Caveat lector.

(Mf, nc, slavery, piercing)

If you don't like sex stories, don't read it.

If you don't like stories about sex with underage children, don't read it.

If you don't like stories bout forced sex, don't read it.

If you are below the arbitrary age set for your area, don't read it.

If for any reason it is illegal for you to read this story, don't read it.

 

Find my stories here-

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/normdeploom/

 

Copyright © 2003 Norm DePloom.  ALL Rights Reserved

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author.  This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.  The author may be contacted at 'MyStories at normdeploom dot com'

 

All the characters and events in this story are fictional; any resemblance to real people or events is entirely coincidental.

 

The Witness

(Being part three of a continuing story of non-consensual sexual slavery.)

 

By

Norm DePloom

 

Exhausted from terror, pain, and fucking, Lynn fell asleep, almost as soon as my softening cock slipped from her lips, curled up on the floor at my feet.  Leaving her laying on the floor, I put the Starbucks “Forty Licks” Rolling Stones CD on my stereo and watched her sleep.  The sexually provocative slut I'd seen mounting the witness stand now looked more like a little girl as she slept on my floor.  Her small breasts, her tight fanny, her flat belly, her matted hair clinging to the drying sweat on her whip-marked skin all with the face of an innocent little Asian angel, sent the blood rushing back into my cock.  I couldn't believe that I was getting another erection this quickly. 

 

“Under My Thumb” came on the stereo and I wondered, as I continued to watch my slave sleep, how many people actually listened to the words of that song?  The song concerns the responsibilities taken on when another person becomes submissive to you.  Listening to Mick sing I, for the first time, really realized how much I'd taken on by becoming a slave owner.  It made no difference that she was an unwilling slave; the responsibilities were still there.  Sure, I could whip her, or fuck her whenever I wanted.  I could brand her, scar her, pierce her or tattoo her as I pleased.  I could invite my friends over to fuck and abuse her for their enjoyment, but all this cost a price.  I had to feed her; I had to see to her physical well being; get her medical attention, if needed; and clothe her if I took her out.  Putting all that aside for the time being I watched as Lynn, still asleep, rolled onto her back and let her legs open.  Her delicate looking slit and the tops of her thighs were still glistening with drying cunt secretions.  I'd never known a woman who produced such a large quantity of pussy juice.  I could still smell it.  Not that I minded, I love the smell of cunt, especially one that's been fucked a few times.  I also love the taste of cunt, especially cunt that's been fucked repeatedly.  I was looking forward to eating that young pussy lying on the floor just as much as I was to fucking it.  After getting up and retrieving the nylon collar that I had purchased to match the wrist and ankle cuffs, I sat back down and woke my fuck slave with a nudge from my foot.

 

"Wake up bitch," I ordered.  Lynn, her hands still fastened behind her back, struggled up onto her knees.

 

"Come over here," I commanded indicating a place on the floor right in front of me.  Lynn walked on her knees over to where I was sitting. 

 

"Fuck slaves," I explained as I buckled the collar around her neck, "need to have a collar to remind them that they are property.  Property of a man, to be fucked and abused for his pleasure and amusement."  Lynn stared at the floor in front of her.

 

"Why..." she started to ask.  I slapped her, hard, hard enough to send her sprawling across the floor.

 

"Get up," I yelled, "I didn't give you permission to lay down, or to speak." I reached over and helped her back to her knees with a handful of her long black hair.

 

"Fuck slaves," I told her once she was kneeling in front of me again, "Don't speak unless they are told to.  Fuck slaves don't do anything but fuck, unless their owner tells them otherwise."  Grabbing another handful of her hair, I pulled her forward until her face was only an inch from my hard cock.

 

"This," I said grasping the base of my cock with my other hand and rubbing my cockhead over her face, "is your master, your god.  The only reason you're alive is to make this dick hard then provide a place for it to dump its cum.  This is your god, and all you are is a collection of holes for this cock to fuck.  Now,” I continued as I rubbed the head of my cock back and forth over her lips, "tell me what you think of your Lord and Master."  Lynn sobbed, tears flowed from her eyes down over her bruised face. 

 

"I," Lynn croaked, her voice seemed to be on the verge of disappearing entirely, "I love my Lord and Master," she finished in a horse whisper.  I pushed her head away and let her sit back on her heels.

 

"Stay here," I ordered, as I stood up and walked into the kitchen to get a bowl of water to set on the floor for her to lap from.  When I stepped back into my living room, with the bowl of water in my hand, I found Lynn standing with her back to the sliding glass door, trying to unlatch it with her hands, which were still fastened behind her back.  I heard the click of the door just as Lynn's eyes widened with terror when she saw me step back into the room.  Sliding the door open, Lynn turned to run out of the house screaming for someone to help her.

 

Lynn's dash to freedom was interrupted by the chain running between her ankle cuffs.  Her loud plea for help was silenced by her face first dive off the step onto the flagstone patio.  I set the bowl down on the floor then went out into the backyard to retrieve my fuck toy.  After helping her to her feet with a handful of hair I pushed her through the door, back into the house, where she collapsed into a sobbing heap on the floor.  I was rapidly discovering that long hair on a slave came in quit handy.  I looked down at the silly bitch.  Blood was flowing from her nose, her upper lip was split and beginning to swell and she had several other scratches on her face.  Added to the bruises left on her body by her kidnappers and the welts from her whippings they made the slut look, to me, very fuckable. 

 

"How dare you damage my property?"  I asked as I squatted beside her and moved her head from side to side so I could assess the damage done to her face.

 

"Well?"  I asked giving her a hard slap on her naked butt with my open hand, before I stood back up and looked down on the sorry mess she had made of her face.

 

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, scooting over and trying to wrap her arms around my legs, "please don't hurt me."  Lynn began to kiss the top of my feet with her swollen, bruised and obviously tender lips. 

 

"Oh, I haven't even started hurting you yet." I told her as I kicked her mouth away from my feet.  "You haven't earned the right to put your lips on my feet, bitch."

 

I was faced with a quandary, how should I punish the slave?  Attempting to run away; trying to call for help; moving in any way at all, when I had told her to remain still; and damaging her body, which was my property; all deserved the harshest punishment.  But I did not want to lock her in the armoire.  I had a hard cock that needed attention.  I bent over, inserted my fingers between the collar and the slave’s neck and pulled upward.  The slave scrambled to her feet, trying to relieve the pressure on her windpipe.  Twisting the collar to tighten it on her neck I drug the slut into my kitchen.  Still holding on to her collar I pushed some cookbooks off a bookshelf then pushed her face-first against it. 

 

"Do you understand what 'don't move' means?"  I waited a moment then slapped the slave upside the back of her head.  "Do you?"

 

"Yes."  She sobbed.

 

"Then do it."  I turned and stepped across the room to my junk drawer.  After rummaging around for a couple of minutes I returned and, stepping up behind my slave, pinned her body against the bookshelf then set a hammer and two long thin finishing nails down on the shelf in front of her.

 

"Oh god," she cried, trying to push away from the shelf, "oh god, please no."

 

"Up on your toes," I ordered, reaching around and pulling her firm young breasts up unto the shelf, "up on your toes just as far as you can." 

 

"Please, oh god, please, no."  She continued to beg as she lifted herself up on her toes.  I grasped her right breast with my left hand and stretched it just as far as I could across the shelf.  Picking up one of the nails I held the point against the top of her extended nipple.  Holding the nipple and the nail with one hand, I enjoyed the trembling of her naked body against mine as I picked up the hammer and, with one sharp blow, drove the nail through her nipple and into the wood shelf.  I was rewarded with a loud cry of pain, and some very intense, sob wracked, begging for me to stop.  I repeated the process on her other breast. 

 

"Now, bitch, you'd better stay up on your toes.  If you loose your balance and rip your nipples off I'll keep you locked in the armoire for a week."   I adjusted my stance so my hard cock rested against her hands.  "You seem to be real good at doing things with your hands behind your back.  Show me how much talent you have, give ma a hand job."  Reaching around her body, I pushed two fingers into her crotch and began to rub her clitoris and cunt.  "Come on slave, start stroking your Lord and Master."  With her eyes squeezed shut and with snot and tears running down her face, the slave began to stroke my hard cock with both of her hands.  Soft whimpers came from deep inside her as each movement of her hands caused her nipples to pull against the nails that held them to the bookshelf.  Just like earlier, when I was raping her ass after her first whipping, my new slave began to produce copious amounts of lubrication almost with the first stroke of her cunt, she had all the makings of a great fuck machine. 

 

"If you ever do anything like that again," I whispered in my slaves ear as I grasped and squeezed her clitoris with my thumb and forefinger, "I'll nail this clitoris to a board and leave you there until you rip it off."  I squeezed her clitoris with greater and greater pressure as I talked, only easing off after she cried out in pain.  I could tell by the way her legs, and her whole lower body, were jerking and trembling, that she would not be able to stay up on her toes much longer.  Wrapping my arms around her waist, I lifted her straight up.  She yelped with pain and held tightly to my cock with both hands as the small rounded heads on the finishing nails pulled through her nipples.  I pulled my cock from her hands, then turned her around and leaned her back against the same shelf she had just been nailed to.

 

"Stay," I said, like I was talking to a pet dog.  I stepped across the room and dug around in the junk drawer until I found two large paper clips.  After moving back over and standing in front of my slave, I watched the growing concern in her eyes as she watched me straighten out the paper clips.

 

"I was planning on getting you pierced anyway," I explained as I pulled her left nipple away from her body and pushed the straightened paper clip through the hole left by the nail, "your nipples will just be pierced up and down instead of side to side."  The slave caught her breath, and bit her lower lip as I pushed the second paper clip through her other nipple.  I bent each of the paperclips into a rough approximation of a circle and gave the ends of each a couple of twisted to hold them in place.  "These will keep the holes open until I decide on studs or rings."  After securing my temporary nipple rings, I pulled on them several times so I could watch her wince. 

 

"OK, fuck toy," I said when I tired of that little game, "it's time to fuck that cunt you, claim, has never been fucked before."  My slave dropped her gaze and blushed in a way that made me suspicious. I turned her around and unfastened the hook that held her wrist cuffs together.

 

"Get up on the kitchen table," I ordered, pointing at the table.  She walked over and pulled her butt up to sit on the table.

 

"Lay back," I instructed, "grab the chain and see if you can put it behind your head."  She proved to be very limber.  I stepped over to where she was laying with her ankles beside her ears, and the chain that connected them under her neck.  Her arms were wrapped around her calves.  She looked like she was hanging onto her legs to keep them from being stolen.  I ran my hands gently up and down the backs of her thighs and over her very wet pussy.  Without warning I lifted my arm and brought my open hand down slapping her pussy hard. 

 

"Now tell me the truth, slut, who has fucked this cunt."  The slave broke down and sobbed pitifully as I held the base of my cock and rubbed my cock head up and down the wet lips of her pussy. 

 

"My, my uncle," she said between sobs.

 

"So you played the whore for your uncle," I said as I slowly pushed my eager hard cock into her hot and very wet cunt. 

 

"I didn't want to," she sobbed. 

 

"Of course not," I replied as I fucked my hard cock in and out of her with long slow strokes, "that's what you whores always say.  How old were you the first time you spread your legs and begged your uncle to fuck you?" 

 

"Twelve," she answered with a sob.  Tears streamed from my slave's eyes as she recalled what must have been a very traumatic event.

 

"So," I said as I playfully slapped her nail-pierced nipples in time with my fucking, "not only are you a degenerate whore who started fucking her uncle when she was twelve, your a lying degenerate whore."  I leaned forward, grabbed the chain on each side of her neck, and slammed my cock in and out of my slave's cunt with all the force I could.  By this time she had produced so much pussy lubricant that we made slurpy slapping sounds against each other each time I would pound my hard dick into her body.

 

I was pissed, and I wanted to hurt the lying bitch with my cock.  I know, it wasn't rational, I had not expected to get a virgin when I made the deal, but when she had claimed to be a virgin earlier I had gotten excited about being the first one to fuck her cunt.  It was like buying what you thought was a new car, then discovering it had been a rental.  I let go of the chain and grabbed a handful of her hair on each side of her head and fucked her cunt so hard I thought the table legs might break off. 

 

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth hung open and emitted a loud 'humph' every time I slammed my cock into her pussy, tears were streaming down from her eyes, further wetting her already damp and stringy sweat soaked hair.

 

"What are you?"  I yelled, punctuating my words with body shaking fuck strokes.  She didn't answer, so I picked her head up from the table with my hands full of hair and slammed the back of her head back down on the hard wood surface.

 

"What are you?"  I yelled a second time as I drove my cock into her with all of my strength. 

 

"Slave," she sobbed.

 

"What kind of slave?"  I demanded as I continued trying to punish her with my cock. 

 

"Fuck...slave."  She managed between the 'umphs' caused by having the air pumped out of her by my body slam fucking.  I let go of her hair and, grabbing both of her breasts, squeezed and twisted her freshly pierced nipples while I held my cock deep insider he cunt.  I came while enjoying the body spasms created by her pain.  I had no jizz left to dump into her, but I had one of the most intense dry orgasms of my life.  As the overwhelming feelings subsided, I released her abused breasts and pulled my softening cock from her dripping cunt. 

 

"Get off the table," I ordered as I took a step back and half fell into one of the kitchen chairs.  I wish I'd had my video camera to record the comedy act my slave put on trying to get off the table.  She moved this way and that several times while looking around the kitchen with a confused look on her face.  This continued as she tried to figure out why she couldn't unfold her body.  Finally, she remembered that her hobble chain was running behind her neck.  Once she freed the chain she was able to straighten her legs and slip off the table onto the floor.   Her legs started to give out when she put her weight on them, and she had to hold onto the edge of the table to keep from falling.  Like I said, quit the comedy act.