The Little Redhead Ch 02

I am led by my leash from the auction room to an elevator. We go down several floors and come out on a long hallway, well-decorated, with some kind of Asian artwork on the walls. It feels like we're underground. I realize we must be in a huge mansion. I've never been in a place so fancy. Stupidly, it intimidates me.

As we walk down the hallway, I can feel the eyes of the man who has just purchased me on my naked body. I'm starting to recover and it embarrasses me. My gate becomes awkward as I imagine him looking at my bottom. I'm glad my hair is so long. At least it covers me up a little!

We stop in front of a door, which the attendant opens with a key. He leads me into the most beautiful bedroom I've ever seen and removes my leash. The attendant closes the door and starts speaking to my new owner.

I don't know what to do. My fear is starting to return. I scurry onto the bed and curl up against the headboard, pulling the pillows over me to cover me. I look at the baseboard and see rows of hooks. I then notice the same on the headboard behind me. I get up quickly and curl up in a large overstuffed chair. I bring the pillows with, and cover myself with them again. Pushing the pillows against my nipples is painful. They are extremely tender. I look down and see that they are purple and swollen from the clamps. I adjust the pillows and listen to the conversation.

The attendant is saying to the owner, "As a new customer, sir, I am required to review the rules with you." He continues as if reading from a script, "Breaking of the skin or any other injury resulting in bleeding is not allowed. Breaking of bones, sprains, and dislocations is not allowed. Damage to internal organs is not allowed. Injury resulting in unconsciousness is not allowed. Choking is allowed, but must not result in unconsciousness."

Hearing this, I am relieved, but also frightened, as I'm imagining why there should even need to be such rules.

The attendant pauses, and then says, "Sir, we understand your proclivities based on your original request. I have therefore been instructed to remind you that you will be monitored until your time is up tomorrow morning. If at any time, you break any of these rules, you will be, shall we say, 'interrupted' and removed from the premises. You will not be asked to return."

I am overwhelmed with relief at hearing this. Tomorrow morning! He hasn't purchased me. He's rented me! I only have to get through the next few hours and then I will be away from this man. And we will be monitored. He won't be allowed to REALLY hurt me. I can't help releasing a couple tiny sobs of relief, thankfully muffled by my gag.

Then I realize what the attendant said about the man's 'proclivities'. What did he mean? This man WANTS to really injure a woman, and has admitted to it! I'm frightened all over again.

The attendant continues, "Although you will be monitored, we respect your privacy and there will be no record of your stay with us or your activities here, as you already know. We hope that you are happy with your choice. I'm sure you noticed that we did find several petite redheads matching your description for you to choose from. We are not surprised that you chose this one. She fits your description the closest."

The man who purchased (rented!) me says, "Yes, yes. I made my choice. Now, is she clean?"

The attendant responds, "Of course, sir! Would you care to review the medical records?"

"No, no, that's fine. Stats?"

The attendant says, "32 years old. Five feet even. 111 pounds. Middle-class. College-educated. No drugs. No criminal record. Three partners, the first at age 18, the third one being an ex-husband. Divorced for two years, no partners since the divorce. One-"

The man cuts him off. "That's enough, unless there is something out of the ordinary I should know."

The attendant responds, "Well, sir, the psychological analysis showed some unusual traits. This one is strong-willed, but also unusually sensitive. This one-"

The man barks, "I don't care about that! Anything else?"

The attendant responds, "No, sir. That is all. Shall I remove the gag and refresh her?"

"Yes, then you may go."

The attendant removes my gag. He instructs me to relieve myself, pointing to a small bathroom. He tells me to drink a glass of water, the entire thing. When I'm done, he leaves the room. The man locks the door with a bolt which is at the top of the door, rather than at the side by the doorknob.

(I think, They've tested me! How long have I been here? What have they been doing to me? And what does he mean by my being "sensitive"?)

With the preliminaries over, I realize this is starting now, and I start to tremble in my chair and curl up tighter.

The man turns and walks across the room, telling me, "Lay down on the bed," with hardly a glance. I lay on the bed, bringing my pillows with me. He turns and comes back. He pulls the pillows away from me, leaving me exposed, and throws them across the room into a corner. "Don't move and don't speak", he says.

He walks to a wooden cabinet and opens one of the doors. I see chains and straps, dildos of different sizes, and various other leather and metal things that I don't recognize. This is bondage stuff, I think. I know there are men that like to tie women up. I am almost relieved. Everyone has heard of that. He's just one of those guys that likes to tie women up and have sex with them and have them call him Master. I wonder why he didn't just go on the internet and find someone for free. I kind of think he's a fool for paying good money for me. I'm not hideous, but am not anything special. Surely he could find a "petite redhead" or two online who are willing to be tied up without having to pay anything.

My ex-husband put hand-cuffs on me twice and made me call him My Master, and it wasn't so bad. It was kind of fun, really. Okay, I think to myself, you can handle this. He's going to tie you up, then roughly fuck you and maybe stick dildos in you -- no big deal. It will hurt, but just hang on and it will be over eventually.

He opens the other cabinet door, revealing a large whip and a smaller one with little fringes. There are other things in there, too, that I don't understand, but all are scary-looking. I'm more frightened at seeing this. But I tell myself I can even handle being whipped or hurt with these weird things, too. He's not allowed to break the skin or break bones, so how much could he hurt me?

The man reaches into the cabinet and picks up some black leather gloves. He turns and looks at me, with that intense gaze that frightens and embarrasses me so much. His eyes never leaving my face, he pulls first one, then the other glove onto his hands. Then he smiles.

Something about the gloves and the smile on his face is so frightening that I panic, jump off the bed, and run for the door, making little peeping sounds. I start jumping at the bolt at the top of the door, trying to reach it, but it's too high.

The man crosses the room with a few long strides and, in a single motion, swoops me up with one arm and throws me across the room onto the bed. I land on my back, bouncing, my teeth cracking together. The strength of the man is unbelievable!

He crosses to the bed, straddles me and grabs my head, one hand on either side, and squeezes. He puts his face inches from mine and grits his teeth.

"Did you hear me say not to move?" he asks.

"Yes". Crack! He hits me open-handed on the face with one of his gloved hands.

"Did I say you could speak?"

"No," I answer, shaking my head. Crack! He hits me again on the face, harder than before, then backhands my right breast and slaps my left. This is very painful since my nipples are so sore and bruised from the clamps. I have a strange taste in my mouth. What's wrong with me? He said not to speak!

He grabs my head as before. He's very heavy and the weight of him is making it hard to breath. "You will not speak unless I tell you to. You will not move unless I tell you to. You will speak when I tell you to. You will move when I tell you to and how I tell you to. When you speak, you will address me as 'Sir'. These are simple rules. Even YOU should be able to understand and follow them. Do you understand these rules?"

I nod my head. I think this must be standard bondage stuff. In the back of mind, I'm grateful that I don't have to call him 'Master'. He says, "You may speak." I feel a moment of panic. What does he want me to say? Then I realize what he wants. Breathlessly, I blurt out, "Yes! Yes, sir! Yes! I understand. I understand the rules. Sir!"

"Will you follow these rules?" he asks.

"Yes, sir!" He hits me in the face again, dazing me slightly. I feel a moment of intense anger and push it down. I just have to get through this. I yell at myself, Stop disobeying, you stupid girl! He didn't say you could speak!

"I repeat. Will you follow these rules?"

I nod my head.

He seems satisfied at that. He pauses and then does something strange. He grabs some of my hair in his hand and smells it, looking momentarily peaceful, then angry again, even more so than before. He gets off of me, telling me to stand up. He directs me to cross the room, to stand facing one of the walls four or five feet away, to bend over and to place my hands on the wall. "Spread your legs," he says, kicking me right leg outwards at the ankle. I spread my legs out and he kneels down behind me.

He starts licking my pussy from front to back. I'm shocked to realize that my body is still quite aroused from the earlier ordeal. My clit is still swollen and I'm still wet. I've never had anyone do anything like this to me before, well not in this position, anyway, from behind with him having a full view of me. I'm humiliated having this done to me. I'm almost more humiliated than when I was in the auction room. Still, I find myself reacting to it. And this isn't so bad. He's not even hurting me!

I slowly start to pant with excitement, even though I try very hard not to. My clit is throbbing, and I become wetter and wetter. I start dripping again, and as in the auction room, he rubs my juices up and down my inner thighs as he's licking me. As before, I'm horribly ashamed at getting so aroused. I can't help it, though. My knees get weak and it becomes harder and harder to hold my position. The man tells me to stand up and turn around. Gratefully, I obey.

I stand facing him. He removes his suit jacket, tie, and shirt, tossing them across the room onto the chair. He removes his belt and unbuttons and unzips his pants, letting them fall to the floor. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him, in a mockery of a passionate embrace. My face is pressed against his chest. He asks, "Did you like that?" I debate for a moment. I did and didn't like it, but there is no hiding my physical reaction to it. I realize I must agree, and I nod against his chest.

He squeezes me harder for a second, squeezing the breath out of me, then releases me. He says, "Kneel."

I kneel in front of him. He grabs my hair like a rope, not pulling it hard, just holding it, and says, "Pull down my boxers and blow me."

In the back of my mind, I think, Blow me! I haven't heard that phrase in ten years.

I pull his boxers down. I look at his cock. It's hard, but still hanging down. It's the biggest cock I've ever seen. I don't know about inches, I've only seen three in my life, but it is bigger than my ex-husband's, and my ex-husband had to be careful with me, since I'm so small. He had hurt me accidentally a few times with a hard thrust at a weird angle. The pain made me feel ill and once I almost passed out. I know this man will NOT be careful, but will instead be happy if he accidentally hurts me. Thinking of the pain my ex-husband had caused and looking at this man's cock and imagining what he might do with it, I panic again.

I stand up and try to run away, anywhere. The man grabs my hair tightly and sharply yanks me back by it so that I stop short and fall onto my back, almost getting the wind knocked out of me, but not really hurt.

The man straddles me and grabs my wrists, pulling them in towards my chest. I've never seen rage like the rage I see on his face. He puts his face inches from mine, like before, and says quietly, but emphatically, as if almost too angry to speak, "You bitch! You little bitch. You let me lick your pussy, panting and moaning. You were dripping! You don't protest to that at all! You said you liked it! And yet, when I tell you to suck my cock, you refuse and run away, you selfish, selfish cunt!"

He grabs my face, and I say, "No, I-" Crack! He hits me on the face yet again. I feel my face starting to swell. I yell at myself, Shut up, dummy! You're not supposed to speak! Why do you keep disobeying?!

He then makes a fist and holds it over my face for a second. I squeeze my eyes shut in fear. Then he seems to think better of it, and slaps my right tit, then backhands my left tit. As before, my nipples' tenderness makes this very painful. He then holds his open hand over my face again, as if to strike. As I anticipate the next painful blow, I watch his self-control take over and he lowers his hand.

He says, "You started to say something. You may speak."

I decide I must be honest and stammer, "I, I just meant to say...It's just that....I wanted to say that I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry. I just saw the size of....how big your.... I saw how big you were and I got scared. I've been hurt before. I just got scared of being hurt, sir. I didn't mean to be selfish." Not being sure if I've addressed him properly, I add, "Sir!"

A look of confusion crosses his face for a split second and then is gone. The anger returns, but is not quite so intense. He gets up and crosses the room.

And I realize in a flood of gestaltic understanding that this man does not have a sex fetish. This man did not pay good money to be able to tie up a woman against her will and have sex with her, maybe whipping her a few times. In fact, this isn't about sex at all. This man quite simply wants to hurt a woman. No, I correct myself, this man wants to hurt ME, not just any woman, but ME. In fact, this man wants to kill me. He's a killer and I'm the one he wants to kill. I don't understand. I don't even know him. Why does he want to hurt me so much that he would pay good money to be in a room with me and torture me, as I now suspect he's going to do?

I realize, also, that this man just might actually do it -- that he might actually kill me, even though we are being monitored. He is just barely controlling himself, and he might lose control. The relief I felt at knowing we were monitored is gone. If this man loses his self-control, he could kill me with a single blow, before anyone has time to come to stop him. I thought I was afraid before, many times during this long night, but never like this. I am now afraid for my very life.

At the very least, I know that I'm going to be tortured tonight, as much as the monitors will allow. I start to tremble, then shake uncontrollably and sob. I can't help it. I force myself to hold still as much as possible, but the trembling continues and the sobs keep coming. I know now that I must obey him absolutely. I must not make a SINGLE mistake, and I must be smart. Repeating this to myself, I force the trembling and sobbing to subside. I am limp with the extreme fear I feel as I watch the man open the cabinet containing the whips.

He pulls out the largest whip, turns towards me, and smiles. I start to sob again.