Corinna's World
I had no idea how long it had been—days, weeks, forever? Corinna and Slave kept me blindfolded and gagged most of the time, and whenever the blindfold was removed, I was in a dark place, like Corinna's stuffy, confining workout room or in the sadistic lesbian's well-equipped sex dungeon buried in the cold ground beneath her old mansion.
My world was shadows, gloom, or pure blackness. Slave put me in the artificial sun of the coffin-like tanning bed, but taped my eyes shut so that I was inundated in light, but submerged in darkness. Corinna's heavy, darkly colored curtains were always tightly drawn. When her coal black slave girl took me down to the dungeon to use Corinna's full array of man bending implements, Slave might remove my blindfold, but in the darkness, I saw only the shimmering blackness of her skin, or the flash of the whip flying through dim candlelight.
The measure of passing time slipped away. I could not tell day from night. In my long black nightmare, sleep was one of my few pleasures, but Corinna permitted only intermittent scraps of naps. Slave would occasionally wake me, beat me thoroughly, and put me back to bed. Sometimes she lacerated my sleep with a single slash and then disappeared before I awoke. Soon the cut between dreams of cruelty and my waking nightmare, between delirium and real life, disappeared. I craved deep sleep but never got it. Mistress Corinna used sleep as a tool, granting or withholding snippets, insinuating her control into me, carving my soul like a sculptress chiseling an agreeable figurine of an obedient man.
I could not name the sort of vile creature Corinna intended me to become, but I felt it incubating in my gut. Slave fed me like a dog; face down in the bowl on the floor, no hands allowed. My simple need to eat was a tool, a technique for breaking and remaking me. My sense of being human slipped away. Slave forced me eat more than I could stomach on threat of the whip, but I learned not to vomit. Being sick just made it worse; Slave would just force me to start again at a fresh bowl. She required that I ingest a full dose of the tasteless mush at each doggie bowl session. However, as unappealing as this diet was, combined with the exercise routine imposed on me, my body grew hard and muscular, as my will grew soft and compliant. The sculptress was a clever artisan.
The most powerful tools in Corinna's repertoire were fear and pain, balanced against the reward of cunt sucking. My hardening body was never without the marks of her torture. I learned the nuances of the strap, the crop, and the whip. Slave made me identify the instrument of each bruise and cut. When I erred, Slave laughed, mocked my stupidity, and demonstrated the implement again. It was easy to distinguish the wide bruise of the leather strap from the flat square imprint of the riding crop. However, it was next to impossible to tell the thin cutting mark of the cane from that of the rod; Slave insisted there was a difference. I learned a completely new vocabulary—cat, tawse, quirt. If I guessed correctly, my reward was face time with Slave's cunt.
Sometimes Slave allowed only a brief kiss, and sometimes, depending upon her whim, a long leisurely feast at her hole. She teased and taunted me with promises that if I were good, I could luxuriate in it. She judiciously rationed the privilege of extended cunt lapping tongue service at the trough of her nether lips. She made me beg for it, and then denied it.
Slave might promise that if I were especially good she would indulge me with an extravagant reward of mouthfuls of her precious gush. "Honey, just lift a little more weight, just one more time, push yourself sweetie and you can have some of this; it's right down here; it's real juicy. Try a little harder and you can go down on me and slurp it up. I'll for squirt for you."
Or, if I took the ferule on my balls without screaming, Slave promised she would let me forget my pain in the deep wet fold, the warm soaking pit of her crotch. Ferule: a flat piece of wood for punishing children, a schoolmaster's rod.
I craved pussy. Sometimes Slave let me go down on her for what might have been hours; sometimes pussy was withheld for what felt like days—the true measure of time had become a mystery. Slave encouraged me to beg for pussy, and then punished me for asking, and moments later castigated me for not pleading for her cunt. As often as not Slave's promises were lies, but I did not complain or begrudge her deceit in any way. I accepted her inconsistency. I was learning not to think.
It was impermissible to touch Corinna much less lick her pussy. Corinna left most of the physical labor to Slave, but directed everything. Under Corinna's tutelage, I grasped the justice of injustice, and realized the joy in pain.
Corinna beat Slave often. Slave would then come to me lying asleep on my cot and wake me with a slash of the crop. Her commands would be harsher than usual, her voice thick from crying. Using me, controlling me, power over me consoled Slave. She let me lick the freshly swelling welts on her slick, black skin. Then Slave exacted her full revenge upon me.
It was my function to be the surrogate to receive punishment, retribution, and pain for any injustice, or simple frustration, not just to Slave and Corinna, but also to all women. I was beaten because Slave was beaten; I was beaten because men mistreat women; I was beaten because Corinna had premenstrual cramps. I was the proxy for all men, wicked impious men who would not worship women. I was balm for Corinna's discontents. Her headaches melted away as she reclined enjoying long leisurely viewings of Slave thrashing me.
Blame, fault, and condemnation poured over me, thus injustice transmuted to right. Corinna ordered that I swallow these inequities, and I did, with growing understanding and increasing gratification for the privilege to serve. I was thankful to Corinna for her generous attention and honored by the privilege to serve women. Corinna found me useful; I was content to be at her disposal. The flood of Corinna's spite nourished me, and I ripened into the thing she intended. The clever sculptress now worked in her garden. She twisted me into a showy miniature of a male, a bonsai man.
Although Corinna did not let me touch her, she would not sully herself by contacting a contemptible male, she did occasionally permit me to be an ornament for her boudoir. I knelt still as a statue at the foot of her bed while she went about her daily business, chatting with friends on the phone, going over the bills, combing her hair, or doing and redoing her make up. All the while, she paid me no more attention than she would a chair. Sometimes she had Slave suspend me from her bedroom ceiling. Then Corinna gave Slave orders for the care of the household, chatted about business, and gossiped, all the while ignoring the male hung by the bed in chains.
She might then instruct Slave on the next twist in my reconstruction with disinterested detachment, as if she were discussing the need to take out the garbage. The only acknowledgement of my presence would be Corinna's critique of Slave's work. Corinna might point out a body part in need of a bruise or welt, or perhaps recommend a particular whip or bondage devise. She would evaluate the development of my muscles and my blossoming servility. Corinna gave no hint that she considered me in any way human. To her I was at best an animal, at worst a repulsive slab of meat. She briefly released and examined my cock. "The welt on its penis is fading. Renew it."
On occasion, I was hung blindfolded, gagged and bound while Corinna and Slave engaged in their lesbian lovemaking. I was never permitted to witness scenes of physical violence, but Corinna was nevertheless viciously cruel to Slave in these sessions. She piled verbal abuse on the poor girl calling her every vile name imaginable. Though Corinna was herself African American, she mocked Slave for the blackness of her skin and never seemed to get enough of calling her a dirty nigger and humiliating her for her race. Though I was always blindfolded, Corinna assured that I witnessed the minutiae of Slave's humiliations by relating in detail the degradations she was imposing upon Slave. The point of detailing Slave's shame to a male was to inflict additional emotional pain upon the poor girl. The abuse I witnessed was not physical, but perhaps it was worse. It was as if Corinna were flogging Slave's soul.
"What I am doing now is finger fucking the nigger slut's asshole. She likes it. Do you hear her moaning? She is a shameless whore. She is pushing her ass against my hand like a bitch in heat. Slave, play with your grotesque tits. It's disgusting he way those mammoth sacks jiggle. Does all that weight hurt? Backaches? Too bad, no bra for you. Watching you struggle with those big fat sacks swinging and bouncing while your walk very funny. You want to amuse me right?
"Let's see if I can force another finger up your ass. You're such a tight thing. Olivia's girl can easily take her whole fist. I'd trade you for her, except Olivia won't do it. She says you are too funny looking all nigger black and jumbo tits. Oh now you are crying again. What a baby. Are those tears for the fingers up your ass or because I want that other girl? Tell the vile male what you are."
"I am a dirty nigger whore. I am a bitch in heat. I am a worthless ass fuck, and a black freak with ugly obscene tits. Take me with your fist. Rip me apart if you have to. Oh Corinna, I am whatever you want me to be. I love you. Please don't throw me away. Humiliate me; even in front of that despicable male thing, treat me like the whore I am. Treat me cruel. Mistress Corinna I love you; I love it." How it could be true, I do not know, but Slave did love Corinna.
