THE GRAB

BY GRANGE
Grange@emailaccount.com

[ part 2 ]

DISCLAIMER: The following piece of fiction is intended as adult entertainment and has been posted by the author only to an appropriate group on the Internet. It is not intended for children, and the author does not condone making it accessible to children.

Permission to electronically repost, store, and copy this work is freely granted by the author, provided that both this disclaimer and the contact information at the end of the work are included.

All characters in this work are fictitious, any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this story, some of which are dangerous and/or illegal.

If it hadn’t been for James, my life probably would have turned out a lot different. Oh who am I trying to kid? My life would most definitely have turned out different, a lot different. Much less exciting, much more frustrating, much more futile. But I did meet him, and I got sucked into his wake, his path in life like he was a steamship moving through a quiet water, creating a pull in the water impossible to resist.

We met for the first time when I transferred into Fort Bradford, Kentucky. I had just finished a post in Seoul, Korea. I had made 4-6 4-6 on my Proficiency and Conduct Report, and been promoted from PFC to Corporal and feeling fairly pleased with myself. Because of a small outbreak of cholera back in S.K., on transfer in I was given a thorough medical exam by the base physician. I passed, but the next day I was told to report to Captain James for a psychological exam as well. I wondered at this, but my bunkmates told me that it was SOP in Fort Bradford. I spent forty-five minutes trying to make sense of inkblots and talking about how I may or may not have resented my mother.

Afterwards, I settled into the routine pretty well. They had some nice gym facilities, and I joined the base boxing league, and used the handball court every chance I got. I really didn’t think too much about Captain James, but I later found out that he’d been thinking about me a lot more carefully than I had him.

I was alone on the court when he got there, and he stood for a few minutes watching me warm up, slamming the ball against the backstop. I didn’t look his way, though I knew he was there. When I paused for a moment, he said, “A game?”

I spun and snapped him a salute. PFC habits die hard, and a PFC would have to salute the guy that pushes the mop around an Army base, if he wasn’t the one that pushed the mop around. Captain James smiled at me and said, “At ease, Corporal. A game?”

Captain James was a man of about thirty with a lean build, almost skinny, with pale skin, fair hair, and blue eyes. I figured he came from up north somewhere. He had kind of a Scandinavian-by-way-of-Montana kind of look. But like I said, he was in OK shape, but hardly muscular at all. A lot of the boys in Winward company dismissed him as a Yale/ROTC yuppie. “Why not? Yes, sir.”

We played for two hours, maybe a little longer. I’ve no idea how many games we got in. I was several years younger, weighed less, and topped him by four or five inches. I beat him in every game.

When we broke, it was mid-afternoon, and I didn’t have a duty shift that day. The afternoon was considerably hotter than it had been before we’d started playing. We had both nearly sweat through our olive-green shirts and shorts. “Good workout,” Captain James said. “There’s nothing like it. I’m hope you got some decent exercise out it, at least. I certainly didn’t make it much of a contest.”

“Yes, sir. It was fine.” I flashed a shark’s smile. “To tell you the truth, sir, I like to win. On and off the court. And you made me work for it, sir. It was a workout.”

He laughed. “As a matter of fact, I managed to work up a thirst. How about a couple of beers? On me, in exchange for the handball lesson.”

“Sir?” I asked. Enlisted men weren’t allowed in the Officer’s Club, and it was the only place on the base where you could legally get alcohol. Company commander didn’t like fraternization, I’d heard.

“No worries, Corporal. I’ve got you covered.” He handed me a day passed, already filled out and signed at the bottom. I probably should have suspected something then and there, but I didn’t think to well in those days, and if it was a snake, it would have bitten me. “There’s a good bar in town. Feel like drinking with me, David?” My name made me turn my eyes from the pass in surprise. I couldn’t recall, in my two years in the service, an officer ever using my Christian name.

“Ahh, that would be fine, sir. Thank you.”

Captain James shook his head. “If we’re going to drink together, at least once we’ve left the base, you should call me by my name, too.”

“And what is it, sir?” I studied the pass, but couldn’t decipher his signature. “J…something James. Jason James? Jack James?”

“James James, as a matter of fact.” I looked at him, and he shrugged. “My parents weren’t very imaginative.”

I looked at the pass again. “Middle initial J. What does that stand for?”

“Can’t you guess?” he said.

We didn’t talk much until we were settled in a booth at the Hofbray House. It was what you would call a real honkey-tonk, swinging doors, jukebox, dartboard and a barkeep with a ten gallon hat. More pick up trucks in the parking lot than any other type of vehicle, where the most complicated drink a man might dare to ask for would be a whiskey sour. A good, low-down kind of place a fellow could blow the suds off a few in peace and quiet. James apologized again for his lousy performance on the handball court. I had taken a shot on an empty stomach, so I was feeling pretty loose already.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Hell, maybe you’re lucky in love.”

James barked mirthless laughter. “If this is luck, I’d hate to see misfortune.”

“Problems?” I asked.

“You might say that.”

“Well if it’s something you’d rather not talk about…”

James shook his head. “It’s not that, not that at all. It’s not that I don’t want to get it off my chest, but it would bore the daylights out of you. It’s hardly an original problem. The world is overflowing these days with men in the very same boat.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. But like I said, you probably don’t want to hear about it.”

I shrugged. “You bought the drinks, Captain. You might as well get your money’s worth.” I was only half listening, only half cared. I was a little curious why James felt the need to bend the ear of an enlisted man with his troubles, why a shrink needed someone to talk to in any case, but I figured that was all there was to it and I didn’t really care.

“Well,” he said. “There’s this girl. I’m carrying a torch for her so long I think I’m one of those guys that run the flame to the Olympics. But she’s…unavailable.”

I frowned, thinking about the type of people that made up the civilian side of Fort Bradford. “She’s married?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“You’re married?” I said.

“Heaven forbid. No, we’re both single. She’s young, fertile, and available, and longs for me as much as I long for her.”

“But you’re not available?” I asked, trying things from a different angle.

“There’s nothing I want more than to have her, and only one little problem in my way.”

My frown deepened. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Let me think. You’re both single, you are both available, but there’s a problem. All I can think of is she’s your sister, but I can’t believe that’s it, especially since you said it’s a common problem. I’ll tell you, my brain’s tired from too much time in the sun. What’s the problem?”

“I’m thirty-two years old,” James said.

“So what? I’m twenty-two myself, and I’ll be where you are in another ten years. Are you that much older than her?”

“Yes,” he said.

“How much?” I asked.

James laughed. “I’ll put it to you this way. In another ten years, when you’re the age I am now, she’ll be of legal age to drink.”

It took me a minute to get what he was telling me, really, really get it, but when I did I dropped my beer stein on the hardwood floor. It was almost empty, a good thing, or I might be guilty of alcohol abuse, too. I looked down at the glass, reaching for it to clean it up but hesitant about the dangerous shards. “What do you mean, sir?” I asked, not looking at him.

James smiled a different kind of smile, a low, small grin like a tomcat that sees a wounded mouse. He waited until the waitress had come around with the broom before he talked again. I used that time to compose myself as best I could, and try to figure out what the hell was going on.

“My problem is, David, that she’s eleven years old, and I have no desire to finish my service in Leavenworth.”

“I…see,” I said, feeling hot and cold all over at the same time.

“Do you? You know, I thought you would.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean that we suffer in exactly the same way, David. You have…longings that you can’t share with your peers and bunkmates. That’s why you sit in the base every weekend, never asking for leave, never take R&R, why you spend your time reading or working out, alone on the handball court or fighting in the boxing ring. You never play team sports, and you always sit alone in the mess hall. You’ve been on dates before with women your own age, and you’ve probably been laid, but you haven’t had satisfaction, true, honest-to-god relief very often, if ever. Why not? Why not go out and get laid, David. You’ve seen the type of women that hang around the bars near bases. They were called camp followers in another time, and did much the same then as they do now. You wouldn’t have to be really witty or clever to bed one of them, but you never show the least interest in activities other young men of your age enjoy. Stop me when I say something untrue, David.”

I pushed away from the table, got a new drink at the bar. I kept my eyes down as I stood there and drank it, more afraid than anything that James would get up from our table and follow me. If he did that, I would lay him out, start punching him until he didn’t get back up again, even if they put me in the stockade for the rest of my life. I felt…bad, like I’d been dissected and put under a microscope, and I looked up and I saw a monstrously large eye above me, staring down, at me and under me and through me. I went back to the table eventually. I couldn’t stop myself, and he probably knew it. He’d hooked me, and I wanted to follow the line he gave me to the end.

“I’m just a private person,” I said when I sat down, with a coolness I didn’t feel. “Nothing wrong with that, is there, sir?”

“Of course not,” he said. “Nothing wrong with being private. I’m a private person myself, though you probably don’t believe me. But it’s true. You don’t know what an act of courage this is for me, to open myself up and bare a closely held secret to another person. But I had to, because I think you’re worth the effort, David.”

“Why?” I asked, my mouth drier than even the beer could help.

“Because you’re like me. You look at them with covetous eyes, the little girls. Knowing how many regard it not just as wrong but as monstrous and evil only makes you feel guilty for the desire, but does nothing to quench the desire itself; the desire to take their green bodies in your hands and impale them on your cock. Stop me if I’m lying, David. Say the word now, and I’ll shut up and you can report what I’ve said to the chief of police, or Colonel Galloway or anyone you please. Call me a liar and it can stop now, my boy.”

I could no more have stopped him than a fly could stop the spider from spinning it tighter and tighter into its silk prison. All of a sudden I respected James a lot more than I had previously. I never would have had the courage to open up like this to another person, even if I had known they shared my desires. For James to do so made him more of a man than I was, especially since he would have had no way of knowing.

“How did you know?” I whispered fiercely, as if we were conspirators, which I suppose we were.

“I’ve been looking for you, or someone like you for a long time, David. I can’t say I knew, not for certain, until just now, but now I do. I had my first inkling when I reviewed your file when you transferred in. I won’t show you my entire hand, but your recruitment psych exam told me certain things about you.”

“Such as?” I asked.

“Such as a certain…moral flexibility. I read your background file, and then I met you in person. Let’s just say that I had a form of radar, and you pinged me quite strongly. But still, how much of that was wishful thinking, how much of that my instinct? I couldn’t know. But being right takes a certain tension off, don’t you think?”

“What do we do next?” I asked.

“What we do is that we finish our drinks, head back to the base, and do whatever it is that we were going to do if not for this fortuitous meeting. I have the poetry of Shelley and you have whatever it is you do in your spare time. Are you on duty tomorrow?”

“No, sir.”

“Then come and see me in my office. 1300 should be fine.”

“Won’t that look kind of funny, sir?”

He smiled, showing me his teeth. “A man coming to visit the company psychologist should look funny? If anyone asks, which I doubt they will, complain about some vague anxieties and look embarrassed. They’ll figure it’s impotence and the worst thing you have to worry about will be is slightly amused glances on their part. Come and see me. 1300.”

“1300,” I repeated, mesmerized.

After that, James fed me a steady diet of sexual philosophy. Rules were for those who lacked the imagination to break them. Superior men and women made their own rules, or lived with none at all. He quoted Nietzsche often, and put a New Age spin on it. There were truly no victims when you claimed your power, because their fate was just a manifestation of their own desire for subjugation. They created their destiny even as you created yours.

One Friday, when I went in to see him, James handed me another day-pass. “Change into civvies and meet me by the front gate in fifteen minutes. I’ll pick you up.” James took me for a long drive, saying that he had a gift for me. He parked in an unfamiliar neighborhood and led me down a flight of stairs into a basement chamber. There was a naked girl manacled to a metal frame, her mouth stopped with a gag. She looked about thirteen years old, with teacup breasts and a fine tuft of thin red hair just above her cunt, and a narrow waist. She had wide green eyes, and the hair on her head was considerably darker than between her legs, which was fiery. The frame was a large rectangle with anchor points welded into the four corners. It was at an angle to the floor, tilting her backwards just slightly. Her legs were spread by the chains, her lips gaped slightly. “She’s yours,” James said. “Do what you want with her.”

I had sex with her. For the first time in my life. A virgin until 22, and then BAM! It was just about the greatest thing I had ever felt. I could feel my cock stretching the girl as she moved against me. It was better than I ever imagined, the tight little pussy gripping my cock hard in its warm sheath. I reached for her bottom and grabbed her cheeks, spread them and played with them. I looked at her but couldn’t read anything in her eyes, whether she enjoyed this or not, whether I was doing it right or not. I wondered why she was gagged. I guess I assumed that she was willing, but even if I’d known that she hadn’t been, I couldn’t have said no.

Not to James. It would be like turning down a drink or a meal or any other offer of hospitality. Besides, the girl’s utter helplessness was fiercely exciting to me, as much as the fact of her age.

The sight of the tiny girl at my hands was making me crazy with lust, and I felt my cock already swelling, getting ready to cum. I wanted it to last, but I didn’t have anything near the control that would have been necessary to stop it. I thrilled at the sight of my organ working in and out between her bare pussy lips, moved my eyes up to her dark little nipples and then to her face, lost in falling waves of her hair.

I felt my cock spurt a little, and held myself deep inside her, pushing the tip back and forth a little as the first rush of cum shot into to her, grunting and moaning and gripping the girl's bottom as I emptied himself.

When I had finished, when I had spent my seed and vented the frustration that had been boiling like water in a clogged pipe for ten years, I was weak, and swooned to the ground with my pants around my ankles. I thought I was dying. I was ready to die, after feeling something so wonderful.

James helped me to my feet, and he asked me if there was anything else I wanted from her. I said no. I was surprised that he was still there. I thought he had gone, I don’t remember seeing him or hearing him while I was taking the girl, but he must have been there, standing still, watching me.

We left the building, and got back into James’ car. He told me to wait a minute, that there was something he had forgotten. He was back shortly and began driving. He asked me if I’d ever done that before.

“No,” I said.

“Never? Then you were a virgin?”

“Yes,” I said. I felt like a Colossus atop the world, with everything I wanted spread out beneath my feet. I was a giant, unstoppable, supreme.

“Then I have given you a double gift,” James said. “That girl has been your first lover.”

“Yes,” I said. “Where did you find her?”

“By asking around. There are a few like her, even in Fort Bradford. School girls by day, prostitutes by night. All it takes to find them is a little…perseverance. Even she is too old for my tastes, I’m afraid, and she’s the youngest I found.”

“She’s just fine, if you ask me.” I said. “I’d like to meet her again.”

James laughed, and laughed, and laughed. “Oh David, that will be impossible,” he said. “I told you this was a double gift. She was your first lover, and you were her last. The girl you were just with will never have anyone again. Do you know what I did when I went back? I killed her. I took the gag out of her mouth and I said, ‘Goodbye, pretty one,’ and I cut her throat. Afterwards I sprayed ammonia into her cunt.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“You don’t know if you should believe me or not. Maybe I just went back to cut her loose and pay her off. Do you want me to turn around so you can see for yourself?”

“No,” I said.

“Good. Because you know I always tell you the truth, David. You’re confused, you don’t know how to feel. Relax. You didn’t do anything. I did. I paid her to let me tie her up so that my friend could have sex with her, I took you there, and afterwards I killed her. And she would have died anyway. No one lives for ever.” He looked me in the eye. “We are closer than close, you and I. We are brothers in blood and semen.”

From that point on I was leading two lives. On the surface I was a Corporal in the U.S. Army eight months away from finishing his term, with little interest in re-enlistment. I didn’t bleed away my money, I had a nice little stash squirreled away, with good prospects for when I finished. At the same time I was living a secret life with Captain James.

I learned to turn it on and off. Like you leave your job at the office. I left the whole side of myself for when I was with him. I saw him once a week at our “therapy” session, and usually on the handball courts on Saturday morning. There was never another girl, and aside from the books he gave me to read, we would usually just sit around and talk, about ourselves, our backgrounds, the movies we liked and our favorite colors. Just…everything. But there was always that edge, that current. And then I would just it off and go back to my bunk.

Some months after the girl, James said that he needed my help. And I sold my soul to him.

The girl, it turns out, had had a pimp. He knew just enough to be dangerous, but not enough to take to the M.P.s, even if he was the sort to go to the police. He was threatening James. He wanted fifty thousand dollars in exchange for his silence. James told me all this, and asked me if I would do something for him the way he’d done something for me. I didn’t have to think about it. Weren’t we brothers? I said yes.

James arranged for me to get a two-day pass from the base Chaplain and instructed me where to go and who to meet. He handed me a black Ultrasuede attaché case and a 9mm pistol. I checked the clip. It was full of hollow-point ammunition.

“Won’t they be able to trace this gun back to you?” I asked.

“When you’ve used it, throw it down a storm drain. Even if they found it, it can’t get traced back to me. I stole it from a Lieutenant Junior Grade three years ago, just in case.” Comments like that make me wonder still how much of it James planned, and how much of it just happened because of his ultracautious nature.

I met the pimp in a Chinese restaurant in Lexington. He was a comical fat man who waddled like a penguin. He kept telling me how sorry he was to be doing this, but that he really needed the money. The more he said it the less sorry I felt for him, the more I just wanted to do it and get it done.

We went outside and ducked into an alley, where I handed over the case. He dropped down to his knees and opened it. By the time he realized that the case contained twenty dollar bills wrapped around stacks of paper, I’d pulled my pistol from my jacket holster and shot him in the chest. He went down, and I pressed the gun against his forehead, double-tapping it.

I dropped two vials of cocaine on the ground near the body. The false bundle of money, the execution style murder, and the drugs would combine with the deceased’s criminal record easy enough for most homicide detectives to close it just about as soon as they opened it. They’d leave it on the books until some gangbanger named a buddy of his on it, and then try to pin it on one of them until it stuck. I dropped the gun down the storm drain, and walked away from the scene. James’ planning had put the meeting in a part of town where gunshots were a facet of daily life, and any interest taken in them would not result in immediate police investigation.

I drove back to the base just about when my pass expired, checked back in, and never breathed a word about it to anybody.

There’s a song by the Police that says it all. “Murder by numbers,/One two three./It’s as easy to learn as your A-B-Cs.” Ain’t it the truth?

After that, we really got busy. The poor, deceased pimp had three other girls in his stable, all of them young teenagers. James knew some people in Columbus who shared our interests in young girls, people who would pay five thousand dollars a head to have them delivered. Would I be interested?

One road trip later, I violated Title 18, Part I, Chapter 109A, Section 2241 of the U.S. criminal code three times; transporting a minor across state lines for sexual purposes. I had also violated Title 18, Part I, Chapter 109A, Section 2243 more times than I could count, the sexual abuse of a minor. I think I also sped. Afterwards, I was ten thousand dollars richer, after my split with James. Badda-bing, badda-boom. We were in business.

After we both put in our papers, we invested in a farm-house in Virginia, not too far away from Roanoke, where so many settlers vanished like mist centuries ago. There we worked together to make more people disappear; small people, small people worth vast sums of money for men like us, people we could use to satisfy our desires and live up the high life.

Life can be pretty good. Even if one is a criminal and a monster. I have a greater sense of satisfaction than any doctor, lawyer, artist or ball player I know. I wouldn’t trade my life for anything. And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Trading lives. It’s what I do for a living, when you get right down to it.

And there I was, seven years later, the cock of the walk, leaving Jackie Friedman safely bound and gagged in our shared room while I disposed of her suitcase. There wasn’t much to it…deface it enough for it to be conceivably tossed away, bury it in a dumpster, the same with her clothes and personal effects, tucked beneath the hotel restaurant’s garbage in a black plastic garbage bag. I’d shed myself of everything I’d taken from the Friedman house, save Jackie herself, and one pair of clothing that she was to wear for the next few days, until I could get her to James, and from there…well, I really couldn’t say where she’ll end up. Perhaps she’ll be shipped to Argentina in a cargo freight, and decorate a palatial estate for the Under-Minister of Agriculture. Maybe she’ll stay in the good old USA and be married of as the child bride to a cult leader.

It occurred to me as I was disposing of her clothing and personal effects that I had never before wondered what was going to happen to one of my charges before, but I was thinking, and fairly deeply, about Jackie. I wondered why.

Because I wanted the Valium to kick in, I drove to the nearest 7-11 for a cup of coffee. I sat in the car and watched the glimmer of lights from cars on the freeway. It was late, and I had been up for almost 20 hours, but I wasn’t tired. I couldn’t say that I was still feeling the adrenaline from my activities, or cruising on a high created by the thought of Jackie and the time I’d get to spend with her, but I was wired from something, restless. The coffee probably wouldn’t help, but I hate drinking decafe, and it didn’t occur to me as I was adding my sugar and cream to look for something else, so I drank the coffee and didn’t worry about my bedtime. We’d be on the road that evening. I could afford to goof a little with my sleep schedule.

After I’d drunk the coffee, I threw the cup away, and went back to the motel. I think she was asleep, because she started when I came into the room and threw the light switch. She had obviously struggled before the pills had kicked in, her hair was mussed and she had red marks on her cheeks, as if she’d tried to force the gag off by pressing and rubbing it against her arm. For all the good it did her. Her eyes were slightly glazed, and she didn’t try to struggle much. She was afraid, that I could tell, but she was calm about it, thanks to a little chemistry.

“Miss me princess?” I asked as I came in. She made some noise behind her gag. “I thought so. That’s sweet of you, Jackie, it really is.” It was so easy for me to go into my role; enter David the Sadistic Torturer bantering with Jackie the Helpless Prisoner. It must have been easy for her, too. She didn’t even have to act all that much.

I browsed through my selection of goodies while deciding how to punish her. I set a few on the large, round table the room offered, to make some space as well as to show her the implements. I don’t know if she had an idea what they would be used for or not, but they would certainly give her imagination a spark. I collected some goods, and then put them on the bed next to her. “Are you ready for your punishment, little one?” I asked. She shook her head, renewed her weak struggles. “Good. I hope you voided your bladder well and good earlier, because this is going to hurt a lot.”

I ran my hands over her chest, flicking the coral pink nipples with my fingers, laughed at her delicious helplessness. Puffy and soft just the hint of a swell beneath them, the aureole the color of the inside of a seashell. I took her left nipple between thumb and forefinger, and stretched it out. I tied a cinching noose in the twine, and slipped it over her nipple, taking it down to the base. I drew it tight, and she began screaming behind her gag. It was about as audible as an overly loud whisper, and I smiled as she relearned the lesson about trying to scream when a gag is tickling the back of your throat. She gagged, cutting off the scream, and then began moaning and whimpering, thrashing herself back and forth on the bed as the tightening pain in her nipple built up. I adjusted my little noose, tightened it until it forced the very tip of her nipple to swell bulbously, and then snipped the noose from the roll of twine. I scratched the tormented nipple with my fingernail, and laughed as she began to how in pain beneath the gag. Tears began flowing, and I waited until her hysterical breaths had slowed before tying a similar noose around her other nipple. We repeated ourselves, her cries of pain, and my delight in them when I had bound her preteen breasts.

When I had clipped the twine, I took out the clamps. The teeth were serrated, but lined with rubber to prevent them from piercing the skin. I affixed them to her tormented nipples, and tightened the screw. I had to stop three times affixing the device to wait until she had stopped her thrashing. I tightened the clamps. Jackie’s angelic face was red by now, what I could see behind her gag, at any rate, and she was huffing through her nose with a touch of hyperventilation. She must be in agony, and being violated and tortured in such an alien, confusing way would strike at the core of her being, confusing, shaming, violating her. I rubbed her suffering nipples with my fingertips, grasped her shoulders and felt them strain as she pulled against her bonds. It was glorious.

I flicked her clamps. I rolled and pulled them. I was a conductor, and her mewls my symphony. I played with her nipples until I tired of the noises she made, and she had degenerated into an hysterical, sobbing mass. I reached down and put my finger on her exposed cunt. I rubbed her on her clit, forced it from its protective hood, and toyed with it gently. Unfamiliar sensations washed over her body, an unknown and fresh sense of pleasure that warred with the pain I had inflicted. I spent as much time toying with her clit as I had hurting her nipples, and it did not surprise me that I was able to invoke a reaction from my little Jackie. Her vagina secreted a bit of moisture to my hand, even with her fear, even with her warring instincts and pain, I managed to arouse her. I put the tip of my finger into her opening, just enough to feel how exquisitely tight she was, how hot, how soft. My cock would probably fill her guts, were I to rape her. I left her somewhat short of an orgasm, indeed, if she was even capable of one. Not all young girls are, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if Jackie could have attained it, given a little time and effort.

She was panting, although for a vastly different reason now. I brushed her newly darkened hair back, tucked it behind her ears, and petted the side of her cheek. “You didn’t think that was it, did you?” She made some noise.

I stood up and began to whip her with a hand-sized flogger. The many tails were soft suede, and, if I really swung my arm, I could probably bruise and maim. Used normally, it produced a good, satisfying sting, but nothing too severe. But even that on her pain-racked nipples would be sufficient to boost her into fresh heights of suffering. She became more beautiful the longer I whipped her nipples, her tears and screams and wretches. I didn’t keep count of how many strokes I delivered, one after the other after the other on the purple, swollen nubs, but when I sat back down again and looked at the clock, almost 15 minutes had passed. “Well now, princess, have you learned your lesson?”

She was gone, beyond response, trapped in the oubliette of her anguish. I went to the bathroom, and got a long drink of water, smiling at myself in the mirror. I gave her some time to recover from her trauma, then began to stroke her belly.

“Learned your lesson, princess?” She was pretty calm, considering that I’d left the clamps on her nipples, but even the worst of pain, if unvaried, can fade into a background sensation with enough time. She could tolerate it now, excruciating as it was, and she was in possession of enough of her faculties to respond to me. She nodded, despairingly.

“Good,” I said. I lay down on my bed and switched on the television. There wasn’t much on that early in the morning but paid programming and second run movies on HBO, but I flipped the remote a little and found something I could watch. Jackie had believed that I was going to take the pins off, and when I made no move to do so she began to twitch and thrash at the enduring pain.

I turned the volume down a bit and looked at her. “Something the matter?”

She made a cry behind her gag, begging me with those wide, blue eyes for mercy. “Want me to take them off?” She nodded.

“All right.” I did so, removing the clamps and cutting the twine around her nipples, and when the blood rushed back into her tortured nubs she sobbed again as fresh pain washed over her. I lowered my head, and drew them into my mouth, kissing and sucking at them and rolling the tip of my tongue across the body I had tortured. She moaned, made some sort of noise, and shifted. I put an arm around her and pressed her close to keep her from rolling away as I sucked at her undeveloped breasts. I kissed them better, as it was, and took my time and pleasure in doing so.

She was making noises again, singing for me, and once again I slipped my hand between her legs and stroked her at the entrance to her love-hole. I rolled her and summoned up from her bound and tortured body the pleasure at my touch again. All it took was a little patience to wear down her resistance. She was quivering in fear and uncertainty by the time I’d finished, mewling in need and hating herself for it.

I lowered my head between her legs and kissed her pussy, and let my tongue trace the smooth, white flesh of the lips. I tucked my tongue between them and felt her little clitoris in its hood, and after flicking it a few times, felt it stiffen. I put my tongue back between her pussy lips, but rather than flick at it with the tip, I smoothed the flat surface of his tongue over her clitoris, bringing some moisture into my mouth. Jackie seemed to like that. I curled my tongue a bit, surrounding the hood with soft wet flesh, and ran it back and forth in and out of her lips. Her hips moved a little, and when I glanced up I saw that her eyes were closed.

I put more pressure to bear, and kissed her pussy lips at the bottom of each stroke as I moved my tongue in and out. I was rewarded by feeling Jackie tense up, getting a little soft grunt out her as her body shuddered and shook. Her first climax, if I didn’t know any better. I felt reasonably proud of myself.

I kissed her gagged mouth, switched off the TV, and slipped between the sheets in my own bed. “Good night, princess. Sleep well. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

*****

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