The Scold Returns: a Theo Story

The Scold Returns: A Theo Story

Author's Note: Warning. Brutal consensual and non-consensual bondage and sex ahead. You also need to know that the narrator is not intended to be a particularly sympathetic character. In fact, he comes across in places as a real asshole, although, like Theo, he's turning out to be a lot more complicated than I realized when I conceived him in "Tough Lessons for a Scold." (You can go back and read that if you want, although there's enough recap in this story that you won't be lost if you don't.)

I had fun writing this story to converge two otherwise unrelated plot lines in my work. If you liked this story, or even if you didn't, please leave me a comment and tell me why. Detailed comments help me improve my stories in future, and sometimes lead to revisions in existing stories to take account of good suggestions.

It was a Friday evening. I was relaxing in the living room, enjoying a beer and watching the last few minutes of a football game as I deliberately slowed the evening down to draw out the anticipation of where it would go from here. I knew that downstairs in my makeshift dungeon, Suzanne was naked on the bed. She had a ball gag in her mouth with a piece of microfoam tape over it to muffle any noises that snuck out around the ball, as they always did, and the ball was outlined in the stretchy tape in a way that I found a huge turn-on. Her left wrist was taped to her right elbow with duct tape, and the same with her right wrist, securing her crossed arms up and away from her ass. Chains pulled her ankles far apart, exposing her sweet little shaved pussy.

I knew that this was only a starter position. As soon as I got back downstairs, I would be rearranging her in a number of creative ways as I brought various body parts to the foreground for fucking.

Suzanne was a consensual sub that I often spent time hanging out with, sometimes in bondage and sometimes not. We weren't a steady item, but since I had met her at an S&M party a few months back, I found that she suited my dominant needs pretty well. Evidently I suited her sub needs as well, since we kept hooking up for evenings of play like this one.

I wasn't always into dominating women in quite this extreme a fashion. For a while, I had a relationship with a woman named Amanda. It was a pretty hot relationship sexually, but without any explicit bondage beyond a few handcuff games. I had no idea that I would relish heavier bondage so much until the night of my spectacular breakup with her.

She had gradually turned into what people in the seventeenth century called a "scold," meaning not just a woman who wouldn't shut up, but one who constantly belittled me in every way possible. When I finally broke up with her, I made a special job of it to deal with my pent-up frustration and rage, hanging her upside down in my basement with dildoes shoved into her ass and pussy, wired for extreme electric jolts if she tried to bite down on me while I was getting a good deep-throat face fuck for the first time in ages. I could have used a ring gag, but the electric dildoes seemed somehow more satisfying.

By the end of the evening, she had been fucked in her pussy and asshole as well, then injected with a drug that made her pass out and forget everything that had happened in the previous few hours. When she woke up, I kicked her out in her shoes and overcoat without giving her any of her other clothes back, and I never saw her again. Which was exactly the way I wanted it.

My problem was that the experience made me realize what a powerful urge I had been supressing for tying women up before fucking them. I couldn't get the experience out of my mind, and I kept mentally re-running the picture of her hanging there, asshole and pussy plugged and my cum running up over her face. I sometimes even fished the encrypted USB drive out of the back of my sock drawer and replayed my videos of that night. It made for pretty good fap candy, but the urge to have another experience like it kept growing.

I knew I wasn't likely to have another opportunity for a spectacular breakup with accompanying revenge bondage, but that didn't mean I couldn't look for something equivalent. I finally gave up on the more or less vanilla sex I sometimes had with women I had picked up in various ways, and started hanging around in S&M bars and going to S&M clubs to see where I could go with this.

After a few false starts, I had found my way to Suzanne. Or she had found her way to me, I was never quite sure. Regardless, we had a number of evenings together in which we indulged our desire to dominate and be dominated, respectively.

My beer was done and so was the game. I stood up and got into my work uniform -- by which I mean, nothing. I went into the bathroom and had a pre-session pee, which was made more difficult by the fact that my cock was already half-erect in anticipation of the evening in store. I gave my peehole a quick wash, since I didn't really want it to taste like pee if I shoved it in Suzanne's mouth and halfway down her throat, and headed downstairs.

Not surprisingly, Suzanne was exactly where I had left her an hour before. She struggled theatrically with her taped wrists and made some "Mmpph" noises from behind the gag, but the tape held as firmly as it always does. I ran my hands over her gorgeous naked body, admiring her large round breasts with their nipples now firmly erect, and moving down to play with her pussy.

I have always been in awe of how complex women's pussies are, with their multiple layers of lips, clitoris shrouded in a hood that demands to be pulled back and played with, vagina closed up until pulled open and made ready by invading fingers, tongue, or penis, and somewhere, mostly invisible unless you really know where to look, a peehole nestled in the folds. Men's parts seem so boringly simple by comparison, with their basic cylindrical shape and single hole to do both jobs, but they always seem to get their job done, and I've never met a woman who yearned for something more complex.

I contemplated her spread legs for a few minutes. She was beautifully fuck-ready just like that, but I decided on some variation. I unbuckled the cuff holding her left ankle and forced her foot up to the bedpost at the head of the bed. A couple of turns of tape held it there. I did the same with the other ankle and leaned back to enjoy the new view. With her body rolled up practically into a ball, she was even more exposed, not just her pussy but also her puckered asshole fully available to me.

Where to begin? I started by gently handling her pussy, putting two fingers in her vagina and massaging her clit with my thumb. She started to squirm and make faint, muffled pleasure sounds behind her gag, and her breathing got deeper and more rhythmic. I still love vaginal sex, but ever since I'd gotten my first real taste of anal on Amanda's last evening with me, that was my go-to. I'm not exactly sure why -- it feels a lot different from vaginal sex, and an anus is tighter, but it's not really that much better. Probably it's psychological, knowing that you are invading a hole that isn't really intended for that job and that some women find dirty and disgusting. And painful, if you don't go easy.

I had learned to go easy. I pulled my fingers out of her vagina, but I kept my thumb on her clit. With the other hand, I reached for the bottle of lube that was always standing by on the night table and squirted a generous dollop into her asscrack, smoothing it around and up into her asshole with the other hand. I didn't want to jam my cock in there all at once. Instead I decided to ease in gradually, preparing the way with a nice teaser of dildo. I selected a medium-sized dildo from the collection in the night table drawer, lubed it, and pressed the end against her rosebud hole. It resisted for a moment, then began to open up as I kept gentle but relentless pressure on the dildo. Eventually I had its full length inside her.

Her pleasure noises increased. Not all women get much out of anal, but when combined with some other finger action in her pussy, it was obviously turning her on more and more, which in turn was turning me on. Her breathing got heavier and heavier, and was joined by little squeaks from behind the gag with each thrust of the dildo.

One problem with a dildo is that if you really let yourself go, you can start ramming it in with the entire strength of your arm, driving it in harder and deeper than you could ever do with your own penis unless you have hips of steel. I deliberately resisted the urge to start pistoning like a madman. I had no wish to leave her with a torn bowel, which can easily result from overenthusiastic anal sex, or even to cause so much pain that I might have to find a new bondage fuck-toy. With difficulty, I confined myself to vigorous but not dangerously hard strokes, not going in any deeper than 15 centimetres or so, about the length of an average penis. I just redoubled my ministrations on her clitoris, replacing the lube every once in a while if I found that I had rubbed so much into her skin that she was in danger of going dry. I got two fingers back in her vagina and hooked them gently inside so I could rub the front wall where her G-spot was alleged to be, massaging it between fingers and thumb.

After a minute or two more, the squeaks turned into a quickly building muffled scream. Then she stiffened, and would have arched her back if she hadn't been taped into a ball position. One final "MMMPPHH" erupted from behind the gag, and she had a mighty orgasm.

All of this attention to Suzanne's orgasm had been getting me hotter and hotter. I eased the dildo out and let her recover for a minute, drawing in deep, panting breaths through her nose. That gave my arm and fingers a rest, too. After lying quietly next to her for a while, I considered whether I should reposition her to get my own cock in there. Her current position was certainly perfect for ass or pussy fucking, but I felt like some variety.

I cut the tape on her legs and let them down, and she flexed the cramp out of them gratefully. Then I rolled her over onto her belly, taking advantage of the fact that the way I had her arms restrained to each other but not to the bed meant that, once her legs were free, I could roll her any way I wanted. I contemplated my options for a minute, then did a version of a move I had first tried out on Amanda. I ran a leather strap around behind her neck and pulled the free ends down in front of her, between her breasts and down to her legs. There was an ankle cuff attached to each end, and I pushed her feet under her and high up on the bed before buckling her ankles into them. Now she was forced up into a kneeling position with her ass up in the air and her legs parted.

I got some more lube on my fingers and rubbed it generously around and in her asshole, replacing the initial lube that the dildo had pretty much rubbed away. I lubed up my cock to match, knelt behind her between her legs, and began to insert my cock into her asshole.

It went in much more easily than the dildo, since she was already stretched out and still had the remains of a gape. I eased all the way into her and began a slow thrusting motion. My care with the dildo paid off, because she didn't show any signs that the ass-fuck was hurting her. I had mote trouble reaching her clit from this angle, but I compensated by holding a small vibrator against it. I moved the vibrator gently back and forth between her pussy lips in rhythm with my thrusts, and I felt her orgasm building again. She came much more quickly this time since she had already been thoroughly warmed up by the dildo, and so had I.

Although I've never believed in "simultaneous orgasm" as the high point of Western sexual culture, I always found it satisfying when it happened, and that's what seemed to be happening here. I let my own orgasm build in rhythm with hers, and when we both erupted at the same moment, I found it extra satisfying to have my spurting cock gripped firmly in a sphincter contraction as she let out another barely-stifled scream of pleasure.

We lay together for a few minutes, spent, while I held a cloth against her asshole to catch most of the cum that leaked out before it made a puddle on the bed. Then I unfastened the ankle straps, cut the tape on her wrists, and peeled off the tape over her mouth. The ball gag was just that, a simple ball shoved in her mouth but not buckled behind her head, since the tape was holding it in position. She reached up and pried it out from behind her teeth, and then huggled against me in bed. She gave me a long, passionate, tongue-y kiss, and we rolled over and dropped into a tired and blissful sleep.

**

The next morning, we were in the shower, washing off dried sweat, cum and various other juices. Her wrists were lightly cuffed behind her back so she couldn't wash herself, so I gallantly stepped in to help out. She tipped her head back so I could get at her neck more easily, and then I slid my soapy hands slowly over the rest of her body. I was especially gentle with her asshole, since, however careful I had tried to be the night before, I knew that it must be feeling a bit worse for wear. I spent lots of time there though, since it had also been the recipient of the most bodily fluids.

As I was massaging shampoo through her hair, her head tilted back to keep her face out of the water, I had time for a little quiet reflection. Last night had been heavenly. Since I had gone full face forward into BDSM, and especially since I had found a lovely and willing partner in Suzanne, my life seemed to be much more fulfilled than it had been. Yet there was still something standing between me and the feeling of total perfection.

Although I had tried to push it out of my mind, I knew exactly what it was. Amanda.

Not Amanda the person. Amanda the person had been a castrating, ball-breaking cunt, and I still believed that she deserved everything I had dished out on that last evening, and more besides. It was Amanda the bondage experience, the rarified ideal, the sense of total, non-consensual control. I'm not a sadist by nature -- I have always tried not to hurt women physically, no matter how hard I used them sexually. But what I was hankering after, I had gradually come to realize, was that experience of absolute, non-consensual dominance. Unlike Suzanne, who submitted to me because it turned her on, and could always walk away if it ever didn't, Amanda had had no choice to walk away. I had taken her violently, by force, bound her so she couldn't get away, gagged her so she couldn't protest, curse me, plead for mercy, or communicate any other desires. I had deliberately fucked her in ways I knew she didn't like, just to get my revenge for months of petty ball-breaking on her part. And I had loved it.

I had no wish to break up with Suzanne. I knew that, unless I became a depraved back-alley rapist, I most likely would never again have the level of power I had that last night with Amanda. And I had no desire to be a depraved back-alley rapist. I could justify what I had done to Amanda on the grounds of extreme provocation, but I knew I could never justify doing the same to a random stranger just for my own pleasure. It wasn't so much a moral issue as that it seemed just too crude and sleazy. To say nothing of spending the next twenty or so years in a very unpleasant prison.

As I towelled off Suzanne's body and started to blow-dry and brush out her hair, I resolved to put those ideas out of my mind and concentrate on what I had in the present moment. Carpe the diem, as the mutilated version of the expression goes. My life was pretty damn good; why fuck it up by dwelling on a vanished ideal, over-built in my mind into a sort of less-heavenly Beatrice figure, an idea more than a person, always unattainable but always beckoning. (Google "Beatrice and Dante" if you don't get why I call the idealized Amanda "Beatrice.")

I put the hair dryer down, took the handcuffs off, and we headed downstairs, still naked, for breakfast.

**

And then I heard about Theo. The information trickled to me through obscure channels on the BDSM grapevine. You readers probably know all about Theo's operation by now: how he caters to high end clients who are willing to pay top dollar for an hour and a half with a real, honest-to-goodness slave, a once-ordinary woman whom Theo had kidnapped or bought from a slaver, to be made a sex and bondage slave for the rest of her life. Clients can even torture their slave if that's their thing, as long as they don't leave marks or do lasting damage.

This sounded made to order. Women whom I could tie up and sexually use any way I liked, and who had no choice in the matter. I guess in principle, using one of Theo's slaves wouldn't be much different from being a back-alley rapist, but it felt somehow more respectable, more like a business proposition and less like random violence. Anyway, that's how I justified it to myself.

And the "do anything you want" clause had me intrigued. Although I am not personally interested in administering pain as part of a BDSM session, it was exciting to know that I could if I wanted to. The licence I would be afforded made me get hard just thinking about it.

Theo makes himself pretty hard to find, and vets his clients very closely. There was about a two week pause between our first contact and our second. I have no idea exactly what Theo was doing, but I imagined that he was looking into every aspect of my life to make sure I wasn't a police plant, a do-gooder intent on shutting him down and freeing his slaves, or anyone else who might not make a safe client. Later I learned that, in addition to the usual sorts of checks, he had hacked every device remotely associated with me, including the microphone on my phone and the webcam on my computer. I have been a BDSM enthusiast for long enough that I don't embarrass easily, but I blushed a bit (metaphorically if not literally) to think that he very well might have been watching and listening in on some of my sessions with Suzanne. Oh well, I thought, at least he would be convinced that I was genuinely interested in what he had to sell and wasn't some moralizer bent on purging his operation from the planet.

Finally I got a text. "OK, except for an intake interview when you get here, you're accepted. Bring $2000 cash for the fee and $5000 for the deposit. You'll get the deposit back if you don't do any lasting damage to your slave." A second text explained when he would send someone to pick me up, and where to wait.

I gulped a bit at the price, but I had been expecting it. I took the cash out of a savings account and put it into two large envelopes. You'd better enjoy this, I said to myself -- but maybe not too much, because you won't be able to afford to do it very often.

There wasn't much else I could do to get ready, so I just waited until the rendezvous date and time came around. I waited on the corner in front of some nondescript buildings, and on the dot of the appointed hour, a full-sized black van pulled up right in front of me. The rear door slid open on its automatic opener and I climbed in.

There were no windows in the back of the van, and there was an opaque partition between me and the driver so I couldn't see out the windshield. I sat in one of the two seats in the back and buckled in. I couldn't help noticing that the floor in the back of the van was featureless except for a series of rings bolted in various places. I could imagine what cargo might sometimes be restrained by fastenings attached to those rings.

Theo had made me leave my phone, but I had dug out a watch and put it on so I would at least have some sense of time. We drove for three and a half hours, but I had no idea whether we drove in a straight line or went around in circles. Theo was making sure I wouldn't even know what part of the province he was in, let alone exactly where to find him. If I ever wanted to lead the police back to his base of operations, it would be a pretty hopeless task.