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Subject: {ASSM} Cooking the Black Canary ( viol, whip, snuff, m/f tort } REPOST
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Date: Tue, 18 Mar 2008 16:10:02 -0400
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 "That's better, Dinah, my love." Heavy mid-thigh manacles keep the
Canary's legs parted at the proper sixty degree angle. Thick steel
cable circles her tiny waist, crisscrosses between her world-class
breasts and ensures that her arms remain firmly secured to the bondage
bar which rests behind her back. She's not going anywhere, and she
knows it. She screams obscenities at me through her gag. She's still
angry, and she's going to stay that way for a while. The torture will
have to get pretty severe before her rage turns to despair, but that's
fine with me. I'm a patient person.
She knows I've got her, but she hasn't really thought through what
that means. As far as she's concerned, I'm a god. I can do anything I
want to her; for her, there is no distinction between my will and
reality. Poor little bird!

I decide to teach her some of these things. And so I go to my whip
cabinet, and take a few moments to consider my options. A bullwhip?
No, that's too much. Heavy flail? Maybe later. Nine-tails? Too
Catwoman. Just a quirt, for now--but a nice sharp one, to let her know
that I mean business.

"I've been looking forward to this for a long time," I remark as I
make my way towards her. "Since the day we met, actually. I saw it
all, in my mind's eye: this moment, your agony, your death. I knew
then that I would be the one who would snuff you." And so I bring the
whip down hard across her firm, round left tit. The Canary stiffens in
her bonds and howls through her gag. Sweet luck: I've found a nipple.
That's bad news for Dinah, since it means that I now know where that
nipple is. I deliver twenty or thirty strokes to her breast in the
space of five minutes, and while they do not all catch that elusive
mammary nerve center, many do.

The Canary has fantastic, impossible Playmate's breasts on a skinny,
athletic young body; they look incredible beneath the tight, stiff
blue-gray cloth of her uniform. These are the Canary's secret weapons.
How many thugs have been caught looking? How many times has she landed
a roundhouse kick because the bad guy had something else on his mind?

Now those magnificent tits work against her. They've attracted my
attention too, much to the dismay of my gorgeous victim. I move on to
the other breast, lashing it relentlessly as the tortured bird squirms
in her bonds.

I've always liked to whip women through their clothing. Cloth--
especially heavy combat fabric like the Canary wears--moderates the
impact of the whip. The torture lasts longer that way. Besides, it's
good to preserve a little mystery. I don't need to see what happens to
her breasts as the stroke count reaches fifty, sixty, seventy per tit.
I can imagine it, and that's much better.

Dinah and I have a nice long session together. I switch breasts
frequently, letting one teat rest while I work on the other. Dinah is
strong and stubborn. She glares at me, her blue eyes icy and hard with
hate. Her face is red. Her blonde mane is looking a bit bedraggled;
she's drenched in sweat. And yes, there are tears--just a few, and she
tries to hide them. The Canary is in a great deal of pain, but she's
not ready to break just yet. I have to admire her spunk. She probably
hasn't been hurt like this since the Longbow Hunters incident, and yet
she still manages to keep that defiant look in her eyes. If I took the
gag out of her mouth, she would probably spit at me.

When I'm finally ready to get serious on her, I switch on the
induction coils in her thigh shackles. As they start to heat, I unsnap
the crotch of her uniform.

Her cunt is exactly as I had hoped it would be: small and pink,
completely bald. Apart from the breasts, she suddenly looks like an
adolescent girl.

I run my finger gently along her tightly clenched lips, and press my
fingertip tenderly into the tiny round knob of her clit. She closes
her eyes and shudders uncontrollably; my touch disgusts her.

"Now, I know you love it when I touch you there. I know you want to
feel Cheshire's fingers and lips and tongue on your hot little pussy."
As I speak I don my harness, the special one with all the extra
padding, the heat-proof one. I proceed to the brazier; my tongs dig
the dildo out of the coals, and I snap it into place.

Dinah's eyes go wide; I can see the whites all around the blue. The
whipping was one thing, but this...I've broken through; I've made the
change. Anger has given birth, as it always does, to terror.

Her thighs are starting to sizzle. All-powerful, I stand over her and
savor the moment. "They say that nothing really hurts like being
burned," I murmur. "Those are first-degree burns you feel on your
thighs. Maybe they're shading into second in some places, but they
still aren't anything serious yet. If you think those burns hurt, just
imagine what you're going to feel when I start fucking you."

The Canary's not stupid; she has a pretty good idea what it'll feel
like. Reluctantly she raises her eyebrows. A single word comes through
the gag, soft and muffled: please.

I cup her left breast and squeeze, gently at first, then harder. She
whimpers into the gag. A little blood soaks through the gray fabric,
especially around the damaged nipples. I grin maliciously and mount
her.

I do her clit first, because that's the worst thing you can possibly
do to a gorgeous woman like her, and I want her to spend some time
castrated before I finish her. I press the cherry-red tip of my hard
steel cock into her tender, vulnerable clitoris, and I hold it there,
laughing, until I am quite certain that she is no longer a woman.

Now the tears flow freely. Now there are no more barriers, and the
face I am looking into is the face of a lost little girl. I thrust
into her, raping her, violating her in a way infinitely more profound
than anything a man could manage. My cock is ten and a half inches
long, and two inches thick. It never gets soft. And it glows red with
the heat of my hate. Every stroke makes her cunt sizzle like a platter
of fajitas. This is the fuck she can't survive, the Canary's last
ride.

The inside of the harness is equipped, naturally, with the proper
stimulating features. I'm really getting off on the idea that I'm
fucking a girl to death--and not just any girl, but the gorgeous Black
Canary, who is stronger than most men, who is tough and courageous and
indomitable, who is screaming like a bitch as my cock cooks her cunt.

I grab her breasts as I ravage her body, just to give her a little
extra pain. The inductors are still cooking her thighs, of course. But
I doubt she feels any of that. What she feels is something no woman
should ever feel: the unimaginable sensation of tender vaginal flesh
blackening, charring, dying.

In the end, of course, she must go the way of her cunt. No woman could
hope to endure what I am doing to her, though she lasts longer than
most would--nearly twenty minutes, all told. I come about halfway
through it, a preliminary but deeply satisfying warm-up, and then
again right at the end. I'm gazing into her eyes when it starts, and I
thrust and hold and grab her breast and she knows, because she stops
screaming and just looks at me, unable to fight any longer. As the
last twitches of pleasure fade away, so does she, and that's the end
of the Canary.

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