Chapter One

I stand quietly in the shadows, watching my next victim. Her name is Marjorie, and she is completely unaware of her special status as she goes about her day to day life. I’ve studied her intently, and now know everything of any importance about her. I know her clothing size, I know her daily schedule, I know where she works and who she is dating. I even know when her period starts. I have to know, as it is my business to know.

A cool breeze blows down the alley, lifting her skirt slightly as she passes by on the public sidewalk, still blissfully unaware of her future. She is dressed fashionably in a dark gray wool calf length skirt, matching gray wool business jacket, and white silk blouse. It’s late in the evening, and she’s on her way home. She hates taxi’s, and isn’t fond of the train. She thinks both smell, so she typically walks the five blocks home each day. Today, she’s worked late and it’s night already. The moon shines down from it‘s highest point, directly into the alley, illuminating everything with an almost bluish hue. Everything that is except me, as I stand in the darkest portion of the alley. Even if she looked directly at me, she probably wouldn’t see me, and if she did, she’d probably assume me a bum and keep walking, albeit a little bit faster.

She’s off schedule this evening, and realizing the opportunity that’s before me, I step quietly out of the alley behind her in a moment. She’s almost home, and fumbling for her door key. She doesn’t hear my silent footsteps mere paces behind her as she mounts the steps to her apartment house. Only we two are on the street this evening.

She reaches the doorway, key poised to insert into the lock, when she realizes I’m behind her. Perhaps she saw my shadow, perhaps she heard me, or maybe it was simply that special hair standing up on the back of her neck feeling that made her start and begin to turn. It’s too late as I lunge forward, grabbing her around the upper torso and pinning her arms to her side with one arm even as I slap a chemically soaked rag over her mouth and nose with the other. I don’t worry about being gentle.

The struggle is short and brutal. In a minute, she’s feebly trying to pull her face away from the rag, her body already going limp even as she tries to continue to resist. I’m as much holding her vertically as I am restraining her at this point. Moments later it’s finished as her world fades to black.

Keeping her hugged close, just in case anyone decides to look through a window, I half drag, half carry my latest acquisition back down the steps of the apartment building. Anyone seeing us from a distance would just assume we were two lovers hugged close against the cold, as her head falls limply onto my shoulder. My windowless van is parked near the front of the apartment building. I sometimes just have a hunch that I’ll get lucky, and tonight my instincts were dead on.

At the push of a button on my keyless remote, the side door of the van slides quietly back on it‘s track, revealing the dark padded interior. I keep it well oiled, and except for the slight muffled bump at the end of it’s travel, the door makes absolutely no sound. Moments later, Marjorie is laying quietly in the back. I slide the door closed, go around the front of the vehicle, and get into the driver’s seat. It’s important I get moving quickly! Probably not more than a few minutes have passed since I left the alley.

Even though the exterior of the van is completely dull, unwashed, and deteriorated, with numerous small parking lot dents and scrapes, as well as a completely lifeless and faded whitish paint scheme accented by just the right amount of rust, it starts on the first try. Mechanically, it’s a completely reliable machine and maintained in top condition. The engine is anything but stock, and the suspension has been modified to allow it to corner as well as any cop car. Anyone noticing would remark on the very expensive tires mounted on plain black painted steel rims. I made certain to install an especially quiet exhaust system, giving nothing away to hint at the power the vehicle has, and it’s so quiet that unless someone is looking directly at it nobody would even know it was passing. The interior is completely soundproofed, and the windows tinted. The vehicle has been re-wired extensively, and has power everything. I can turn off the rear and brake lights with a push of a button, even as I leave the headlights on if I wanted. The dash conceals a built-in police scanner, a radar detector, and a device to jam both radar as well as local 2-way radio traffic. Were a police officer were to pull me over, he would have a hard time determining if there was anyone in the back, and if he were to become that nosy I have a plan in place to take care of that situation as well. Not that anyone would ever give the vehicle a second look, it’s so intentionally dull. Not one person in fifty would have been able to give a decent description of it two minutes after it passed by. Which of course is the way I prefer. I intentionally never even wash the vehicle, which also happens to obscure the license plate nicely. I go the extra step and scrupulously obey the traffic laws to further reduce the chance of drawing undue attention.

I drive only about three blocks before pulling into an abandoned parking lot behind a dumpster. From the street, there is absolutely no indication of my presence. Switching the ignition off, I climb into the back of the van. My victim is still laying as I left her, her head slightly rolled to one side from the movement of the vehicle. Procuring a small canvas pouch from the glove compartment, I return to her side and open the pouch. It’s one of those zip up types that opens up like a book, and when I open it syringes and vials of chemicals are revealed. I select one of the needles and a vial and prepare it. After pulling her sleeve up past the elbow and swabbing her arm, I inject the needle. She moans slightly at the action, but does not revive. The sedative I have given her will keep her unconscious for almost three hours. Plenty of time for my purposes.

Just to be safe, I handcuff her wrists behind her back, then her ankles. Afterwards, I roll her onto her stomach and pull her legs up behind her before locking the two sets of cuffs together with a short section of chain and a couple of padlocks. Her skirt is one of those type that is narrow at the knees, and it pulls up slightly as I maneuver her body around. Only after restraining her thus do I place tape over her mouth. The last step is to drag her to the back of the van to the fold out bench seat. Pulling the seat forward, it rotates back to reveal a hidden compartment, which is where I place her for the ride home. The interior of the compartment is also padded, so well in fact that someone could sit on the seat with a struggling victim underneath and never know it. It’s a very close fitting compartment, and the woman fills the cavity completely, with very little wiggle room left over. When I rotate the bench seat back into place, there’s no trace of her to the naked eye.

Climbing back into the driver’s seat, I start the vehicle again, turn the headlights on, and pull out slowly. Turning right onto the street, I stop at the red light and wait for it to turn green. I smile to myself as a police car cruises by slowly on the intersecting street. Moments later the light changes and I continue on my way. I drive for at least two hours, circuitously making my way back to my lair. I know that nobody has seen anything, and I know that nobody is following me, but at the same time I also know that it is better to be careful. It would only take one wrong move for everything to be ruined. Finally deciding that nobody is aware of my cargo, I take the off ramp and begin the final leg of my journey home.

Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into my building. When I say my building, I’m making a very accurate statement. I purchased the property years ago during a public auction. It used to be warehouse and manufacturing space, but when the previous owner went bankrupt all of the equipment and assets were sold off. I got the empty building. The only thing that came with it was a small machine shop, which I was glad to include a little extra in the price to acquire. The building comprises three floors, as well as a basement and roof top equipment penthouse. Altogether, there are approximately 300,000 square feet of floor space. Unlike the previous owner, my business is extremely profitable.

My home, such as it is, is on the top floor that used to be office space. It’s a loft type arrangement, with high exposed beams in the ceiling and a windowed monitor running the full length of the roof. It takes up approximately half of the top floor space, and comprises at least ten thousand square feet, with the remainder of that level being open to the concrete floors below. Glazed skylights let in most of the illumination during the day, and there are large open expanses of window looking out over the city. A balcony runs the full length of the second floor, and faces out onto the concrete floors of the lower levels. A glass wall separates the balcony from the living spaces. The exterior windows of course are heavy security glass, with wire embedded in a layer in the middle of the thick green glass. Inside, I spared no expense in renovating this space. This is my private world, and I want it to be perfect. The hardwood floors, originally intended for warehouse space, have been sanded down, stained, and polished to a glossy heartwood pine finish. The masonry has been cleaned up and sand blasted, and the wooden roof structure sandblasted and stained. Expansive rooms have been set up, including my own sauna, exercise room, art museum, and home theatre. Expensive furniture and art decorate the rooms and open areas. It’s the kind of place anyone would envy. I could have gotten away with a much less elaborate arrangement, but I find that this type of environment facilitates the type of entertaining I’m wont to engage in. The types of clientele whom I entertain do not really want their interests being made public either, so the arrangement has been more than satisfactory for all parties concerned.

All windows of the ground floor of the building have been painted black on the inside surface, thereby preventing even the most curious from detecting my activities inside. As an added measure, I installed metal plates inside to cover the ground floor windows. Should someone actually break a window, they would still be stopped by the metal plating. Metal doors complete the security measures, as they are welded in place. You couldn’t tell it from the outside, but if someone did try to break in, they would have an easier time tunneling through the eighteen inch thick masonry and concrete walls than they would in going through either the doors or windows. An additional inside sheetrock wall has been constructed inside the surface of the masonry wall, and this is filled with insulation to both maintain temperature during the winter and summer, as well as to muffle any possible sounds generated within the building. Of course I also have security measures in place at all potential openings that will alert me to someone disturbing the building’s perimeter.

The property itself is located in a less than desirable neighborhood, further ensuring that with the proper measures in place, nobody will disturb my solitude. All the neighbors know is that the building is virtually impregnable and occupied by some sort of eccentric. There were of course the few initial miscreants who tried to break in, obviously looking for something to steal to maintain their drug habits or other illegal activities, but after they disappeared and were never seen again, the rest of the neighborhood pretty much took the hint and has left the place alone.

Pressing a button on an overhead console of the van, the loading dock door rolls up and out of the way. Pulling in, I press it again and it swings down behind me. Driving to the back of the building, I turn down a ramp that leads into the basement and the former loading docks. After a few more turns, I am at the bottommost level in what used to be an underground parking deck. Pulling into the usual space, between my Porsche Boxter and my Hummer SUV, I stop the vehicle, get out and walk over to a large gray rolling metal table nearby. Chains are welded to the four corners, and locking metal cuffs are in place on the ends of the chains.

Rolling the table back to the van, I swing around to the back doors and pause to fish out my keys again. Hitting the remote door lock release, I hear the locks click softly and the doors pop open automatically. Reaching in, I push the bench seat forward from the rear of the vehicle, then pull down the back panel that encloses the underneath portion of the seat from the back. My latest victim is still slumbering soundly.

I lift her up and place her on the metal table, then slip the cuff around first one ankle and then the other. Only after that do I release her ankles from the cuffs I originally placed on her and put them in my jacket pocket. Next, I stretch her body out on the table and detach one of the cuffs from her right wrist. This is the most dangerous part I figure. If she is pretending that she’s asleep, this is the point at which she would probably not be able to fake it anymore and come up swinging.

Luck is still with me though as she remains limp, breathing raspily as her head rolls from side to side when I move her arm up into position. Slipping the cuff attached to the table around her wrist, I quickly secure her wrist before moving onto her left arm and repeating the process. When I am done, she is completely restrained and laying on her back. Since she is still unconscious, I take an extra few minutes to adjust the chains, shortening their lengths slightly to further stretch her body out. I do this by slipping a snapping link through a few of the links on the chain, artificially shortening the total length. Yeah, I know it is somewhat crude but it’s simple and it works.

As I roll the table out of the parking deck towards the front portion of the basement, it makes all kinds of racket and Marjorie jostles around, the back of her head occasionally bouncing on the metal surface. After a few minutes, I notice her eyes fluttering slightly. This is usually where they wake up, and I’m expecting it.

Her eyes suddenly dart open, and her expression becomes one of shock and terror as she realizes what is going on. Her brow furrows slightly and her eyebrows begin to lift higher on her forehead. Had her mouth not been taped over, I’m sure her mouth would be gaping wide in shock just before emitting a scream. She has no idea what she’s in for, and I only laugh a little. The sound causes her to twist her head a bit to look up at me more closely. I can see the wheels turning in her head. She is trying to take stock of her situation and is terrified, but still a part of her mind is rational and functioning. Very good indeed! Moments later she is pulling frantically at the chains, futilely trying to gain release.

A few more minutes and we have arrived at the lowest, most secure part of the basement, or as I like to call it, my “dungeon”. It was once a huge boiler room, and is constructed of heavy concrete and masonry with high arched ceilings. The spaces once occupied by boilers are now cells. Her head continues to swivel back and forth, taking in all of the details as well as the fact that there are other women here who are looking back at her. These women of course are restrained, mostly by each being locked in her own cell, but some in more creative ways involving suspension. I try to reserve such treatment however for the more difficult cases, both to punish them for resisting my will as well as for the few who try to escape. I installed heavy steel bars and doors at the open side of each boiler space along the length of the room, but only on one side. Within their cells, none of the women are able to see each other. Since their arms are bound behind them, and their mouths are gagged with a ring gag at all times, they’re unable to communicate in any way with each other, or even with me except through grunts and facial expressions.

I remember the pair of pony girls waiting for shipment already off to one side. I’ve restrained them onto the shipping crate platforms, and they are completely immobile. Their arms are held back tightly, and their breasts are bound to a horizontal bar. Their ass and cunt are completely filled and their mouths are fully gagged with oversized dildos. I’ll install the remainder of the box over them, then ship them out as usual. They are completely unaware of where they’re going or what’s going to happen to them, but I know that a wealthy buyer in the Colorado mountains has a two pony girl carriage with their names on it - literally.

Marjorie by now is in absolute terror. She’s seen the hopeless looks on the women’s faces, has seen them looking back at her in resignation, and knows that whatever is about to transpire they will watch on in silent testimony, unable to help her in any way. She is beginning to twist and turn and pull at the restraints more forcefully now. It’s useless, but I still get a kick out of watching. It’s always the same response, first panic, followed by some steady attempt to get free, followed by desperation, more panic, and then by resignation and a guarded look that lets me know they are going to bolt at the first opportunity. Unfortunately for them, I never give them the opportunity.

I push the table with the writhing body to the center of the basement room, directly under the powerful fluorescent lights, and lock the wheels. Ignoring the muffled words coming from behind the tape over her mouth, I turn to a small side table and select some shears. I’ve just had these sharpened. Turning back to my project, I begin cutting off her dark gray wool business jacket. Realizing what I am doing, her expression reaches a new level of terror and she twists and squeals even more than before. I ignore her as I continue.

I start shredding the jacket by cutting her left sleeve down from wrist to armpit to bottom hem, then I go around the table and repeat the process on the right sleeve. Setting the shears aside for a moment, I go to the head of the table and grab the jacket by the collar and pull it from under her body. I toss it in a box to one side. She is now dressed only in the long gray wool business skirt that reaches below her knees, her shoes, and a white silk blouse.

The next target is her skirt. I simply cut it from the bottom hem to the waist on her left side. Walking around the table, I pull it from the right side from under her body. The lower edge of her blouse twists around her waist slightly as her skirt is pulled from under her buttocks. Her legs are thrashing about now and she is shaking her head incoherently. All of this being punctuated by her contained screams. The veins are popping out on her neck and forehead with her efforts, and her skin is flushed a bright red. Her nostrils are flaring as she hyperventilates and a light sheen of moisture permeates her skin.

Shaking myself out of my observations, I cut off her blouse in the same manner as her jacket. Again, I go to the head of the table and pull it over her head. It fits much more closely than the jacket did of course, and I have a small amount of trouble getting it over her head. For a moment it tangles with her earrings and I have to stop and untangle them. Moments later it is free and joining the hacked up jacket in the cardboard box.

Marjorie now lies before me, dressed only in her shoes, thigh high stockings, garter belt, white lace thong panties, a matching white lace strapless bra, and an expression of pure horror. Even through the lace of her bra, I can tell her nipples are standing up, and drops of perspiration are evident on her brow and in the slight depression down the center of her chest that travels all the way to her navel. With her arms stretched above her head, her breasts have a tendency to shift up and together, accentuating that crease of cleavage between them and exposing just a hint of the edge of the nipple above the lace top of the bra. The fine auburn hairs of her head that are starting to mat at her hairline have a slight peak accentuating the heart shape of her face, and matches the pubic hairs just peeking at the top of her very abbreviated thong panties. Her earrings are dangling towards the table rather than towards her shoulders, and she continues to tug futilely at the chains at her wrists. Increasing moisture is evident in the creases of her skin under her otherwise flawless neck as she continues to try to raise her head to look down over her body at me.

I pause to slip her shoes off, noticing her toes scrunching up in recoil from me as I do, then unsnap her garter belt. As my hands touch her thighs, I notice her flinch away from me. The muscles of her stomach and thighs are quivering spastically. That’s ok, she’ll get used to it soon enough. I notice how warm and soft her skin is to the touch, with a slight slickness now from her sweat. There are goose bumps along her inner thigh, and she frantically resumes her hip gyrations to try to pull away from me for at least a few inches. When her garter is free from her stockings, I pull it loose without cutting it. I find that my subjects are conditioned better when I physically remove their clothing at this point rather than simply cutting it off, as I am in greater physical contact with them whether they like it or not.

I roll her stockings down one at a time, taking my time as I do. When they are at her ankles, I slip a length of rope around each leg just above the kneecap, cinching it snug, then unlock the cuffs around her ankles. She immediately begins thrashing about, even though it remains useless. She did come close to kicking me a time or two, but with my years of experience, close doesn’t count anymore. I manage to get the stockings off, then lock her back into the ankle cuffs one at a time. Squeals of protest continue from behind the tape.

The next step is to remove her jewelry, earrings and watch. This is relatively simple, though no less entertaining as she tries to pull her head away from my touch. By now tears are streaming down her face, smearing her makeup, and her eyes are squinted shut. The tape has creased where her lips are pressed together, as she’s tried to work the tape loose. This leaves the bra and panties. I slip my left hand under the small of her back, raising her up slightly and feeling her breasts come into contact with my chest. It feels good, to me at least. I notice how her flesh is hot and damp to the touch. I’m certain Marjorie doesn’t share this appreciation as she continues to squirm frantically. With the increased arch of her back she’s forced to stretch her arms further and the cuffs around her wrists cut into her skin slightly more. I notice how heat emanates from her body as I unsnap the back of the bra, and how her soft breasts squish against my own body.

Afterwards, I drop her back onto the table as I remove her bra. As I do, one of the nicest pair of D cup breasts I have ever seen bounce out at me. They are obviously real as they move and shift with her movements. I pause to admire them for a moment before continuing. Reaching out, I lightly rub the back of the fingers of my left hand along the curvature of her left breast, lingering over her hardened nipple. Once again she twists away, her breast swaying over her torso as she moves. Her skin is especially soft, and milky white, and the dark brown of her areoles stand out in sharp contrast to her milky white skin. Small bumps are visible around the very nipple itself which nicely match the goose bumps covering the rest of her flesh. With her agitated state and degree of perspiration, I can smell her perfume especially well now. Glancing up at her face, I see her expression of fear and bask in the terror I am inflicting on her. Mere hours ago she was going about her normal mundane life. Now she is in the middle of a nightmare. I almost feel sorry for her.

Enticed by the sight of her exposed breast, I close my fingers around her nipple and squeeze lightly. Screaming around the tape, she shifts sideways away from me, but I continue to grip her nipple. Her breast distends a bit, as her body moves and her nipple doesn’t, until her breast is stretched slightly and suspended between her body and my fingers. Finally I release her nipple, and her breast shifts back against her ribs. I almost don’t notice her sobs.

Now for the fun part. They always seem to go absolutely crazy at this point. I reach for her panties with both hands and she does not disappoint me. The fiercest struggle yet commences as my fingers slip underneath the side bar on her thong panties. I could probably get them off without damaging them, but then that would not be as enjoyable. She twists and squirms and fights with everything she has as I get a good grip. Then I rip them from her body, an action punctuated by a ripping sound as well as a gurgling weeping as poor Marjorie begins to cry hysterically, thrashing about wildly with her breasts rolling from side to side. I pull it upwards as I rip them, and the crotch portion pulls up into the folds of her vagina for a few moments before pulling on through. She now lies completely nude before me, and for the first time I can verify that her curtains truly match her carpet.

She has a carefully trimmed bush, in the shape of a small strip, and her vaginal lips are red and swollen. She is trying to pull her legs together and is working her knees back and forth, but with the chains cinched up as they are and her knees bound to the side with the ropes, she cannot quite press her thighs together. I reach over and stroke her clitoris, then slip my finger in for second. and notice with satisfaction that her little love button is hard and swollen as well. Marjorie is still fighting me frantically, arching her back and pushing with her heels to try to get further away from my probing fingers. She’s actually pulling herself towards the head of the table with her wrist chains and her head is thrown back with her spine severely arched, all in a futile effort to avoid my touch. I’m enjoying the sight of her breasts shifting about from her efforts.

I laugh at her.

Then I slip my left index finger farther into her cunt. She explodes at this point with even more fury and terror and frustration. It’s useless however as I slip another, and then another, and finally another finger into her cunt. I can feel how tight she is, and that she has never been treated to this type of exploration before. She was tight even at the first two fingers, and now she probably feels as if her cunt is being split. I can’t suppress the grin that spreads across my face. It’s at this point that she cannot maintain her posture, pulled as she was tightly towards the head of the table, and slips a bit, right down onto my probing digits. She pulls upwards again, holds it for a few seconds, and again slips back down. This happens over and over again a few more times, each time her posture is held for less and less time, and at the end of each effort she again slides back down onto my fingers. Finally, she is worn down and lays still, shaking uncontrollably as she cries, realizing belatedly that she‘s unwillingly fucked my fingers. She presses her face into her raised right arm, eyes tightly shut against what is happening to her.

I pause for a moment to let her actions sink in, then I pull my fingers out and slip my middle finger into her rectum with my thumb replacing my fingers up her cunt. She feels very squishy. My fingers to either side of my index finger are splayed against her ass cheeks, pressing into the soft flesh. She again resists, violently clinching and unclinching her buttocks, then finally slows down her struggles and lifts her head, looking down over her own naked body at me. She is finally accepting that I can do this and there is nothing she can do to stop me, her nostrils flaring from her efforts to breathe. The heaving breasts framing her face from my viewpoint clearly indicate that she is hyperventilating now, and a whining moan is coming from behind the tape. Her cheeks puff in and out slightly with each heaving breath. She has an absolutely insane look of panic on her face, and her eyes are so wide I can see the whites of her eyeballs completely around the dark green iris of each eye. Tears have soaked her cheeks and stray strands of her hair are beginning to stick to her face. I admire how her breasts heave with every breath, and how the skin on her stomach and between her breasts glistens with moisture under the harsh lighting. I now notice that she has a well defined, deep belly button and is quite attractive. Even though she is no longer pulling at them, the chains continue to rattle as she works her arms weakly. A constant sobbing continues. I decide that it is annoying, but not enough so yet to do anything about. That will come later as well. Her head flops back onto the table in resignation and rolls back and forth.

“Listen carefully to me Marjorie. You belong to me now. I have taken you and now can do with you as I please. You are my property! When I decide to, I‘ll even give you a new name. You belong to me completely!”

“This!” I punctuate my words with a sudden squeeze, closing my thumb and middle finger towards each other while still inserted into her neither body orifices, and am rewarded by a new squeal and twist from the poor wretch on the table. “This is mine now, to do with as I please. Cooperate, and things will go better for you. Resist, and face the consequences.” At this last statement, I nod meaningfully towards one of the women already suspended in a cage in one corner of the room.

The cage is fabricated of steel rods, including the bottom. As such it is completely impossible to be comfortable if one is encased inside. Food and water are just barely out of her reach on the floor as the punished woman slowly dehydrates and starves. I would not let her expire of course. That would be a waste of good merchandise, but I definitely want to teach her a lesson. She was already broken by the day before, but I decided to keep her in a little longer as an object lesson to the others. It seemed to be working as they did not even squeal out any more from behind their gags. I also made sure that the small cage she was suspended in was visible from every cell in the room. The only thing to occupy themselves with was to watch one of their companions slowly starve to death over the previous days. I make a mental note to feed and water her before putting her back in her cell tomorrow.

Marjorie took the hint and I could see the resolve in her eyes. She would attempt to escape if the opportunity presented itself, she just had to wait for the opportunity. I could see all this and more behind her expression, and just laughed. In all the years I had done this, none had yet succeeded in escaping. It had almost become boring watching them conspire and attempt the impossible. With the cameras suspended from the ceilings, they were under constant surveillance on a twenty-four hour a day basis. This was simply another way for me to subjugate them on a mental basis. With the unblinking eye of the camera on them at all times, they knew there was nothing they could do without my knowledge. Their lives were completely mine, and I wanted them to feel this to the core of their beings.

Slipping my fingers out of Marjorie without pretense and with an audible slurping plop, I wipe my fingers in the small tuft of her bush. Then I walk back to the head of the table and adjust the chains yet again, this time pulling her arms straight up over her head with her wrists held together. Next, I do the chains at her ankles the same way. Now it’s a simple matter and I roll her over onto her stomach. She actually did not resist that much, I guess because she figured it showed less of her nudity off or perhaps she felt less vulnerable. Light rust stains are left on her buttocks and shoulders from where she had lain on the table. I disregard them as I’ll clean her up later. She moves around a bit, trying to shift her breasts to a more comfortable position.

When I rolled her over, I rolled her over on her left side. Of course this meant that her left breast was squeezed between her outstretched body and the steel table, and her right breast momentarily actually rested on top of her left breast as she lay on her left side. As I continued to roll her over, her left breast slid slightly on the steel surface until it was directly underneath her, with her right breast squeezed out from below her right side. While I am sure this is uncomfortable for her at the very least, I don’t give it much concern and just watch as she has to lift her upper torso using her elbows, and her breasts hang momentarily underneath her before gravity pulls her back down onto the table surface. She frantically repeats this maneuver until she has shifted her breasts to a more comfortable position, and is again looking wide eyed over her straining shoulder at me. Her breasts are spread out amply from her ribs on each side, bulging from the pressure her own body is creating on them, and her nipples are just barely out of sight in this position. I can now appreciate her ass more from this position, and notice that her back curves down to the small of her back before curving back outwards again to define her buttocks. They are tight and firm, and I can see the muscles straining at the back of her legs. Her ribs move in and out with each breath, her skin moving easily back and forth over her rib cage.

After rolling her over, I unlock her left arm. Immediately, she begins to struggle again. Annoyed, I land one hard flat handed blow to her ass with a loud smack. My hand print glows bright red on her creamy skin, and truth to tell my own hand burned slightly from the impact. I’m rewarded with a pain filled squeal as she suddenly becomes motionless. Satisfied, I pull her left arm down and around onto the small of her back. I loop a length of rope around her wrist, and secure the other end to a stanchion on the edge of the table. After a moment to make sure it’s secure, I do her right arm the same way. She is left face down on the table with her forearms together across the small of her back. She bobs her head up and down, testing the ropes, and trying to keep an eye on me. She is already sliding cautiously back down the table, trying to gain additional freedom of movement. Her breasts are crushed between her own body weight and the unyielding metal of the table top. I can glimpse her nipples every now and then as she twists slightly, and observe just how hard and erect they have become.

With her arms in this position, I can then slip the leather arm binder sleeve over her forearms. It’s designed to keep her arms folded forearm to forearm across her back in the horizontal position. I begin lacing it up from the middle out towards the elbows. As I reach her hands, I have to release the ropes around her wrists and force her hands to turn up along her biceps. In order to keep her from moving too much during the process, I stop and slip a collar around her neck and secure it with a short leash to a stanchion at the head of the table. Afterwards, I go back to work on the sleeve.

The sleeve is long enough to extend up past the elbows, which is how far I lace it. I tie a nice neat double knot at each end when I am done. While the sleeve is black leather, the laces are nylon and I hold my cigarette lighter briefly under the knot, fusing the material. There is no way to untie it now, and to remove it I would have to cut the lacing itself. I singe the fine light colored hairs on her arm slightly and she jerks away, but I am done anyway with it so I let it go and do the other side the same way. I bring in a u-shaped metal rod from beneath the table and slip it into loops set into the leather sleeve. After slipping it into place, I then slip a second black leather sleeve over the first, with the lacing on the opposite side of her arms. Again, I lace it up as tightly as the first, and seal it in the same way with my lighter. When I am done, there is no chance she could ever release herself without substantial help, and she knows it.

As a last measure, I secure leather cuffs around her ankles, with only twelve inches of chain between them. She will be able to hobble about the room, but she will not be able to move fast. I remove the tape from her mouth and slip a ring gag between her teeth as she tries to yell out. I ignore her for now. Let her scream as much as she wants. Nobody can hear her except her cell mates, and they will get tired of it soon enough. To facilitate insertion of the ring gag, I grab a healthy handful of hair just above her forehead and yank her head back viciously. The normal reaction of course is for her to scream, which naturally allows me plenty of opportunity to slip the ring gag in quickly. Afterwards, I buckle the leather strap securely at the back of her neck as her head bobs up and down. I notice her making slight gagging sounds as I do, and saliva is already beginning to drip from her open mouth onto the tables surface.

Finally, I release her from the table, grab the chain between her ankles and swing her legs around onto the floor. Her upper body pivots in the opposite direction, and she is left bent over the table at the waist, her ass exposed. I notice again just how nice and round and firm it really is as she inadvertently bumps her buttocks into my groin.

I consider a moment, then decide to wait to take her until I can really take the time to enjoy it. I can tell she has had the same thought, or rather fear, and has begun trying to turn herself around, her buttocks clinched tightly together.

Due to her resistance, I reconsider the option. Grabbing her by the hair I yank again, hard! She screams out as she falls back onto my chest, her ass squirming into my crotch as she tries to pull away. She is quivering violently all over, her muscles twitching in a barely controlled fight-or-flight response. I reach down with my right hand and cop a feel, curving my fingers into her sex and lifting roughly. She rises up onto her toes, leaning against me again to keep from falling forward. She feels me bulging against my jeans, and screams again while trying to step away.

I keep a grip on her hair and force her to stand so close she can feel my every breath. I reach down and unzip my pants, springing out in the process. Feeling my own naked flesh probing against the crack of her ass, she wails and tries to pull away more vigorously. Instead, she finds the front of her thighs being slammed forward onto the edge of the table just before I bend her over the table surface. Her feet now kick up against my shins as I position myself, but with the chain taunt between her ankles she doesn’t have much freedom of movement. I slip one knee between her legs, forcing them open and with one lunge I enter her.

She screams.

She’s incredibly hot and tight, and I only enter her cunt an inch or so before pulling back, then plunge in again, a bit farther. This goes on repeatedly for a couple of minutes until I find myself completely inside her. Pausing to enjoy it, I begin to grind a bit at first, then to thrust deeply, sliding in and out effortlessly while holding her hair in my free hand and keeping a good grip on her ass with my other hand. Her screaming has stopped and she appears to have somewhat resigned herself to the act even though she keeps squirming in a futile effort to dislodge me. She’s in a mild state of shock by now, and is operating almost on basic instinct alone.

No matter, I keep going. After a while, I can feel that familiar tingling sensation, the tightening of muscles, the shortness of breath, the growing knowledge that I am about to come, and I stop. She’s confused at first, then realizes I’ve stopped to keep from coming and for once she actually cooperates and holds perfectly still, hoping desperately that I don’t come inside her, her head bobbing slightly as she maintains the arched back position I‘ve forced her into. I finally notice she’s actually hyperventilating now. I finally regain control and the moment has passed. I decide it’s time to introduce her to an additional pleasure, and pull out.

Her head rises farther, almost looking back over her shoulder at me as she realizes I’ve pulled out without coming. Her confusion clears when I slide up between her sweaty buttocks. I notice rivulets of sweat actually creasing down her ribs and her ass and pooling slightly in the dip of her spine. Realizing how she’s about to be violated, she clinches, squeezing me between her ass cheeks in the process, then begins to move her ass back and forth to avoid me, but I’m too close and her struggles only increase my excitement. Realizing what I’m about to do is driving her mad!

Stooping slightly, I line up and thrust again. With only her own sweat and sexual juices for lubrication, it’s difficult at first but I thrust in hard anyway, penetrating her without pity. I feel my head slide in against intense resistance, then just past her sphincter muscle, then I’m in and the pressure is simply surrounding my shaft just past the head, squeezing me tightly. She screams again, this time to a whole new level of panic and pain as I violate her in this new way. At this point my own excitement is getting the better of me and I know it won’t be long now. I enjoy without remorse as she continues to gyrate her buttocks in a vain attempt to get away from me.

Her struggles only increase my appetites and pleasure, and with seconds to go I grab her hair again, pulling her up off the table and back into my chest. Now she’s standing on her toes again, and feels me inexorably sliding even further into her. If she relents even the least bit from her tiptoe stance, she slides down farther onto my shaft. Such missteps are accompanied by still more agonized screams. I simply lean back further, forcing her to take me in that much more, and reach around with my right hand and slip my fingers into her cunt, curving them in and lifting her slightly in the process as I apply intense pressure to her clitoris. I feel her thighs squeeze together to resist this latest penetration.

My hand slides up from there, leaving a trail of her own juices across her body as my hand gropes up to her breast. Cupping her breast where it connects to her body, I squeeze tightly and it bulges. I can feel the tissue under the skin roll about under my fingers as I lift and pull her as if I’m milking her. My fingertips press into her soft flesh. My grasping hand slides further along her breast, squeezing out towards her nipples. I notice that her skin is soft and incredibly smooth, and soaked with perspiration. I feel tiny bits of rust, almost like fine sand, on her breast from where she has lain on the table tonight. Then my fingers are pinching her nipple. It’s hard, almost rubbery, under my touch, and about the size of the cuticle of my little finger and distended straight out. I lift her breast entirely with my grip on her nipple and pull up hard. Not satisfied, I repeat this maneuver again and again, each time squeezing more tightly, and each time she flings herself in yet another contortion to avoid me. Finally, I can feel it coming and explode inside her, roaring out to the ceiling of the expansive dungeon in the process. Spent, I relax a bit and let her fall forward back onto the table, before pulling out a minute later. I’ll take a shower later, so I just zip up. For her part, she lays on the table in a stupor.

After another moment's contemplation, during which I lightly rub her ass in appreciation of her assets, I turn her around to face me. Additional rust stains are evident on her chin, face, breasts, and knees. Her hair is a mess now, and she has a look of shock and defeat in her eyes. Her face is completely flushed. I notice how nice and straight and white her teeth are as she bites into the leather wrapped ring. I grab her by the hair unceremoniously begin a slow steady pace towards one of the cells. She has to scramble to keep up, and is having to step twice as often as I am just to keep up with me. I make sure to hold her hair high, making her walk on her toes. Her large breasts swing softly from side to side as she almost slow jogs to keep up with me. Arriving at the empty cell, I swing it open and thrust her in. She actually manages to maintain a vertical position for a few seconds before falling heavily on her side onto the gray concrete floor. Her breasts literally bounce as I watch her go down. I watch her curl into a ball before swinging the heavy steel bar door closed. It locks with a loud audible clang. The sound is distinctive enough that even Marjorie knows what it is and looks up startled, her eyes wide.

I look back into her green eyes for a long moment, then widen my attention to take in her quivering ass cheeks, her slightly jerking legs, the lack of circulation already setting in on her arms just above the top edge of the leather sleeve, the throbbing red hand print on her ass cheek, the sweat glistening on her body, and how her breasts, lying atop each other and on the floor, heave up and out with every labored breath. I notice how her nipples are rock hard and extended prominently. My spent desire is clearly evident on the inner and back portions of her thighs. I’ll size her for a pony tail tomorrow, but for now I turn and walk out of the dungeon. I shut the lights off as I go, as it’s time for my merchandise to go to sleep for the evening. Wails serenade me from the darkness as I walk back down the corridor to my own quarters. I make a mental note to have the special shipping service come by in the morning to pick up the crated pony girls and keep walking.

When I arrive at my loft, I find Pet awaiting me at the door. She is already in position on her knees, head bowed. Her long single hair braid is positioned perfectly down the center of her back, and settled in the crack of her ass, and she is poised motionless. I pause only a moment, and decide that I have worked hard and that I do deserve a little additional entertainment before going to sleep, so it’s onto round two! I’ll start with the two of us in the shower.