The Strength Of My Essence

ACQUIRING CARRIE

I believe in the law of the jungle. The strongest rule and thrive, the bulk simply subsist and any substandard beings are left to wither and expire. It has been the natural way for millions of years and survival of the fittest has led us to the world today. Ironically the metaphor relates to the jungle, but in reality only losers would want to live in a jungle surrounded by an environment beyond their control.

Across all of my endeavors and pursuits in life, I hold that paradigm to be self-evident. I have been driven and disciplined to find myself at the apex of the social strata in my world today. I'm Mason Hall and I'm a businessman, a CEO, a boxer, a champion. I set my own agenda, my own rules and I win the game. Some people might think I'm an arrogant asshole, but fuck them.

For the employees in my own businesses, if you can't perform, then you can't provide. Each month I let go the lowest performing in the company without regret or remorse. And my bottom line is stronger for it.

In the sport of boxing, the vanquished must relinquish their rights. I train boxing five nights a week at a gym on the other side of the city. The only boxing gyms that offer a truly worthwhile experience are always located on the wrong side of the tracks - boxing studios in the upper crust suburbs are sycophantic services for pissants.

In the bedroom and affairs of the heart, the one who can dominate should take control and demand all that they need to satisfy their condition. If the other doesn't like it, then fine - leave. If you take umbrage at the sexual requests of a superior being then you don't deserve the honors that they are bestowing - fuck off and find someone else on your own level.

My philosophy obviously extends to physical and mental health. There's no need to embrace cripples or retards in your circle: no-one wants to be a burden - work hard, dig yourself out of your own hole and thrive.

So junkies have no right to live - they are a waste of space and a drain on the oxygen that the rest of us deserve. Which is exactly what I thought after my evening sparring session as I encountered a limp body between two dumpsters on my way back to the Lexus.

Content to let nature take its course, I strode past unconcerned. A whimper and a moan was no trigger to me, but when I heard a second desperate cry, "Help me," I stopped in my tracks. I'm not sure what influenced me to turn around-- a moment of weakness or a voice resonating in my mind - but I doubled back to find a woman's body lying prone on the concrete.

"What can I do for you?" I asked directly, crouched on my haunches. Cans, paper, foil and syringes littered a circle around her body. She was encased in a dirty golden fabric - in its day the garment would have been a glorious sequined clubbing dress but now it was simply a threadbare rag doing its best to cover a tortured soul. She was young, but age impossible to determine from the state of her abused body - maybe 18 but looking like 60.

Her gaunt face looked up at me from hollow sunken gray eyes and a terrible smell wafted. "Let me die."

"Do you want me to help or do you want to die? You can't have both. What's it to be?"

Her head slumped and her temple hit the ground as her eyes closed.

"Die." Then as if shocked by her own response, her eyes opened and she whispered, "No - help me. Help me." A tear spilled from the corner of her eye and she choked, "I don't know."

"Listen. I can help you. But there are conditions attached." Her eyes were closed, she was motionless and I could not discern if she was listening to my voice. "Do you hear?"

Her body did not move, but she murmured, "Uh huh." Her eyes did not open but her brows lifted as if trying to open eyes glued shut.

"Do you want my help?"

"Yes."

"What is your name?"

"Carrie."

"Are you willing to give yourself to me, Carrie? Will you agree to serve me? Do you agree to abide by my rules?" A tiny nod.

"I need you to say yes, Carrie."

"Yes." Barely audible.

"I need you to say "I am yours Daddy."

"I am yours." Pause. Had she gone back to sleep? "Daddy."

With the last utterance, her body jolted into spasm. Froth appeared at her lips and she jerked momentarily on her back. Then stillness, apart from the froth continuing to bubble and flow from her mouth.

Reaching into my sports bag, I rummaged through the first aid equipment to locate an epi-pen adrenalin shot. I'd seen this before outside the gym so I knew just how to react. I gripped each side of her golden dress at the neck and tore it apart, cleaving a rip in the fabric down to her navel, exposing an emaciated body. Her tummy was recessed and harshly exposed ribs framed a chest endowed with tiny mounds for breasts and shrunken nipples. I plunged the pen into her chest, waited momentarily, and then her neck snapped backwards and she gulped a lungful of breath.

Immediately she rolled to her side and issued a short vomit of foul smelling liquid and I discerned a puddle of piss spreading on the concrete. Wiping her mouth with my sleeve, I collected her frail body in my arms and carried her the remaining distance to my car, laid her body across the back seat and headed home.

On the drive, I contemplated dropping her at the general hospital. But I recalled the promise that she'd made and my commitment that would go with it. Now we had a bond. Like keeping a pet, a commitment comes with responsibility. And with her promise to me, she would in fact become a pet, a slave, a servant. She owed her life to me, and I intended to use it.

At my underground carpark, it was trivial to retrieve Carrie's lightweight frame from the Lexus and I slung her over my shoulder in a fireman's lift. Cameras spied us from all angles in the garage and I pondered how the images might appear suspiciously like a date raping scenario. But the cameras were in my private domain and I had the influence to ensure that no footage would ever see the light of day.

I swiped for access and the elevator quickly transported us without interruptions to my penthouse apartment atop the skyscraper. I wondered where Carrie should convalesce -- contemplating the lounge or a spare bedroom. But I concluded that my own bedroom would best suit and the cleaners could deal with any mess. An old adage came to mind: "Start with the practices you intend to continue." Now that this junkie was my property, she would take to my bed in future service, so it was an apt place for treatment.

I lay her limp body onto the bed and looked over her disheveled figure. The ragged dress lay torn across her chest, and I ripped it to the hem and freed it from her inert body, revealing a naked figure with clammy white skin free from tattoos or piercings. Hip bones jutted absurdly out of her body to an impossibly thin waist. A sequence of healed scars across each wrist betrayed some history. She felt cool to the touch and I drew a blanket across her torso.

A few phone calls later and my personal doctor was buzzing to access the lobby. We had a special relationship and I knew that the consultation would remain unmentioned in future. And in case Carrie never made it to the other side of her trauma, then no evidence would ever arise and no questions would ever be raised.

He made a detailed physical examination over Carrie's naked body, turning her over and paying particular attention to the needle tracks puncturing her skin. He took a blood sample and inserted the vial into a small portable electronic testing device encased in his portmanteau. While the tests were processing, he beckoned me.

"She's a long term user. It looks like mainly heroin but I suspect there's other substance abuse also. I can identify extensive injection sites, see?" The doctor pressed against her flesh to demonstrate the damaged dermis and showed needle tracks in her arm, between her fingers and between her toes.

"May I?" he asked, and with my approval he spread her legs to reveal a sequence of pinhole scars on each inner thigh leading all the way onto her labia. Her bent legs fell apart to reveal her little slit with two dark inner pussy lips peeking beyond the outer mounds, leading upward to a pink clit with a button that extended beyond the tiny hood. Her bush consisted of light, fine hair that was unkempt and grew over her pubis and down each side of her labia and merged into light bristles covering her unshaven limbs.

The doctor straightened her legs and he stepped towards the foot of the bed. He lifted her leg, closely inspecting the sole, his face not reacting to the smell emanating from her body. "The feet indicate an extended period of homelessness. From my experience this condition - the level of callous and some other issues - represent at least two years of exposure."

He shifted to the head of the bed, and she remained unconscious as the doctor's gloved hands manipulated her mouth. He drew down on her lower jaw while he shone a tiny flashlight into her mouth, arching his head to view from various angles. Retracted lips revealed bleeding gums and a full set of dirty teeth. A disgusting tongue lolled out - covered in a grey mucus and the edges jagged with fissures. "Severe vitamin deficiency, and possibly other nutritional issues," he stated clinically.

The blood sampling machine buzzed and the device sputtered as it issued a small docket detailing the results of the test. The doctor looked closely through his bifocals: "But alive and nothing permanent."

The doctor asked unemotionally: "What would you like me to do here?" He knew the diplomacy of the situation and made no queries about where the girl had come from or what were my intentions.

"Can you give me a plan back to normality Doctor? At home."

"Certainly, but it'll take a little while for her to get there." With that, the doctor pulled a prescription pad from his bag and penned out half a dozen sheets. "Here are the pharmaceuticals that will help with the various concerns. The dosage and timing are written on each one. The remainder of the plan is common sense. Rest, nutrition, exercise and abstinence. The withdrawal stages will be the worst but this one should help," he tapped one script in particular. "But it will still be very hard. Would you like me to write anything particular down?"

"No, that's OK."

"Good luck," he stated matter-of-factly as he packed up his Doctors kit. "I'll see myself out. I was never here."

FEEDING CARRIE

My new possession slept. And slept. Carrie hardly moved in her deep slumber for all of the following day and night. At times I placed my head close to her mouth until I caught ear of a tiny breath to be confident she was still alive. I looked over her frail form and pondered that she had wasted her life. But now her life was mine. And I would give it meaning and direction and purpose - if she couldn't serve her own needs, now she would serve mine.

The following morning I entered the doorway to conduct a routine check on Carrie's health, but found her awake and sitting in the bed, a bundle of pillows propped behind her back.

"Hello," I welcomed.

"Hello?" she responded in a meek and confused manner.

"Do you remember how you came here?"

She looked at me, cogs slowly turning over in her mind. "You are that kind man who saved me at the dumpster lane." She paused, thinking. "And I made you a promise. And now somehow I'm here. In this." She gestured to my tee shirt that she was wearing, oversized and hanging loosely.

"And what of this promise?" I prompted.

"I promised that I'd be yours," she replied and looked into my eyes. "Daddy."

"Do you intend to abide by your promise?"

"Yes. I think so." Again her gray-blue stare penetrated deep into my eyes. "Daddy".

"Good. My name is Mason, but you will call me Daddy around here. We've got to get you back to strength and health. Would you like something to eat?"

"I'm so hungry," Carrie intimated, clutching her tummy and then her hands flopped to her sides in obvious exhaustion.

"We will start with something that's easy to digest. Doctor's orders. You rest and I'll be back in a moment."

My kitchen is always well stocked and deliveries of quality meals arrive regularly. A soup was the obvious choice and I warmed a bowl in the microwave and carried it to the bedroom on a small tray with a spoon, setting it gently on the bed.

"That smells so good," expressed Carrie.

"It will be good - good to taste, good for your stomach, good nourishment. I will feed it to you but it needs something more. It needs my essence to aid your recovery."

"Yes Daddy."

I untucked my shirt, unbuttoned my trousers and as I opened the zip, my heavy flaccid cock fell out with my balls cradled in the open fly. Carrie stared at my cock but said nothing and her face betrayed no emotions.

I held the head of my cock in one hand and tugged gently backward on tip, the foreskin revealing the bulb within. Gradually my cock hardened and of its own accord began to rise. Carrie continued to watch each stroke of my hand and the angle increased until the shaft was pointing upward with a subtle bend.

"I'm going to feed you my essence," I said, staring into her eyes. "This will help bring you back to strength. This cum is my gift to you. Are you willing to accept it?"

"Yes Daddy."

I had not released tension in days, so my arousal was fast and I felt the pressure rapidly welling in my balls as my stroking quickened while Carrie watched on. My jerking was more utilitarian than erotic and with a groan I reached climax, copious ropes of cum erupting from my cock, expelling across the bedsheets, onto Carrie's shirt, and some into the soup as I abruptly angled the cock downwards. My body shuddered and I squeezed along the shaft to deliver the last few sticky drops into the bowl. With an involuntary deep exhale, I folded away my softening cock. I knelt beside the bed and scooped a spoonful of the soup and cum mix and held it up to Carrie's lips. With a long slurp she sucked it in, swallowed and then licked her lips, all the while staring directly into my eyes. After each spoonful she responded with "Thankyou Daddy," and before long the bowl was empty.

"More?" I asked and she responded with a gentle shake of the head, closing her eyes and sliding down to a reclined posture under the sheets. Before long she was asleep once more and I withdrew.

Our routine continued for the week - sleep, medication, food. But the recovery was not straightforward and from time to time, Carrie would retreat into a quivering ball, wailing with the effects of substance withdrawal. I would deliver the additional medication, she would settle, fall asleep and by the next time she awoke the symptoms would be gone.

Each passing day Carrie was growing in strength and health and her skin, her hair, her tongue were all reinstated with a natural color. A twinkle appeared in her eyes and her lips - redder and plumper - frequently held a subtle smile. Bowls of soup soon gave way to solid meals of gourmet dishes. I continued the routine to deliver my essence in each evening meal to support her recovery, topping each dish with as much semen as I could muster. She hungrily ate it all.

At the end of a week, seeing such improvements in Carrie's persona, I decided it was time for a thorough clean up. I made arrangements with a nearby spa and later that day two Filipino women arrived in the lobby hauling two cases of equipment. I accompanied them in the elevator and left them to work their magic in my bedroom.

"Everything?" they asked.

"Yes," I responded. "Shower, hair, nails, skin, wax, tongue, ass, feet - everything. Inside and out."

The beauticians labored for hours. Scents emanated from the room, steam poured from the doorway and sounds of scraping and buzzing emerged. Eventually the attendees left with their equipment in tow and a generous tip. I entered the room and found Carrie perched on the edge of the bed in an oversized tank. She was calm and obviously low on energy, but now a beautiful woman had emerged from a cocoon of filth. Her hair was groomed and framed a face with subtle lipstick, accentuating her blue-gray eyes. Her long smooth legs folded over the edge of the bed to dainty feet adorned with bright red nails.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"Much better Daddy." She reached down to the hem of the tank, wiggled her bottom and lifted the garment clean over her head, tossing it to the floor. "Better than - I don't remember when." She lay back exposing a thin body but small breasts were apparent with nipples erect and she spread her legs to reveal a clean waxed pussy. "But now I'm so hungry. Will you feed me Daddy?"

By the second week we had progressed to dining at the table and I served a dish of glazed steak with accompaniments. "Is it time for your essence Daddy?" Carrie asked, sensing the pattern of our evening meal. "Not yet," I replied. "Let's save it for dessert."

We talked at the dining table after Carrie had enthusiastically devoured everything on her plate. Although she had been living with me for two weeks, conversations had been limited to the necessities of life. But Carrie opened up about her life with a little prompting. "I grew up in the suburbs where you found me. My family life was not - well - not good. I was kicked out of home at 16. I couldn't stay there. And I haven't had a home since. It's been four years on the street. At first I managed to stay at friends' houses but the welcome wore off pretty fast. I left school and moved into the warehouse with some guys. I thought they were really nice -- giving me drugs for free. But I didn't realize it was a trap. They took what they wanted from me. And there was more -," her voice tailed off and she turned her head looking out the window with an expression of embarrassment and disgrace.

I announced a pact, which was more like an instruction. "It's OK. You don't need to say more. The past is the past. It's behind us -- let's leave it there. You have a fresh start and new life now."

"With you - Daddy."

"With me. But let me tell you about our arrangement Carrie. You don't have to be afraid of me. But you have given yourself to me. I will provide for you -- you food, shelter, clothing. But my life is busy and I want you to look after this household. For now, you must remain in the apartment. You will do our meals and coordinate the cleaners and so on. And take care of my special needs, my desires, at any time. And I expect you to fully cooperate. Do you understand?"

"Yes Daddy." A flash of anxiety crossed Carrie's face.

"For tonight, after I am finished my work in the office, I will come to the bedroom. I would like you to offer me your very best blowjob. You see Carrie, I have to manage and control every other part of my life, but here I need you to take control. I want to unwind and have you serve me with pleasure. Do you think you can do that Carrie?"

"Yes Daddy!" she replied, exhaling with relief. "But what about clothes? Sorry for asking Daddy. Is this what I wear?" she gestured to her baggy outfit.

"Wait there," I instructed and promptly returned with a laptop computer. I navigated to an online clothes store and I directed her, "Look around here. Order whatever you like. We will be going out together so get yourself a nice dress. Underwear. Whatever you want."

She looked surprised at the front page, presumably at seeing the prices. "Daddy -- it's all so nice. And so expensive, are you sure?"

"I own the company Carrie. Order what you like. But you won't need pajamas. You sleep naked."

When I returned to the bedroom that night, Carrie was sitting in the bed, wearing a towel and waiting for me. I silently entered the room and she walked over to me, wrapped her arms around my neck, reached up with her face, kissed my cheek and nibbled my earlobe. "I'm ready Daddy," she whispered in my ear and let the towel fall to the ground. She lowered herself to kneeling and unbuckled my belt and drew my pants and jocks to the floor. "Give it to me Daddy."