrating speed and when she'd used this particular little beauty of a device in the past, she had always ended up scoring a bull's-eye, managing to aim precisely. Thus it was that sooner or later one of the dildoes, and she had about a dozen to use, would hit the mark and rush like a bullet straight into the depths of a man's tender and sodomized bottom-hole.
"Who designed that ... that thing?" he moaned. "Satan?"
"What a nice compliment, comparing me to the devil. I'm actually flattered, Seth dear. In fact, I've always thought of myself as the devil's advocate ... if that's the right word I'm looking for. Or at least an emissary here on earth to do his good work. Actually, I am rather pleased with their design. I thought it up myself, I'll have you know."
"I wouldn't have doubted it for a minute," he muttered under his breath, straining at his bonds and doubly agonized to discover that even when he exerted all of his strength, the knotted ropes only seemed to get tighter, rather than loosening up as he had hoped.
"Oh yes, they've been soaked in cold water, in case you're interested," Lydia went on, her cool and calculatedly blase tone angering him all the more.
But he knew as well that cursing her would get him nowhere. Nor would straining his muscles to free himself. And so he could do nothing but "sit" there in this painful position, a perfect sitting duck, a perfect target with no puns intended.
She knew all this beforehand, needless to say, and made sure to take her time, thus drawing out the ultimate moment of horrifying and emasculating pain. She stood several feet behind him, aligning one of the dildo-arrows right at the bull's-eye.
He tried not to look, but he couldn't help but stare. And when she grinned and winked at him sarcastically, he felt that if he ever managed to escape -- without calling the police down on his head, that is -- he wouldn't think twice about ripping her limb from limb. If not that extreme, then a nonstop re-enactment of all the sundry and perverted tortures she had already subjected him to in the past three weeks.
But then his mind became a total blank, for she drew the bow back until it was arched and quivering, ready to let its phallus fly. "Ready ... on your marks ... get set... go!" she cried out, releasing the arrow so that with seemingly bullet-like speed -- though actually it moved much slower -- the hard rubber dildo rushed through the air.
He jerked forward, the ropes which kept the chair balanced creaking and straining as he exerted pressure and tried to topple it over. And even then he winced as the rounded glans-like head of the anatomically exact artificial penis hit the bottom of his buns.
"Drat," she snorted, stamping her foot and annoyed that her first shot hadn't hit the mark. She didn't hesitate after that, getting another arrow ready, increasingly petulant as well as impatient to score a win and pierce his fundament.
He was forced to remain silent and unmoving, his buns trembling with fear as the next two missiles got closer and closer to his anus, wounding the tender and sensitive flesh of his bum furrow. One hit high and the other low, right above his balls so that his testicles seemed to contract, pulling themselves up protectively within his dangling scrotal sac.
But then, on the fourth try, Lydia Rinaldo met with success.
He hardly knew what was happening. But suddenly a fire seemed to have been ignited in his tortured rectum. The tender folds of anal tissue, the dark-brown and hairy sphincter ring he'd tried keeping tightly clenched and thus, in his mind at least, virtually unassailable, proved no match for the speed of her well-aimed sodomizer.
With a loud and high-pitched shriek of agony, he felt the hard rubber dildo stretching his anal folds wide and tunneling halfway up into the depths of his previously virginal anus. It all happened so quickly that it was almost hard to believe.
But still she was not totally content. The dildo was a good seven inches long and as thick as Seth's own massive arm of manflesh, which meant just about as big around as the circumference of her wrist, six inches at the very least.
But one glance showed her that the dildo had only gone in not more than three or four inches, at the very most, a goodly portion of it still sticking out of his gaping and grotesquely widened and distended fundament.
It wiggled from side to side as he moaned with hellish pain and began squeezing and contracting his sphincter muscles as violently as he could. He was trying to evacuate it, to push it out of his burning rump. But she was upon him in a flash, not about to let him win this little round of her debasing entertainment.
"Does your little tushie hurt, dearie," she snickered, affecting a New York accent as she took hold of the end of the hard rubber dildo and hammered it deeper and deeper into his quivering and tortured asshole.
"God, no, no more," he begged as he felt her shoving the dildo into his rectum, all seven hard unwieldy inches. The walls of his rectum burned as the rubber scraped and frictioned along them, rubbing the tender dry flesh raw. She had used no lubricant, neither on the arrows nor on his asshole and the pain was trebled as a result of this bone-dry condition.
The pain was something Seth was completely unable to deal with. On one level it was physical anguish of the most excruciating kind, for he was yet to discover that the moment he relaxed his anal muscles, some of the agonizing burning pain would fast depart. And, on another level, he could not cope with the entire concept mentally.
The notion of being fucked the way a man fucked a woman, buggered and corn-holed, sodomized with seven ravishing inches worth of hard bristling rubber, was just too fiendish for him to deal with. "Please, please take it out, even for a little bit," he whimpered, unable to stop the tears from overflowing his reddened eyes and dripping hotly down his cheeks.
"You mean to say it really hurts?" she snickered, corkscrewing the dildo in and out, piston-ing it back and forth with her hand. She loved the way he squirmed and shuddered as a result, his dilated and stretched perianal tissues twitching and convulsing as they were rubbed blistery raw by the rubber phallus.
But it had reached the point once again where her own body was in need of relief. Despite the pleasure she was deriving, she had done what she had set out to accomplish and now she wanted to feel him sinking his hard throbbing meat down between her legs, giving her cunt the kind of attention it so justly -- in her eyes, certainly not his -- deserved.
Thus it was that she ripped the dildo brutally out of his asshole, pulling it so violently that for a moment he was certain she was taking part of his burning rectum along with it, for the hard rubber was sticking and clinging to the dry spongy walls of his fundament.
But somehow, she managed not to wound him as severely as he had first imagined. The dildo gone, he could nevertheless still feel it, as if its ghostly reminder was wedged all the way into his butt, blocking his rectal canal and making his prostate burn and quiver with searing pain.
He slumped down on the chair, the blood rushing to his head and making him feel dizzy, on top of everything else. But then, as if he was in a trance and so filled with the remnants of her excruciatingly debilitating torments that he didn't know what was happening, he found himself being untied and then led back up the stairs and into the house.
They went up another flight of stairs together, Lydia's high heels doing all the talking, clicking harshly as she dragged him to her room on the second floor of the house. He was thrown onto the bed and lay there like a dead man, his eyes glassy and reddened his breath coming in short agonized gasps of despair.
Ten minutes later, lacking both the strength and the resolve to stop her, as if he had given up, accepting her cruel torments as a just reward for what he saw as a life of complete and utter failure and misery, she was ready to start in all over again.
Now, lengths of clanking iron chain were festooned around his body. Leather anklets and wristlets were attached to his four limbs and from these shackles great lengths of chain were stretched, tied around each of the four upright bedposts.
And in addition to this, a length of chain rose up from the studded dog collar around his neck, arch symbol of his debasement and humility. It in turn was tied to one of the overhead beams by the head of the bed. He could move somewhat, from side to side and back and forth. But he was ultimately penned and caged, reminded of how elephants used to be treated when they were considered mad.
But I'm not mad, I'm me, he kept telling himself.
It did little good, nor did it change the situation he was now forced to participate in. Lydia worked silently and efficiently as usual and when she got back on the bed he was rewarded with the tantalizing sight of her all but naked body.
She had removed the skintight sheath dress with its rustling rawhide fringe, replacing it with simpler costuming: black mesh hosiery, a black satin garter belt that daringly defined the creamy-white expanse of each supple thigh, and her omnipresent spike-heeled leather pumps, twin stilettos which made him since involuntarily.
Her jugs were lush, rounded and completely naked, buoyed up by their own succulent and juicy volume. They swayed like twin balloons festooning her chest, each nipple shining and taut, blood-red and ripe for the picking.
But by this time Seth was too exhausted to even bother. It was only when he caught sight of what Lydia had put on her hands that the old fears returned, all over again. "I'm reminded of a certain kind of finger pick steel guitarists occasionally use," she told him then, her usual cool and snidely calculating self. "But these, I daresay, were not meant for picking strings, my dear. They were designed by the Chinese for more exquisite forms of music, the music of screaming and sadistic pain, that is."
He held his tongue, staring at the ten gleaming extensions which adorned her fingernails. They were claws, five or six inches of burnished steel, their edges honed to a near-razor sharpness. She waved them excitedly, chattering all the while like a magpie, telling him how marvelous it would feel to take these steel nail down over his body, gouging out his flesh so that his cries would come back to her like a cacophonous symphony of pain and pleasure.
"For there will be pleasure too, for both of us in fact, little man," she went on, sliding down in front of him so that he was forced to rear up on his knees as best he could, the chains clanking loudly, stretched taut on every side.
She wiggled into position, plumping the pillows and resting her head and shoulders against them. He was now directly in front of her, her thighs spread-eagled and her hairy cunt fur angled less than six inches from his limp and dejected cock.
But despite the pain and all that he had already been forced to endure, this evening alone, his meat didn't fail him. Just staring at her lush naked body, divorcing her person from her voluptuous and sensual figure, got him going all over again.
Without even touching his pecker, his cock began to harden, to lengthen and thicken as blood was trapped inside the shaft of his burgeoning penis. He kept ogling her twat, the raw and ruddy-hued flaps of meat, the curly bush that was thickest above the edge of her cunt and then narrower and sparser gown over the folds of her vagina, stopping abruptly as if cleanshaven along the insides of her thighs.
She pushed her hips up and down, eying him with sadistic cunning and rare delight. And as he held his tongue and watched, her own slim pointy tongue slid out from between her lips. She wiggled it before him, taunting and egging him on.
"Come on, little man. Let's see if you can handle me, if you're man enough ... if you've got balls, that is," she snickered, thrusting her hairy pubic mound up towards his crotch.
He didn't need an engraved invitation, accepting her offer without a moment's hesitation or indecision. By stretching his hand he was just able to wrap his fingers around the middle of his thick rigid hard-on and once he had a good grip on his cock, he pushed forward, sliding his legs back behind him at the same time.
I want to drown in pleasure, he told himself, knowing that that would be the only one to forget what she had done to him, both this evening as well as in the accumulated past three weeks. Thus he rammed down as if his cock was a steam-hammer, plunging down into the warm wet cavity that was her musky trench.
She held back her actual response, not wanting to feed his ego or his sense of manliness. But at this point he wasn't thinking of pleasing her. He couldn't have cared less and, in fact, hoped she wouldn't come, trying desperately to get off before she beat him to it and then denied him the pleasure of shooting his load down into the depths of her deliciously tight and gripping twat.
And so he rammed down with one agile thrust, piercing her to the quick, spearing his meat all nine solid inches down into place. She suppressed a groan of feverish pleasure. Then, lifting her legs up so that she was able to press the heels of her pumps down against the pressure points along the backs of his knees, she raised her rapier-sharp metal fingernails and wrapped her hands almost lovingly around his neck and shoulders.
He held his breath, even as he savored the way the walls of her muff rippled in response to the steely presence of his manly weapon. He slid back and then pistoned his meat into place, her cunt flaps squishing loudly, smeared with juice and now clinging tightly as rubber bands around the thick and sloping sides of his moving cock-shaft.
But then her poisonous ways were once again demonstrated, and most painfully and agonizingly, at that. Cackling uproariously, Lydia Rinaldo squeezed her cunt muscles tightly and then raked her long razor-sharp fingernail extensions down over his back.
He screamed with agony as he felt the razor-sharp claws, all ten of them, gouging into his flesh, leaving long gaping bloodied wounds as if he had been attacked by a tiger or a huge beast of prey. "Comfy?" she snickered, slashing out a second time.
And even then she was still writhing up and down, thrusting her cunt against his hairy crotch as pain and pleasure mingled together, just as she had promised him. He slammed his cock even deeper, hammering down until he could feel his groin banging against her hip bones.
But even that, this renewed force and vigor of his sexual attack, only spurred her on, goading her into a frenzy of violence and clawing action. The nails slashed and raked again and again, mauling him alive. His screams only seemed to make her more incensed and Lydia was now in a rage, one that was compounded of her explosive sexual excitement as well as her bloodcurdling taste for violence and debasement.
This was the way she liked her sex, mean and throbbing, the sight of blood dripping down his back seemingly causing hot gushes of cunt juice to spill down the walls of her well-filled muff almost as if to complement the sadistic brutality of her new fiendish torture.
No matter how he tried to twist and turn, to pummel her cunt with a force he hoped would prove to be more painful than pleasurable, she only acted as if she was begging for more, moaning and gyrating back and forth as he continued to plow and hammer his meaty prong in and out of her burning quim.
"Yes, do it, fuck me you little faggot shit, fuck me harder, harder!" she screamed, wailing and moaning like a cat in heat. And again and again the silvery sharp fingernails did their gruesome work.
She was not content until his back was a mass of wounds and gaping sores, slashed and scored with ten times the pain and anguish of a whipping. But then he got his way, finally and at long last. Having been denied complete sexual pleasure for so long, he had worked hard at coming, at achieving his climax.
And suddenly it happened and Seth groaned, trying to blot out the pain as pleasure engulfed him, inundating his senses. His body stiffened, each muscle contracting and bulging out in taut hot relief. And then his balls were pulled up involuntarily, high within his scrotal sac.
The moment was finally at hand, his and his alone.
The first contraction and throb of his cock made him scream out. His hands clenched her shoulders violently and his body underwent a series of rhythmic and violent contractions, each one matching the rhythmic ejaculations of his dick. Hot gushes of pent-up cream poured into her muff, thick and viscous.
She knew what was happening, knew that he had beaten her to the punch and she was now incensed beyond all reason. Lydia screamed and tried to join him, but she felt blocked then, unable to climax. Her hands wrapped themselves around his throat and she squeezed, clawing at his neck and pressing her thumbs down against his windpipe.
He couldn't bear it and ripped her hands off of him. Despite the chains which shackled him to the bed, he pinned her arms down and began to laugh, pumping one thick wad of cream into her cunt after another, not content until he had given her every last hot thick drop of semen.
Only then did the pain return to flood him as pleasure had done moments before. The after-throes of his climax were filled with agony and she raked the claws over his face until he had released her. "Oh, you're gonna be very sorry, little man, very sorry indeed!" she yelled, his impertinence, his display of retaliation and, most of all, the fact that he had poured his load into her cunt so that come now oozed out around her wet and heated gash, all combined to anger her to the point of madness and psychosis.
Oh please, please get here, Jeremy, Seth Gar-rick thought to himself, knowing that her's were not idle threats.
She slid back, pushing him off of her so that his thick limp dong plopped out of her hot and come-filled muff. And then she began to get back at him until oblivion engulfed him and he slipped mercilessly into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
At just about the same time his brother was being clawed and tortured half to death, twenty-five-year-old Jeremy Garrick was pulling his battered secondhand Volks into the town of Stockton. It was too late, he decided, to try to make contact with his brother and so he planned to spend a night in a motel before figuring things out the following morning.
The entire situation had unnerved and depressed him. What he had been able to gather from Seth's hurried and frantic phone call could not be easily forgotten, or dealt with offhandedly. He had heard of women such as Lydia Rinaldo, women who combined elements of sexuality and sadism to put down men and reduce them to mere shells of their former selves.
But he had never come in contact with one, not that he knew of at least. And, on top of that, the woman had the ace card up her sleeve, her seeming lack of concern should she have to call the police and report Seth's presence in her home.
Not only couldn't Jeremy understand why his brother had attempted a holdup, of all things, but he couldn't figure out why it had been seemingly impossible to reason with the woman, or even escape. But these unanswered questions he hoped would all be dealt with in time.
Now, as he checked into a motel, he tried to see if he could figure out a likely enough plan, one that would enable him to rescue his brother and get him back to L.A. before she summoned the local police. In a city of that size there was a good chance Seth might be able to remain anonymous, perhaps go to Mexico or Canada for awhile while things cooled down.
He knew his brother too well to even think that Seth would give himself up and go directly to the police. Not after what he'd already gone through, especially. And so it was that the following morning, fortified by a big breakfast and a fairly untroubled night's sleep, he was filled with resolve and determination.
He checked out of the motel, stowed his things in his trunk and following his brother's directions, headed out towards Lydia Rinaldo's house, several miles past the outskirts of the town. But it was most unfortunate that in some ways the Garrick brothers each thought alike.
He parked his car off the road, less than a hundred yards from the high brick wall and the iron gates that opened onto her property. From there he went on by foot and when he found the gates locked, didn't hesitate to ring the bell he noticed at the side of one of the gates. He didn't look at all like his older brother, but if they lacked close physical similarities, they thought pretty much along the same lines.
For the first thing he said when Lydia came out of her house and strode haughtily to the gate, was the he'd like to use her phone since his car was stalled. He had no way of knowing that Seth had used almost the identical ploy.
Lydia, still unnerved by the previous evening's events, Seth's show of force to be specific, immediately began to feel suspicious. No one's car had ever stalled by her house before. But now, within the space of three weeks, two young men had both come to her for assistance.
"Of course you can use the phone, young man," she replied, smiling to herself and sizing him up as she unlocked the gates and beckoned him onto the grounds. He didn't notice how she made a point of locking them and pocketing the key, for his eyes were everywhere at once, trying to see if he could discover any signs of his brother's presence.
And it was then that Count came hurtling out of the house, growling and barking as he ran down the drive. Seth had neglected to mention the Great Dane and needless to say, Jeremy's first reaction was one of considerable fear and alarm.
But instead of saying, "Down, boy, down," words which would have immediately halted the Great Dane, Lydia merely snickered and stood by, watching Count as he lunged forward and threw Jeremy to the ground. "Hey! Stop him, get him off of me!" Jeremy cried out, trying to wrestle the dog off of him.
"Who are you?" Lydia spat out, looking down into Jeremy's frightened eyes. She was taking a chance, for if his car had really stalled she just might be charged with undo harassment. But a sixth sense told her that her initial premonitions and perceptions would prove to be correct, as they usually did in the past.
"My ... my car stalled, Miss Rin ..." he started to say, catching himself but not before her eyes narrowed with obvious delight.
"Miss what, little man? Miss Rinaldo, is that what you were going to say? How do you know my name? It's not listed by the bell, you stupid little fool!" she hissed, taking delight in his helplessness as Count stood right on top of him, pinning him down to the ground, his fangs bared and deep low-pitched growls emanating from the back of his throat.
He had no ready answer, no comeback with which to counter her accusations. And Lydia took his silence and frightened look as being sure signs of his guilt, though what that might be was still a matter of conjecture.
Even as Count ripped at his clothing, she didn't hesitate to raise her booted foot and press the high and dangerous spiked heel flush against his throat. He quivered with terror, completely overpowered as Count stood right on top of him, immobilizing him and pinning him down to the ground. "Now talk, little man," she said, threatening to smash his windpipe with her heel.
He looked up at her, suddenly and totally believing and understanding all that his brother had gone through. And what surprised him even more was that there was still no sign of Seth. He hadn't come running out of the house nor shown his face since Jeremy had rung the bell.
Lydia, regal and arrogant in her red vinyl costume, a skintight long-sleeved mini dress embellished with a wide studded black belt, pushed the heel of her boot down against his throat with all of her might.
He gurgled and just managed in the nick of time to roll to the side, or else she could easily have crushed his larynx. Her hip-high red vinyl boots swished tightly against her body and she laughed at his helplessness, grabbed hold of the collar of his sports jacket and began to pull him along the gravel drive to the house.
And when Jeremy came to his senses and tried to pull free of her grip, the Great Dane was on him in a flash, tearing at his clothing, digging his bloodthirsty fangs into his arms and legs so that he knew when he was licked.
"Okay, I'll go. Just get him off of me!" he yelled, unable to fight Count off. The dog weighed nearly as much as he did, possessed of both incredible strength as well as incredibly quick reflexes.
She signalled to Count, a mere nod of her head and the dog released Jeremy and stepped back, growling and guarding him as he got shakily to his feet and tried to pull himself together. "Just follow me, mister," she sneered, pushing him forward as she opened the front door and a reluctant Jeremy Garrick followed her into the house.
The door was quickly bolted and locked shut behind him. But for the moment the last thing he felt was that he too would become Lydia Rinaldo's prisoner. "Okay, prick, now start talking," she said. "Who the fuck are you and what business do you have around here, because it ain't a fucking stalled car, that's for sure."
"I... I'm a private detective for the Stockton bank, the one that they tried to hold up. You know the rest," he told her, trying to use his acting skills to sound as convincing as possible.
But her only response was laughter and additional scorn.
"Detective?" she snickered. "Boy, you've got to be kidding. Any detective worth his salt would have handled himself out there," and she motioned to the front of the house where Count had attacked him a few minutes before, "without any sweat. You're a detective, my ass, little man!"
And with these words ringing in his ears, she stepped towards the door once again. Instinctively he followed her, wondering if it just wouldn't be easy to grab her and use her as a shield against the dog.
But before he could put his ill thought out and hastily executed plan in action, she pressed what at first glance appeared to be a light switch. Suddenly everything seemed to come in on him and the full implications of his situation now made themselves totally clear and apparent.
For the instant she flicked the switch, it activated a device she had first seen in a detective movie nearly ten years before. He hadn't, needless to say, bothered to ever look up at the ceiling. But now he was immediately sorry he hadn't let his imagination run away with him, hadn't expected her house to be as filled with wily tricks as her personality was.
Because once she'd put the switch into its on position, a sudden rushing sound filled his ears and before he could make a single move he was screaming out, his arms flailing up to protect his face as a tight and constricting barbed wire cage descended from the ceiling.
It covered him in an instant, head to toe, barely allowing him to move a muscle. And when he did try to push it off of him, he immediately was cut by the sharp and jagged barbs which covered just about every inch of the cage. It hung by a now uncoiled chain from the ceiling, a perfect trap for a fool.
He was that fool and he knew it, having been completely gulled, intimidated and ultimately imprisoned by Lydia Rinaldo. All that his brother had tried to tell him was put in its proper perspective and he didn't for one minute doubt the validity of Seth's statements.
He realized what a living hell his brother must have been enduring for the last three weeks, but now he was in no position to offer any assistance, just as trapped and helpless as Seth. "A snug fit, if I do say so myself," she giggled.
He was barely able to lower his arms and each slight movement made the barbs tear at his clothing as well as any part of his body that was exposed and unprotected. His trousers were reduced to virtually rags and his jacket hung in bloodied tatters from about his torso.
Lydia stepped closer as if she was examining an animal, a specimen in a cage. She reached through one of the narrow openings and grabbed hold of his nose. But her gesture was far from playful. Rather, she didn't think twice about wrenching it brutally, nearly twisting the bridge of his nose completely out of shape.
He tried to pull back, only to suffer the pain of more barbs digging into his scalp and the back of his neck. "You're crazy. You'll never get away with this. People know where I am," he told her, though if the truth be known he had told no one, not a person at his office nor any of his close friends, the reason for his trip to Stockton or even that he was going there, to begin with.
Just as with Seth, he had virtually disappeared, having never thought to take the necessary precautions, having never imagined he'd meet with anything but the easiest of successes. All along it had just seemed a simple matter of reasoning with the woman or helping his brother escape through more ingenious and dramatic means, ladders against his window in the middle of the night, all the stuff of adventure comics and Saturday matinees that he had relished when he was a kid.
But this was not a game for children.
Lydia played for keeps and though she didn't know who he really was, neither his name nor the reason he had tried to gain entry into the house, she now turned on her heel and strode imperiously into the living room to fetch an even more painful inducer, one that would make the barbed wire net she had snagged him in look like innocence and gentility personified.
Count stood guard, though he really wasn't needed, for it was quite impossible for Jeremy to escape the barbed wire net and its close and painful dimensions. And so he kept his eyes on Lydia, able to see her rummaging in a drawer of a rosewood credenza at the far end of the living room.
She had no special cache to keep her equipment, but put things away throughout the house. Thus it was that there was always an instrument of sadism and torture available within easy reach. Now was no exception and upon opening the lowest drawer in the credenza, her eyes immediately lit up at the sight of a particularly frightening and diabolical instrument of depravity.
She pulled it out, slammed the drawer shut with the back of her shoe and returned to the foyer where her newest arrival and newest prisoner was hopelessly and agonizingly entangled in her net of barbed wire.
He took one look at what she now held in her hand, presenting it to his wide and staring eyes as one would present a gift and not a punishment, and felt his knees turning to jelly, buckling under him and suddenly unable to support the bulk of his weight.
But when he slipped and he tried to stop his fall, all that resulted was a score of fresh cuts and bruises as the lethal and sharp jagged barbs slashed into his body. "I see you can well appreciate such an interesting little device as this sweet lovely," she said, almost fondling the handle of the punishment paddle she waved before his wide and frightened eyes.
It was much more than a mere paddle, for though it bore a certain similarity, shape-wise that is, to fraternity hazing paddles, that was where the likeness ended. Rather than being constructed of wood, the lozenge-shaped paddle was of hard thick cowhide, specially treated so that it retained its stiffness without an appreciable loss of resiliency and give.
She waved it back and forth and it swooshed through the air, bending this way and that as she demonstrated its versatility and pliable construction. A length of rawhide formed a wristlet which she had already secured around her hand and the handle was much like that of a tennis racket.
It was covered with one layer after another of leather until it was nearly as solid and durable as actual wood. But these minor details, of great interest and also greatly appreciated by Lydia, were not the things that Jeremy Garrick was really noticing.
For the moment she'd displayed her hellish trophy, he'd recoiled not at he sight of the paddle, but at the rows of gleaming spikes which had been driven through the thick leather surface. The points extended a good half-inch, row after row of sharp metal studs, looking for all the world like the tacked wood used to hold down wall-to-wall carpeting
"Now is the time to let bygones be bygones, my little man," she told him, even as he kept his eyes glued to the spiked leather paddle. "So let's forget what's happened earlier and just think about the present, and my friendly persuader." She motioned to the paddle, bent her knees slightly and almost as if she was swinging a tennis racket or a golf club, Lydia thought nothing of slamming the spiked side of her torturing device right against his nearest thigh.
Although not every spike hit the mark, since the barbed wire was coiled around him, enough pointed ends did manage to make painful contact with his leg. He groaned and tried to pull back, only to ensnare himself, worse than before.
The net of wire seemed to be shrinking, catching onto him and ripping into his skin like a thousand burning fish hooks. He refused to scream, to give her the satisfaction of displaying his agony and terror.
But Lydia had all the time in the world and Jeremy was certainly in no position to go anywhere but where she wanted him to go. "Now then," she went on, clearing her throat and smiling sarcastically, "where were we? Oh yes, the question of identity comes to mind, my dear. Who are you, for starters?"
"Leopold von Sacher-Masoch," he spat out defiantly, glaring at her and trying to maintain his outward appearance of strength and manly conviction.
"How amusing," she snickered. "How very clever of you, to know of such things, the origin of the term masochism, in fact. That's one point for you, little man," and saying this she continued to smile, cool and decidedly collected as she took aim a second time and brought the paddle down with all of her might along the outside of his other thigh.
He could not stop himself from screaming as the sharp nails dug into his muscular leg, puncturing his skin in a dozen different places. And the violent and instinctive backward motion he had made the instant she'd raised the paddle in the air once again caused the barbs to entangle around his body, tearing at his clothing and leaving great gaping naked areas of skin, flesh that was now exposed and thus even more vulnerable to the jagged barbs than before.
"Shall we repeat the question, boy?" she said, continuing her harassment and interrogation where she had left off a moment before. "Or are you clever enough to remember?"
"My name is Jeremy Garrick," he told her, sullen and angry with himself, annoyed as well as agonized, both by his debasing predicament as well as by the fact that he knew he was now in no position to argue with her or give her any more back talk.
Lydia's eyes widened with genuine surprise. She had never thought to suspect that Jeremy had come because of Seth, even when he had mentioned the attempted holdup of the Stockton bank. But now she could barely disguise her glee. "A relative of our dear Seth, no doubt?" she asked with a chuckle of delight.
"His younger brother," replied Jeremy, realizing it was pointless to hide anything from her any longer. His skin was torn and covered with a multitude of cuts and punctured wounds and he was beginning to feel claustrophobic, on top of everything else.
The wire cage held him immobilized and his body ached with muscular fatigue. I'll figure out something, just as soon as she gets me out of this, he thought to himself, wondering what was going through her mind, what her silence meant as she stood haughtily and arrogantly before him.
He glanced up at her and for the first time since he'd laid eyes on Lydia, began to appreciate the kind of hold she could have over men. At least his brother had been kept captive and enslaved by a woman who gave every appearance of just about deserving a man's respect. Her curvaceous ... no, voluptuous, he decided, body was accented by the tight and revealing nature of her dominating costume.
Her clothes were as much a part of her as the paddle seemed to be a natural extension of her hand. She was right for the role she played, but even his theatrical perceptions, halfway between being those of an amateur and a professional, told him that she was not acting, that every word that came out of her mouth was genuine and not just reeled off as if she had memorized a script of her life beforehand, mouthing words that someone else -- de Sade perhaps -- had written for her.
No, her life was no act, her clothes no sham. She was not playing at being a dominatrice, not sporting her custom-made leather garments to titillate a middle-aged husband with a flagging libido and a limp pecker.
This was real, actual, the very meat and meaning of her day to day existence. And with these realizations came a new sense of respect, mingled with fear. Here was a woman you could not take lightly or con into believing what you wanted her to believe.
The games that others played, pretending to be leather studs and leather-shod high-heeled mistresses of pain, were all real and purposeful to Lydia. She was not pretending and her venomous temper and savage ways were the product of thirty-five years of development, of refinement of her bondage arts, of self-discipline as well as the discipline of others.
"What do you want from me now?" he asked her then. "I'm Seth's brother. It's time you gave him up and let him come home with me."
"Oh, is that so?" and she raised her narrow penciled eyebrows and stared down at him with haughty indignity. "A known criminal, wanted by the police? It would be much easier to just call the cops, right this very minute."
"In which case you'd have to do quite a lot of explaining, Miss Rinaldo, like why you didn't report him for three weeks, why you have all this ... this stuff around, why I'm all cut up. The cops don't take very lightly to perverts, especially women like yourself, women who enjoy emasculating and putting down men."
"You dare to call me a pervert, you ... you little spineless jellyfish! You're nothing, kiddo, nothing but another piece of shit. And what's good for one brother is going to be good for the other, I can assure you." She glared at him, her eyes blazing with rage. That he had insulted her, threatened to expose the very fabric of her life by revealing her dominating practices to the local police, was something she found intolerable in every way imaginable.
So now she didn't have to think twice about continuing her torturing regimen. Now that Jeremy Garrick was helplessly imprisoned, unable to escape his cage of barbed wire and lacerating torture, she simply went about her business without saying another word to him.
Oh yes, Lydia thought to herself, two is always much more fun than one, especially when they're brothers. And I never did have two brothers to entertain, not at the same time, that is. Just think of all the things I can force them to do, fucking each other, sucking each other off. Homosexual buggery and incest, perfect, absolutely my cup of tea!
She couldn't have been more delighted with the prospects thus afforded her. Upstairs, Seth was bound and gagged in the guest room, certainly in no position to come to the aid of his brother. And downstairs in the front hall, Jeremy was just as hopelessly and painfully ensnared, captive and virtual slave of the insidious and commanding Lydia Rinaldo.
Even though Lydia realized it would be much more difficult to deal with two men at the same time, taking care that they didn't pull any tricks on her, she was confident that with her own sense of ingenuity and Count's talent for knowing to do the right thing at the right time, she'd ultimately be able to deal with both of them without too much trouble.
Because now that Seth was secured upstairs, it took very little for her to do the same thing to his brother. She couldn't keep Jeremy wrapped in barbed wire for the rest of the day. And so she came back to her flawlessly constructed and pain-inducing cage armed with long coils of stout rope, the rough hemp variety she had always favored, both for its tendency to abrade human flesh as well as for its light yet highly durable physical properties.
He could not stop her from tying up, for even when he made a move to knock her hand aside, his arm caught on the jagged barbs which, by this time, were covered with linty scraps of his clothing as well as his torn lacerated skin.
She hummed aloud as she worked, virtually ignoring him, her fingers agile and quick as her hand darted back and forth and she fashioned tight and binding lengths of rope, first around his ankles and then around his wrists, managing despite his feeble struggle to pin his hands together behind his back.
Once she had accomplished this, immobilizing his arms and legs, she flicked the switch on again and the cage rose up, the overhanging chain creaking and clanking as the links were coiled one upon the other. Needless to say, it was not as simple or effortless as unveiling a statue, for the barbs tore into his body as the cage was pulled off of him.
He began to scream then, no longer able to endure the pain of being flayed alive, of having his skin ripped off of his body by the sharp and tearing barbs. But his cries only turned her on and by now she was impatient to really get started, anxious to demonstrate to Jeremy Garrick that what was good for his brother was just as good for him.
Needless to say, her idea of "good" left much to be desired.
CHAPTER EIGHT
With a maximum of difficulty and an overabundance of excruciating pain, the barbed wire cage was literally torn off of Jeremy Garrick's sturdy young body. The barbs caught on his flesh again and again, tearing and ripping his skin, leaving innumerable bloodied cuts, bruises and ugly lacerations etched across his torso.
All this he was forced to endure, all this and more.
Jeremy still had no idea where his brother might be, though he was quite certain that he was in the house, no doubt as helpless as he was now. He was on the verge of calling out for Seth, despite the fact that his screams had echoed loudly moments before, when Lydia anticipated this fresh attempt at communication and hastily bound a gag around his mouth.
She tied it tightly behind his head, effectively silencing him, though not once and for all, as things would turn out. Upstairs, Seth did indeed hear his brother's loud high-pitched moans and cries of anguish and pain.
He knew it was Jeremy, even without having heard the young man's actual voice. And he knew as well that somehow Jeremy had been unable to effect a rescue. Somehow, Lydia had won once again and that now his younger brother was being forced to endure the kind of pain and debasing torture which he had already suffered at her cruel and savage hands.
But try as Seth might, all of his struggling got him nothing but blisters and skin rubbed raw and burning from the friction of the ropes against his flesh. Lydia had made sure to tie his binding ropes with special care, methodically testing each and every knot to make sure that Seth Garrick would be unable to untie himself and escape.
He too had been gagged and a moment later, in place of the hellish groans of agony which had come filtering up to the second floor of the house, Seth heard the telltale and unmistakable sounds of leather colliding with human flesh.
For even then Lydia had begun her program of discipline and revenge in earnest. "Ever hear of speed reading, boy?" she snickered, Naturally, now that she had gagged him, Jeremy could not reply. And so she went on in the same gay and merry voice, "Well, this is called Lydia's speed bondage course, coming to you direct from my school of obedience and respect."
He listened, hating her with every fiber in his being. But she had elaborated on the ropes first secured to his wrists and ankles. Now, he lay on his stomach, his torn trousers and under shorts having already been removed by Lydia's nimble and inquisitive fingers. His cock, she'd seen with one glance, had been soft, though even in repose it promised to be as thick and meaty as his brother's massive tool.
But for the time being, this did not concern her very much. She was able to further immobilize him by tying his ankles to his wrists and then tying rope almost nooselike around his neck, joined to his four pinioned limbs so that when he tried to lower his head, he found himself beginning to actually choke himself half to death.
So he tried not to move, his body arched in a bow, his shirt hanging in bloodied strips from his chest and shoulders. All but naked, he was a prime victim. And as such, Lydia could quickly see how he was just her type of stud, muscular, virile, no doubt well-hung and thus perfectly suited to stimulate her jaded sadosex-ual needs.
Having adorned his body with all manner of tight and confining bonds, she then changed her costume for the occasion, quickly removing the red vinyl mini and replacing it with far more revealing leather fashions.
He'd watched her, able to see her body in all its lush naked glory, transfixed by the sight of her meaty cunt with its glistening and juice coated vaginal flaps, its dense and wiry thicket of curly pubic hair. Her breasts were similarly ogled, even when she strapped them down by buckling a wide black leather garrison belt decorated with gleaming studs around her chest.
Its mate was similarly buckled around her hips and pussy, partially concealing her wet and throbbing twat from his all-consuming gaze. Lastly, she'd attached a short and narrower length of studded belt-leather down the middle of her chest, over her stomach and navel. It served to link the belt across her jugs with the belt pressing tightly against her meaty snatch.
The hip-high red vinyl boots remained, functional as well as lethal. And to complement them, she now sported arm-high red leather gloves that were stretched tightly and cling-ingly all the way up her arms. The bizarre -- in his eyes, at least, for he'd never seen a costume like this before, not once in his life -- and arousing outfit almost dulled his natural defenses.
But when she began her punishment, he was quickly brought back to complete and total attention. Armed with a bullwhip in-one hand and the spiked leather punishment paddle in the other, Lydia now began to alternate her whacking strokes.
Jeremy's bare and defenseless buns took the brunt of her venomous and sadistic rage. Lydia could not stop herself and she swung the spiked paddle down with a crashing blow, puncturing both of his trembling buttocks at the same time.
His pain was indescribable, hellish to the extreme. But when Jeremy tried to twist out of the reach of the paddle, the rope linking his neck to his wrists and ankles pulled taut and he began to choke, nearly strangling himself to the point of blacking out.
He lay there on the living room floor, debased and now put to such sheer and unmitigated horror that he couldn't believe this was all happening, that there were women in the world like Lydia Rinaldo who took such great delight in wounding and sorely maltreating anyone who had a cock instead of a cunt.
His thoughts were as feverish as his bloodied ass cheeks. Lydia brought the bullwhip down with hard and potent force, slashing deliberately right between the cheeks of his wounded rump. As a result, the long length of braided leather scored a most fiendish blow along his anal furrow, tearing the tender and sensitive flesh of his perianus.
To see him there before before her, literally immobilized and now cowering and whimpering with pain and fear, could not have pleased her more. His muffled groans rang out from behind the tightly stretched gag which covered his mouth and she wondered if upstairs, his brother could hear her torturing Jeremy.
It came to her then that it would be even more humiliating as well as emotionally unnerving if Seth could watch her whipping and spanking his younger brother. "So the knight in shining armor didn't quite manage to rescue the damsel in distress, did he?" she snickered, tearing into his ass with the paddle yet again.
He jerked back and forth, feeling the long searing wounds left in the wake of her twin implements of terror. And when she used the bull-whip again, she managed to sear right down against his dangling scrotum, making him scream behind the gag as if she was burning him up alive.
His balls pulled back almost defensively and the incredibly sensitive flesh of his scrotum felt blistery and hot, prickled with the imprint of the long braided leather bullwhip. She'll stop at nothing, he thought to himself, not knowing how to escape, how to get out of her clutches.
Right now he was tied so completely that escape was most certainly out of the question. It was thus that Lydia could afford to take her time, systematically bloodying every square inch of his firm muscular buttocks.
And when she had turned their smooth resilient flesh into hash, she pushed him over onto his side, kicking him with her foot so that he was forced to roll with the blow. His cock hung limp and shriveled over his balls, but that too she decided to attend to, for pain was never fun to inflict unless it was mixed with liberal doses of sexual activity.
Even then she knew she was getting off on what had happened, on what she was doing to the Garrick brothers. The wide black leather garrison belt rubbed and abraded against her pussy, making her cunt lobes puffy and hot. Thick murky gushes of vaginal dew streamed down the walls of her twat, moistening her pubic bush and coating the rough inner surface of the cowhide with a thick slippery layer of oily cunt juice.
She pressed her thighs together, allowing him the pleasure -- amidst his awesome and considerable pain -- of staring unabashedly at her all but naked body. "You dig it, don't you, boy?" she snickered, palming her cunt and delicately toying with the visible edges of her meaty trench.
His pain-filled eyes opened wider, staring up at her with genuine excitement. It was something he couldn't understand, this duality, this dichotomy that existed both in Lydia and now manifesting itself in himself as well.
For even if she had tortured him, he could still look at her with rare and heated sexual attraction, excited by the lush display of her voluptuous body. Her long piano fingers with their blood-red polished nails swooped down along the insides of her thighs, tickling and caressing her flesh.
Her jugs, pressed down by the leather belt, nevertheless managed to sway hotly, inviting him to stare and ogle her with silent adoration. "Do you want a lick, boy?" she said, throwing her raven-haired locks back and giggling sarcastically. "How'd you like to suck my cunt for days, boy, days at a time? Do you think it would turn your little pee pee on, kiddo?"
She glanced down between his shackled thighs, pleased to note that his cock was already beginning to show marked signs of response. It wiggled and bobbed back and forth, slowly rising up towards his lean flat stomach.
She watched the process of erection for a few more silent seconds. And when the young man's pecker had assumed its full and erect proportions, she was delighted to observe that it was nearly an identical twin of his brother's.
Both Seth and Jeremy had inherited well-hung genes, to put it mildly and the sturdy ivory-white column of meat which now filled her gaze was already throbbing, leaking slippery trickles of pearly pre-seminal fluid which dribbled out of the naked and bulbous head of his tool.
"How cunning, to have such a little thing and then make it grow, just like that," she exclaimed, snapping her fingers and knowing that it was time she really demonstrated her abilities, the ways she knew about to completely dominate and control both brothers at the same time.
So she set to work with businesslike efficiency.
Care was taken not to loosen any of his limbs so that even though she changed the bonds which tied him so completely, he still could not pull free. When she was finished, he at least had a little more mobility, for a short length of heavy iron chain linked his wrists together, joined to two handcuff-like leather wristlets which shackled his arms.
Identical chains and shackles adorned his ankles, his legs held together by another short and confining length of chain. But Lydia did not stop there. Not content with merely keeping him at bay by holding his arms and legs together, she found a far more diabolical and confining means of keeping him prisoner.
When he tried to lift his hands to push her aside, Count was on him in a flash and his naked body, already covered with weals and bloodied wounds, was doubly sensitive to the Great Dane's powerful claws. So he froze and allowed her to do what she had started to, inserting a nose ring which she opened wide, pressing the edges flush against his nasal septum and pushing them tightly together.
She nearly pierced his septum and the pain made his nose bleed freely. From the ring a length of chain dangled which she held tightly in one scarlet-gloved hand. "You might say that now I've got the bull by the horns," she giggled, amused at her pun as she whipped off the gag and let him howl with panic-stricken terror.
But even as he moaned and the chains clanked ominously all around him, he found himself being reluctantly dragged from the living room and up the stairs that led to the rooms on the second floor of the house. As if to complement what Lydia now saw as a kind of grand entrance, excited by the prospects of Seth's horrified reaction to his younger brother's cruel imprisonment, she had taken the time to remove the confining leather belts which had first turned Jeremy on.
Now, he was able to see her cunt without anything concealing it. Totally exposed it seemed even meatier and juicier than before. Likewise, her breasts were resplendent orbs, their wide prickled areolae and berry-red nipples straining and tossing back and forth before his flushed and reddened face.
And in between pussy and tits, cunt and boobs, her supple flesh was accented by a skintight and clinging black satin waistlet. It's elastic panels made her waist even narrower than usual and, as a result, her hips flared out with dramatic aggressiveness, making him drool at the sight of her.
This delightfully revealing and stimulating undergarment, a fetishist's dream corselet, caused the matching red hip boots and gloves to glisten and almost burn as if they were composed of flames, shockingly iridescent, perhaps catching the tortured look reflected in his own haunted and red-rimmed eyes.
"Now it's time for the family reunion," she announced as Count led the way, the dog's massive and powerful body having already put the fear of death in young Jeremy Garrick, he found himself being forced along on all fours, his knees scraping along the floor and the nose ring causing more blood to drip down, coating his lips and trickling down over his chin.
She continued to hum a little ditty, laughing all the while as she dragged him up the stairs and down the hallway to the bedroom where Seth Garrick was imprisoned. With a great show of theatricality, she kicked the door open with her high-heeled boot and stormed inside, dragging Jeremy along with her as if he was her pet, her dog, and not the Great Dane.
Seth was naked, tied to the bed in a fiendishly tight and torturing spread-eagled position, his arms and legs pulled painfully apart so that any move he made resulted in excruciating muscular discomfort and spasms of agony.
But when he took one look at the bruised and battered body of his younger brother, he turned into a raging animal, almost psychotic as he groaned behind his gag, shaking against the torturous bonds which secured him to the bed.
"Now, isn't that is a pretty sight," laughed Lydia, eying one brother and then the other. "The two boys have come home to mama at long last. Jeremy, say hello to your brother Seth. He's all tied up at the moment!" She laughed uproariously at her pun, delighted with her cleverness and sense of humor.
It took all of thirty seconds to remove the nose ring and replace the length of chain, a leather adorned dog leash as it were, to the bed, securing it so that Jeremy could not throw himself upon her or hobble out of the room, even with his anklets and wristlets confining and shackling his sturdy young body.
And when that was taken care of, she continued to hum to herself, listening to Seth's muffled groans, to the words of entreaty which now flew out of Jeremy's throat. He began begging her to release them, promising her anything as long as she let them go, money, whatever she wanted.
"Money?" she said, opening a dresser drawer and taking out a long studded black garrison belt with a wicked buckle at one end. "I have no need of money, little man. Why do you think I can afford not to work? I'm well-heeled. Daddy loved his little girl and he left me quite a fortune, if I do say so myself. And if I do say so, your brother here has been a very very naughty little man. He must be shown the proper way, the path to respect, obedience. Don't you agree, Jeremy my pet?"
Then, with a wild cackle of glee, she swung the hideous belt over her head and brought it down, buckle end first, right against Seth's naked body. He screamed with terror as the buckle tore into his groin, narrowly missing his limp cock which hung down between his thighs.
"I think Jeremy should have a chance to speak to you, lovie," she went on, moving up to Seth's tear-stained face and whipping off the gag.
His screams echoed loudly in the air as she moved back to the foot of the bed and resumed her agonizing and debasing job of punishing the shit out of him. Jeremy got down on his knees and raised his hands, begging and whimpering as tears of pity for his brother and pity for himself, streamed down his cheeks.
But this display of emotion, this display of sibling affection as it were, only served to inflame her senses all the more. By now her cunt was on fire, leaking hot droplets of slippery cunt juice. She needed to be satisfied, needed to come and feel the glorious mindlessness of her climax.
But even more than that, she needed to prove to these two arrogant men that she was the boss, the one in command, the one they would have to obey or suffer the consequences. "We're going to put on a play," she announced, even as the loud thwack of the belt making contact with Seth's pain-racked body filled the air.
Leaving it at that, she made her preparations without further ado. Her consummate skill, her cleverness and ultimate insight into human behavior, enabled her to succeed, just as she had succeeded in the past.
Of course they attempted to free themselves, but she knew exactly how to go about keeping them her prisoner. And so it was that less than fifteen minutes later the transformation was complete and she stepped back with a swagger, admiring her skill, her handiwork and cunning, as it were.
For now, in place of the ropes which had bound Seth Garrick to the bed, the two brothers were finally joined together, just as Lydia had imagined when Jeremy had revealed his true identity. They were handcuffed securely together while their ankles bore ball and chains, convict fashion, weighing them down and hopelessly immobilizing them.
They could only shuffle along, their ankles joined as were their wrists, Siamese twins cast from a diabolical mold, one that only the insidious and dominating Lydia Rinaldo could have thought of. And, what was more, they were no longer naked.
She had gotten them to don the most demeaning of garb, matching costumes which she had found in her clothes closet. Each brother wore black mesh nylon stockings, oversized high heels specially designed to fit a man's foot, as well as identical parlormaid uniform in the French fashion of bygone Victorian days.
These were replete with little lacy white aprons and matching caps secured by bobby pins to the top of their heads. The stockings felt hot and itchy, incredibly confining and uncomfortable. But the parlormaid's black uniform was even more annoying.
It was so tight that their waists were pinched in and their hips flared out with feminine unnat-uralness. Plus the fact that their ankles tended to buckle, already weighed down by the ball and chain, and they were reduced to the most humiliating and uncomfortable of circumstances.
But they knew it was better than being actually whipped and physically tormented, so they kept quiet. The moment they tried to whisper to each other, she stopped them with well-aimed whipping blows. She dressed before them, not wanting them to talk and figure out a means of escape.
Their forced silence lent an equally mysterious and frightening air to the proceedings. And though they were both ogling her body, able to appreciate her raw materials as it were even though they both reviled and despised her, both Seth and Jeremy were considerably intrigued and amazed by the costume she had donned for her little play-acting game.
Bizarre wasn't even the word for it.
When she had completed her change of clothes they were silent and with good reason, having never seen nor imagined such an outlandish and yet strangely frightening costume. Lydia was pleased with the look of confusion which came into their eyes as she paraded back and forth before them, swaggering and filled with self-confidence and burgeoning sado-sexual excitement.
Her high-heeled pumps were perhaps the only normal part of her dress. In place of her usual leather clothing she now wore what was basically a man-tailored black tie and tails. But this formal evening dress was far from conventional.
For other than the cuffs of the trousers, the tails behind her back, the top hat perched on her head and the wide satin lapels of the jacket, the remainder of the outfit was at once completely and absolutely transparent, fashioned of clear plastic, a lightweight vinyl material often used for women's raincoats.
Thus it was that they could see her jugs swaying back and forth beneath their clear vinyl covering, as well as her hot and musky trench visible and exposed between her slim and shapely thighs. She had even stuck on a false moustache, her appearance at once absurd and villainous, recalling turn-of-the-century characters, Black Bart and the like.
But they made an odious mistake by giggling, both amused and turned on by her clothing. Laughter, especially aimed at herself, was the last thing Lydia had expected to hear from either of them. She had quieted down somewhat, but when she heard them suppressing giggles of amusement her temper flared up volcanically, erupting with renewed violence and sadistic excess.
Snatching a cat-o'-nine-tails off the top of the dresser, the salt-soaked leather whip that Seth was already on rather intimate and familiar terms with, she lashed out, striking them across their faces, the vinyl formal attire rustling and swishing loudly, clinging to her body.
"You dare laugh, you two impudent little faggot bastards!" she yelled. "Well, we'll just see who has the last laugh around here, cock-suckers!" And leaving this treat literally hanging in the air and over their heads, she moved closer and pushed their faces together, using the whip like a goad to get them to perform the way she wanted.
"Kiss him, stick your tongue down his throat," she told Jeremy, pushing his lips flush against his brother's mouth.
And when he didn't move, closing his eyes, not so much disgusted -- for Seth was still his brother and knew the meaning of this new form of abuse -- lydia grew even more temperamental and savage. The cat lashed out at him, striking him across the backs of his stockinged thighs and making him recoil and moan with the searing lacerating pain.
"Now do as I say or face the consequences, pig," she sneered, shoving him forward and forcing his lips up against his brother's mouth once again.
"It's okay, she's sick. We'll make it, we'll get out, kiddo," Seth whispered.
Unfortunately, Lydia had good hearing and she had heard every word of Seth Garrick's barely audible and bolstering remark. "Oh, is that so? You two are going nowhere, let's get that straight. Not until I've had my fun with you, in any event. And that won't peter out for weeks, perhaps even months, at the very least."
And with this fresh threat making them shudder involuntarily, the cat-o'-nine-tails complemented her words by singing its own punishing song. It sliced through the air, coiling like tentacles around both of their legs at the same time and nearly causing them to fall back and lose their balance.
"Now shove your tongue down his throat and give him a nice big sloppy kiss, faggot," she said again, pushing Jeremy forward until the young man had no other choice but to thrust out his tongue and shove it right between his brother's lips. Seth too closed his eyes, just as humiliated as his brother, just as filled with raw and barely suppressed hatred for the cruel and debasing Lydia Rinaldo.
But if they thought they had come to the end of their ropes, or the end of their chains as it were, they were soon to be let in for an even bigger surprise. Because now that she had gotten started, Lydia was not about to stop for anything or anyone in the world. This, as the Garrick brothers would soon and unfortunately realize, was pal lied, tame in comparison to what was soon to follow.
CHAPTER NINE
Lydia had already realized that her plan of getting the two brothers to sodomize each other, taking turns at it so that both of them took passive and active roles, would never be likely to succeed. There was no way to force them to achieve erections and without having a hard-on, anal penetration and sodomy was relegated to an unrealized dream and not an actual occurrence she would have loved to witness.
But she had other tricks up her sleeve, that's for sure.
Watching them kissing was amusing and humiliating for them, but far too tame for her own raging temperament. So now, annoyed with them for unknowingly winning, at least on the point of buggery, she lashed out with renewed venom and determination.
As if that was not enough, whipping them into cowering tortured shells of men, she ripped off the maid's uniforms until all they had on were their heels, stockings and garter belts, cutting painfully and confiningly into their flesh.
Howling with laughter at the ludicrousness of seeing their limp peckers outlined by the slick tight black straps of their garter belts, Lydia made fast work of continuing her lessons in degradation and submission. By now she was hot and sweaty and the vinyl evening suit was more uncomfortable than arousing. So she took it off and changed into something which they dared not laugh at, for the very sight of it sent fresh shivers of fear coursing: through their pain-racked bodies.
It resembled, at least at first glance, a skin-diver's black rubber wet suit. From neck to ankles, from shoulders to wrists, her curvaceous body shimmered in its tight and second skin of pliant rubber. Every curve of her body was outlined and heightened by the clinging suit she now wore, accented by knee-high boots of gleaming yellow vinyl, equipped with heels so long and spiked that she rose up before them, a virtual amazon possessed of all the ingredients of domination and masculine abuse.
"I see that you two fairies get off on rubber-ware," she snickered, going to her dresser and procuring two blonde stretch wigs she had often made similar use of to further embarrass and debase many others in what had been a long line of former slaves.
She pulled them over their heads, two sausage-curled moppet wigs that made them blush with renewed embarrassment. "If your mama and papa could see their boys now, wouldn't they have a good laugh," she giggled, pushing them to the dresser mirror and forcing them to stare at their reflections in the glass.
Embarrassment mingled with self-disgust and though they pulled at their chains, they were helpless to do anything but stand there, unable to even strike out a blow to free themselves. Thus it was that she worked with impunity, putting on bright red lipstick on both of their pouting mouths, further adding to their bizarre and demeaning appearance by using turquoise blue eye shadow to tint their upper lids.
Mascara and lash curlers were the final touches and when she was finished their faces were painted like two ladies of the night. The brothers said nothing, not wanting to add to her evident pleasure at their considerable discomfort.
"How fetching, how absolutely sickeningly adorable," she snorted, pleased with the humiliating effect the feminine undergarments, the uncomfortable high heels and clinging garter belts and stockings, and now the heavy use of makeup, had all combined to produce.
But now that she had made them up into grotesque dollies, it was time to take a breather and enjoy their masculine appetites, libidos still honed sharp by the sight of her lush and succulent body. And so she cleverly demonstrated the wet suit's special construction, removing a previously unnoticed panel that adhered to the suit by means of adhesive cloth strips.
She peeled it away and exposed her cunt and much of her rounded butt, her bum furrow in particular. Then, with a display of bravado and fearlessness, she rearranged their bonds, securing their hands behind their backs with two additional pairs of cufflinks. Satisfied that they could neither escape nor harm her, with or without Count's guarding presence in the room, she pushed Jeremy down onto his knees and ordered him to get busy.
"Start sucking your guts out, boy," she snapped, shoving her muff in his face. And the instant his long raspy-edged tongue thrust out from beneath his lip-sticked mouth, she glanced over at Seth and pushed him down behind her. "See that, boy?" she said, pointing to her lush wiggling butt. "I want a rim job to end all others, is that quite clear? Or do I have to spell it out and tell you to eat my ass out, little man, little man with a big cock and no balls to go along with it!"
He nodded his head and bent down to face her creamy-white buns. His hands were pinioned behind his back, but she didn't hesitate to spread her buttocks wide, opening them and revealing the pink rosebud that was her sphincter ring. Her asshole twitched, and when he bent his head forward, Seth was rewarded with a gamy though not unpleasant odor, musky and slightly sour with the smell of excrement. She would have enjoyed shitting over his face and forcing him to eat her turds, but such coprophilic excesses, uro-lagnia -- forcing him to drink her pee -- as well, were best practiced when she was naked and in the bathroom.
And now she wanted the pleasure of feeling his tongue sliding in and out of her scrumptious and hot little butt. That it did, less than a minute later. He thrust his tongue out even as he heard his brother slurping wildly.
It struck him as strange that after having suffered as much and for as long as he had, he was still into this, not having to be forced or tortu-rously compelled to service her. It delighted him to run his tongue up and down her sweaty and twitching bum furrow and then to dab saliva all around the multitude of tender folds and pitted creases which marked her sunken bottom-hole.
"Shove it in there, little man!" she cried out then, shuddering from the combined and stimulating effects of both of their tongues.
Seth rammed his tongue right inside, for she was still holding her creamy-white nether globes wide apart, stretching her anus so that he had no trouble making contact. He held his tongue as stiffly and rigidly as he could and shoved it right into place. The tight dry and spongy walls of her rectum seemed to rush forward to greet him, embracing his tongue with their hot undulating flesh.
She worked her sphincter muscles back and forth, clenching and unclenching them and moaning all the while. And as if this wasn't enough, as an added inducer she stopped them long enough to procure a weapon guaranteed to split skulls should they try any ruses or strate-gems to escape.
One look at the instrument of pain and they hurried to continue what they had stopped a moment before. Because now, as their tongues skidded in and out of her body, she whirled a mace above her head, a Valkyrie maiden if ever there was one.
The mace was a detailed reproduction of the real thing, a Medieval torture device that consisted of a long iron club which ended in a rounded and spiked iron ball. Originally de-signed to break armor, it was equally adept at breaking bones.
Its ominous whoosh as she twirled it like a baton above her head impelled them to give it their all. Jeremy worked just as hard and diligently as his brother. His blonde-wigged head bobbed back and forth and his tongue slid deeper and deeper into the wet and pulpy depths of her juicy trench.
When Seth had gotten his own tongue as far inside of her shuddering and convulsing asshole as he possibly could, his lips pressed flat against her sweaty bum furrow, Lydia let go of her ass and with her one free hand, managed to splay back the thick drooping and ragged-edged outer lips of her meaty trench.
Now her reddened and sopping wet clit and vulva were revealed to Jeremy Garrick's wide and staring eyes, He looked at her cunt with obvious and heated lust, trying to divorce it from the rest of her, trying to look upon it as a box and not part of Lydia Rinaldo, a woman whose very being he despised and hated with every fiber in his tortured and pain-racked body.
And so he had no trouble satisfying her, slurping like a wild man, digging his tongue so far inside that he was able to feel his brother's tongue moving on the other side, separated only by the thin taut divisional membrane which divided her rectum from her vagina.
"That's it, boys, lick me good, eat me, everywhere, more you cocksucking faggots, more!" she screamed, brandishing the mace with terrifying authority, commanding them to kneel before in sexual homage that defied description.
But at least they were being spared pain, so far that it. The more that lapped, tonguing and eating her out with pistoning jabbing strokes, the more aroused they all became, Lydia in particular. She groaned with savage need and rising sexual impatience, wanting to come and spray her juices down over the face of young Jeremy Garrick.
Her body writhed back and forth, her hips corkscrewing and plunging forward, her ass bucking and heaving up against Seth's face as well. They worked like demons, prolonging the time between blows, giving themselves a kind of unspoken rest between torturing bouts of sadistic punishment.
It seemed to be working, too.
Lydia was now almost there, beside herself with delight. Her defenses were down as she flowed with the rippling tingling surges of pleasure which were now flooding her cunt. And the more they sucked, the more they ate her out and worked on her body, the more aroused they all became.
One glance at each of them confirmed the fact that their potency and virility was still intact. For even though they had both suffered horribly at her torturing hands, nothing could stop their cocks from arching up towards their stomachs.
The two meaty lengths of throbbing manflesh bobbed back and forth, each cock glistening with leaking pre-come, pearly fluid which dribbled out of the bulbous and blood-engorged heads of their massive arms of meat.
She knew how pleasurable it would be to savor them, to have one and then the other stored between her legs, filling her and giving her the kind of heated and burning pleasure her body seemed to demand like an addictive drug, an opiate of sensuality.
And that was how she made her one big mistake, that fatal error in judgment. Too aroused by this time to be able to even think straight, Lydia knew what she needed and went about getting it, never thinking or taking the time to figure out the details in her mind, that she was leaving herself wide open for a counter-attack by either of the Garrick brothers.
But if she didn't realize it, they didn't take their time putting two and two together. Having gotten so turned on, foaming at the mouth with wild rabid sexual excitement, she suddenly pushed them aside, threw the mace onto the bed and sank back, her head and shoulders resting against the mattress, her legs planted stolidly on the floor by the foot of the bed."
"Come on, you faggots," she moaned. "Who's man enough for me?" Her eyes bored down between their legs, ogling one cock and then the other.
They exchanged a glance that said more than a hundred words and then Seth Garrick didn't hesitate to shuffle forward, still weighed down by the ball and chain. He moved between her legs, held his tongue and pushed himself blindly forward. Unable to hold onto his cock or guide it into place, for his hands were handcuffed behind his back, he nevertheless made a wild stab.
Lydia, however, had her hands free and now she needed to be fucked as she hadn't needed it in weeks, or so it seemed to her at the time. She reached out, moaning and writhing on the bed, grabbed hold of his thick meaty weapon and guided it home, right between the wet drooping lips that marked her overheated cunt furrow.
The instant his cock made contact, his glans stuffed into her vulva, squashing and frictioning against her clit, Lydia let go of his pecker and Seth knew what to do after that. His weight centered at his hips, he plunged recklessly forward, beside himself with wild raging sexual passion and lust.
For the moment, even escape didn't enter his mind. Only the promise of pleasure was all he thought upon as he drove his hammer-headed dong deeper and deeper into the tight wet depths of her luscious muff. He thrust agilely and excitedly, watching the way the outer lips of her musky trench were peeled back, clinging tightly to the rounded blood-engorged shaft of his penis.
"Yeah, more you fucker, more, fuck me like a man, not like a baby," she said, reviling him even though her pleasure had already been ensured.
She savored the way the wide length of his plunging cock-shaft stretched her cunt walls farther and farther apart. And when he was all the way inside of her pussy, his balls knocked against her ass and his hairy crotch rubbed over her pubic bush, the two of them linked as closely as was physically possible.
Seth began to stroke, hard lunging motions, one after another. He was incensed, driven wild by what he was doing, but his brother, after remaining silent and watchful, almost jealous of what Seth was now enjoying, realized that he had a job to do as well. For if anything, this was a diversionary tactic, one that Lydia had unwittingly designed all by herself.
Thus, she was hardly aware that she had allowed Jeremy to stand there and do nothing. Only Count kept his eyes on them, but the dog was certainly not gifted with human intelligence and had no way of reading Jeremy Garrick's mind.
So when Seth's younger brother began to shuffle slowly and cautiously around, Count remained where he was, guarding by the door. He howled, almost in response to Lydia's loud savage groans, and whimpers of terror.
Jeremy knew that he had to be as silent and unassuming as possible and he prayed the woman wouldn't come and push his brother off of her until he had gotten hold of the mace she had thoughtlessly thrown down behind her on the bed a few minutes before.
Seth caught him moving around out of the corner of his eye, but kept a straight face, not betraying his inner sense of burgeoning relief. The latter was linked to his tumultuous pleasure and he knew he wasn't going to stop for anything in the world, that now he would fuck her until she was blind and used up like a wet dish cloth.
He seared her cunt again and again, his strokes volleying, rhythmic and vigorous. The more he pummelled and plowed into her hot juicy quim, the closer she got to that electrically charged incandescent moment when the fireworks would go off, the rockets would burst and she would come and claw at him with wild frenzied sexual ecstasy.
She humped forward, all eyes to the way his cock was charging like a steed, sliding and furrowing its way in and out of her hot and twitching muff. More and more cunt juice spilled down the walls of her well-filled muff, coating his shaft until it shone and glistened in the light.
It was a tight fit, one that rubbed his meat raw. But Seth loved it, every bit of it. He was panting, moaning as loudly as Lydia, his cries of sexual delight masking his brother's slow and stealthy advance towards the mace.
He dragged the heavy iron ball along the floor, glad that there was a carpet to dull some of the noise it made as it thumped along behind him. And then, even before she realized what was happening, he leaned forward and wrapped his fingers around the handle of the odious and bone-crushing weapon.
It was heavier than he'd first thought, but no problem to deal with. He pulled it off the bed and since his hands were already handcuffed behind his back, stepped away with it, concealing it behind him. Lydia saw him standing there, but she was so close to coming that nothing else seemed to matter.
For at that split-second she went off like a roman candle, her climax erupting with customary vigor and heated energy. She raked her nails over his arms and shoulders and screamed out like a vixen, hot gushes of sap signalling her release. Her vaginal muscles fibrillated uncontrollably and their renewed pressure and tight constricting grips around his cock-shaft aided Seth in finally going over the edge and joining her in the pleasure of her heated and searing release.
"Yeah, more, more, you shit, more," she moaned, thrashing against him. Her legs kicked out spasmodically and then he stiffened and flowed with his own tumultuous and badly needed release.
The first convulsive throbs coursed through his body, down through his churning swinging nuts and then down along the hidden and deeply ensheathed length of his pecker. And then his come began to gush out, cascading like a fountain.
Hot gobbets of his creamy seed sprayed and splashed into the depths of her burning quim. She could feel his tool ejaculating, the muscular contractions were that intense, but she felt drained and too exhausted to push him off of her. And that, needless to say, was mistake number two.
For the added few seconds gave quick-thinking Jeremy Garrick the time he needed to complete what he had set out to do. He shuffled towards Count and the dog growled, but his low-pitched barks were muffled by the loud frenzied moans Seth was making, half of them feigned and the other half real and actually felt.
More and more hot thick come poured into her trench, her pussy becoming slippery and mushier than before. And as he pressed his sweaty crotch flush against her pussy, he glanced back for an instant, just in time to see his brother making his move.
It was certainly not easy to use the mace, especially with his hands linked and secured behind his back. But Jeremy knew that he had to try, even if the dog attacked him in the process. And so when he moved to Count and tried to swing the spiked head of the mace down against the Great Dane's powerfully muscled body, Count sprang up, ready to attack.
He hurled himself forward like a panther leaping on its unsuspecting prey. Only this prey was a man, and a man who had been prepared for just this kind of contingency. He dodged the attack, slipped boldly to the side with the chain clanking against his leg, took aim and brought the mace down once again.
A loud gurgled roar that ended in a series of plaintive moans was the result of his well-aimed blow. He had caught the dog right across the top of the head and though Count was far from dead, he sank back into unconsciousness, temporarily put out of commission by the force of the blow, by the impact of the mace head against his bony skull.
Lydia heard the dog's groan of pain and she glanced quickly towards the door. One look was all she needed and she tried to push Seth off of her. Despite his immobilized hands, he held on while his brother hurried back to finish what he had started.
"You fuckers, you little pigs! You'll never stop me, never, never!" she screamed, trying desperately to hurl Seth off of her.
But he managed to hold on, as if for dear life, which it was, needless to say. Adrenalin flowed into his bloodstream, giving him renewed vigor and the determination to win, to subdue her and free himself and his brother from their torture and shackles.
Thus it was that Jeremy was able to get close enough to use the mace once again. He had less trouble getting in a well-aimed blow, using less strength than he had on the dog, for he certainly didn't want murder to enter this already sordid and horrifying set of events.
It was all over in another instant.
The head of the fiendish looking mace came down with a dull thud against the top of her skull and a last agonized and wild cry caught in her throat as her eyes rolled up to expose the whites and Lydia Rinaldo sank back against the bed.
"Man, let's get the fucking keys and get out of here," Jeremy told his brother, looking down at Lydia as she lay there, sprawled out on the bed, her legs and half of her butt hanging over the edge. She slipped down as Seth gasped for breath and pulled his half-erect pecker out of her muff.
It was coated with a thick slippery and creamy-white deposit of come and cunt juice and more cream and after-come dribbled out of the head of his tool to trickle to the floor. He staggered to his feet and they hobbled under their weights to the dresser, looking desperately for the keys to unshackle them, the keys which fit the handcuffs and the keys for the ball and chains.
Lydia hadn't thought twice about leaving them out in plain view, having never supposed that what had just taken place could ever possibly happen. And the minute they saw them on top of the dresser, it took less than two minutes for them to release each other. First the handcuffs went and then the balls and their lengths of clanking chain.
They worked quickly and efficiently, tying up Count as soon as they had freed themselves from their shackles. There was an abundance of rope and chains around, needless to say, which they made good use of, tying a gag around the dog's muzzle so that he would be unable to bark and attract any undue attention by his loud frenzied roars.
"Now what?" Jeremy asked his brother, for Seth didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. He had dreamed of just such a moment as this, even before he'd called his brother and begged him for his assistance. And now that the moment was here at long last, he wanted to take the tine to relish it, even if only for another hour or two. So it was that he told Jeremy what he had on his mind. At first, the younger of the two Garrick brothers was a bit hesitant and doubtful, wanting to get the hell out of Stockton and as soon as possible.
But when he realized that if things were done properly Lydia would be in no position to make trouble for them, he finally agreed to go along with Seth's proposals. And when the latter were stated so as to include a highly unusual and painful bout of double-fucking, Jeremy was absolutely convinced.
Count had already been taken care of, tied and gagged, bound with tight lengths of stout hemp cording. He was out of the picture and they turned their attentions to Lydia Rinaldo. First, they removed all of her clothing, stripping the wet suit off of her until she lay there on the bed, still unconscious and now stark and utterly naked, absolutely inviting and tantalizing as well.
Next their own clothes came off, the wigs, the garter belts and the stockings, for they'd already kicked off their high heels. Then, they quickly rubbed most of the makeup off their faces and attended to the question of how to tie up Lydia so that they could enjoy her body, her asshole and her cunt, without having to worry about her managing to escape their clutches.
This was solved rather cleverly, for they dragged her back down the hall into her own bedroom, there to make use of the large chrome bed she had utilized on numerous occasions, to immobilize Seth. They attached individual wristlets and anklets to her four limbs and from these lengths of chain reinforced with rope, rope which was eventually pulled like pulleys over the top support of the bed and then tied tightly to the upright chrome posts at the head and foot of the bed.
Once this was accomplished, they took a breather, stepping back to observe their clever handiwork. Lydia Rinaldo's naked and unconscious body was suspended in the air, her arms and legs spread-eagled and tied to the four posts of the chrome bed through the clever use of ropes and iron chains.
She was almost a foot off the mattress and the bed was so constructed, the pulleys so skillfully arranged, that the large chrome structure barely creaked from its weight load. "Who give a fuck if it's necrophilia," laughed Seth. "She'll come to, I assure you, once we get started, anyway."
He found a jar of cold cream on top of her vanity and unscrewed the top, lubricating is cock so he wouldn't rub his meat raw. He was anxious to plow right into Lydia's asshole while his brother fucked her cunt, hammering his own rapidly hardening pecker right between her thighs and the come-smeared lips of her naked and juicy split.
Jeremy didn't even wait for an invitation.
As soon as he saw his brother using the cold cream to lubricate his dong, a few strokes with his hand and he was raring to go, his cock rising up and throbbing with almost painful insistence. He needed to pour his come down her trench, needed to vent some of his pent-up passions as well as his pent-up angers.
He was far from being a sadist and neither Jeremy nor his brother were emotionally equipped or temperamentally suited to get back at Lydia in the same fashion as she had used to torture them. They were not turned on to whipping her, even though their bodies bore a multitude of scars and bruises from her savage bouts of punishment.
No, they would not go down to her animalistic level, reduced to snarling dominators practicing the age-old adage, "A tooth for a tooth and an eye for an eye." But by fucking her, the two of them at the same time, they'd still be able to get back at her.
She would feel pain all right, for Lydia was a woman who had never allowed herself to be cornholed and fucked up the ass. Sodomy was a "treat" she reserved for her male slaves. As a result, she had come to think of it as a form of loathsome degradation, never allowing a man to bugger her.
But now Seth Garrick was going to change all of that, and painfully and torturously so, at that. Meanwhile, Jeremy was already crouched between Lydia's spread-eagled thighs. She was still unconscious, her breasts rising and falling as she breathed deeply and regularly. But that didn't stop him in the least.
Hesitation or reluctance was the farthest thing from his mind. He gripped his steely yard-arm and pushed the leaking bulbous glans flush against her come-smeared cunt furrow. And then, with a single well-aimed and heated thrust, rammed himself forward and managed to horse himself right up to the hairy root with one burst of motion and energy.
He pounded his rod all the way into place until his glans tipped her cervix and banged against her womb. And then, stroking with one rapid energetic lunge after another, he watched his brother moving forward, just as turned on as he was.
They had purposely tied her up so that she was suspended off the bed, hanging in midair as it were. Thus, with a certain amount of gymnastics, Seth was able to maneuver his own hard and meaty dick right up against her forbidden portal, the tiny rosebud that was her previously untouched and unfucked asshole.
Jeremy leaned forward so that his brother could store his cock into place and Seth first raised the leg ropes a little higher so that he would have more room to operate. Once this was accomplished, he was able to move with a little more certainty and with one hand he spread her buns apart while he used his other hand to guide his massive hardon back against her bottom-hole.
Cold cream was smeared over her tight little aperture and once he had gotten himself into position, once Jeremy held himself steady until his brother had horsed himself completely, Seth thrust forward with all of his might.
There was no need to hold back, to be slow and gentle. He rammed forward with a wild cry of triumph and no sooner had he managed to store the entire nine-inch length of his throbbing poker into the tight dry depths of her poopshute, when Lydia Rinaldo's eyes blinked and opened wide.
"Did you have a nice little sleep, my precious?" Seth asked her, mocking and imitating her tone of voice as he began to slam and pound his penis in and out of her butt. And, at the same time, Jeremy snickered and lashed out, one hard throbbing thrust after another.
As for Lydia Rinaldo, what more can be said? After all, crime doesn't pay ... or does it?
