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- 
https://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.  


  
TheWitness03