Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 I'm standing in the cellar.  How empty it feels without her and how quiet.

   Shackles, without an unwilling woman, are just bits of metal.  A flogger
still feels good in the hand, but without female flesh to stripe, it's just
not anything special.

   I clean my selection of canes with an antiseptic wipe and wonder if her
new owner has taken possession yet.  I dropped her on her usual corner a
few hours ago, already eager for a fix.

   Over the next few hours she would earn her money and then head over to
Steve the Pusher.  Tonight he would sell her an extraspecial hit that would
knock her out when she jabbed it into her needy vein.

   Then her new bosses would come and load her inert body into the back of
a van and drive her to an undisclosed location.  Wonder if the men would
have their way with her on the journey.  Fucking an unconscious woman isn't
to my taste - I prefer them wriggling and screaming, but then I'm not every
man.

   I didn't think I'd miss her, but I do.  It has been an intense few weeks
and I've come to know her pain-threshold intimately well.  It takes a while
with a partner to learn when they are exaggerating a scream or stifling a
moan.  I know exactly how many lashes of my belt she can take before her
skin blisters - which allows me to pause and change the source of the pain
to something that doesn't leave marks - like pushing needles under her
fingernails or shocking the soles of her feet or putting her into
uncomfortable bondage positions or ....  God, so much imagination now
totally going to waste.

   I was going to wait a while before replacing her, but maybe I should put
the feelers out immediately.  Not a Brazilian next time.  A long tall
African woman?  A little Chinese ?  A Scandinavian goddess to subdue ? 
Maybe a spoiled American tourist.  Exchange Student.  Not expected home for
a few weeks.
   Ah ...  my cock stirs.  Whatever I decide - this is not the end.