Message-ID: <1199eli$9706041405@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/1199>
Path: qz!news.accessus.net!not-for-mail
X-Path-Preload: news.accessus.net preloaded to thwart rogue canceller there
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
From: corvidae1@aol.com (Corvidae1)
Subject: RP: Killing Me (F/m torture, intense)
Disclaimer: This story contains graphic descriptions of sadism between
two consenting adults. If you are under 21, or offended by such material -
DON'T READ THIS!
Killing Me
By L.Corvidae
I should have known something was wrong when she asked me to curl up
next to her in bed. On those occasions when I was allowed to sleep in a
bed at all, it was always at her feet, "like a good doggy." She pulled my
arm gently around her waist, and I was at once grateful and resentful of
the chastity belt that kept me from getting hard against her soft, warm
backside.
I hadn't held her in my arms like that since that first night, months
ago, when she told me. We hadn't been lovers - or whatever we'd become -
at that point; merely two dear friends who cared about one another far
more that the other suspected. I almost had to keep from laughing as she
explained it to me. She was so tiny and delicate looking that it was
nearly impossible to imagine her as some leather-clad, whip-cracking
dominatrix, but her tone was so grave that I knew she was serious. Until
then my only fantasy had been her; my only fetish the sound of her voice
and the scent of her hair. That night would be the last I would go to
sleep without being in some sort of pain.
Even as she now lay nestled in my arms, my joy was tempered by a deep
ache in all of my limbs. We'd "celebrated" moving into the house by the
lake by keeping me strapped down in its basement for two days by myself.
She'd only just released me when the command came to climb into bed.
We lay there for a while; me getting drunk off the slow rhythm of her
breathing. Stupidly, I thought I was being rewarded for my service.
Presently, she asked, "David, do you love me?"
I was shocked. After all I had suffered for her, how could she doubt?
Somehow, I convinced myself that she was still uneasy about her own
desires and that she must have imagined I found her freakish and horrible.
"More than anything, Mistress," I said. And to prove it I added, "I'll
do anything for you. Anything."
"Good," she said, her voice dreamy, "I'm going to kill you tomorrow."
The next morning we were up and out of the house early. She'd removed
my belt, which had never bode well in the past, and had placed a pair of
unattached cuffs on my ankles and attached ones on my wrists. I hadn't
slept at all that night, and my shuffling gait reminded me all too
literally of a "dead man walking."
I immediately saw the reason why I had been kept locked away in the
dark all weekend. Like most houses on the lake, it inexplicably had a
swimming pool not twenty meters in from the shore. She'd set up part of a
jungle gym, the kind you get in kit form at a hardware store, across the
deep end. It was really little more than a long, solid beam of wood
running the width of the pool, hoisted about eight feet up on either side
by two more pieces of lumber. Capped lengths of pipe were studded along
the main beam to provide handholds for climbing across one end to the
other. I also noticed a pair of weights at the edge of the concrete apron,
as well a silk rope which had been draped across the beam mid-length and
tied off around a nearby stump.
And, of course there was the video camera that had been present at
every single one of our other sessions. By taping everything, she felt it
freed her up to put all her energy into my torment; allowing her to enjoy
the "fruits" of her labors at a more leisurely pace.
When we arrived at pool side, she unhooked the cuffs on my wrists and
attached long, thin chains to those on my ankles.
"Don't kick around," she ordered. "I don't want you tangling these up."
There was a small step up, and then I was climbing hand over hand out
across the surface of the pool, my legs dead and useless weights as I
fought to keep them as still as possible. Back on the apron, she was
following my progress, chains in hand so that I felt like a deranged
marionette.
When I arrived at mid-beam, where the rope was, I saw that it had a
loop on the end with an open padlock dangling from it. It was pretty
hellish, hanging by one hand and trying to both re-hook my cuffs together,
as well as secure myself to the rope, but I guess I got lucky. All that
was left after that was the short, jarring drop that left me hanging in
the air, completely at her mercy.
I'd twisted myself around so that when I dropped I was facing her, but
I guess that hadn't been the plan. Working the chains like an expert, she
spun me around 180 degrees, so that I was facing the house instead, with
my back to her and the lake beyond. Then she secured me into position by
fastening the chains to the weights.
She let me hang like that for several minutes. I could hear the waves
gently lapping at the walls below, and the smell of chlorinated water was
strong in my nostrils. It was early, and not exceptionally warm yet, but I
began to sweat from the strain on my arms anyway.
What hadn't occurred to me, not for an instant, was that the whole
property was laid out along an east-west axis. Suddenly, the first rays of
the sun peeked out over the roof, stabbing me right in the eyes. I
flinched in pain, and then she struck.
She'd never used a bullwhip before in our "play" and I'd sure never
felt one. Aside from the rifle-shot report it might as well have been
razor wire. The gash it opened had that paper-cut numbness to it for an
instant, before blood began to seep out and quickly mingle with the sweat
that was now streaming down my back. She switched direction with the
second stroke, forming a lopsided "X". Sticky rivulets now slid across the
curvature of my ass. A third slash was so terrible that my eyes shot open,
a big mistake because they immediately flooded with salty sweat that
burned worse that the sunlight.
With each hit I was propelled forward, only to have my momentum
instantly checked by the chains at my ankles. By the fourth lash, blood
had run all the way down to my feet; where it began to tickle as it
dripped across the soles. I made a noise that was half nervous laughter
and half shriek.
Mercifully she chose that moment to switch from the whip to an old belt
of mine. At first, she just worked my buttocks and thighs, leaving my
slashed and bloody upper back alone. But when she heard the cry I made at
the first slap across the torn meat, she just had to try it again and
again. Where the strikes from the whip had been acts of cold calculation,
she wielded the belt with bacchanal abandon.
By now I was slowly becoming aware of another danger, far more
frightening than the beating itself. The sun had now completely risen over
the roof of the house and seemed to be directing all its energy towards my
pale and naked body. I felt my skin take on an unnatural warmth, a heat. I
began to imagine I could smell myself cooking, and I broke into a pathetic
whimpering.
The beating stopped. Manipulating the chains as she had before, she
turned me back around again. For one brief moment, as the sun began to
burn into the ruined flesh of my back, she met my gaze with her soulful
blue eyes. Then she returned to the whip, delivering a blow that neatly
bisected my left nipple and even nicked my cheek.
She only gave me one more with the whip; a slashing strike across the
ribcage that had me howling in agony. Then it was the back to the belt;
the welts hardly noticeable against my angry red skin.
The first blow to my testicles roused me from near-blackout. After the
second I was no longer capable of anything but crying.
But the blows were coming slower now. She'd dressed for the weather in
a simple T-shirt and cutoffs, but she too was now soaked with sweat, and
breathing hard.
For a moment, I thought it might be over, but then she propped a foot
up on one of the weights connected to my ankles, and gave it a shove over
the side. The second one followed immediately, and for an agonizing
instant, I felt the joints in my knees, hips and shoulders all pop as one.
I didn't even see her cut the rope.
I didn't hit the water, the water hit me. The pool might as well have
been filled with electric eels for in that instant as the icy cold water
crashed over my throbbing skin, every nerve in my body lit up as one. I
screamed, a deep, bellowing rage of fear and pain that cleared out my
lungs and was promptly reduced to nothing by the dampening effect of the
water. I could feel my heart thrashing about in my ribcage, like a trapped
animal that was trying against all odds to win its freedom and escape the
mad fate to which I had consigned it.
My body went into shock before the weights hit bottom. Pale red clouds
blossomed before my sightless eyes while every beat of my increasingly
erratic heart pumped heat out through my tortured skin, while the pool
returned nothing in its sinister embrace. The chill sank in to the bone in
seconds.
I could feel my lungs begun to ache, but I lacked the strength to even
draw that final breath that would flood them and end my misery.
Instead, a gradual darkness began to overtake me, as each
neurotransmitter in my brain seemed to wink out one by one. Slowly, cold
and in pain, I began to die.
I was unaware of the sudden disturbance in the water until she was upon
me, wrapping her warm soft body around my cold, dead bulk. She scissored
her legs around my midriff, and, locking her lips to mine, forced a
violent burst of air down my throat. Pulling away from my face, she
squeezed with her legs, expelling the air back out, then, miraculously,
latched onto me again with another lung full of air. She must have set up
a hose or some plastic tube as a snorkel, but that didn't matter to me. We
set up a rhythm, parasite and host. My body feeding as much off her body
heat as the air she gave me.
Slowly consciousness returned to me: a new consciousness. She was the
source of all: the life giver. I could never know or love another but she.
And when she pulled away to undo my chains, I cried out in true pain; for
I knew I would never know such rapture as that again.
*********************************************
Why should I fret in microcosmic bonds
That chafe the spirit, and the mind repress,
When through the clouds gleam beckoning beyonds
Whose shining vistas mock man's littleness?
H.P.Lovecraft
--
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /