A Sweet Touch

My dreams swirl nonsensically, my brain frantically trying to wrap around what's happened to my world. I haven't been home in days, nor to work, and I wonder what is going on out there. A stream of light wakes me. It is from a narrow band of thick glass blocks near the ceiling. I hadn't noticed them until now, so it must not have been daytime when I was here before. MY thoughts drift to girlfriends that have surely begun to worry by now. This has been too long a disappearance even for me. I am beginning to feel saddened that I've been estranged from my family, and I miss them.

I turn over, and the sheets feel so silky along the line of my body. My nipples hurt so much, yet a quick brush of my hand confirms that the nipple clamps have been removed. I gingerly examine my tender pussy with soft fingertips, and find that the rawness has subsided a bit. My eyes close a moment, as I gather the strength to pull myself up and look in the mirror.

I perch naked on the small, upholstered chair at the vanity, and lean in to touch my bruises. My split lips have begun to heal, but they are still swollen and tender. I realize my face is clean, and the makeup has been fully removed, and probably some antiseptic has been applied to my wounds. My mouth tastes awful from the thorough ass tonguing I gave my captor last night. My first order of business is gargling, brushing my teeth, and gargling again.

As I emerge from the bathroom, the sudden noise of the doorknob turning makes me jump. I look up to see my captor enter, looking very refreshed and pleasant, with his arms full of clothing.

"Good morning, Candie, I hope I didn't startle you too much." He smiles warmly as he dumps the armload of fabric onto the small sofa.

"Good morning," I return, softly and politely, feeling a strange sensation sitting naked in the daylight. Somehow I feel more exposed than ever.

"Today you have a visitor. Another gentleman from the club who's been watching you dance." He takes a casual seat on the sofa next to the pile, and begins pawing through it.

My heart pounds as a terrible deathmask film flashes through my mind, of the disgusting, leering faces of stripjoint clientele. Which one could be my visitor?

"It's very important that you follow my instructions about how to behave with him.....do you understand, Candie?" He takes a teacher/student role, without the slightest hint of malice in his eyes. I nod and, as he is apparently satisfied with that, he moves on.

"I want you to get dolled up, and I mean it. I want you looking like a child's doll today, in this outfit, with your hair and makeup done the same way you had it when you gave me that....that steamy performance onstage." He exhales and gives his cock a rub as he recalls how I looked for him on the stage he built just for me.

"When you meet this man, I want you to be completely silent, curtsy, and do what he tells you to do. I want you to grind against his cock in his lap without being told. If I catch you speaking, and trust me, nothing gets by me in this house, your darling little cunt will get beat ten times harder than I beat it already. Do you understand?" I answer yes with enough enthusiasm to bring a wicked smirk to his lips.

"Candie, he has been very explicit in his desires. I will not allow him to deviate from the agreed upon course of action. Now get in my lap and thank me." I hurry to his lap, and whisper thank you, Sir, without understanding why.

As if he read my mind, he growls, "Thank me for turning you out like the dirty little whore you are." He taunts me as his fingers play at my pussy lips, my long legs spreading instinctually, my silken thighs sliding over his widespread lap.

I resent the whole thing. I resent being "turned out" and called a whore in this way. Me and the other girls I worked with always considered ourselves better than street hookers. None of my friends ever went over that line with clients, and the few girls that did were shunned from the inner circle. Now it all seems so petty, so wrong for me to have been snotty to the real whores and so unjustly judgemental. Didn't they have feelings too? Were they not human beings?

"Thank you for turning me out sir," I say with flamed cheeks.

"And?" he demands.

"Thank you for turning me out like the dirty little whore I am, sir." I complete the degrading sentence about myself, and, as I drown in a strange sad, angry, pitiful ocean, his lips cover mine, sweeping me away, his finger gently fucking me, and his tongue delving ever so sweetly, affectionately, into my mouth. He murmurs, "My girl," into the kiss and his hand moves faster, harder, his palm spanking my wet cuntlips as he pistons his finger, pressing my spot, making me squirm and cum.

"Say it, Candie," he growls as he makes me whimper and shake.

I know what to say, I know what he wants, and I realize I want to say it, too. Another lightning bolt strikes my heart as I whisper the words. "Thank you Master!" He pulls his dripping wet finger from me and holds it to my lips. I open and accept it, wrapping my pretty mouth around the honeyed digit, and suckle it with slow sensuality.

With a tender smile he scoops me up, laying me on the bed, quickly shedding his clothes. His body is gorgeous. His muscles are long and lean, but not bulky or bulging in the least. I dislike bulges all over a man, and he would have been my type had I ever thought to date a client. His cock is spectacular, standing out from his body, fully erect and wet at the tip. His appearance would be plain to most women I guess, but to me, an average looking man fuels my fantasies.

He descends on me quickly, hungrily, taking me, fucking me in the most heated and, well, normal way I could imagine. There is no pain except for the size of his cock hurting my tight cunt, and no choking, no name calling, no spanks, and no hair pulling. He simply and earnestly fucks me, with focus and drive, with his hands on my tits, squeezing a little. I find I am craving more. Though I am cumming hard, I feel this is not enough.

"Beg me," he commands. Again, the connection he has to my thoughts is uncanny. "Beg your Master for what you need, girl," he growls. I know immediately what I need, what I have learned to crave in such a short time.

"Please hurt me, Master.....please....pretty please, I need you to hurt me." I plead for this, feeling deeply filthy as I do. His expression changes, darkening behind his eyes as he holds my wrists above my head, pressing down hard with one strong hand, and slapping my face and tits with the other.

"You like that, Candie? You need Master to punish you, don't you......you love it." He growls it without actually questioning me. He is simply stating the facts. His teeth close on my left tit, and he bites down hard around my nipple. He grunts and shoots his load as I scream and stiffen, afraid he's biting my nipple off. He stops his biting, but suckles as I bleed.

He raises his head to look at me carefully. "This is mine, isn't it, Candie?" He licks my bleeding nipple with his eyes fixed on mine. I nod slowly and tell him that yes, it his, it is Master's nipple, Master's blood...Master's right to take it.

"That's a good girl, Candie, a very good girl. Now get that wound washed and get yourself ready to be presented." He surprises me by stepping into my shower while I pour some hydrogen peroxide onto my nipple. It foams angrily, bubbling out the germs. He steps out in a billow of steam, wet, naked, and shaking his wet hair. His eyes are soft as I hand him a towel.

"Thank you, Candie. Now get that fine ass of yours in there." He ushers me in the shower, and is gone, his clothes are gone, and the door is locked when I emerge, fresh and clean.

I float through the motions, moisturizing my smooth, pretty skin, pulling on the slutty, frilly little outfit, styling my long, shiny hair in two high pigtails, and applying my makeup as instructed, all while trying to absorb what just happened. Am I developing feelings for this sadist? This kidnapper? Am I one of those brainwashed people I've read about?

Ultimately, I decide that the questions are troubling and dismiss them in favor of "going with the flow". That philosophy has always worked for me before, so why not now. There is no need to make this situation more stressful. I brush aside tugging, lingering feelings of fear and fury. I need to let go of those things to get through this ordeal.

Posing in front the mirror, preening in the dollish outfit, I nearly laugh. The dress is a babydoll shortie, covering only half the frilled-bottom panties that match. The white fabric is just like any lacy thing you'd see on a child's doll at the store, with baby blue ribbons on the cap sleeves and around the neckline, the sash a wide swath of blue satin, tied in an oversized bow at the small of my back.

If I wasn't so full in the tits, I'd think I was meeting a pedo. Some men just like the look I suppose, on grown women. The shoes are black patent leather maryjanes with insanely high heels, the look completed with the white lace ankle socks. I feel like a very dirty Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. I had seen an old porn of that somewhere, and I remember thinking it was kinda hot when the little men swarmed over her.

I hear a soft knock at the door, and I turn, expecting to see my new Master. Instead, an older Asian woman enters, taking tiny, quick steps toward me. She takes my hand and roughly pulls me to my feet to lead me out. Her petit size belies her true strength. She tugs me along without a single word, her face as etched in stone as any gargoyle.

She leads me to an open area bathed in a soft pool of light, the darkness surrounding us. We stop in front of a portly man sitting in a Victorian style chair. He is wearing a plain black suit, and his greasy hair is styled in a sparse comb-over. His chubby little fingers clutch a drink, imprinting the condensation on the smooth crystal. I remember to keep silent as he looks me up and down. I do not remember this man from the club.

"Well hello there, Candie." He has an oily smile that makes me instantly on edge. Silently I curtsy to his delight and he pats his lap. He sets his drink on the little table beside him and picks up a long, twisty lollipop.

"Look what I've got for you, little girl. Come here." He pats his fat lap again. I sit down, squirming into place as he gathers me close, holding the lolly to my lips.

"Lick it until I tell you to stop." I begin moving my hips in a nearly involuntary motion as I tongue the phallice. I feel his cock stiffen and poke my tender pussy through his pants. He begins to mutter, and sweat as I grind his hard cock and lick the lollipop.

"Mmm, you dirty little slut.Mmmmmm, yes, you are so hot, dirty girl, dirty little whore.........mmmmmmmm.........you want it.......you want it, oh yes you do." He mutters through gritted teeth, as my tongue teases the lolly, miming licking his cock I drive him crazy with my squirming and grinding. He tells me to spread my legs as he turns me to lean back against him, with my legs dangling from each arm of the chair. He rubs my cunt, mashing moist frilly lips around under the soft satin panties. He makes me wet enough to soak through the fabric.

His hand slips into my panties and I am fingered for the second time today. His thick, sausage like finger pulses in and out, filling my snug little fuckhole. His muttering is becoming increasingly unintelligible, more growling than speaking. All the sudden I hear him groan, and feel him stiffen, and I know he has cum in his pants, his insistent screw of my pretty puss slowing as he winds down.

"Look what you made me do, you naughty little bitch. Get up." I hop up immediately, and with a bit of difficulty, he pulls himself to his feet to grab one of my pigtails. I yelp in pain as he drags me to a waist high metal bar. The well-licked lolly slips, clatters, fragmenting on the floor at my feet.

"Bend over the bar, spread your legs and grab your ankles, you dirty little brat," he growls as he pulls some thin nylon rope from his pocket. I begin to feel apprehensive as his attitude shifts to anger. I bend over the bar and grasp my slim ankles as he gets to his knees, huffing and puffing, wrapping my wrists to my ankles in tight loops. He brings the rope under the V in my high heels. I can't move, though I tug hard and wriggle, testing my bonds. I see him get heavily to his feet and lose sight of his pudgy, reddened little face.

"That hot little cunt needs some cooling, doesn't it, slut." He yanks my frilly panties down and slips one of the large ice cubes from his drink into my tight cunt, instantly making me struggle against the biting cold of it. Before I have a chance to adjust, I feel a large paddle against my asscheeks. I can't help screaming as the severe pain shoots through my body. My shrill, raw cries echo in the vast underground chamber. A wooden paddle feels more wicked than I had ever imagined. He cruelly welts one cheek, then the other, whacking away until he is satisfied with the blood redness of my "naughty bottom".

I have formed a puddle with my bawling. The ice cube melts quickly in my aching little cunthole. The sticky melted cube and my slut juices mix and streak sexily down my inner thighs and calves to moisten the tops of the saucy little socks as I struggle. His breathing is labored as if he can't go on. I am certain he would spank my poor little bottom black and blue if he had been better shape.

Suddenly something soft and silky glides around my neck, and I hear him mutter more dirty things at me. I think it's a scarf of some sort. He pulls back on it like reins, choking me, arching my neck back painfully. I am scared, and unable to stop him. I am panicked...it hurts and I can't breathe! I realize he is choking me too hard for play. At that instant the pressure stops, and I feel his chubby little hands grip my shoulders. I hear a strange gurgling sound and feel his hands draw slowly down my back. I can see back between my legs as his body drops behind me, and in front of my Master's feet. My insides freeze as the thin stripe of crimson across his fat neck begins to run freely.

I gulp down air, my throat is raw and my neck burns where the scarf chafed. Frantically, I pull at the ropes, freaked out by the dead man and my inability to get loose. A large, sharp knife is all I can see other than Master's legs. Master's voice is soothing as he squats down and runs the tip of the knife all the way up one trembling, dainty leg.

"I give people what they deserve, Candie." There is a long pause before I feel the tip at my tender clit. My body tenses in fear, yet I cum the instant his finger slides in my wet cunt and curls to the g-spot.

"Very good, slave. Cum for me." His breaths feel so steamy on the smooth silk of my thigh. He fingers me slowly as he presses the sharp tip of his blade a little harder against my stiffening clit. I cry out as the point breaks the skin and pierces my hard little pearl, yet still, I cum with a cunt clench so hard it makes him chuckle.

His knife makes short work of slicing me free. I stay put until I feel his guiding press to my shoulders. I straighten and turn my shocked gaze to him. He takes my hand in his and I step gingerly over the still body. I avoid the pooling blood to follow him like a lamb, with complete trust and adoration, though my own blood trickles halfway down my soft, toned inner thighs. I am in awe of what just happened, and despite the fact that I am captive, and have been sexually tortured for his pleasure, I am beginning to feel something for this man, something deep.

Maybe I need to be slapped and raped....maybe I need to feel this powerless, and this feminine. Maybe I'm sick, but there is something deliberate about the way that he has not once been unkind or unfair to me. He has not called me a name I am not, nor given me less than I deserve. He is making me feel pure, and right as he forces me to see myself as I really am and to see him the way he is. He is powerful and restrained, intelligent, primal in his desires and masculine in every way. He has made me realize I love doing the filthiest things for him. No one else has ever made me cum as hard as he has. I am amazed at his innate understanding of what it is to be a slave, and a Master.

Back in my little room, a light continental breakfast has been laid out for us, and I am eager for a cup of the aromatic coffee. He settles into the sofa and points to his feet, where I kneel in the way he has taught me. His smile soothes me and I feel pride in this, the simplest of acts.

"I'd like you to serve me coffee, then pour some for yourself, Candie." He waits patiently as I give this a moment of thought. "Just let it come naturally, kitten," he encourages. I brighten and smile, and politely ask him how he takes his coffee. Of course! I am a hostess from the floor. This is not a difficult concept to grasp. The give and take progresses until we have had some coffee, some fruit and some pastry. He allows only a small bite of pastry for me, then opens what looks like a small sugar bowl, full of pills.

"These are not drugs, Candie. These are vitamins, minerals, and herbal supplements. I will be in charge of your every function, including your feeding. Take them." Without hesitation, I take the various pills and feel even more like a well kept pet. The idea of a Master caring for me is appealing to me despite my upbringing. I had always been taught to care for myself and never to get in a position that tied me to a man, forcing my dependence on him.

"Thank you, Master." The phrase has become automatic, and I feel good repeating it.

"It pleases me that you seem to have stopped resisting. It seems as though you have begun to enjoy your new role, in fact." He places his coffee cup on the table, his expression thoughtful as his brow creases. He tilts my face to his with a single finger under my chin, his dark eyes intense as he gazes deeply. My heart races and I feel butterflies in my stomach as he looks at me that way. The awful morning I had seems to melt away and the vision of the murdered man is fading. I feel myself mesmerized, and I let it happen. I want it to happen. This feels good, and I am not frightened anymore.

"I have not taken your tight little asshole yet, my little whore. Today you'll experience my favorite power tool." His grin grows wicked, dark, and I feel my cunt tighten for him. I dislike the anal sex I've had before, and I avoid it. Fortunately, most of the men I've been with didn't try for it. He fastens my collar in place and I feel overwhelmed with a sense of security. I follow his heels closely as he leads me to my next lesson.