Author's Note:
The first chapter of this story generated a surprisingly large amount of email. The email was almost perfectly divided into two groups: people who loved the story, and people who hated it.
The people who hated it were also almost perfectly divided into two camps: people who thought it wasn't nearly extreme enough, and people who said 'OMG you sick bastard, how could you want to do stuff like this?'
To the latter group: This story is a work of fiction, written about characters who do not exist. Using this story as a guideline for real relationships is about like using the movie 'The Bourne Identity' as a guideline for international relations. This story is in the 'non-consent' section because it's about...well, a non-consensual relationship. If you don't like stories about non-consensual sex, perhaps a different section might be more to your liking?
To the people who thought the first chapter wasn't extreme enough: Perhaps this chapter will be more to your tastes. :)
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Eileen stood in the shower for a long time with the water spraying over her body. She felt violated, used, unclean; her husband, the man to whom she had pledged her life, had inexplicably turned on her, demanded that she become his sex slave. She could still feel him inside her, taste him in her mouth, feel the hardness of the metal rod he had shoved in her ass; her breasts ached where he had squeezed them so roughly. And more horrifying than any of this was the memory of how her body had responded...not one but two orgasms, wrenched from her body by the obscene things that he had done to her.
Why had he done this? Why had her body betrayed her this way? The shame of her orgasms compounded the feeling of violation, made her feel still more dirty.
She scrubbed her body over and over again, but the feeling of filth would not wash away. She turned up the hot water until her entire body glowed ruddy, and still she felt dirty. She pulled the showerhead from its bracket and shoved it directly between her legs, wanting to blast herself clean, drive away the sensation and the memory of what had been done to her...
...and her knees buckled. A dizzying wave of arousal and need slammed through her. She sat heavily on the floor of the stall, surprised. The hot stinging spray blasted over her sensitive clitoris, painful, and she felt the rush of an impending orgasm. She cried out and threw the showerhead against the corner of the stall, where it dangled from its hose and flopped around wildly.
What if he's right? What if my body does want to be treated like this? What if I really do want to be a sex slave?
She sat with her knees up in the corner of the shower and wept while the gyrating showerhead splashed water over her. It took a long time for her sobbing to subside.
At last, she rose, exhausted and numb. She replaced the showerhead, turned off the water, dried herself mechanically. When she had finished, she wrapped another of the terrycloth robes around her, not wanting to let her husband see her naked, and left the bathroom.
Anthony was still naked, and had removed all visible signs of the violations he'd inflicted upon her. The candles and rose petals he had strewn about the floor were gone, along with the chains and manacles that had so recently held her to the bed. Of the half-familiar leather briefcase there was no sign. He smiled when she walked out of the bathroom. "Ah, there you are. You were in there for quite a while. Ready to go out shopping?"
She turned away from him without answering and moved to the closet. He came up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders. She shook them off and reached into the closet. He grabbed her arms tightly, spun her around to face him, and forced her back into the closet. Hanging clothes closed around her as he forced her farther into the closet, until she bumped up against the far wall. He pulled her bathrobe open, pressed the length of his naked body against hers. She struggled against him, tried to push him away; he grabbed her hands in his wrists and pinned them above her head.
Anthony was far stronger than she was, and overpowered her easily. He shifted his grip, pinning her wrists with one hand, and slipped his other hand down her body. She sighed in spite of herself as his hand passed over her breast, and her nipple hardened against his palm.
"You're easy," he said. He drew closer, until his lips touched her ear. His hand slipped lower, pressing between her legs. "They said you were going to be a difficult case, but I don't think that's true at all."
"Who said...ooooh!" His fingers slipped between her labia, caressing her clitoris. He kissed her neck softly, gently, as his fingers played over her with great delicacy. He touched her with exquisite care and consummate skill; the longing reawakened within her, and she closed her eyes and parted her legs, ever so slightly, scarcely even aware of her actions.
He accepted her invitation; his fingers probed deeper, still with that same extraordinary tenderness. Each motion drew from her a shudder and a moan. So subtly did he bring the pleasure from her that she was not even aware of her approaching orgasm until a gentle wave of ecstasy lifted her and washed away her shame. She sighed deeply and quivered against him, drinking in the heat of his body.
When it was over, he quietly slipped her robe from her shoulders. He took her by the hand and led her naked to the bed. She made no protest as he sat her down gently and pulled the strange briefcase from its hiding place beneath the bed. He opened the case and produced two wide, black rubber straps, which he buckled around her upper thighs. These he locked in place with a pair of tiny padlocks.
"There," he said. He took a tiny key from the case and slipped it around his neck on a fine silver chain. She looked down at the straps, saw two rows of short metal spikes facing inward. Fear stirred inside her, and her heart beat faster. "These will encourage you to sit properly." He placed his hands on her knees, and drew her legs together. "If you try to sit with your legs closed..."
Spikes dug into the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. She gasped and pulled her legs apart. He laughed. "Exactly. Consider them a gentle reminder. From now on, I want you to sit with your legs open at all times. Now, while I have your legs apart..."
He reached into the case and came out with two large, silver metal balls that chimed musically as he turned them in his hand. He nudged her knees open a bit wider and brought the balls between her legs. "Now let's just open you up and..." With a hard push, he shoved both balls into her. She yelped in surprise at the suddenness of the intrusion, and closed her legs tightly as she scrambled away from him. Spikes pressed into soft skin. She cried out and flung her legs apart again.
"Hold still! I'm not finished yet." He took a black leather belt from the case, which he buckled tightly around her waist. He reached into the case again and withdrew a leather strap with a wide, stubby dildo riveted to its center.
Her eyes widened as she realized what he intended to do; she squirmed and began struggling in earnest. He gripped her arm tightly and wrestled her down to the bed. He straddled her waist, pinning her down with his weight, facing toward her feet, and allowed her to thrash and flail beneath him as he pulled her legs apart. He hooked one end of the strap to the back of the belt and drew it up between her legs.
She gasped, feeling a sudden sense of intrusion and fullness, as he forced the dildo into her. The gasp became a wail as he pulled the strap tight between her legs and fastened it to the front of the belt, where it held the dildo stuffed tightly up inside her. He attached another small padlock to the buckle.
