The Dead Pool

Posted by rache on March 16, 2004 at 23:14:13:

Story codes:
Group, Violence, BDSM, Reluct, Preg, GS, Amp, Torture, Snuff

I started writing this as something else, then got bored so changed it, but I was too lazy to change the names. Either way, the story is just a fantasy of mine. It was going to be one, now it’s another. I’ve never minded using me or people I know in fiction, it’s easier for me because I don’t have to make up as much. –rr 3/12 2004 Bacolod

Copyright 2004 all rights reserved. This fiction may not be sold in any shape or form. I hereby place it in the public domain, so have fun. Just keep my name and email with the original body of text. All persons, except a couple, are made up, the ones who are not will not complain, I’ve flattered them sufficiently. Do not attempt any actions depicted here unless you are a professional. Do not kill anyone. That’s an order. I have exaggerated some events, which may or may not have occurred.

I took the knife upon my skin
And sliced from there to here
To remember how it felt again
When you whispered in my ear. -rr

The Dead Pool
Fiction by rache

Paul was taking me out and I was terribly excited about it. I knelt in the shower, washing his legs and working my hands up to his genitals, caressing his balls and cock with my soapy hands. I felt him lengthening, as I knew he would, but he ignored it. The hot water felt good as it sprayed across his broad shoulders and down onto me. I stroked his cock a few moments and then he turned so I could clean his ass, pressing my slippery soapy finger into his tight anus. I always started from bottom to top because he liked it that way. By the time I finished, washing his dark hair gently and rinsing it with stiff fingers, he was ready. I grabbed a condom off the porcelain ledge and ripped the slippery foil open with my teeth, putting it on him.

He turned me around and pushed his penis in my steamy pussy. Thrusting hard until I was moaning with delight. He didn’t last long, in the shower he never did, and before I could climax he was already cumming, filling the condom uselessly with his hot seed. I washed his penis with my mouth after that, then put the used rubber in my mouth and he stepped out without a word, leaving me to my own bath ritual. I brought myself off with my fingers, savoring the taste of my husband’s sperm and then cleaned myself thoroughly. I had to hurry because Paul might or might not wait for me, I never knew.

In my bedroom I found he had already laid out the clothes he wanted me to wear. An emerald thong and a tiny matching dress of some spandex material that hugged my body like a second skin. I adjusted it over my 32B breasts, seeing the rings in my nipples as uneven protrusions that spoiled the smooth swell. I almost wished I could remove them, but that was an impossibility. I pulled the dress down, over my narrow hips and the hem barely covered my pert little ass. I would have to be very careful how I sat that evening. There was a pair of black shoes and a set of handcuffs, and a black leather collar with silver studs. I put them all on, except the handcuffs. I did my make-up first, some blush, some eye shadow and some pale pink lipstick.

I carried the handcuffs into my husband’s bedroom where he was finishing his own dressing routine. He wore a black suit, simple Armani, and exquisitely tailored. Jennifer was helping him with his tie and I ignored her, standing there with my head bowed slightly.

“Why are you bringing the bitch?” Jennifer asked my husband, smoothing her hands down his broad chest.

“Because I feel like it.” He said distantly, looking at himself in the mirror.

“You should just leave her here, I could take care of her.” Jennifer walked over to me and grabbed my jaw in her hand, digging her fingers and thumb into my cheeks so I had to open my mouth slightly.

“Fucking whore.” She spit in my mouth and let me go. Jenny had been my best friend since I was 16, but now, 5 years later, I called her Mistress Jennifer.

“Thank you, Mistress.” I said softly, swallowing her spittle.

“You take your meds?” Paul stared at me in the mirror.

“Yes Master.” I replied.

“Why do you let her take those? She’s not sick, she’s just pretending so everyone will feel sorry for her. Like last year when she tried to kill herself.” She laughed at me. “You’d think after 6 tries even a fucking idiot would get it right.”

That had been 10 minutes after I’d caught Paul fucking Jennifer in our wedding bed. She’d been my Maid of Honor. I had done it right too, just ask the hospital, they’d poured plasma in me just as fast as they could. They told me they were lucky. That I was lucky. I didn’t feel very lucky sometimes.

“Be quiet Jennifer.” Paul walked over and took the handcuffs from me, pulling my arms around my back and slipping the heavy stainless steel around my wrists.

He started to leave, picking up his leash from the dresser and expecting me to follow.

“Just a sec.” Jennifer smiled and kicked me as hard as she could between my legs. Stars exploded in my head and everything went black. I couldn’t breathe at all. I was lying on the floor, feeling the wetness in my eyes. “That’ll keep you warm.” She flopped on the bed and started reading her Cosmo, reaching for a cigarette.

Paul stood in the doorway waiting for me. “Come on, Lisa. We’re going to be late.” He left the room and I heard his footsteps receding down the stairs.

It hurts getting kicked in the cunt. I don’t know how it feels for guys, getting it in the balls, but if it’s half as bad as being busted in the cunt, they have my sympathy. I was a little shaky going down the stairs in 3” heels with my hands cuffed behind my back. Having sharp little bolts of pain lance through my pelvis with each downward step didn’t help either.

Paul was already waiting at the curb in his car and he didn’t bother opening the door. I had to turn around and do it from behind, then get in and pull the bottom with my foot before I could reach it and pull it closed. The whole time Paul sat there, not saying anything, but looking a little pissed that I was slowing him down.

“I wish you’d get along better with Jen.” He told me as we drove. “She’s pregnant.”

I almost turned to stare at my husband, but I knew better. I stared straight ahead.

“I’m going to get you pregnant too, Lisa.” He touched my bare leg. “You might already be; I replaced your birth control pills with a placebo about a month ago.”

“What? But…It…it could be anyone’s.” I winced at the unexpected news.

“Anyone’s but mine.” He chuckled.

I’d been shocked and then dreading his response at my outburst, but Paul seemed inclined to let me speak for once. So I felt brave. “Why?” I asked.

Over the last month I’d had sex with several dozen different men at least, most of them strangers and completely unknown to me. It had been unusual, since Paul had previously protected me, somewhat, now I understood. Paul knew the men, of course, or at least I assumed he did, but maybe not. They’d had his approval though, that much was certain.

“Once you’re ready to start nursing we’ll abort it.” He lit a cigarette and cracked the car window. “Jen wants the baby, but she wants to get back in…shape…as soon as possible too. So you’ll nurse the child.”

“But that could be…I’d be like 7 or 8 months. That’s too late to…”

“No, it’s not.” He stared at me. “You’re not having a baby. Ever. You’re just a cunt. Don’t even get it in your pretty little head, understand me, Lisa?”

“Yes.” I whispered.

“Tonight we’re going to a friend’s house. A very special friend. You’ll do whatever anyone there tells you to do. Someone at this house will die tonight. I don’t know who. I’ve already agreed that it could be you. That’s the price of attending.”

There were acres of private grounds and a man at the wrought iron gates who checked our invitation carefully before letting us in. The house was a few miles outside of Olympia, in the hills, and it was large, colonial and imposing. A valet took our car and a doorman again checked our invitation and checked us against a list. He entreated us to enjoy ourselves. I blushed as he looked at me, standing there in my short green dress and handcuffed. Paul attached the leash to my neck and walked through the large doorway tugging me gently along behind him.

The interior was lavish and vaguely European I thought, tastefully done. I followed Paul into a large sitting room and there met our host who was alone.

He was older, rather heavyset with jowls and a short gray goatee. He had droopy eyes, as though the world in its entirety bored him utterly. I thought he looked out of place, actually.

“Basil, may I present my wife, Lisa.” Paul smiled at me and I knelt obediently, lowering my head.

“Yes, a wife. Interesting.” He took the leash from Paul’s hand and gave it a little pull so that I rose and followed him to a door. He opened it and immediately a very young woman appeared, breathless and red-faced, smiling happily. She was attired in little more than white lace panties. She was also quite beautiful, white as snow with hard pink nipples and a sweet innocent face topped with soft red hair. Her green eyes twinkled at me.

“Patricia, introduce this to my wife, please. Keep her...” He looked at me without humor, “…busy.”

“Yes sir.” The girl gave a little bow and took my leash from his hand, pulling me inside with great enthusiasm and closing the door, locking 3 deadbolts.

I opened my mouth, as if to speak, thinking perhaps I would have some freedom in that room away from the men.

“Shut-up!” Patricia said, slapping my face before a single syllable had even left my mouth. I felt myself blushing and angry at my foolish presumption. “Crawl.” I got down and she led me on my hands and knees across the room.

It looked liked post-modern medieval decor, devoid of anything of decorative purposes. The walls were bare stone of roughly hewn granite and gray. The ceiling was wood and bare bright bulbs hung down, casting harsh white light everywhere. The floor was cement, hard and cold beneath my hands and knees as I followed the girl. She moved quickly and I scampered to keep up.

“Mistress, this is…” The girl frowned and kicked my arm.

“Lisa.” I said softly.

“Lisa.” The girl tugged my leash and I looked up to see an older woman dressed as a Domme Fatale, all black leather and posing. I sighed inwardly, not particularly fond of people posing. I only played these games because I was desperate to keep Paul.

“Strip her and noose her.” The woman said coldly. “I’m almost done here.”

I heard a soft mewling sound coming from a large oak table just beyond the Domme. But I couldn’t wonder too long about it, Patricia had found a knife and was cutting away my dress, ripping it off my body as I knelt there and then cutting through my panties as well. She yanked my leash and I crawled a few feet until she was satisfied and then removed my collar. The girl fitted a thick rough rope around my neck and stepped behind me, out of sight. I heard a motor someplace and the rope went suddenly tight, yanking me to my feet and then off the floor as I choked on the air trapped within my lungs. My legs kicked and I felt my spine popping as the little bones were pulled in and out of joint.

“Not too high, Patricia.” The Domme said. And I was lowered until I could stand tiptoe in my shoes. The rope slacked just enough so I could breath and the cool air felt good. My face was flushed and I blinked back the sudden tears the experience had caused.

On the table I could see another pretty girl, who might have been Patricia’s twin in every respect. The same beautiful face, the same reddish hair and green eyes. Her nipples firm and pointed pink. But she had no arms or legs, she was a quad-amputee, and she lay there breathing hard as the older woman dripped hot wax on her shaved pussy. It was soon covered completely and the Domme shoved the lit end of the candle into the girl’s sex, extinguishing the flame in her vagina and leaving it there, sticking out between the short stumps of her thighs.

Patricia stood behind me, feeling my body with her hands. “I think we should remove her breasts, Mistress.” She cupped my firm small boobs, squeezing them. “Cut them off and make her eat them.” She kissed my shoulder.

“Perhaps.” The older woman said. “They’re very small though. Are you a boy?” She looked at me. Her breasts were large and full, proudly bare as they propped on the bustier of her gleaming leather corset. She wore no panties and her sex was a dense thickness of black pubic hair.

I shook my head slightly, feeling the rough rope irritating my delicate skin.

“No. Of course your not.” She looked at my pussy. “1132,” she read aloud. “You get mail in that slot?”

Patricia giggled uncontrollably. “Junk mail!” She rubbed my ass. “Special deliveries in the rear!”

I shook my head again. “It’s a number I like.”

“You read Joyce.” She laughed. “Pretentious little bitch, isn’t she Patricia?”

“Let’s cut out her eyes!” The girl whispered loudly to the Domme, her breath hot in my ear. Patricia pulled the rings in my nipples hard, so that I thought she’d rip them right out of my flesh. I gasped and struggled slightly, almost losing my balance.

The older woman acted as if she hadn’t heard her. “So pretty though.” The Domme caressed my face and kissed me. “Let’s pump her.”

Patricia giggled, “Pumping…pumping…let’s go pumping!” She sang crazily and I wondered at it as she moved to a long workbench that ran the length of the far wall. She came back carrying a metal leg spreader and dragging what looked like a length of small red hose across the floor behind her. “Pump…pump…pump…” She chanting breathlessly and I realized the poor girl was quite probably insane.

Domme took the leg spreader and pushed my legs wide apart so that suddenly I was dangling once again by my neck. I was gagging and choking but they didn’t seem to notice until the woman finally said something and Patricia lowered me a few precious inches.

The hose was rubber and had a metal fitting with a small lever valve and then another piece of rubber beyond that with a smallish plastic cup attached on the very end. “You’ll love this,” Domme promised and she fitted the cup over my vulva, pressing hard so the plastic edge of it was snug to my soft flesh. I winced slightly, still feeling bruised from Jennifer’s kick.

“Open the valve, Patricia.” And the pretty girl did just that. A motor started whirring someplace, like when you get your tire inflated at a gas station, but this wasn’t pushing air, it was sucking it and the cup suddenly sealed itself to me completely.

It made me jerk with surprise and at first it felt just strange, but soon it began to ache as it felt like my vagina was being pulled out of my body. The clear plastic was filled with my cunt as it was stretched and distended by the pressure. My clit was jolted to life and I started shaking, trying to twist myself free as the ache became a general distress, painful and deliberate.

“Suck that cunt, Mistress! Suck it all out!” I started crying out as I thought my flesh was ripping. The interior of my pussy felt like it was on fire and I wondered if the device could indeed rend my flesh like the girl wanted. I was screaming finally, pitifully flailing on that noose with my feet shuffling on the smooth floor. The compressor had settled into a rapid chug-chug-chug…with each distinct pump of its piston jerking the hose and my body violently.

“Okay, that’s about enough.” The Domme turned the little valve and the insistent pressure stopped, but my cunt was still sealed tightly within that plastic cup. It still hurt terribly and I groaned as spittle ran from my lips.

I waited for them to remove me from that cruel device, but instead the older woman sent Patricia scampering off for her clamps. The pain between my legs was bad, but I was growing used to it. At least the increasing pressure had ceased; clamping couldn’t be that bad, nothing could be that bad I thought.

The Domme stroked my body tenderly, feeling how warm and sticky with perspiration I’d become. Patricia returned from the workbench carrying a large device, two pieces of smooth blonde wood joined by two large screws, one at each end. They had little wheels on them for turning, like wing nuts I suppose, and the two women placed the oversized clamp on both of my breasts while my mind still tried to comprehend what was going to happen.

“Okay, Patricia, let’s see if we can close this thing, hmmm…?” Domme chuckled and Patricia aped her, cackling like an old woman as she held the clamp in place. The older woman turned the knobs quickly at first until the wood began to press hard enough into my breasts that it would hold itself in position, then she told Patricia to let go, turning them more slowly.

It was uncomfortable at first and soon became overwhelming as they began to squeeze and then finally crush my breasts, flattening and distorting my body horribly. It was like nothing I’d ever experience and whatever pain I still felt between my legs seemed like paradise in comparison. I screamed long and hard, until my throat was sore and my head pounded from the effort. I stared as she kept turning, beyond even the point I would imagined possible. I was begging her, babbling and sobbing. My breasts turned red and then purple and almost black with the pressure. They were an inch wide and then less than that, flattened until they seemed to fill the narrow space from end to end. I could see my flesh balloon as if emerging from a wringer. My nipples puffed out to 2 or 3 times their original size, horribly disfigured by the torture of my breasts.

“Would you like me to stop, Lisa?” The Domme smiled at me, using her finger to wipe a bit of spit from my chin. I couldn’t lift my head any longer and the rope was cutting into my neck. “Just say the safe word, I’ll stop.” And then she turned the knobs again so that I jerked and sputtered and wept like a child.

There was no safe word. They hadn’t given me one. And truthfully I’d never in my life wanted one. Not until right then. This woman was destroying my tits, killing me I thought. I couldn’t survive this. I tried speaking, to tell her that I didn’t know the safe word, but nothing came out except weak little sobs that I could barely recognize as my own.

“I think that’s as far as it goes.” The Domme said, turning the knobs one last time.

“They’re beautiful Mistress.” Patricia said. The girl took one of my nipples between her lips and that small contact was evil. She bit me gently and it felt as though she’d taken a blowtorch to my flesh. My knees weakened and I fell, hanging there, too weak to bring myself to stand again. I didn’t care. My lungs heaved and added to my misery, I was dying finally.

I woke up lying on the floor. The noose was no longer around my neck, nor was leg spreader attached to my ankles. I looked around weakly and Patricia was sitting nearby on a wooden stool, sharpening a wooden stake with a machete, it looked like. I looked down at my sex and it was puffy and angry red, but free of the plastic cup. My neck hurt and my breasts ached like someone had beaten me with a tire iron. The clamp was gone, but my once firm round globes were misshapen and hung like flaps of bruised flesh.

“Oh goody! You’re awake!” Patricia smiled at me. “Mistress went to get some wine and mingle, I’m here to keep you company. Come on!” She put her stake and knife on the stool and walked over to me. The little redhead grabbed the short chain between my wrists, yanking my arms up so that my shoulders popped, the muscles stretching painfully. I rose unsteadily to my feet with her help.

“I love your tits, Lisa.” She giggled and stood behind me, massaging my breasts painfully. “I like them so much I’m going to tell Mistress to let me have them.”

She grabbed her big knife off the stool, more like a sword really, holding it up so I could see it. “I’m going to cut them off.” She moved around behind me again, pressing her breasts to my back, grinding her panty-covered sex to my handcuffed hands. She held the edge of the blade under my breasts, pushing up just enough I could feel the blade against my skin.

She kissed my neck. “I could do it now and nobody could stop me.” She giggled and licked my skin. “I cut off my sisters legs!” She removed the machete and danced around, over to the table where the other girl still lay, apparently sleeping as I could see the soft rise and fall of her breasts. “I cut off her arms too!” She lifted the knife over her head, looking down. “Pretty soon I’ll cut off her head!”

I walked over slowly, looking at the girl closer. Her stumps were covered with cotton bandages, thick and white and the one on her left arm looked a little stained, as though spotted with blood. They had to be twins and Patricia lowered the machete slowly. She bent down and kissed the girl on the lips softly. “Wake up Katherine.” She whispered. “Wake up, it’s time for dinner.”

Patricia looked at me and pointed with the machete. “Climb up here. On the table, put your cunt on her face.” I moved slowly putting one knee next to the girl’s head and leaning forward on my other leg, then quickly bringing that knee up as well, just barely keeping my balance. “Her face, get on it!” She was slapping me. “Katherine’s hungry!”

The girl beneath me groaned and her body moved slightly, her stumps waving back and forth a little. I settled my swollen vulva over the girl’s mouth and Patricia pushed me down hard, her fingers digging into my hips, so that my pussy seemed to smother the girl’s mouth and nose totally.

“Don’t get up until I say so!” Patricia told me, picking up her machete and pointing it in my face. She walked back over to the stool and picked up the stake she’d been sharpening, sitting down and glaring at me as she whittled it slowly.

I felt Katherine’s mouth working as she tried to breath. Her body jerked uselessly, like a big worm with no appendages to push with. Her stumps made short little movements and I could feel panic radiate off her body in waves. It was the ultimate in bondage and a part of me found it interesting, exciting even. Nothing was holding the girl down but the weight of my cunt on her face. I saw the muscles in her abdomen straining as she tried to push me off. Her breasts were beautiful, perfect and the pink of her nipples seemed to turn darker with each effort. I wondered if I was supposed to kill her this way. The thought didn’t bother me particularly. I felt my pussy growing wet. It was still incredibly sore, but that seemed to only heighten the sensation of her lips working against me.

The door opened and the Domme appeared again, looking at me and walking over quickly, shoving me hard off the girl and the table so that I fell on the cement floor painfully. I gasped for air and my shoulder hurt quite a lot. I lay there, looking up as the woman checked Katherine first and then walked over to Patricia, who studiously ignored her.

“You stupid cunt!” Domme grabbed Patricia by the hair and dragged her off the stool. “I didn’t pay good money for you so you could kill each other!” I watched as she dragged the young woman to the workbench, turning her around so Patricia leaned against it with her hands spread wide. “Don’t you move!” The Domme grabbed a hammer and two large nails, impaling the girl’s left hand into the wood so that Patricia screamed and clawed at it with her free hand. Domme then grabbed Patricia’s right hand, pulling it and screaming at the girl to stop fighting. A moment later her right hand was nailed to the bench as well. The girl sagged and sat on the floor with her hands on the workbench above her.

The woman walked over to me, looking down with her hands on her hips. “Did you cum?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Good. Get up.” She found my leash and collar, attaching it to my neck. “Time to meet my guests.”

She led me from the room and up down some stairs, into what looked like an old wine cellar. We passed through the cold dankness without saying anything until she opened a door and pulled me inside behind her. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Paul’s wife. Lisa.” There were perhaps 30 people in the large room, some clothed, some not. With the exception of the Domme, it seemed the ones without clothes were all submissive, like myself. Slaves, for lack of a better word, although I do not consider myself that.

Some of the people looked at me, and then went back to their conversations, or their drinks, or their diversion with one slave or another. Other people ignored me completely. The only one who spoke to me was a woman of about 30, naked but for a collar and her body was covered with welts, from her breasts down to her thighs. She was in obvious pain as she walked over, holding what looked like a goldfish bowl with small round scrolls wrapped with red ribbons.

“Please take one.” She said, her voice trembling slightly and she looked away from the Domme. I wanted to ask what it was for, but I doubted she would have told me. I looked at the Domme beside me and she nodded.

I turned around and the woman realized I was handcuffed. She lowered the bowel behind me so I could reach in and pick one at random, pulling it out. The woman with the bowel thanked me and hurried away.

“Find your Master and give it to him.” She smiled at me. “I hope you win.”

The Domme dropped the leash so that it fell between my now blue and yellowish breasts. They were terribly bruised and tiny red capillaries that had burst near the surface of my skin shone through. I walked slowly through the crowd, avoiding eye contact with anyone until I found Paul on a chaise lounge with a woman who was obviously no one’s slave giving him head.

“Ah, my wife is here finally.” He smiled at me and the woman who was sucking his penis looked at me with interest turning to contempt and she laughed. She was beautiful and haughty and I blushed as Paul laughed with her. “What do you want?” He asked me.

“I have a…paper.” I turned around to show him what I was holding.

“Oh!” The woman said, pumping my husband’s hard prick slowly up and down in her fist. “Let’s see what her number is!”

Paul sat there and I backed a little closer so he could take it without having to move too far. He undid the little ribbon and looked at it. “Lucky 13.” He tucked it into his jacket pocket.

I stood there looking at him. My pussy was swollen and red, my lips engorged and hanging down between my thighs. My breasts were still pinched at their base and puffy at the nipples, burning and sore.

“Oh, I’m sorry Lisa.” He looked at the woman. “Francesca, this is Lisa. Lisa, Francesca.”

The woman smiled at me. “Does she know any tricks, darling? Or does she just stand there like an idiot?”

“Lisa, why don’t you bring us some champagne? I think Francesca will be thirsty in a moment.” Paul pushed the woman’s mouth back down onto his cock and looked at me. I felt a bit of wetness in the corner of my eyes and I turned away quickly, wondering why Paul had to torture me so.

I found the bar and the tender was kind enough to put two glasses in my hands. People watched me as I carried them behind my back, moving slowly for fear of spilling anything. It was difficult and uncomfortable, my hands were turned awkwardly and I approached Paul and Francesca, turning slightly to present their drinks.

Francesca sat up, my husbands cum on her lips and cheeks, smiling and showing me her tongue, stained with it. She took the glasses from me, wiping some cum from her hand on my hip. “Thank you, Lisa.” She handed a glass to Paul. “But why didn’t you bring a drink for yourself?”

“Lisa doesn’t drink.” Paul told her, sipping his champagne.

“We’ll, we can’t have a proper toast if she doesn’t have something.” Francesca looked around and saw an empty glass sitting on a nearby end table. “Pick that up, Lisa. I have something you can drik.”

I picked up the glass and brought it over to her. The beautiful blonde woman pulled up her skirt and slid her black lacy panties down to her ankles. She spread her legs so everyone could see her neatly shaved pussy. “This will make you feel better.” She promised as she let a small stream of her urine flow into the crystal flute. She filled it to the very rim and held it out carefully in front of her.

I knelt down, feeling a dozen pairs of eyes on me as Francesca placed the glass to my lips. “Drink up, Lisa, there’s plenty more where that came from.” She poured the warm acrid liquid into my mouth and Paul laughed as I swallowed quickly. I drank the woman’s piss in 5 or 6 large swallows, not spilling any of it, and feeling it burn acidly in my empty stomach. I retched and I thought for one terrifying second that I was going to vomit, but I didn’t.

“Why don’t you clean me up now, before your handsome husband makes love to me in front of all these nice people.” She was gazing down at me, smiling smugly and I moved my mouth to her pussy, licking and sucking slowly while she and Paul watched.

“Why on earth did you marry her?” Francesca asked my husband, shifting a little closer as he put his arm around her. “You could have done so much better.”

“I know.” Paul agreed and then they were kissing deeply as I sucked the woman’s damp cunt.

I felt someone behind me and I lifted my head as a hard penis slid into my sex from behind, forcing a small jerk from my body as it stabbed into the puffy sensitive tissue. Paul grabbed my head though and pulled me back to Francesca’s pussy.

“You don’t need to know who’s fucking you, Lisa.” He said as he ground my face to his lover’s cunt. “It’s better that way.”

The man behind me fucked me gently at first, but soon became more urgent as his orgasm came near. It was my first fuck since I’d learned I wasn’t protected and I felt dread excitement knowing that this man, or any other man whose face I’d never know, could be fathering a child in my belly. I was cumming when his cock erupted, spewing warm semen deep in my womb.

He was replaced by another a moment later, this second man larger and battering the depths of my vagina relentlessly. I was grunting with it as I sucked and tongued the pussy in my mouth. Francesca had a little cum and I obediently swallowed down as much of her juice as I could find before she moved to straddle my husband’s once again erect penis. I put my mouth at the base of his cock, licking and kissing at his balls and his shaft as it disappeared into the Francesca’s pussy. Paul had never made love to me without a condom and I wondered what that felt like.

My cunt was stretched and sloppy with sperm and my own juices as a third and then a fourth man took their turns with me. They did not try to give me satisfaction, they just used my hole for their pleasure, fucking me hard and fast and depositing their loads without a word or gentle touch. That I came at all was mostly due to the fact I was so close to Paul, watching him fuck that other woman and pretending it was me.

When he came finally, a moment after the fourth man had filled me, Paul held her, kissing gently and whispering. They were breathless and happy and I lapped with my tongue at the combined fuck juice leaking around his shaft.

“Would you like Lisa to clean you up?” Paul asked Francesca as they separated at least. I pulled back and knelt, my face flushed and wet with sticky fluids. I was longing to taste my husband’s sperm, even if it meant sucking it from that woman’s cunt, I was starving for it.

“No. I want to keep it in me.” She laughed and found her panties, pulling them on. “I’m ovulating. I’d love to have your baby.” She kissed Paul hard.

“What a coincidence.” Paul grinned, “Lisa is trying to get pregnant too, aren’t you dear?” He looked at me and his eyes were cold.

I nodded obediently and lowered my head. Francesca laughed at me and then frowned slightly as she looked over my shoulder.

“Here comes my little pet.” Francesca told us.

An extremely petite woman stood next to me. She was all of 4’10” perhaps and couldn’t have weighed more than 75lbs or so. Painfully thin so her ribs showed beneath her small breasts and bound with her wrists chained to her neck in front of her. She was older though, easily over 30 I thought, but incredibly attractive. She’d been made up like a doll, with blonde curly hair tied with a pink bow. Her blue eyes were unnaturally bright, so I thought they were probably contact lenses, and her face was painted with rosy cheeks and vanity red lipstick. Like me she wore no clothing at all and I could see semen, stained pinkish with blood, running down her creamy thighs.

“Where have you been?” Francesca asked and the diminutive woman made a soft sound that was muffled and unintelligible. She started crying then, like a child, and Francesca shook her head. “Shut up. You’ll embarrass me in front of our new friends.” This only seemed to distress the woman more and she shivered beside me.

“Paul, Lisa, this is Louisa, my favorite little toy.” She smiled. “For the moment. Louisa is a lesbian, always has been too, haven’t you Louisa?” The tiny woman nodded silently. “She never had a man until a few weeks ago and since then…well, she’s had a lot of men. More than she count I think. At first she begged me, pleaded with me not to make her do that. I really think she has a fear of men, a phobia of some kind. Anyway, I finally had enough and…well…Louisa, give Lisa a kiss and show her how I solved your little whining problem.”

Louisa did as she as told, turning her head to kiss me and as our lips parted I expected her tongue, when it didn’t come I pushed my own into her sweet mouth, exploring gently. I was shocked to find just the stump of a tongue, flexing slightly deep in her mouth. I touched it with the tip of mine, caressing it and wondering over the strange sensation.

“Well?” Francesca looked at me expectantly. Then smiled at Paul as I told them the woman had no tongue. “I had her circed too, she was just too…orgasmic…for her own good!” Francesca laughed. “Removed her clit and those pesky little inner lips that always want so much attention. She’s much happier now I think. Aren’t you, Louisa?”

The woman nodded but I could feel her sadness. She’d done it for this other woman, done it for love and I knew how that felt. This was her reward for such devotion, our reward as Louisa and I bowed our heads and bent our souls to the whims of our respective Mistress and Master. A tiny voice dared ask me if it was worth it, and I silenced it with a force of will. I loved my husband.

“Why don’t you clean the poor girl up, Lisa? I think I’ll take Francesca for a little walk around the gardens.” He patted me on the head as Louisa, needing no further encouragement or instruction, took Francesca’s place on the small sofa. Francesca kissed her cheek and pinched my nipple painfully and then they walked away laughing quietly.

Louisa looked at me with hope, I think, shining in her glistening eyes. She spread her short little legs, perfectly formed and beautiful and I could se her tiny pussy had been abused horribly. It was scarred and scabbed from recent cuts and burns, from whippings and only God knew what else. She’d been fucked hard by at least 5 or 6 men very recently, it looked like, and they must have been much too large for her tiny sex. It was stretched and puffy with redness, and copious amounts of sperm mixed with blood spilled out from the gaping hole.

I hesitated, but only for a moment. She needed some tenderness, I thought, and Francesca would never give it to her. I put my mouth tentatively on Louisa’s pussy and kissed it softly. I moved as slowly and gently as I could, wanting only to make her feel better. I tasted the ruins of her sex, touching the smooth indentation where her clitoris had once hidden, sheathed in its glory. Any pleasure of the typical sort, the wonderful sort, had been nullified cruelly. Inside her vagina I couldn’t feel the little ridges of the minora labia, instead it was a smooth orifice, devoid of real sensation. My heart ached for the woman as I tongued her pussy, taking the remains of her recent rapings into my mouth and swallowing it. Everytime I looked up she smiled shyly, almost painfully as though she were embarrassed by her condition. But she didn’t need to be, I told her.

In some places it is safe to be left alone. Other Dominants will not touch another’s slave without permission. But this was not such a place. In the middle of our union a man came over, watching us and carrying a thin leather switch. “I remember that cunt.” He said presently and grabbed me by the hair, pulling my mouth away from Louisa. “My turn.” He said.

I sat there watching as he began whipping the woman’s sex. The crop cutting through the air before landing with a thin crack of pain across her pelvis. Louisa tried to close her legs and the man slapped my face. “Spread her legs.” He told me and I did as he asked, unable to look at Louisa’s beautiful frightened face. He beat her for 10 long minutes while people gathered to watch. Her pussy turned crimson and blistered appeared over the welts that had already been there. Her skin cracked in some places, so that rivulets of blood crossed her skin. Louisa sobbed and writhed pitiably, her mouth open and making a distressing sound like a lamb being slaughtered.

Someone else stood on the sofa and pushed his hard cock in her mouth then, shutting Louisa up as he mouth fucked the small woman violently. The man who’d been whipping her pushed his own hard and oversized penis between her legs and I let go of her ankles finally as I watched her tortured sex stretch around him.

A woman about my age, dressed nicely and still fully clothed, picked up the crop from the floor and whipped me across my breasts suddenly. I hadn’t seen it coming and the pain exploded, making me fall backwards with a cry of my own. “Your turn.” She said with a smile and I looked at her pretty face as it contorted into hatred. I briefly wondered why until the hard leather savagely stroked my breasts again. I lay there on the floor, closing my eyes as I wept and this strange woman whipped my tits raw. Someone grabbed my face, forcing my mouth open and a penis filled me. I didn’t do anything with it; I could only lie there sobbing around that cock as it pushed back into my throat.

I distantly became aware of more women, more slaves joining us in that corner of the room. We were herded together and while Louisa was repeatedly raped, and I was whipped, other women were similarly abused until my ears were filled with moans, grunts, cries, and screams. The sound of flesh being tortured and the smell of blood filled my senses. I thought I’d died and found myself in hell, in some painting by Bosch, or prose by Dante. This was a cruel and evil torment of the worst sort. I was raped a dozen times, orally, anally, and in my vagina until I was immune to it. My breasts and sex were whipped, pinched, pulled, and burned. Someone used a cigarette on my clit, making me explode with horrific pain. Someone else used the long sharp heel of her shoe to fuck my ass; tearing my flesh and then making me suck the blood from it. I drank piss and cum, begged for mercy and wept for Paul to rescue me. We all did.

Some hours later I woke up, although I doubted I truly slept at all. I’d just become immune, shutting it all out. I could no longer react to what was happening to me and when it stopped…it took a little time before I noticed. I felt violently sick and my body throbbed, ached, and burned. Someone was lifting me up; it was Patricia, with bandages on her hands. I retched and vomited, doubling over as a cramp-like pain seized me. She took me up a dim stairwell and we emerged into the dark night near a swimming pool. Other slaves were already there, sitting, or laying miserably on the cold grout, none of could stand by ourselves.

When we were all there, perhaps 14 of us, women of varying ages. Some were handcuffed, as I was, some like Louisa with her hands to her neck, others bound hand and foot, and a couple not at all. We were pathetic. Bruised and battered, bloody and weak from hours of abuse. Paul’s friend Basil was the only man there, with his wife the Domme by his side, and Patricia giggling and capering behind him.

“One of you is lucky.” He said. But he did not explain why. The Domme winked at me as her husband reached into a bowel and pulled out a scroll like the one I’d had earlier. He unrolled it. “Number, uh…4” he looked up. “Number four, who are you?”

Louisa made a whimpering sound and was barely able to nod when Basil looked at her. “You’re number four?” He looked bored. “Alright then.” He took her and led her back down the stairs, back into that horrible room as she started bleating again, struggling weakly.

The rest of us sat there, looking at each other and wondering what could possibly happen next when Patricia and the Domme started walking down the line, grabbing each of us one by one and pushing us into the swimming pool. “I was hoping to see you downstairs again, Lisa.” The Domme kissed me and threw me in as I started to protest.

I sank to the bottom quickly. It was freezing cold and very deep, 15 feet easily and brightly lit. I kicked and struggled, but with my hands chained behind my back I couldn’t gain anything, I just kept going down. All around me women were thrashing at the water, the ones with no bonds were doing better, pushing up to the surface and swimming away, leaving the rest of us unfortunates to our fates. The girls bound with chains or rope at their hands and feet fared poorest, obviously. I could see one of them, lying on the bottom writhing and struggling to free herself as air bubbled from her lips and nose.

Some women were close together, clawing and kicking at each other in hopes of using them as ladders or something, standing on them to reach that precious surface above. I felt weak and tired, I wondered if I could just walk out of the deep end, but the pool seemed uniform, there was no slope, no submerged steps. A large pool some 18 feet deep from one end to the other. I pushed off the bottom hard, using my legs as springs, kicking as I went upward and did in fact manage to get a breath before my head went back under.

I sank slowly again and bumped into another woman, whose hands were chained to her neck, the way Louisa’s were. She jerked and seemed to plead with me for help as her eyes bulged. In those few short seconds I watched as she took a final breath of water and spasmed as her lungs tried to reject it. I felt my own lungs starting to burn and I was hanging there, suspended, neither at the surface nor the bottom. I turned, kicking with my feet and was shocked to realize the near wall of the pool was glass and it reflected the water and our dozen dying bodies perfectly. I stared at it, knowing that behind it all of our Masters and Mistresses watched. Paul was there, sipping champagne and holding Francesca close, watching me drown. I would have wept if I could have.

Instead I curled into a ball, stretching my arms and pulling that short chain between my wrists taut. I struggled to get it over my heels as I somersaulted lazily in the cold water. I felt dizzy and my body seemed to shake with the need to breathe. I fought the urge, knowing what my body did not, that breathing would kill me. I managed to get the chain over my feet and I kicked and dogpaddled to the surface, breaking it with a painful gasp. I sucked air, paddling weakly and kicking. That’s all I’d needed, the little bit of help from my hands.

I swam to the side, where 3 other slaves who’d managed to make it, lay gasping on the cement. Patricia pulled me out, smiling and hugging me, telling me she knew I could do it, and finally letting me collapse at her feet. I fell asleep, shivering and dreaming terrible things until I became aware of Paul’s hands touching me. I opened my eyes to see the pool littered with corpses, some drifting lazily, others unmoving on the bottom.

“Get up, Lisa. Time to go home.”

The end
rache18us@yahoo.com