Meeting a Sadist

But not for long.

He removes the cylinders and re-examines her nipples. Oh yes, wonderfully sensitive, large, thick, elongated; perfection once again. The protective membrane over each nipple is stretched so thin that it is nearly transparent and exposes the tiny little veins beneath. The circulation of blood shades each nipple a dark table-red grape.

A woman’s nipples are the entrance to her sexual core and this whore, his whore, is hungry for him.

With a devilish grin, he flicks her nipples hard, loving the way her body wrenches and spasms from each tiny pinpoint of pain. Her lips tremble as she struggles to remain silent and perfectly still while he flicks and grasps and tugs and pulls and twists each nipple before doing the same to her clit.

Working her into another lust-filled frenzy, and then he stops abruptly.

Walking from the room, he pauses briefly thinking he may have heard her speak. Is she ready to declare that she is nothing without her Master? It certainly is about damn time, the stubborn bitch.

But he is unsure.

Nearly imperceptible, he looms just outside the doorway straining to listen. Is she saying what he has waited so long to hear from her lips?

Thirty-five hours after he walked into her hotel room, she softly utters the phrases he has yearned to hear; her proclamation that she is ready to be his possession, his slut, his whore, his baby girl.

“I am yours Master. You are my reason for breathing. What may I do to bring you pleasure?”

She is unaware if he is even in the room, so distorted is her desire-clouded vision. She repeats it with incredible sincerity, and believe it or not, tears spring to his eyes.

This is a life-defining event for both of them; more than either is fully aware of at this moment in time.

And like a mother giving birth to a child after hours of pain and suffering, bliss clutches at his heart and is nothing like any emotion he has experienced in his life either as a BDSM slave trainer or as a man.

“Master? I am yours. You are my reason for existing. What may I do to bring you pleasure?”

The sweetest words in the universe. At least in his universe.

“Master?”

Humbled by her declaration, he realizes that it is essential to maintain his composure before continuing. Now that her focus is totally on him, his needs, pleasures, and satisfaction, her training and reconditioning can begin.

She has a long road to travel. Some days will be exceptionally painful while other journeys will be impressively humiliating and degrading, yet she will beg to comply, plead for more even as her body attempts to convince her that this is not the natural order of life.

It is for her new life. Her life serving as his personal sex slave.

For her, the transition, once made, will seem as natural as breathing. She will thirst for the taste of semen, crave cock, and willingly do anything to please her Master. Anything.

It is always with the hope that he will, at some point, become so impressed with her that he will allow her an orgasm.

Removing her bindings, he tenderly massages her aching muscles. The nose plug and head phones are no longer needed; the sensory deprivation has accomplished his primary goal.

His cock pulses with anticipation begging him to fuck her right now, but he holds back. Lifting her with amazing tenderness, he carries her into the bathroom and gently lays her in the steamy bath water. Her hair is straggly and damp from perspiration; her body slick and clammy.

Wetting her hair, he lathers an orange-ginger spiced shampoo into the tangles. His fingers massage the rejuvenating spices deeply into her scalp, her head totally supported by him. Warm water cascades down her face and rolls off her large breasts as he rinses the shampoo and then works a deep conditioner into the strands.

Reaching for the soft porous coral sponge, he works the spicy soap into froth and tenderly washes her face. Using small circular motions, he continues until her face is slathered and then moves to her neck, spreading the suds to her throat and shoulders.

Eyes closed and relaxed from the shampoo and facial cleaning, her body goes lax. Lifting each over-ripe melon, he carefully and methodically soaps her breasts, supporting them as the sponge covers each with the suds. Lifting her arm, he navigates the length working his way to her wrist, her palm, and then between each individual finger before drifting up to her arm pit, constantly using tiny circular motions. Urging her forward, he washes her neck and upper back before finishing with her other arm.

Rinsing the sponge, he squeezes small streams of fresh water on her face, chest, and arms until all traces of soapsuds are gone. The steamy water relaxes her, his touch soothes her, and the exotic scent of the soap revitalizes her.

She has absolutely zero thoughts going through her mind. She is a puppet, his puppet, and has totally surrendered to him. For the first time since he arrived, she looks into his eyes, searching to understand what has happened to her. All she feels are physical sensations tempered by an overwhelming desire to suck his cock.

Helping her to stand, he works the fragrant soap into her belly, backside, and down both legs. He separates each toe and runs the sponge between them. Scooping a palm full of soap, he urges her legs apart and presses the foam into her folds with his strong fingers sliding in and out of her cunt, circling her clit, and rimming her anus.

Bending her at the waist with her backside facing him, he probes her rectum with two fingers working the suds inside and coating the walls of her cavity. Her hips sway provocatively, sensually, and press into his invading fingers.

Four fingers squeeze inside her ass and rotate back and forth even as he presses deeper, spreading her sphincter wider. His four knuckles are hidden from view shoved inside her rectum. He pushes harder, her muscles stretching painfully attempting to accommodate his large hand. Pushing with enormous force to completely submerge his fist, he backs off for a moment, jerks his arm out of her body, then rams his cupped fingers back up her ass several times.

She holds onto the tub wall for support, stunned by the painful degrading things he is doing to her ass yet thankful he is touching her. She aches for his touch, a human touch, even though it hurts, even though it is utterly humiliating, she is grateful he has decided to touch her.

He wonders for the second time if he can fit his entire fist in her ass. Of course he can. No question that he can do what he wants with her; but he refrains from a full hard core ass fisting. Now is not the time. Now is for caring for his possession, and cleaning her body in preparation for what is to come.

Behind her on the rim of the bathtub sits a horrible looking dildo suction-cupped to the surface.

“Lick it until it is good and wet, then sit on it. Shove it up your ass. Now.” After the tender way he cleaned her body, she nearly jumps out of her skin when he roared this command.

She bends to pick up the dildo and put it in her mouth when he screams at her. “No leave it there. I want you on your hands and knees and fuck it with your mouth. Stick your ass up high and suck it until I tell you to stop.”

Folding a towel to put under her knees, she complies, anything to please him. “Spread your legs wider apart. Wider. I said wider.”

Her legs are obscenely spread, her mouth is wrapped around the inflatable anal plug. He leans forward and pushes her face onto the dildo until her chin rests on the surface of the tub.

“Shove it to the back of your throat. Fuck it hard. I want to hear you gag.” And as she plunges to the base of the plug, he takes his belt and swings it between her spread thighs, landing direct hits in the middle of her crack, her ass hole, cunt, and clit reeling from the blow.

Shoving his fingers inside her rectum, he lifts her buttocks up higher and kicks her legs farther apart. Swinging long, the leather crashes into her delicate female parts, pushing her forward and shoving the cock down her throat.

“More. I want more Master. Please don’t stop whipping me.” Her cries are muffled and distorted by the butt plug down her throat, but he understands every word she said.

After the plug is buried deep inside her rectum and inflated to its max, he dries her hair, brushing until each strand gleams under the bright lights, and then fastens it into a pony tail on top of her head. He massages exotic oils with millions of gold specs deeply into her flesh; every part of her body is carefully oiled, revitalized, and with a sensuous golden glow.

She is ready to begin her training. And he is ready to put her through hell.

However, first things first. “Prepare and serve my meal.”

The dildo inflated inside her rectum is so wide, she waddles like a duck. Every movement, no matter how small, shifts the plug against the walls of her canal, a constant self-fucking especially when bending over or stooping down. The hand pump and vibrator attached to the butt plug swing between her legs and tug on the plug as well.

As she sets the china on the dinner table, he lunges to her and closes his large hands tightly around her neck. “Bend over the chair. I want your ass.”

Wrenching her head and looks into her eyes. He can see her fear. The lopsided grin on his face does nothing to alleviate her panic, the anticipation of knowing something is going to happen and in all likelihood, will not be pleasant.

The anticipation, the waiting, the wondering, what he is going to do?

He smashes his lips into hers and forces his tongue into her mouth, probing inside then sucking it down his throat with a powerful vacuum force.

His hands squeeze tighter. Panic wells up but she is unsure of what to do. She needs to breathe unobstructed, but cannot with his mouth covering her mouth, his nose smashing into her nose, and his hands constricting her throat.

Releasing and then pushing her head down to the chair, she automatically places her arms flat across the seat; legs spread wide, and head resting face-down over her arms.