A Case of Torture: Trial of Love 1

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Rick could not believe he was walking up the pathway to the studio of Mistress D. He double-checked the address, looking at the figures '67', on the front of the old mansion. Yes, the number agreed with the one on the card. 'Mistress D, 67 Bailey Ave. By appt. only'. He had called her after his lover, Isha, had set things up. Isha herself was also a specialist in the field of domination, and he never was quite sure how he felt about that. But, now, the new mistress was on his mind. Besides the smooth silky voice he'd heard on the phone, what was she like? Would she be attracted to him, as so many women were? His being here, on a bright morning, about to enter a studio with a dungeon didn't seem quite real, and it had started so simply.

In bed with Isha, a few nights ago, things had become quite passionate. She loved his body, all six feet, 210 pounds, and she was caressing the sleek muscles of his thighs, an especially favorite place she liked to stroke. He loved the feel of her tight ass, which he held easily in his hands, and which always seemed to turn just right onto his cock or tongue. She took his large cock into her mouth, felt the delicious fullness. It was more than two inches in diameter: its length approaching 10 inches was her pride and a joy to her aching pussy which, after the first couple sessions of severe stretching, now flooded immediately upon the intrusion of 'my lovely monster' as she called it. She slurped at the huge tip, whose clear drip announced his lust, and felt his hands warm on her breasts; they weren't quite C's, but the nipples were firm and prominent; lovingly he tugged at them as he always did, and then her body tingled everywhere, especially her soaked cunt. 'I love you,' she said.

On impulse, she lifted his huge testicles, almost the size of apricots, and slapped them smartly. 'Ouch,' he said, but he jammed further into her mouth. She did it again, a little harder, and again loved the responsive thrust of his hips, which crammed his cock far down her throat. 'Is this what you do with your cyberslaves,' he said. Surprised, she took her mouth off his dick. 'Not at all, honey.'

'Well, you torture, don't you?'

'Those were taps, honey. You don't know about torture, and you don't want it.'

She thought of their previous discussions, the continuing points of contention between them. There had been troubled times for a while, after her disclosure: When they had first met, she was vague about her activity. When he asked about her field, all she offered was that she was in communications and writing on the 'net. After they'd been sleeping together for two months, she was drawn to him in a turbulence never expected, but she realized this was a time to be direct. So, one morning, she laid it out for him: 'Hon, I've got to tell you. I'm a specialist. My field is in the world of cybersex.'

'Isha!' was all he could say at first. And so began what they later called, their 'Big Discussion'.

She saw the look in his dark eyes: He did not want to believe what he was hearing. She knew what troubled him. Cybersex. 'Rick, you're thinking of guys hearing me talk dirty and whacking off.'

'Yes.'

'That's not it, at all. I am a domme. My specialty is torture. Those who belong to me must submit, and must endure pain to show their submission.'

The discussion had continued off and on through that day as she tried to clarify her role. He wondered why the guys wanted such a thing. She pointed out that it wasn't just guys, and she didn't know and had given up trying to figure it out since it wasn't a simple thing, as in the psychology books. Of course she and Rick had already tried things like mild restraints with silk scarves. She'd once tied him spread-eagled to the bed, and with a jar of cherry syrup, licked and teased his prick for hours, till he pleaded to come. In licking off the syrup, she concentrated the point of her tongue into the small slit in the enormous head of her 'monster.' The light bondage was definitely a turn-on. 'This fellow has such a weepy eye,' she would say, as the precum leaked out, and she took the sticky stuff onto her slender fingers, licked them and thrust them into his mouth. Then she'd go to work with her tongue again.

Once, when he was tied, she'd carefully covered his genitals and whipped his thighs with a soft leather cat o' nine tails. She'd alternately whipped him and jerked him off for over an hour before his pleas of 'fuck me' were heeded. Then she straddled that giant tool and rode it till his copious spurts overfilled her and dripped down her legs. That was as far as she'd wanted things to go. She didn't really want to make that succulent cock shiver in agony, though the image was strangely compelling.

As the discussion extended into the afternoon, he began to understand a little about the torture she meted out, and, seemingly accept that it didn't detract from her devotion to him. 'It's OK, Isha. Now I know you're not one of those cyberwhores.' He also didn't seem too concerned about the women she dealt with; but about the men, he asked: 'Do you tell them, after all the torture stuff, to stroke themselves, or to come?' 'A man's question,' she thought. The bottom line. 'Yes, but at a time I choose.'

'I don't like it.' He hadn't really heard anything after the 'yes'. He said he thought their sex was special. He loved her and to come with her, and have her come with him; that is, with him alone. 'With them, do you ever come?'

'Yes, I have.' She never lied to him.

'It should be special between us since we are devoted to each other.' he said, and clearly did not wish to proceed. He'd heard enough that day. He was no prude, but he liked sex 'straight up,' one might say: to fuck her ten ways from Tuesday, and in every orifice. And so ended the Big Discussion, though a solution to the problem--their pact--took a while longer to emerge.

She pondered the matter for a couple days, and went about her business. Having an independent spirit, she didn't automatically want to jump through hoops for him as she had done in her twenties, with her first boyfriends. On the other hand, she did not like to see him troubled, and she knew he wouldn't say for her to stop. Finally, a solution occurred to her, an obvious one. She even discussed the change of rules with some of the subs, and they would accept her decision. 'Rick. About what I've been doing on the 'net. I think I know what the trouble is. You see me, despite all the torture, as afterwards providing entertainment to the men. Like the cyber sex pros.'

'Exactly,' said Rick. His face brightened for he hoped she would have a solution. Maybe even quit.

'OK, here's what I'll do. I will continue to direct torture. But I will not direct any guy to touch himself or 'jerk off'. And I will not tell him to come. There will be allowing, only. And, honey, no matter what, I will not cum with them, only with you.'

She had indeed gotten to the core of Rick's discomfort. She explained that yes, sometimes the fellow online would come, with her OK. She'd 'be there' or listen or even talk. But she'd give no directions. Rick said he'd think about it, but asked, 'What about you, Isha?'

'Honey I may get turned on, just as you do when you see some babe. I will not hide it, and I may choose to tell someone about it. But I will not make myself come.' In short, she'd wait, and hope to share her excitement with Rick; she'd come with him only. The last point seemed like it might satisfy him. He rationalized it because he too was turned on by others.

That was the pact, and things had gone pretty well, afterwards: Rick seemed to take little interest in her activities, though sometimes he'd remark when she presented her wet pussy. She'd take his cock and rub it between her soaking lips. 'I'm glad you saved it for me,' he'd say, 'for you are my love,' and gently ease into his favorite territory. There had been no fallout from the Big Discussion; issues were dormant for months--until the present talk.

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Now here she was, his balls in her hand, and he was asking about torture. 'It's much harsher than you think, hon,' she said. 'Sometime they can't stand it.'

'Oh, and that's why you don't do it to me?'

'Yes,' she said, before realizing the implications, for he continued, 'You don't think I could take it.'

She was very uncomfortable, and disagreed, but she couldn't find the exact words she needed; she didn't want to question his courage. A memory came to her, from a few months back. He'd taken on two muggers with knives when they'd been accosted on a dark street one night. One guy grabbed her and the other, who looked large, got behind Rick and held a knife to his throat. 'Give us your money and your watch, motherfucker!' the guy behind had said. She saw him hesitate. Then the punk had added, 'And your gold rings.' She saw Rick's face darken, for he'd given her one. She was taken aback at what happened in the next instant.

Rick grasped the knife with one bare hand. He seized the guy's arm with the other, and twisted it like a piece of spaghetti. There was a scream as the guy felt his shoulder torn apart, and the knife went flying. Swiftly, Rick gave him another punch and karate kicked him as he fell. Rick leaped like a cat beside the second fellow and grabbed his neck. He cried out in rage and almost lifted the fellow off the ground by his neck, and flung him against the wall of the building, where he crumpled into silence. 'Let's go, baby,' Rick said smoothly, wrapping a handkerchief around his bleeding hand, and they had walked away.

The memory flashed before her in just a second. Isha, bringing herself back in the present, knew they'd have to talk about what he could 'take,' but felt her cunt just dripping; 'Let's discuss it tomorrow, what you feel you have to do, OK? Now what's become of my lovely monster?' Holding it firmly, she got on her hands and knees and raised her fine butt into the air. As she spread her pussy, she wondered what might be in store for his gorgeous prick, if they went ahead. She pushed back and up to meet the massive insertion and squeezed it with her cunt in all the lustful ways she knew. He pounded into her for several minutes with increasing fury. 'Baby, baby,' he cried out before he convulsed and spurted. She felt the hot seed flooding in with her juices, and that loving warmth was all she could think of. Her body responded on its own, to the other body loving it; she thrashed as she came and their juices flowed out onto the sheets.

And so it came up the next day. Rick said, 'And so, what do you think, can I "take it"?' 'Rick, you're tough, but you don't know what these guys go through.' She tried to explain that it wasn't simple courage at issue.

'I've been friends with guys tortured in Vietnam; don't hand me such BS.' Rick was proud of his strength: 'I can take anything you have to dish out, baby. And I'll prove it.' There was something else he couldn't put into words, perhaps that she didn't really know something important about him. On her side, she genuinely feared for him, for them. 'I think you don't know what's required.'

'All right,' he said, 'you show me and we'll see.' 'Fine.' And that's how it was agreed for Rick to be tortured.

There was one problem. Isha felt so deeply connected to him; she wondered about the effect of her willful savagery. Rick, if he gave way to her, might well become estranged. Perhaps she would become too savage, just to impose her will. Some of the men she'd tortured had completely broken down. In such case, if he could grasp hold of a remnant of pride, Rick might end their relationship. If he could not, there was a worse possibility: Rick becoming irrevocably her slave, for that was the usual effect of her 'successfully' torturing someone.

'Here's what we do, Rick. You will spend one day with each of my two associates, whom I've trained. That way, my feelings for you won't be an issue; you'll learn about what you can 'take' without it becoming simply a contest of your will and mine.' 'OK,' he said, 'I don't need special treatment. I'm sure I can handle it.'

'Anything thing else bothering you, hon?' she said. 'Well, I don't want any 'gay' stuff.... Do you ever make your guys take it up the ass?'

'Yes, hon, but if you like, we'll put a limit there. It's OK.' She thought further. 'Rick, there's other things I know about, and maybe you haven't thought of, so let me mention a few more limits.'

'Like?'

'I'll ask them to agree not to do the following things: No dildo or male organ is to go up your ass. Same for your mouth. No hard objects are to be inserted in your cock. You are not to be cut, pierced, or mutilated or end up needing a visit to the doctor. --How does that sound, honey?'

'Fine, that's some pretty weird stuff anyway,' said Rick. 'What about whipping?'

'It's part of discipline.'

'No problem.'

She thought of the stiff knotted lashes. 'Hon, just to save your sweet skin unscarred, we will specify that no blood is to be drawn, no lasting marks. OK?'

'This won't mean the mistress goes easy, will it?'

'Trust me. I will inform them about these limits, but I will insist that you are not to be spared. There are a million possibilities without buggering you, flogging you or sending you to the doctor.'

The next day, she had called Mistress D and explained the situation. The domme, whom she had trained some years back, would make sure that Rick underwent the same discipline and torture as other slaves, and she had no problem with the limits. 'Isha, I'd be happy to do you the favor. Remember, I saw that guy once, and thought he was irresistible. And strong.' 'You aren't going to go all weak kneed are you, D?'

'I'm up to the challenge. You taught me well, and I've since debased some very powerful men. Have him telephone my receptionist for an appointment. I'll have him put through to me, directly.' Rick had called and made a day-long appointment; he was to report, the next morning

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Moving past the carefully tended gardens, he arrived at the door of Mistress D. He rang the bell. A young woman in a French maid's outfit answered the door. 'Rick Edwards.' he said. 'Come in, you are expected.' He was shown into a plushly furnished living room with a thick, deep-red carpet. Ornate, golden trimmed blue drapes framed the windows and made the room comfortably subdued. He took a chair and waited.

He heard footsteps and rose to greet the woman. It was Mistress D. an alluring brunette of thirty-some years, voluptuously poured into a strapless, red satin dress that stopped just short of her knees and was deeply slit up to her hip on the right side. He enjoyed how her breasts somewhat overfilled the tight black bustier underneath. Her neck was pale and set off her almost black hair, pinned up in the back. Her eyes were her most striking feature. They seemed almost black. Though they flashed when she smiled, there was otherwise a darkness in them.

'Rick,' she said. 'I am Mistress D. You may call me mistress.'

'Mistress, I am pleased to meet you. Isha speaks so highly of you.' He smiled, and he was watching for his effect on her.

'We go back a long way. Once she was more savage than I, and I learned from her. She is fine?' She touched his hand as she asked. 'The woman is attracted,' thought Rick, and then he answered: 'Yes, fine.' Her face clouded. 'Mistress.' he added, scarcely missing a beat.

'Can you say why you are here, Rick?' There was the challenge, but he didn't want to sound too cocky or start a conflict right then, so he chose his words carefully, 'I want to show her something, mistress, but more importantly, if we're together, she must know who I am.'

'And she does not know this yet?'

She knew him better than any woman in his life previously. But she should have more accurate expectations. Cautiously, he said, ' Mistress, I think she does not, sometimes, know what to expect of me.'

'Well let's see what can be expected of you. ... Please follow me.' She led him downstairs into a somewhat austere-looking lower level. The ceiling was black, and a number of rooms led off from the one that they entered. 'Julia will help you prepare after you go into the next room. I'll be in shortly. Oh, Julia does not speak. ' Mistress D left. A young woman entered. She was pretty, 20s, but very plainly made up. She had on a short, clingy, brown dress, which showed off a slender figure. When once she turned, he saw 'stripes' on the back of her thighs. She ushered him into the main room; he felt the cool air and his first impression, no doubt from the black ceiling, was somber. At the same time, it had a kind of peace, for he could see the morning light coming through windows about a foot tall, next to the ceiling. The carefully tended flowers of the garden were visible.

She gestured as if unbuttoning a shirt, and pointed to the chair. A solid looking, wooden chair was one of the few pieces of furniture in the room; there was a sofa, no doubt for the mistress only, and two tables. There were steel rings fastened at various points of the ceiling. Rings were set at various places on the gray walls, which were clean and dry, of finished concrete. There were cupboards with glass doors along one wall, and a refrigerator. He could see several whips, canes, and riding crops of different sizes.

He examined the large wooden chair with arms. It looked extremely sturdy. He had a flash; it seemed almost like one of the old 'electric chairs.'

He understood he was to disrobe; he did so, and followed her direction to sit in the chair. Touching his knees, she pressed his legs apart. She secured his ankles to rings at the bottom of the front legs and tied his knees apart, with ropes. Shackles on the arms of the chair restrained his forearms. Straps were drawn across his chest, squeezing him against the straight back.

Mistress D entered. 'Proceed as usual, Julie.' Julie dropped the top of the dress and held up her breasts. He saw the pert nipples and sleek shape. Nothing was slack; these were firm; the nipples stuck out in a way that made his mouth go dry. Mistress D went to her and squeezed them into erection. 'Do you like her?' Rick felt his cock stirring. 'Yes, mistress.'

'Do you desire her?' he hesitated. She was not Isha, nor did she have that electric effect. But he remembered their talks that desire was not disloyal. 'Yes, mistress,' he said. 'She is my slut; let me show you.' To Julia, who did not seem surprised, 'On your hands and knees and pull up your dress.' Julia did so, presenting an inviting backside, and Rick saw, again the old marks on the back of her thighs and now her plump little cunt nestled in its fur. Mistress D took a long-handled whip and lashed her presented ass ten times. Julia moaned. 'Watch,' Mistress D said to Rick. She took the fat, dark handle of the whip and shoved it easily into Julia's pussy, which had become quite soggy. The handle was jammed into the swampy crack, and withdrawn. Julia pushed herself, each time, onto the handle of the instrument of her torture. Mistress D said, 'You see,' and took out the slimy handle; she presented it to Rick's lips. Besides the soaked leather, he could smell the sweat and musk. 'Lick it, if you want.' He inhaled again, feeling his cock stir. 'Mistress, the scent is enough.'

'Get up, Julia. Proceed.' Julia approached him and took his cock into her hands, stroking it gently. She licked it a little and grasped the base as she felt it swell to its full length. 'My, you are well endowed,' said the mistress, looking at the large thick prick, now fully erect. Julia held up his full sac. 'Yes, he's hung like a horse.' Rick noticed an intensity--was it sexual?--in her voice. Julia went to a cupboard and brought a tray with several items.