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From: worthlesspainslut@hotmail.com (e. wolf)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 16 Feb 2002 05:49:02 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Jazz's Toys Pt. 12: Wedded Bliss (M+/F, nc torture)
Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2002 16:10:12 -0500
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Disclaimer: Don't read this if you're not supposed to; it contains
lots of horrible, illegal things that should never be tried in real
life.

Well, since so many of you have wondered about how Jazz got started in
his life of torture and debauchery, i thought i'd give you all a
closer glimpse at his 'family' life. Let me know what you think!

Jazz's Toys Pt. 12: Wedded Bliss (M+/F, nc torture)
by e. wolf

Madeline sighed as she opened the door of the apartment he kept for
her - her husband, the man with whom she'd had a brief affair as a
teenager; the man who got her pregnant; the man she'd married at her
parents urging. But Jazz wasn't the marrying type - he'd told her that
straight up - and it had taken her weeks to convince him to marry her
and give their child a name. He'd agreed on several conditions -
conditions which, fifteen years ago, had seemed bearable, though far
from reasonable. She'd been able to handle moving so far away from her
parents - Jazz terrified them, and although they were adamant their
grandchild not be born a bastard, they seemed vaguely relieved when
the expecting couple had left the state.
But then he'd left her, back to roaming the country to do whatever it
was he did for a living. Madeline told herself she had no idea, but in
her heart she knew. She could tell from the way he'd treated her - how
roughly he'd handled her once he'd first seduced her, the names he'd
called her - even if she didn't fully comprehend the extent of his
depravity, she knew he made his living hurting people. Hurting women.
He'd seen her as something of a challenge - the pretty young choir
girl he'd met in the park. He'd turned on the charm, asked her about
her earrings, the book she was carrying, asked to meet her the next
day, then the next, and the next, until she'd been swept off her feet
and ready to follow him almost anywhere.
Once he'd taken her, almost gently, in the woods behind the old
elementary school - that's when he'd let his guard down. Slapped her
face, called her `cunt,' made her lick him clean. She'd been startled,
frightened, but was still so taken with him she obeyed.
And even in his absence, she'd been obeying him ever since.
For the first few years he'd stopped by every week, given her some
money, checked on her and the baby, and finally made her pregnant with
another one.
Then she hadn't seen him for months at a time, then years. He'd bought
her a house, sent her money every month ... but always in the envelope
with the money came a set of instructions. She was to leave the
children with a neighbour and drive across town to this dive of an
apartment building. Sometimes the note said to take off her clothes in
the hallway outside the apartment, sometimes in the car before she
came upstairs. Sometimes she was to arrive dressed in specific
clothes. And then, inside the dingy one-room flat, the most degrading
treatments awaited her. Sometimes Jazz himself was there, ready to use
her for a day or a weekend. But more often the apartment was filled
with strangers, men she'd never met - or perhaps men she knew well.
Sometimes they were masked, sometimes naked, sometimes fully clothed.
And they always, always, always had something horrible planned for
her.

At thirty-one, Madeline still had the curly blond hair and bright blue
eyes that had caught Jazz's attention in the first place, but her
ready smile was substantially less so, and the alabaster skin of her
body was toughened, covered in scars. She was pregnant now for the
third time, seven and a half months along, and she'd only been able to
narrow the list of potential fathers down to half a dozen or so.
There'd been quite a crowd at the apartment the weekend she conceived,
Jazz himself among them, although she'd racked her brains trying to
figure out whether he'd ever actually cum inside her that time.
He'd punished her when she told him she was pregnant for the third
time - beat her for being a stupid cow, for forgetting to take the
pills he paid for - but secretly he was thrilled. He had clients who
would pay a lot of money to abuse a heavily pregnant slut, and if he
didn't make enough money from that he could always take the baby and
sell it.
When Madeline walked through the door of the seedy downtown apartment
building there was a middle-aged man with a huge potbelly leering at
her. She could tell from the look in his eye that he knew why she was
there. He grinned as their eyes met and began to rub his crotch
through his pants.
"Go on," he growled. "Take off your clothes, slut."
Madeline's eyes welled with tears. She knew the correct reply. "Yes,
Master," she said, and began to peel off the enormous cotton shift she
was wearing. She was naked beneath it, her swollen belly protruding
grotesquely beneath her large breasts.
"Get down on the carpet, cunt, and lick my boots."
With a shudder Madeline knelt on the grimy carpet and set to work at
the stranger's boots, which were filthy with dirt and soot. She
extended her long pink tongue and began to slurp at the worn, cracked
leather coated in muck.
"Put your ass up in the air while you're licking me, whore."
Madeline arched her back as much as she could, her belly pressed
against the floor as she extended her ass in the air. Out of the
corner of her eye she could see the man's hands moving, realized he
was taking off his belt. She thought of begging him not to whip her,
but there was no point, and she would only be punished more for it
later. The lash came down across her protruding ass cheeks with a
THWACK, and Madeline cried out with the pain, although years of
experience told her the pain would become exponentially worse if she
stopped licking. Soon the tops of the dirty stranger's boots gleamed
with Madeline's saliva. He leaned back against the wall and lifted
first one foot, then the other, so she could lick the bottoms of them
as well. She gagged and choked as she tongued the clods of dirt from
the crevices of his boot bottoms, gasping and crying with the pain of
her belt-whipping all the while.
She licked for a long while after the man's boots were clean, and
finally he kicked her aside.
"All right. I'm finished with you now. Go upstairs," he snarled. "Come
back and suck my dick on your way out."
"Yes, Master, I will," Madeline said. She began to crawl toward the
elevator but a well-aimed kick from one of the man's freshly-polished
boots stopped her in her tracks.
"You'll use the stairs, you lazy cunt," he snarled. 
Madeline sighed. Bad enough she would have to exhaust and degrade
herself once she got upstairs - now she would have to drag herself up
six flights of stairs to the apartment.
When she got to the top of the stairs she was so stiff she could
scarcely move. She paused a second on the worn threadbare carpet
outside the apartment door, breathing heavily from the exertion of
crawling, her bare knees rugburned and sore.
Before she could knock, though, the door swung open and Jazz had
seized her by the hair, hauling her inside.
"Where the fuck have you been, cunt?" he demanded. "You're twenty-five
minutes late."
"I'm sorry, Master ... but the man in the lobby -"
"What man?" Jazz scowled. 
"T-he man who made me undress and clean his boots," Madeline said. "It
took so long -"
"I never told you to clean anybody's boots, you useless piece of
shit." He looked her over with something like disgust on his face,
squeezing her firm, swollen tits, squeezing them like dishrags until
she screamed. "Look at you, you fat, repulsive slut." He slapped her
belly and shoved her toward the middle of the room, where a crowd of
men seized her and began to slap her around. There were ten or twelve
of them in all, ranging in age from maybe sixteen or seventeen years
old to an old man who had to be nearly seventy.
They tossed her from one to another, slapping her tits and belly,
spitting in her face, groping her cunt and ass with their fingers.
This continued for twenty minutes or so, as the men cheered and
shoved, making Madeline dizzy. She could feel the baby shifting inside
her, kicking at the walls of her stomach from the inside as the men
shoved at it from the outside. She felt sick; she had to pee; she
wanted to cry from the humiliation.
Finally Jazz clapped his hands sharply and everyone in the room
snapped to attention.
"All right. We're going to start making our little film now, and we
need to get sweet Madeline ready. Cunt, go into the bathroom. You have
fifteen minutes to clean yourself up and get yourself looking pretty.
I know it's an impossible task, you ugly whore, but do your best."
Madeline stumbled into the bathroom, sobbing heartily. She'd better
get it out of her system fast, she thought. Any sign of weakness or
self-pity out in the main room would be severely punished. Instead she
blotted her eyes, took a drink of water from the tap and opened the
medicine cabinet to take out her makeup. She knew how Jazz wanted it;
nice and slutty, eyeliner thick and black, lips full and red. She
spread a little rouge around her nipples and cunt lips as well, not
because Jazz had told her too, but because she thought he might go a
little lighter on her if she already looked slightly bruised. It was
an outside chance, she thought dully, but worth a shot nonetheless.
She stepped back out into the living room, and Jazz looked slightly
disappointed that she'd managed to prepare herself in less than the
time he'd given her. She'd only pay for it next time, when he
shortened her time to ten minutes, but for the moment she hadn't given
her an excuse to punish her.
"Right, cunt," he said, slapping her ass. "Get down and assume the
position."
They had transformed the room in fifteen minutes, set up lights and a
huge tarp that covered one wall and most of the floor. Madeline was
familiar with the position - up on her knees, her tits cupped in her
hands, lifting them off her rounded belly and offering them up to her
masters.
"Smile and look pretty, cunt," Jazz said. "Show us how much you love
this."
Madeline forced a smile, natural-looking from years of practice.
Someone else stepped forward, a familiar face even if she didn't know
his name. He'd used her body on several occasions, and now as he
stepped forward he carried a whip in his hand. The whip, too, looked
familiar. She'd felt its tongue many times.
"Roll the camera," said the man. He was tall, not as tall as Jazz but
over six feet tall, broad-shouldered with thick dark hair covering his
bare torso from his shoulders to, presumably, below the belt of his
black leather pants. "All right, Madeline. Tell us why you're here."
Madeline was taken aback at the sound of her own name. 
"I'm, uh, here because I'm a worthless cocksucking cunt and I need to
be abused," she said clearly.
"How do you need to be abused? What do you want us to do to you?"
"I want you to hurt me. Make me scream. Whip my tits and my ass and
fuck my cunt and my mouth."
The next hour was interminable. Madeline put on a terrific show for
the camera, sucking and fucking a dozen men, several at a time and
some of them two or three times apiece. The youngest one, the teenaged
boy, seemed to churn out about a gallon of cum all over her face and
chest.
Next they had her kneel facing the camera as every last one of the men
who had fucked her  surrounded her and loosed their bladders. She knew
her place: she opened her mouth wide and swallowed what she could,
letting the rest dribble down her chin and over her full breasts and
belly.
As she knelt on the drop sheet, she forced a smile as the camera
approached.
"You like being used as a toilet, whore?" said one of the men.
"Yes, I love it," she answered automatically. "I love to drink piss."
Jazz's voice, then: "That's good. Cut."
The overhead lights came on then, and it suddenly occurred to Madeline
she hadn't seen him since filming began. He must have been running the
camera, she thought - then she noticed the old man she'd seen earlier.
He hadn't been among the men using her on camera, either. Her brow
furrowed as she realized something strange was going on.
"How do you think that'll turn out, Your Honour?" Jazz said to the old
man.
"I'd say it'll definitely hold up in court. A woman who'd behave like
that while she's pregnant shouldn't be around children. I don't think
you'll have any trouble winning a custody battle."
Madeline started at that, scrambled to her feet awkwardly.
"Custody battle? What the hell are you talking about?
Jazz grinned at the sight of his suddenly panicked wife rushing toward
him. He nodded to the teenaged boy, who stepped forward and seized her
by the arms.
"Madeline, I'd like you to meet my son Dexter," he said. "Lately I've
been feeling ... oh, I don't know, familial. I think it would be good
for Dexter to get to know his little brother and sister, so I've
decided to petition for custody."
"But you can't! They don't even know you!"
"Well, it's about time they did, don't you think? It's not healthy for
children to grow up not knowing their parents. I think it's high time
we were introduced."
Madeline burst into tears. So this was it; she'd prostituted and
debased herself for years to support her children, all the while
trying to hide her secret life from them. Now Jazz was making all that
effort worthless.
"Please, Jazz, they're just children. They're not ready for -"
"They're ready when I say they're ready, cunt." His smile left as
quickly as it had appeared, and he reached out to grip one of
Madeline's breasts firmly, squeezing it like a lemon in his huge fist.
"You've forgotten your place. Now get down on your knees before I cut
you off at them."
Madeline sunk, sobbing, to her knees as Jazz thrust his half-hard cock
in her face, slapping her with it as it began to harden. She began to
suck it, nearly choking as she bawled hopelessly.
"Trust me, you don't want this to go to court, Madeline," Jazz said as
his cock slipped easily into his wife's practised throat. "They'll
play that videotape in court and everyone will be able to see what a
little whore you are. So you just have those kids dressed and packed
by Monday morning. I'll be by to pick them up at eight o'clock."
Madeline felt the crowd of men gather closely around her as she
slurped and suckled at Jazz's flesh. The day was just beginning, she
realized with a wave of horror, and it was only going to get worse.

End of Part 12. Questions/comments etc. to
worthlesspainslut@hotmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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