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Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
The Guy
I listen to the bullshit, about misogyny and feminism and standing up to the man, and not once does she tell me what it is about the book that turns her on. And she is turned on, my little Pia, I can tell be the way she speaks. My little Angel wants to say more, but for some reason she does not, and thereby condemns herself to me having to find out for myself. Oh, the fun we will have!
I glance down at the exposed flesh of her abdomen. Her flat stomach, toned with the firmness of youth and the rolled down shorts exposing her mound and trimmed hair.
Placing the knife upon her inner thigh I ride it slowly higher until the point disappears under the slightly gaping edge of her sleep shorts. I feel her body tense and her breath hitch.
“Oh, you like that do you Pia?” I chuckle.
“Please …” Is all she says.
“Please what huh? Please-fucking-what you little cunt?”
I pause and then add, “Please stop? Or do you mean please do this?”
With a swift motion I pull the blade upwards taking the thin fabric with me and rip a long, provocative slice into her shorts.
She opens her mouth wide and a scream begins to exit until she stops it short and instead stares at me wide eyed.
“Oh, my sweet little girl, now that looks so much better.” I gaze down upon her bared crotch, her exposed genitalia, and, using the blade edge, I complete the tear and pull the ripped material further to one side. Repeating the cut at the other side of her slender hips I am able to remove her shorts completely.
“Mmmmmm,” is my only response as, placing the inside material of the torn garment under my nose, I inhale her scent. Then I stand, move away from the bed and retrieve the book.
“Maybe you would like a bedtime story, huh, Pia?”
“Fuck you!” Her expletive is vitriol fuelled but much quieter than her last attempt at a rebuke. Her sass is becoming less potent.
I laugh and, returning to the bed, book in hand, I navigate the blade back to the spot in between her thighs.
“You ever get fucked by a knife before Pia?” My tone is purposely mocking.
“Oh my gosh, please no …”
Her pleas inflame my desire and I push the sharp point higher until the knife pricks at her still tight, still dry labia.
“Oh God please, don’t cut me, fuck, fuck, fuck …” Panic sets in and her breath becomes truly ragged. I push a little more, sliding the smooth steel blade higher into her tender flesh.
“Look how your cunt lips move apart, Pia …” I remarked, peeling them away from one another like pieces of an orange. I was now as solid as a rock, but the time for rape, I mean true rape, the sort where I fucked her, was not yet … not quite yet.
I have an inch, maybe more, of the cold, serrated, razor sharp weapon inside her sweet pussy and I see her folds moisten just a little.
“You’re getting wet whore. You like this you bitch …” I laugh at the discovery. “I was right, you want this don’t you?”
I look up towards the pillow where Pia turns her head to one side, and I wonder if she is …
… Humiliated?
… Embarrassed?
… Turned on?
… Scared?
… All of the above?
I push the knife forward carefully a smidgin more, a movement that renders her body frozen-in-place.
“Stay very still little girl, you don’t want to cut yourself open, do you?”
“Okay, now let’s see. Are you sitting comfortably …?” Leaving the knife in-situ, I chuckled at my own patronisingly sarcastic words. I flipped on the bedside light and began to leaf through the pages of the text now open in my hands.
This time there was no reply from the bed. No sass, no backtalk, no fight.
“Here we are, oh this is good Pia.” I silently absorbed the words before then reading them aloud … ‘”How now witch!” cried one, but they didn’t come to taunt. Petronilla received a blow to her face of such severity that it broke her nose, all in the room heard the crack of the bone. She fell back once again on the floor, blood coming her face in gushes and streams. She put her hands to her face in an effort to cup it. …’
Ending the narrative I stood as Pia stared up at my towering figure. I raised my right hand and smashed the open palm down hard across her face, and then again, this time as a backhand in the opposite direction.
Pia grunted and arched upwards, fighting movement of her body and response of any kind.
“Good girl,” I said when she collapsed onto the bed once more, tears in her eyes, having successfully navigated her way to avoiding antagonising the blade’s precarious position.
“And see, your nose is not broken, not even bleeding, at least not yet …”
Then I heard a buzz, and her mobile phone lit up exposed from its position under her pillow. I grinned as my hand reached out to retrieve it.
To Be Continued ...
I listen to the bullshit, about misogyny and feminism and standing up to the man, and not once does she tell me what it is about the book that turns her on. And she is turned on, my little Pia, I can tell be the way she speaks. My little Angel wants to say more, but for some reason she does not, and thereby condemns herself to me having to find out for myself. Oh, the fun we will have!
I glance down at the exposed flesh of her abdomen. Her flat stomach, toned with the firmness of youth and the rolled down shorts exposing her mound and trimmed hair.
Placing the knife upon her inner thigh I ride it slowly higher until the point disappears under the slightly gaping edge of her sleep shorts. I feel her body tense and her breath hitch.
“Oh, you like that do you Pia?” I chuckle.
“Please …” Is all she says.
“Please what huh? Please-fucking-what you little cunt?”
I pause and then add, “Please stop? Or do you mean please do this?”
With a swift motion I pull the blade upwards taking the thin fabric with me and rip a long, provocative slice into her shorts.
She opens her mouth wide and a scream begins to exit until she stops it short and instead stares at me wide eyed.
“Oh, my sweet little girl, now that looks so much better.” I gaze down upon her bared crotch, her exposed genitalia, and, using the blade edge, I complete the tear and pull the ripped material further to one side. Repeating the cut at the other side of her slender hips I am able to remove her shorts completely.
“Mmmmmm,” is my only response as, placing the inside material of the torn garment under my nose, I inhale her scent. Then I stand, move away from the bed and retrieve the book.
“Maybe you would like a bedtime story, huh, Pia?”
“Fuck you!” Her expletive is vitriol fuelled but much quieter than her last attempt at a rebuke. Her sass is becoming less potent.
I laugh and, returning to the bed, book in hand, I navigate the blade back to the spot in between her thighs.
“You ever get fucked by a knife before Pia?” My tone is purposely mocking.
“Oh my gosh, please no …”
Her pleas inflame my desire and I push the sharp point higher until the knife pricks at her still tight, still dry labia.
“Oh God please, don’t cut me, fuck, fuck, fuck …” Panic sets in and her breath becomes truly ragged. I push a little more, sliding the smooth steel blade higher into her tender flesh.
“Look how your cunt lips move apart, Pia …” I remarked, peeling them away from one another like pieces of an orange. I was now as solid as a rock, but the time for rape, I mean true rape, the sort where I fucked her, was not yet … not quite yet.
I have an inch, maybe more, of the cold, serrated, razor sharp weapon inside her sweet pussy and I see her folds moisten just a little.
“You’re getting wet whore. You like this you bitch …” I laugh at the discovery. “I was right, you want this don’t you?”
I look up towards the pillow where Pia turns her head to one side, and I wonder if she is …
… Humiliated?
… Embarrassed?
… Turned on?
… Scared?
… All of the above?
I push the knife forward carefully a smidgin more, a movement that renders her body frozen-in-place.
“Stay very still little girl, you don’t want to cut yourself open, do you?”
“Okay, now let’s see. Are you sitting comfortably …?” Leaving the knife in-situ, I chuckled at my own patronisingly sarcastic words. I flipped on the bedside light and began to leaf through the pages of the text now open in my hands.
This time there was no reply from the bed. No sass, no backtalk, no fight.
“Here we are, oh this is good Pia.” I silently absorbed the words before then reading them aloud … ‘”How now witch!” cried one, but they didn’t come to taunt. Petronilla received a blow to her face of such severity that it broke her nose, all in the room heard the crack of the bone. She fell back once again on the floor, blood coming her face in gushes and streams. She put her hands to her face in an effort to cup it. …’
Ending the narrative I stood as Pia stared up at my towering figure. I raised my right hand and smashed the open palm down hard across her face, and then again, this time as a backhand in the opposite direction.
Pia grunted and arched upwards, fighting movement of her body and response of any kind.
“Good girl,” I said when she collapsed onto the bed once more, tears in her eyes, having successfully navigated her way to avoiding antagonising the blade’s precarious position.
“And see, your nose is not broken, not even bleeding, at least not yet …”
Then I heard a buzz, and her mobile phone lit up exposed from its position under her pillow. I grinned as my hand reached out to retrieve it.
To Be Continued ...
Peony
Magistrate
The Girl
“Oh God! Please, don’t cut me! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…”
His knife is inside me.
He could cut me open. Slit my cunt. Cut me to my ribs. Cut my belly open. Tear me apart.
He won’t. He’s afraid too.
But I am fucking afraid.
But I don’t know what of. I’m fucking scared to move…
I’m thinking: Petronilla was afraid. But she swallowed it.
I’m thinking: maybe I should push myself onto the blade. To feel what it’s like. To make him rip me open…Maybe I want to bleed, to suffer. Maybe it’s what I really want…
He says I’m getting wet. He says I want it. Fuck, maybe…
I’m thinking of her. Naked. Hanging, bent over. I’m thinking of their hands on her waist, on her breasts, on her legs. I’m thinking of her torturer, wrapping his weight around her, his body pushing into her, tearing her shoulders, her wrists…
“Tha thu gam ghortachadh ... Tha thu gam ghortachadh ....”
(“You’re hurting me…You’re hurting me…”)
I fucking want to be her.
He looks at me. He’s as frightened as I am. He picks up that book and reads. It’s shit. He thinks it’s real. I have lots of books. Not just fantasies for men like him. He thinks it’s what happened. Fucking stupid.
They didn’t do that to her. They didn’t break her nose or shit like that. No-one knows what really happened in that cellar. But they didn’t do that. They followed their fucking process, like men always do. They told her the charge – in fucking Latin! Then in Anglo-Norman, so she could understand. It was all a fucking joke. She knew what they wanted…
“A bheil thu a ’smaoineachadh gur e bana-bhuidseach a th’ innte? A bheil thu a ’smaoineachadh gur e bana-bhuidseach a th’ annam? Na rudan a bhios daoine a ’miannachadh às deidh!”
(“You think she’s a witch? You think I’m a witch? The things you men lust after!”)
I know what they would have done. They’d have shown her the instruments. They’d have described what would happen to her. She’d have seen the lascivious grins on their faces. They’d have told her how easy it would be just to confess. To tell the truth.
"Is e dìreach breug a th’ anns an fhìrinn agad. Ach is urrainn dhomh laighe cuideachd. Tha eagal orm. Gu dearbh tha mi. Faodaidh tu mo ghortachadh, ach is urrainn dhomh laighe cuideachd. Agus is urrainn dhomh mi fhìn a dhèanamh mar an rud as motha a tha eagal ort. Dìreach breagha. nighean bheag as urrainn do eagal cho mòr a chuir ort! "
("Your truth is just a lie. But I can lie too. I'm afraid. Of course I am. You can hurt me, but I can lie too. And I can make myself the object that you fear most. Just a pretty little girl who can make you so very afraid!")
And then they’d have started to torture her. Slow, patient. Introducing one word at a time, one thought at a time, until she gave them what they thought they wanted…
He’s not like that. He’s not so clever, so subtle as that. He’s just a fucking rapist.
FUCK!
Fuck… my fucking face…
Fuck – the phone…
To be continued….
“Oh God! Please, don’t cut me! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…”
His knife is inside me.
He could cut me open. Slit my cunt. Cut me to my ribs. Cut my belly open. Tear me apart.
He won’t. He’s afraid too.
But I am fucking afraid.
But I don’t know what of. I’m fucking scared to move…
I’m thinking: Petronilla was afraid. But she swallowed it.
I’m thinking: maybe I should push myself onto the blade. To feel what it’s like. To make him rip me open…Maybe I want to bleed, to suffer. Maybe it’s what I really want…
He says I’m getting wet. He says I want it. Fuck, maybe…
I’m thinking of her. Naked. Hanging, bent over. I’m thinking of their hands on her waist, on her breasts, on her legs. I’m thinking of her torturer, wrapping his weight around her, his body pushing into her, tearing her shoulders, her wrists…
“Tha thu gam ghortachadh ... Tha thu gam ghortachadh ....”
(“You’re hurting me…You’re hurting me…”)
I fucking want to be her.
He looks at me. He’s as frightened as I am. He picks up that book and reads. It’s shit. He thinks it’s real. I have lots of books. Not just fantasies for men like him. He thinks it’s what happened. Fucking stupid.
They didn’t do that to her. They didn’t break her nose or shit like that. No-one knows what really happened in that cellar. But they didn’t do that. They followed their fucking process, like men always do. They told her the charge – in fucking Latin! Then in Anglo-Norman, so she could understand. It was all a fucking joke. She knew what they wanted…
“A bheil thu a ’smaoineachadh gur e bana-bhuidseach a th’ innte? A bheil thu a ’smaoineachadh gur e bana-bhuidseach a th’ annam? Na rudan a bhios daoine a ’miannachadh às deidh!”
(“You think she’s a witch? You think I’m a witch? The things you men lust after!”)
I know what they would have done. They’d have shown her the instruments. They’d have described what would happen to her. She’d have seen the lascivious grins on their faces. They’d have told her how easy it would be just to confess. To tell the truth.
"Is e dìreach breug a th’ anns an fhìrinn agad. Ach is urrainn dhomh laighe cuideachd. Tha eagal orm. Gu dearbh tha mi. Faodaidh tu mo ghortachadh, ach is urrainn dhomh laighe cuideachd. Agus is urrainn dhomh mi fhìn a dhèanamh mar an rud as motha a tha eagal ort. Dìreach breagha. nighean bheag as urrainn do eagal cho mòr a chuir ort! "
("Your truth is just a lie. But I can lie too. I'm afraid. Of course I am. You can hurt me, but I can lie too. And I can make myself the object that you fear most. Just a pretty little girl who can make you so very afraid!")
And then they’d have started to torture her. Slow, patient. Introducing one word at a time, one thought at a time, until she gave them what they thought they wanted…
He’s not like that. He’s not so clever, so subtle as that. He’s just a fucking rapist.
FUCK!
Fuck… my fucking face…
Fuck – the phone…
To be continued….
messaline
Crucified Amazon
The waiting and the imagination : is it what it makes us dreaming ?
Do you want to make us ....... wet, Fossy ?
That's a success !
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
The Guy
“You gonna tell me which finger print opens your phone Pia?” I smirked, my right hand gripping her hand set.
“Fuck you,” was all I got by way of reply.
“Oh, I will … but,” I replied, elongating the last word with a sigh of mock exasperation, “… if that’s your response then I’ll have to try them all.”
Putting the phone back on the smooth surface of the bedside table I slowly extracted the blade from its position inside the slit of her body.
“Fuckkkkkkk …” her gasped expletive was exquisite as the knife came free in my hand and her genitalia remained unharmed.
Gripping the fingers of her cable-tied left hand, I pulled the long index digit free of her tightened fist and pressed the razor-sharp serrated edge against the soft flesh.
“Wait. What the fuck …”
“I said I was going to try each one Pia, I did not say that I would leave them attached to your body.”
I chuckled as I forced the steel into her flesh, enough to draw blood.
“Stoppppp, fuck please …” Her writhing on the crumpled sheets was a sight to behold as crimson blood from her cut finger dripped onto the corner of the pillow.
“The thumb, it’s the fucking thumb on my other hand.”
Laughing I nodded. Putting down the knife I picked up the phone and swiped as necessary to have the screen light up for me.
Resting back into the desk chair I flipped open to the WhatsApp inbox.
“Fit AF, 'as fuck' I assume AF means Little One, and all for you … with a heart and three kisses …” I read, “And it’s from Esme Goodwill. Complete with a picture of her tits!”
“Oh God …” I heard the quiet groan as I moved back to the bed. Using the knife, and this time without ceremony of fanfare, I slit her shirt up the middle and tore it from her body. I wanted this little cunt naked.
After cupping her beautiful breasts, each in turn, and letting my fingers roam a little around the erect nipples, I leaned over Pia’s groin and let a thick glob of phlegm infused saliva drip from my mouth onto her mound. My aim was good as it caught in the trimmed line of dark hair, before running slowly into her slit. As I began to massage the spit around her clitoris, engorging it, distending it, my little Angel let out a long moan.
“That’s it, let it all out Pia, ride my touch, show me the whore you really are.” I slipped the lubricated finger between her already partially parted labia and continued to massage her clit with my thumb.
“So, my delicious little dyke, who is Esme huh?” I increased the pace of the finger fucking and supplemented the one digit with a second.
“Pl … please … ohhhh fuck!” As Pia arched away from the bed, I slowed down my ministrations, circling, nipping, probing feeling how wet she was becoming.
“Is Esme your lovely little lesbo friend Pia?”
The thought of Pia’s mouth suckling on the youthfully firm and ample breasts in the picture was stimulating to say the least.
“So … so … so what if … she fucking … ohhhhhh … is?”
“Are you gonna cum for me whore?” I grinned at her writhing, squirming naked body.
“No, please, no don’t …”
“Oh, okay, I won’t …” But as I withdrew my touch, Pia collapsed back down onto the sheets with a gasp of what I took to be frustration.
Sitting back in the chair I swiped to the message.
“Better let Esme know that you’re indisposed huh, Pia?”
“Oh God, oh no please don’t send anything …”
As I typed I narrated my words for the benefit of my nubile captive.
“I want to take those tits in my hands and slice away your nipples Esme, and then suck the blood from where each teat had been, and all the while I want to fuck your ass with our largest dildo. Oh, Esme you make me so fucking wet …”
“What! No, fuck no, you can’t send that …”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because … because …” there was a pause before Pia came up with a plausibly good reason.
“Because that’s not how I talk to her, not how we message. She will know something is wrong and maybe even come over here.”
I nodded, “Good point slut. Okay …”
I began to type again and once more read the words aloud. “You are Fit AF …”
Looking up I said, “What do you call her Pia?”
With a resigned sob my little girl replied, “Es, or just E …”
“You are Fit AF Es, can’t wait to see you again … and I’ll let you send four kisses.”
I pressed SEND and then tossed the phone to one side.
“Okay now back to the story.” I picked up the book again and began to flick through the pages.
I was silent for a short while as I investigated the text. If the little cunt found this story appealing then why not make her live it out for real? The very thought aroused me, but then as I found the section of book that I had been searching for, that arousal became very tangible …
I read out the words that stirred me.
“Petronilla’s dress was soiled, with her blood and piss. She had several broken toes from their hammers, and only two fingernails left. She had a bare back of lashes, which had healed and reopened and been joined by new ones …”
“It’s just a story, that book, it’s almost fiction. Please don’t ...” Pia cut her words short.
“Please don’t what, whore?”
She said nothing more. I glanced over at the bed to ogle her naked and now glistening mound, the bared breasts with hard little nubs erect at their peak, and watched her chest rising with angst fuelled breathing.
Breaking the ominous silence I asked, “Where do you keep your tools Pia?”
To Be Continued ...
“You gonna tell me which finger print opens your phone Pia?” I smirked, my right hand gripping her hand set.
“Fuck you,” was all I got by way of reply.
“Oh, I will … but,” I replied, elongating the last word with a sigh of mock exasperation, “… if that’s your response then I’ll have to try them all.”
Putting the phone back on the smooth surface of the bedside table I slowly extracted the blade from its position inside the slit of her body.
“Fuckkkkkkk …” her gasped expletive was exquisite as the knife came free in my hand and her genitalia remained unharmed.
Gripping the fingers of her cable-tied left hand, I pulled the long index digit free of her tightened fist and pressed the razor-sharp serrated edge against the soft flesh.
“Wait. What the fuck …”
“I said I was going to try each one Pia, I did not say that I would leave them attached to your body.”
I chuckled as I forced the steel into her flesh, enough to draw blood.
“Stoppppp, fuck please …” Her writhing on the crumpled sheets was a sight to behold as crimson blood from her cut finger dripped onto the corner of the pillow.
“The thumb, it’s the fucking thumb on my other hand.”
Laughing I nodded. Putting down the knife I picked up the phone and swiped as necessary to have the screen light up for me.
Resting back into the desk chair I flipped open to the WhatsApp inbox.
“Fit AF, 'as fuck' I assume AF means Little One, and all for you … with a heart and three kisses …” I read, “And it’s from Esme Goodwill. Complete with a picture of her tits!”
“Oh God …” I heard the quiet groan as I moved back to the bed. Using the knife, and this time without ceremony of fanfare, I slit her shirt up the middle and tore it from her body. I wanted this little cunt naked.
After cupping her beautiful breasts, each in turn, and letting my fingers roam a little around the erect nipples, I leaned over Pia’s groin and let a thick glob of phlegm infused saliva drip from my mouth onto her mound. My aim was good as it caught in the trimmed line of dark hair, before running slowly into her slit. As I began to massage the spit around her clitoris, engorging it, distending it, my little Angel let out a long moan.
“That’s it, let it all out Pia, ride my touch, show me the whore you really are.” I slipped the lubricated finger between her already partially parted labia and continued to massage her clit with my thumb.
“So, my delicious little dyke, who is Esme huh?” I increased the pace of the finger fucking and supplemented the one digit with a second.
“Pl … please … ohhhh fuck!” As Pia arched away from the bed, I slowed down my ministrations, circling, nipping, probing feeling how wet she was becoming.
“Is Esme your lovely little lesbo friend Pia?”
The thought of Pia’s mouth suckling on the youthfully firm and ample breasts in the picture was stimulating to say the least.
“So … so … so what if … she fucking … ohhhhhh … is?”
“Are you gonna cum for me whore?” I grinned at her writhing, squirming naked body.
“No, please, no don’t …”
“Oh, okay, I won’t …” But as I withdrew my touch, Pia collapsed back down onto the sheets with a gasp of what I took to be frustration.
Sitting back in the chair I swiped to the message.
“Better let Esme know that you’re indisposed huh, Pia?”
“Oh God, oh no please don’t send anything …”
As I typed I narrated my words for the benefit of my nubile captive.
“I want to take those tits in my hands and slice away your nipples Esme, and then suck the blood from where each teat had been, and all the while I want to fuck your ass with our largest dildo. Oh, Esme you make me so fucking wet …”
“What! No, fuck no, you can’t send that …”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because … because …” there was a pause before Pia came up with a plausibly good reason.
“Because that’s not how I talk to her, not how we message. She will know something is wrong and maybe even come over here.”
I nodded, “Good point slut. Okay …”
I began to type again and once more read the words aloud. “You are Fit AF …”
Looking up I said, “What do you call her Pia?”
With a resigned sob my little girl replied, “Es, or just E …”
“You are Fit AF Es, can’t wait to see you again … and I’ll let you send four kisses.”
I pressed SEND and then tossed the phone to one side.
“Okay now back to the story.” I picked up the book again and began to flick through the pages.
I was silent for a short while as I investigated the text. If the little cunt found this story appealing then why not make her live it out for real? The very thought aroused me, but then as I found the section of book that I had been searching for, that arousal became very tangible …
I read out the words that stirred me.
“Petronilla’s dress was soiled, with her blood and piss. She had several broken toes from their hammers, and only two fingernails left. She had a bare back of lashes, which had healed and reopened and been joined by new ones …”
“It’s just a story, that book, it’s almost fiction. Please don’t ...” Pia cut her words short.
“Please don’t what, whore?”
She said nothing more. I glanced over at the bed to ogle her naked and now glistening mound, the bared breasts with hard little nubs erect at their peak, and watched her chest rising with angst fuelled breathing.
Breaking the ominous silence I asked, “Where do you keep your tools Pia?”
To Be Continued ...
Peony
Magistrate
The Girl
“What! No! Fuck no…You can’t send that!”
What the fuck am I saying? She’d know it wasn’t me. She’d do something…
What the fuck am I doing? Do I want to be safe?
It’s Esme. I tell him she’ll know. She might come over.
Don’t I want her to come?
I tell him I call her E.
What the fuck am I doing?
…I better tell you about her. About E. About us…
You’ve seen her tits, right? Gorgeous eh? I think so. And her face. She’s beautiful. I’ve fancied her every since I first saw her. At uni. Friends, best friends, girlfriends, lovers… that’s how it goes, right?
Her face. Imagine the new Bond girl in the latest film. You know. Madeline Swann. Good joke name… One to remember, right? She’s like her. Just like her.
I remember her right now, as he straddles over me with my fucking phone. My forlorn hope of a phone…
On the beach in Brittany. In the surf. Lying with her on the sand. Salt sea kisses. Walking with her along the promenade in Cabourg. Men. Men like him staring at us. Hand in hand with our cut-off t-shirts and piercings showing. Me taking her face in my hands as we stroll… The sun on our shoulders… the shadow of young girls in flower…
I’m remembering her. Like all of a sudden it’s in the past…
I’m telling him how he can keep her away from us.
I’m telling him how he can have me for himself.
I’m telling him that I want him to do what he’s going to do.
I’m telling him he can do what he wants. He can fuck me. He can hurt me.
What the fuck?
Do I? Yes…
I think I do want this.
I think I want him to do this.
He’s back to the story. His fairy story. A bit more realistic this time. Torn fingers, broken toes. Yeah, I can imagine that. I can guess he wants to do that.
Fuck!
To me!
I imagine her, back then. Naked. Dirty. Afraid. Not afraid. Bleeding.
Him. Hammers. Pliers.
Her.
Standing.
Me. It’s me. He is going to do it to me.
I am afraid and not afraid. I’m so fucked up. But I want this. I think…
He’s asking where my tools are!
What the fuck? It’s a bed-sit! I’m a fucking girl. One screwdriver for plugs. What does he expect.
“I haven’t got any…”
He stares at me…
“Don’t you have some? I think you do. With your ropes and chains and whips…In some secret place maybe? Aren’t you going to take me there then? To hurt me? Like Petronilla? You want to, don’t you?”
I stare at him now. Blood still running from my finger.
“You can, you know. You can if you want to…”
To be continued…
“What! No! Fuck no…You can’t send that!”
What the fuck am I saying? She’d know it wasn’t me. She’d do something…
What the fuck am I doing? Do I want to be safe?
It’s Esme. I tell him she’ll know. She might come over.
Don’t I want her to come?
I tell him I call her E.
What the fuck am I doing?
…I better tell you about her. About E. About us…
You’ve seen her tits, right? Gorgeous eh? I think so. And her face. She’s beautiful. I’ve fancied her every since I first saw her. At uni. Friends, best friends, girlfriends, lovers… that’s how it goes, right?
Her face. Imagine the new Bond girl in the latest film. You know. Madeline Swann. Good joke name… One to remember, right? She’s like her. Just like her.
I remember her right now, as he straddles over me with my fucking phone. My forlorn hope of a phone…
On the beach in Brittany. In the surf. Lying with her on the sand. Salt sea kisses. Walking with her along the promenade in Cabourg. Men. Men like him staring at us. Hand in hand with our cut-off t-shirts and piercings showing. Me taking her face in my hands as we stroll… The sun on our shoulders… the shadow of young girls in flower…
I’m remembering her. Like all of a sudden it’s in the past…
I’m telling him how he can keep her away from us.
I’m telling him how he can have me for himself.
I’m telling him that I want him to do what he’s going to do.
I’m telling him he can do what he wants. He can fuck me. He can hurt me.
What the fuck?
Do I? Yes…
I think I do want this.
I think I want him to do this.
He’s back to the story. His fairy story. A bit more realistic this time. Torn fingers, broken toes. Yeah, I can imagine that. I can guess he wants to do that.
Fuck!
To me!
I imagine her, back then. Naked. Dirty. Afraid. Not afraid. Bleeding.
Him. Hammers. Pliers.
Her.
Standing.
Me. It’s me. He is going to do it to me.
I am afraid and not afraid. I’m so fucked up. But I want this. I think…
He’s asking where my tools are!
What the fuck? It’s a bed-sit! I’m a fucking girl. One screwdriver for plugs. What does he expect.
“I haven’t got any…”
He stares at me…
“Don’t you have some? I think you do. With your ropes and chains and whips…In some secret place maybe? Aren’t you going to take me there then? To hurt me? Like Petronilla? You want to, don’t you?”
I stare at him now. Blood still running from my finger.
“You can, you know. You can if you want to…”
To be continued…
Proustulating Petronilla?
Last edited:
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
The Guy
Nothing.
Was it fear or simple stupidity? My Little Girl was not stupid, not by any means, but maybe the terror that I trusted would be infusing her spine and rendering her thought process irrational, was also making her appear stupid.
Towering over her prostrate body once more I grinned down at her staring eyes, now wet with tears. With a slow shake of my head, I pulled my hoody off, and then my plain white tee shirt followed. Her gaze widened.
“You’ve already seen my face Little Angel, so you know there’s no way out of this for you. I’ve decided that seeing as how you like the story of the Irish bitch witch so much, you can become her. Is that what you want, huh?”
“No, oh God no …” Pia shook her head with a feral abandon as the crying sobs started up once more, but there was something about the sound she made. Not quite so desperate, maybe not as panic infused. Kneeling by her side I caused the mattress to sink as my now half-naked body pushed against hers.
“You know what Pia, you have the most wondrous breasts …” I heard a low growl emit from deep in my throat as I devoured her nipples yet again.
The sensation of feeling the firm flesh harden and swell under the touch of my tongue truly was exquisite, and I knew that the moment for fucking her was not far away.
As her breathing toiled under my attentiveness suddenly the question I had asked came back into my head. Tearing my lips from her hard little teats, I moved my face to hers and closed my hand around her neck. As her eyes bulged and her airwaves constricted, I asked her once more.
“So … where do you keep your tools Pia? You know, the hammer and nails, the pliers and screwdrivers. Maybe, if I’m really lucky, the power drill? Tell me you fucking cunt!”
As I yelled the last words out, I tightened my grip even more and now Pia most definitely could not breathe. Then, with a sudden release, I took my hand away leaving beautiful grip marks on her neck.
“Where?” I repeated.
“TELL ME WHERE!” I shouted at her, once more picking up the knife blade.
With a resigned sob, her eyes closed.
“I haven’t got any…”
I look at her … my eyes see hers clearly as the tears in them clear a path. Somehow, we connect. I can’t explain it, but we do. Then she speaks more whispered words …
“Don’t you have some? I think you do ..."
A pause.
"... With your ropes and chains and whips …In some secret place maybe? Aren’t you going to take me there then? To hurt me? Like Petronilla?"
More brief silence.
"... You want to, don’t you?”
She stares at me, the blood dripping from her finger.
“You can, you know. You can if you want to…” She says quietly.
Is she mocking me? I pick up the screwdriver, a cross-head, small but big enough.
As I march across to her, her eyes widen but not for one second does her gaze leave mine. Moving to her head I hold the screwdriver to her eye.
“Are you taking the piss little whore?”
Despite my screwdriver being less than a centimetre away from her eyeball she shakes her head. “No … I’m not. Just feel how wet I am.”
I smirk, then I feel, and she is wet, very wet. My fingers invade once more and she arches and groans and pushes against me.
“You want this don’t you, you really do.”
“Y … yes,” she replies with a quiet whisper.
As my cock hardens again, and with a triumphant realisation, I know now that I was right about Pia all along.
To Be Continued ...
Nothing.
Was it fear or simple stupidity? My Little Girl was not stupid, not by any means, but maybe the terror that I trusted would be infusing her spine and rendering her thought process irrational, was also making her appear stupid.
Towering over her prostrate body once more I grinned down at her staring eyes, now wet with tears. With a slow shake of my head, I pulled my hoody off, and then my plain white tee shirt followed. Her gaze widened.
“You’ve already seen my face Little Angel, so you know there’s no way out of this for you. I’ve decided that seeing as how you like the story of the Irish bitch witch so much, you can become her. Is that what you want, huh?”
“No, oh God no …” Pia shook her head with a feral abandon as the crying sobs started up once more, but there was something about the sound she made. Not quite so desperate, maybe not as panic infused. Kneeling by her side I caused the mattress to sink as my now half-naked body pushed against hers.
“You know what Pia, you have the most wondrous breasts …” I heard a low growl emit from deep in my throat as I devoured her nipples yet again.
The sensation of feeling the firm flesh harden and swell under the touch of my tongue truly was exquisite, and I knew that the moment for fucking her was not far away.
As her breathing toiled under my attentiveness suddenly the question I had asked came back into my head. Tearing my lips from her hard little teats, I moved my face to hers and closed my hand around her neck. As her eyes bulged and her airwaves constricted, I asked her once more.
“So … where do you keep your tools Pia? You know, the hammer and nails, the pliers and screwdrivers. Maybe, if I’m really lucky, the power drill? Tell me you fucking cunt!”
As I yelled the last words out, I tightened my grip even more and now Pia most definitely could not breathe. Then, with a sudden release, I took my hand away leaving beautiful grip marks on her neck.
“Where?” I repeated.
“TELL ME WHERE!” I shouted at her, once more picking up the knife blade.
With a resigned sob, her eyes closed.
“I haven’t got any…”
I look at her … my eyes see hers clearly as the tears in them clear a path. Somehow, we connect. I can’t explain it, but we do. Then she speaks more whispered words …
“Don’t you have some? I think you do ..."
A pause.
"... With your ropes and chains and whips …In some secret place maybe? Aren’t you going to take me there then? To hurt me? Like Petronilla?"
More brief silence.
"... You want to, don’t you?”
She stares at me, the blood dripping from her finger.
“You can, you know. You can if you want to…” She says quietly.
Is she mocking me? I pick up the screwdriver, a cross-head, small but big enough.
As I march across to her, her eyes widen but not for one second does her gaze leave mine. Moving to her head I hold the screwdriver to her eye.
“Are you taking the piss little whore?”
Despite my screwdriver being less than a centimetre away from her eyeball she shakes her head. “No … I’m not. Just feel how wet I am.”
I smirk, then I feel, and she is wet, very wet. My fingers invade once more and she arches and groans and pushes against me.
“You want this don’t you, you really do.”
“Y … yes,” she replies with a quiet whisper.
As my cock hardens again, and with a triumphant realisation, I know now that I was right about Pia all along.
To Be Continued ...
Peony
Magistrate
The Girl
“You can, you know. You can if you want to…”
I had said it. I meant it. I was giving him everything. I was giving him my body. I was deciding.
I had seen him, like he said.
I couldn’t be allowed to live. Anyway. Not now, with his hands over my tits and his drool over my cunt.
He would have to kill me.
So I would decide. And I would decide to be Petronilla.
And he’d have to do just what I wanted.
All of it.
I’m afraid of the pain. It’s going to be terrible. Like it was for her.
She did it. So can I.
He’s going to kill me anyway. He has to.
He’s still going on about tools.
Men. Hopeless.
He’s got the screwdriver almost in my face.
It doesn’t matter. I have nothing. He needs to take me somewhere to do this.
He needs his ropes and his chains and his whips.
I need them too.
I’m a fucking crazy cunt.
He can fuck me or hurt me or do whatever.
I should be screaming.
I don’t want to.
I want this.
He asks me.
I tell him.
I’m afraid of the pain, but I’m not afraid of him.
“Y…yes,”
Yes, I do want this. I want the pain that I am afraid of. I want to be tortured and whipped and burned. I want it all. I don’t want to die, but I’m going to. He’s going to kill me. And I am going to be tied to a stake, half-naked and bloody, and I am going to burn.
Yes. I do want this…
To be continued…
“You can, you know. You can if you want to…”
I had said it. I meant it. I was giving him everything. I was giving him my body. I was deciding.
I had seen him, like he said.
I couldn’t be allowed to live. Anyway. Not now, with his hands over my tits and his drool over my cunt.
He would have to kill me.
So I would decide. And I would decide to be Petronilla.
And he’d have to do just what I wanted.
All of it.
I’m afraid of the pain. It’s going to be terrible. Like it was for her.
She did it. So can I.
He’s going to kill me anyway. He has to.
He’s still going on about tools.
Men. Hopeless.
He’s got the screwdriver almost in my face.
It doesn’t matter. I have nothing. He needs to take me somewhere to do this.
He needs his ropes and his chains and his whips.
I need them too.
I’m a fucking crazy cunt.
He can fuck me or hurt me or do whatever.
I should be screaming.
I don’t want to.
I want this.
He asks me.
I tell him.
I’m afraid of the pain, but I’m not afraid of him.
“Y…yes,”
Yes, I do want this. I want the pain that I am afraid of. I want to be tortured and whipped and burned. I want it all. I don’t want to die, but I’m going to. He’s going to kill me. And I am going to be tied to a stake, half-naked and bloody, and I am going to burn.
Yes. I do want this…
To be continued…
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
The Guy
Fucking hell. I stared out of her bedsit window into the rainy night outside. It wasn’t just raining, no, on this night when the unwitting subject of my perverted fantasies became a willing protagonist, it was whipping up the mightiest storm seen for a long time.
Fuck!
“What are we going to do huh?” Her words were quiet but said with a cohesive clarity. I hadn’t come prepared for this. My intention was to bind her, force her, control her, hurt her for sure, and then rape her … killing her hadn’t been a serious thought neither had the systematic torture that she was alluding to.
… And now she was trying have a fucking conversation with me. Was this all a plan to put me off, to get me to change my mind and leave her alone? I needed to know.
I turned my gaze back towards the bed.
“If we are to leave this room and return to where you think I have the necessary equipment, then I have to be absolutely certain that you want what you say you want, and that you aren’t simply attempting to deceive me little slut.”
“I am not ... Sir. Really I'm not.”
‘Sir’ … I liked that.
“And you have no pliers, anywhere?”
Pia slowly shook her head.
“Okay, then I’ll have to do it like this.”
“Do what,” my little Angel asked, with a slight waver infusing her voice.
I simply smiled and picked up my knife from the desk. The blade was maybe six inches long, and an inch wide, with a needle-sharp point and razor-sharp edges, as the slut had already discovered.
Whispering words from the book I covered the short distance to her bed. “… She had several broken toes from their hammers, and her nails were torn out …”
Her gasp was one of fear, but the look on my captive’s face was one of grim determination. She was beginning to squirm in her bonds, pulling at the ties that held her limbs, with no success of course.
“Are you ready for this Pia?” I asked in a matter-of-fact manner.
She nodded in blind ignorance of what I was about to do.
I seated myself comfortably on the end of the bed, and then grasped her left foot tightly with my left hand, my thumb under her little toe.
“This will be very painful Pia.” I warned. There was no response, and, as I turned to look up the length of the bed, I saw that she had her eyes screwed tightly shut.
I placed the flat of the blade against the tip of her little toe so the point touched the edge of her nail. Then I slowly tilted the blade upward until the point of the knife had slipped several millimetres under the nail.
Pia's body went stiff and her firm, beautiful breasts began rising and falling in an agitated manner as her breathing quickened. I pushed the blade another fraction into her, and then moved it from side to side, beginning the agonising process of freeing the nail from the bed. Again, another few millimetres into her toe, wiggling the blade point around.
“Nghhhh!” Unitelligable. Was that a ‘no’ she held back?
The slut was gasping for breath now, air rushing from her lungs faster than she could gulp it in. I looked back towards the bed head to see that her hair was thrown back, her back arched away from the mattress, mouth open wide and eyes squeezed shut, as she fought against the agony.
When my knife dug into the base, I levered it up and the nail popped free.
“Unggghhhhhhh!” Pia gave a final grunt of pain, raising her torso once more before collapsing back onto the bed.
“You know this is just the beginning don’t you Pia? I intend to remove every one of your nails slowly and as painfully as possible, and that is just for starters.”
There was no reply, although I sensed that emotionally she felt as though she had won a battle by surviving the nail extraction without totally breaking down. But I didn't give her a chance to draw any strength from this illusion, and immediately pushed the blade point under her fourth toenail and started manoeuvring the blade back and forth, moving it with far less decorum and consideration than the first time.
“Ohhhh God, ohhhhhhh fuck!” Pia emitted a cursed cry of pain and began to writhe in her bonds, twisting wildly trying to free herself from the cable ties. Holding onto her foot to keep it as steady as I could, I slowed the movement to draw out every possible ounce of pain from the torture, until, once again, I was able to pry the nail free leaving a bloody bed of raw flesh behind.
I stood up and moved to her head. Taking her pretty face in my hands I wiped away the tears with my thumb as she openly wept.
"Why are you crying," I said softly. "You wanted this, it is therefore of your own doing Pia. Do you want still want it?"
As she slowly nodded her head I moved back into position and I started on the nail of her third toe. By the time I had taken all of the nails away from her left foot, leaving the tender beds raw and bleeding, she had fainted twice. Both times a hefty slap to the face had revived her, ready for more.
I had to admit that I admired her fortitude and stoicism. She still had not screamed. True, the noises escaping from her throat through her nose and clamped together teeth were as sure a sign of distress as an outright scream would have been. But she still had not given into that ultimate primal urge. She was fully conscious now and staring up at me, still appearing a little disoriented and a little confused.
I stood by her side. My shape towering over her, my bulging groin inches from her face, and I had to admit that I was sorely tempted to have her suck me. But that could wait … Now it was time. As I took the blade to cut each cable tie in turn, I smiled at her and said,
“Okay, let’s go.”
To Be Continued ...
Fucking hell. I stared out of her bedsit window into the rainy night outside. It wasn’t just raining, no, on this night when the unwitting subject of my perverted fantasies became a willing protagonist, it was whipping up the mightiest storm seen for a long time.
Fuck!
“What are we going to do huh?” Her words were quiet but said with a cohesive clarity. I hadn’t come prepared for this. My intention was to bind her, force her, control her, hurt her for sure, and then rape her … killing her hadn’t been a serious thought neither had the systematic torture that she was alluding to.
… And now she was trying have a fucking conversation with me. Was this all a plan to put me off, to get me to change my mind and leave her alone? I needed to know.
I turned my gaze back towards the bed.
“If we are to leave this room and return to where you think I have the necessary equipment, then I have to be absolutely certain that you want what you say you want, and that you aren’t simply attempting to deceive me little slut.”
“I am not ... Sir. Really I'm not.”
‘Sir’ … I liked that.
“And you have no pliers, anywhere?”
Pia slowly shook her head.
“Okay, then I’ll have to do it like this.”
“Do what,” my little Angel asked, with a slight waver infusing her voice.
I simply smiled and picked up my knife from the desk. The blade was maybe six inches long, and an inch wide, with a needle-sharp point and razor-sharp edges, as the slut had already discovered.
Whispering words from the book I covered the short distance to her bed. “… She had several broken toes from their hammers, and her nails were torn out …”
Her gasp was one of fear, but the look on my captive’s face was one of grim determination. She was beginning to squirm in her bonds, pulling at the ties that held her limbs, with no success of course.
“Are you ready for this Pia?” I asked in a matter-of-fact manner.
She nodded in blind ignorance of what I was about to do.
I seated myself comfortably on the end of the bed, and then grasped her left foot tightly with my left hand, my thumb under her little toe.
“This will be very painful Pia.” I warned. There was no response, and, as I turned to look up the length of the bed, I saw that she had her eyes screwed tightly shut.
I placed the flat of the blade against the tip of her little toe so the point touched the edge of her nail. Then I slowly tilted the blade upward until the point of the knife had slipped several millimetres under the nail.
Pia's body went stiff and her firm, beautiful breasts began rising and falling in an agitated manner as her breathing quickened. I pushed the blade another fraction into her, and then moved it from side to side, beginning the agonising process of freeing the nail from the bed. Again, another few millimetres into her toe, wiggling the blade point around.
“Nghhhh!” Unitelligable. Was that a ‘no’ she held back?
The slut was gasping for breath now, air rushing from her lungs faster than she could gulp it in. I looked back towards the bed head to see that her hair was thrown back, her back arched away from the mattress, mouth open wide and eyes squeezed shut, as she fought against the agony.
When my knife dug into the base, I levered it up and the nail popped free.
“Unggghhhhhhh!” Pia gave a final grunt of pain, raising her torso once more before collapsing back onto the bed.
“You know this is just the beginning don’t you Pia? I intend to remove every one of your nails slowly and as painfully as possible, and that is just for starters.”
There was no reply, although I sensed that emotionally she felt as though she had won a battle by surviving the nail extraction without totally breaking down. But I didn't give her a chance to draw any strength from this illusion, and immediately pushed the blade point under her fourth toenail and started manoeuvring the blade back and forth, moving it with far less decorum and consideration than the first time.
“Ohhhh God, ohhhhhhh fuck!” Pia emitted a cursed cry of pain and began to writhe in her bonds, twisting wildly trying to free herself from the cable ties. Holding onto her foot to keep it as steady as I could, I slowed the movement to draw out every possible ounce of pain from the torture, until, once again, I was able to pry the nail free leaving a bloody bed of raw flesh behind.
I stood up and moved to her head. Taking her pretty face in my hands I wiped away the tears with my thumb as she openly wept.
"Why are you crying," I said softly. "You wanted this, it is therefore of your own doing Pia. Do you want still want it?"
As she slowly nodded her head I moved back into position and I started on the nail of her third toe. By the time I had taken all of the nails away from her left foot, leaving the tender beds raw and bleeding, she had fainted twice. Both times a hefty slap to the face had revived her, ready for more.
I had to admit that I admired her fortitude and stoicism. She still had not screamed. True, the noises escaping from her throat through her nose and clamped together teeth were as sure a sign of distress as an outright scream would have been. But she still had not given into that ultimate primal urge. She was fully conscious now and staring up at me, still appearing a little disoriented and a little confused.
I stood by her side. My shape towering over her, my bulging groin inches from her face, and I had to admit that I was sorely tempted to have her suck me. But that could wait … Now it was time. As I took the blade to cut each cable tie in turn, I smiled at her and said,
“Okay, let’s go.”
To Be Continued ...
Peony
Magistrate
The Girl
“What are we going to do huh?”
I don’t think he can believe what I’m asking him.
I’m not sure I can. That I’m being a partner in my own death. That I’m asking for him to do it.
He thinks I’m lying. I’m tricking him.
Really I’m not.
I’ve decided.
He’s going to kill me anyway. So I have decided.
And now he seems to get it.
He still thinks I have some pliers or something. I don’t. He’s going to have to take me somewhere if he’s going to torture me. And now I want him to.
(I think of Esme. Kissing her lips. Kissing her cunt.)
He speaks the words from that book again. Toes. Nails. Hammers…
Shit. I think I get it. He’s going to test me. Here. Now.
Shit. I’m so fucking scared. I want it. But I’m afraid the pain will stop me. That I will cry out. That he’ll get scared. That he’ll just fuck me and kill me. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the pain.
But it’s what I want. I want the pain and I want to be afraid. Of the pain, afraid of the pain, not of him…
He holds me foot. He takes the knife to my toes.
FUCK!!!!
It’s fucking real! My fucking toe!
I can’t catch my breath. My belly is screaming for air!
My foot!
It’s real. Now. And I can make it stop. He’s testing me. I can stop this. He’ll kill me but it will be quick and easy and done. But I can’t let him. I have to do this.
FUCK!
The next one.
My eyes are squeezed shut but I can see my foot. My toes. Bleeding. They’re screaming at me.
I can hardly breathe…
I have to do this. I have to swallow this pain. This is fucking nothing. The real pain is coming later. If I am strong enough to swallow this small bit of pain.
My FUCKING TOES!
I’m doing it. I can do it. He can fucking hurt me. I want him to fucking hurt me.
I open my eyes.
My fucking bloody foot…
Like her. She could have just said anything they wanted. But she knew that it was just the start.
It’s just the start. I can do this.
I can do this fucking awful hurting pain.
‘Oooohhh God! Oooohhhhh fuck!’
He asks me if I still want it.
I nod. It fucking hurts. I nod.
I want it.
I fucking want it so much. And the rest of the pain will be worse. Much much worse.
My body.
My tits.
My back.
My wrists.
Chains and ropes and whips and pliers and irons.
I fucking want it so fucking much.
I look up at him. I can’t speak. My mouth moves but no words.
I nod again.
‘Ok’ he says ‘Let’s go.’
I’ve done it. I’ve passed his test.
I’m going to be her. He’s in my power. He’s going to torture me. He’s going to kill me.
I want this so much…
To be continued…
“What are we going to do huh?”
I don’t think he can believe what I’m asking him.
I’m not sure I can. That I’m being a partner in my own death. That I’m asking for him to do it.
He thinks I’m lying. I’m tricking him.
Really I’m not.
I’ve decided.
He’s going to kill me anyway. So I have decided.
And now he seems to get it.
He still thinks I have some pliers or something. I don’t. He’s going to have to take me somewhere if he’s going to torture me. And now I want him to.
(I think of Esme. Kissing her lips. Kissing her cunt.)
He speaks the words from that book again. Toes. Nails. Hammers…
Shit. I think I get it. He’s going to test me. Here. Now.
Shit. I’m so fucking scared. I want it. But I’m afraid the pain will stop me. That I will cry out. That he’ll get scared. That he’ll just fuck me and kill me. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the pain.
But it’s what I want. I want the pain and I want to be afraid. Of the pain, afraid of the pain, not of him…
He holds me foot. He takes the knife to my toes.
FUCK!!!!
It’s fucking real! My fucking toe!
I can’t catch my breath. My belly is screaming for air!
My foot!
It’s real. Now. And I can make it stop. He’s testing me. I can stop this. He’ll kill me but it will be quick and easy and done. But I can’t let him. I have to do this.
FUCK!
The next one.
My eyes are squeezed shut but I can see my foot. My toes. Bleeding. They’re screaming at me.
I can hardly breathe…
I have to do this. I have to swallow this pain. This is fucking nothing. The real pain is coming later. If I am strong enough to swallow this small bit of pain.
My FUCKING TOES!
I’m doing it. I can do it. He can fucking hurt me. I want him to fucking hurt me.
I open my eyes.
My fucking bloody foot…
Like her. She could have just said anything they wanted. But she knew that it was just the start.
It’s just the start. I can do this.
I can do this fucking awful hurting pain.
‘Oooohhh God! Oooohhhhh fuck!’
He asks me if I still want it.
I nod. It fucking hurts. I nod.
I want it.
I fucking want it so much. And the rest of the pain will be worse. Much much worse.
My body.
My tits.
My back.
My wrists.
Chains and ropes and whips and pliers and irons.
I fucking want it so fucking much.
I look up at him. I can’t speak. My mouth moves but no words.
I nod again.
‘Ok’ he says ‘Let’s go.’
I’ve done it. I’ve passed his test.
I’m going to be her. He’s in my power. He’s going to torture me. He’s going to kill me.
I want this so much…
To be continued…
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
The Guy
“You waited.”
“’Course I waited.”
There had been only one way to get Pia to my house at this time of night, and especially in this bloody awful weather, with her bleeding foot, and that was by car. But I did not have my car with me, I had stalked the half a mile or so that I lived away from her on foot.
And so, I had been forced to re cable-tie her wrists, this time behind her back. I has also resecured her ankles, locked her inside the room, taken the key and left her alone whilst I fetched my car.
"Where could you go, I guess?” I laughed and Pia looked up at me, her face wearing the strangest expression; part fear, part expectation and part pain.
“How’s the foot?”
“Fucking sore you crazy bastard, you ripped all of my toenails out with that fucking knife of yours.”
I looked down at the make shift bandage that we had applied, wrapping the medical fabric round and round as if I had been mummifying her toes, and saw the blood seeping through.
“They have very tender skin, toes,” I said sounding ridiculously wise about feet.
“Did you get in one of the parking spaces outside the front door?” She asked.
“Yes, is it watched by CCTV?”
“What, you mean does someone give a fuck about what happens to students? No, there’s no CCTV so any crazy bastard could just come inside, break into our rooms, strip us and torture us, and no one would blink an eye.” As she spoke these prophetic words, Pia stared, eyes wide, eyebrows raised … maybe she was in a kind of manic-calm-before-the-storm mood.
I knelt and cut the cable tie on her ankle. “Okay move.”
“You mean like this? Naked?”
I nodded, “Yep, just like that.”
“Can’t I have clothes? Maybe just a tee shirt and jeans. You should let me put panties on so that I can make a scent in them for you.”
I cocked my head at this excellent suggestion.
“Where?”
“Top drawer.”
I nodded as I pulled open her underwear drawer and pulled out a pair of sheer black lacy girl boxers. Holding them in front of her I helped her step into the leg holes and then made sure that they were pulled up as tight as they would go, leaving the perfect mould of her pussy and mound in clear view.
God, how I wanted this. More so than ever.
Then I had a thought.
“Vibrator?” It was an simple enough question, but Pia, when she heard it, seemed to go a unexpectedly disarming shade of pink. Her reaction was very bizarre given that she had just been stripped, tied and fingered to the point of orgasm before putting herself forward for extreme torture. But she was most definitely embarrassed when she said, “Bedside cabinet.”
Grinning I opened the small drawer and took a full-size black wand vibe.
“Wow, this is big Pia, it must fill you … and Esme.”
Whether the mention of her girlfriend’s name made her feel more melancholy or not, I don’t know. But she sighed and nodded.
Picking up the book I flipped to a page. Addressing my virtually naked, bound little doll, I began to read.
“… She could not go quietly, she pulled back from them even as they lifted her up from the cot. She made herself pull back, which was when one of them put his hand behind her head and pull her by her hair. Petra’s fear gave her a voice, so strong was it in her. “No…no, no, no!” she said, pleading with her voice. They didn’t listen to her or look at her in any way, they merely pulled her along with them, between them ...”
I slipped the text into my pocket and reached out to grip Pia by the hair. Rolling her dark locks into my fist I pulled her forward with a savage wrench.
“No …” she offered the single syllable in imitation of the hapless alleged witch, which of course, I ignored.
“Now move.” It was time to go.
With head pulled backwards, and naked except for the panties, Pia walked slowly out of her bedsit and as she did so, with her neck stretched and her voice strained, she uttered just one single word. “Goodbye.”
To Be Continued ...
NOTE - My delightful writing partner is now away for a long weekend and so there will be a short delay until early next week before we post anymore of our tale. I thought, however that this would be a good time for reflection upon what is going on here. Pia has been the object of my fantasies ever since I first saw her several weeks ago. Why I had chosen her I could not say, other than my attraction to her being fuelled by lust. As I observed the little slut over many consecutive days, my attraction turned into obsession ... I simply had to have her. I had no real plan except to break into her home during the dark of night, strip her and rape her. But seeing the well thumbed book about the torment of Petronilla, my predilection for torture bubbled to the fore. It would not be the first time I had indulged this fantasy, but it would be the premier occasion during which the torture is so extreme that it results in the glorious death of my little beauty ... things are about to become extremely serious!
“You waited.”
“’Course I waited.”
There had been only one way to get Pia to my house at this time of night, and especially in this bloody awful weather, with her bleeding foot, and that was by car. But I did not have my car with me, I had stalked the half a mile or so that I lived away from her on foot.
And so, I had been forced to re cable-tie her wrists, this time behind her back. I has also resecured her ankles, locked her inside the room, taken the key and left her alone whilst I fetched my car.
"Where could you go, I guess?” I laughed and Pia looked up at me, her face wearing the strangest expression; part fear, part expectation and part pain.
“How’s the foot?”
“Fucking sore you crazy bastard, you ripped all of my toenails out with that fucking knife of yours.”
I looked down at the make shift bandage that we had applied, wrapping the medical fabric round and round as if I had been mummifying her toes, and saw the blood seeping through.
“They have very tender skin, toes,” I said sounding ridiculously wise about feet.
“Did you get in one of the parking spaces outside the front door?” She asked.
“Yes, is it watched by CCTV?”
“What, you mean does someone give a fuck about what happens to students? No, there’s no CCTV so any crazy bastard could just come inside, break into our rooms, strip us and torture us, and no one would blink an eye.” As she spoke these prophetic words, Pia stared, eyes wide, eyebrows raised … maybe she was in a kind of manic-calm-before-the-storm mood.
I knelt and cut the cable tie on her ankle. “Okay move.”
“You mean like this? Naked?”
I nodded, “Yep, just like that.”
“Can’t I have clothes? Maybe just a tee shirt and jeans. You should let me put panties on so that I can make a scent in them for you.”
I cocked my head at this excellent suggestion.
“Where?”
“Top drawer.”
I nodded as I pulled open her underwear drawer and pulled out a pair of sheer black lacy girl boxers. Holding them in front of her I helped her step into the leg holes and then made sure that they were pulled up as tight as they would go, leaving the perfect mould of her pussy and mound in clear view.
God, how I wanted this. More so than ever.
Then I had a thought.
“Vibrator?” It was an simple enough question, but Pia, when she heard it, seemed to go a unexpectedly disarming shade of pink. Her reaction was very bizarre given that she had just been stripped, tied and fingered to the point of orgasm before putting herself forward for extreme torture. But she was most definitely embarrassed when she said, “Bedside cabinet.”
Grinning I opened the small drawer and took a full-size black wand vibe.
“Wow, this is big Pia, it must fill you … and Esme.”
Whether the mention of her girlfriend’s name made her feel more melancholy or not, I don’t know. But she sighed and nodded.
Picking up the book I flipped to a page. Addressing my virtually naked, bound little doll, I began to read.
“… She could not go quietly, she pulled back from them even as they lifted her up from the cot. She made herself pull back, which was when one of them put his hand behind her head and pull her by her hair. Petra’s fear gave her a voice, so strong was it in her. “No…no, no, no!” she said, pleading with her voice. They didn’t listen to her or look at her in any way, they merely pulled her along with them, between them ...”
I slipped the text into my pocket and reached out to grip Pia by the hair. Rolling her dark locks into my fist I pulled her forward with a savage wrench.
“No …” she offered the single syllable in imitation of the hapless alleged witch, which of course, I ignored.
“Now move.” It was time to go.
With head pulled backwards, and naked except for the panties, Pia walked slowly out of her bedsit and as she did so, with her neck stretched and her voice strained, she uttered just one single word. “Goodbye.”
To Be Continued ...
NOTE - My delightful writing partner is now away for a long weekend and so there will be a short delay until early next week before we post anymore of our tale. I thought, however that this would be a good time for reflection upon what is going on here. Pia has been the object of my fantasies ever since I first saw her several weeks ago. Why I had chosen her I could not say, other than my attraction to her being fuelled by lust. As I observed the little slut over many consecutive days, my attraction turned into obsession ... I simply had to have her. I had no real plan except to break into her home during the dark of night, strip her and rape her. But seeing the well thumbed book about the torment of Petronilla, my predilection for torture bubbled to the fore. It would not be the first time I had indulged this fantasy, but it would be the premier occasion during which the torture is so extreme that it results in the glorious death of my little beauty ... things are about to become extremely serious!
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prtn
Governor
here replying for watching this thread
Nice touch using Latin tongue, makes it more realistic
just what I said
Maybe he can take care of her bleeding toes so she can have all of her energy to follow the book script from begging to end.
Wonderful idea for a story!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
NOTE OF POSTPONEMENT ...
I am sorry to have to announce that my exquisitely gifted writing partner, @Peony, has some personal issues to attend to which will keep her fully occupied for the immediate future. Therefore it is with regret, on both our parts, that we have to announce the postponement of "Postulating Petronilla".
Magnanimously, @Peony offered her 'voice' to me and said that I could take over both parts. However, I'm sure that you will agree that my sweet little girl has a wonderful writing style all of her own, and so I will not be doing that. We both hope to resume this tale at some point and I will of course keep you all posted ...
Fossy.
I am sorry to have to announce that my exquisitely gifted writing partner, @Peony, has some personal issues to attend to which will keep her fully occupied for the immediate future. Therefore it is with regret, on both our parts, that we have to announce the postponement of "Postulating Petronilla".
Magnanimously, @Peony offered her 'voice' to me and said that I could take over both parts. However, I'm sure that you will agree that my sweet little girl has a wonderful writing style all of her own, and so I will not be doing that. We both hope to resume this tale at some point and I will of course keep you all posted ...
Fossy.
Our best wishes to @Peony , hoping things will turn out well for her, and we'll look forward to the fine saga resuming
prtn
Governor
Well I guess we'll have to wait cause certainly is really interesting to know the masochist POV
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Good call.
Peony
Magistrate
The Girl
"Now move"
Just two word. I thought I had this so much under control. But he said just two words.
It seemed like days. It seemed like months. I stood there. My foot oozing blood through the bandage. I stood.
It was a second. My mind raced. It was the gate to heaven, it was the gate to hell. It was the path of extasy, it was the road to agony. It was the universe, it was oblivion. My heart screamed 'yes!', my body was telling me 'no'. I could step forward into untold pain, I could retreat to a life. An unfulfilled, unfulfillable life.
I looked at my flat. At the things that seemed so important only a few hours ago.
I looked at my toes, bleeding.
I looked at my bound nakedness.
I looked at him. I looked through the open door. I looked to a future - a short future - of damnation and torture and suffering.
I looked into my soul. I knew. He could do what he wanted. My body would be the vessel of my pain. My body would carry my whip marks, my torn flesh, my broken joints, my burns and scars. My body would do this for me, because this was what I wanted. What I knew, in that moment, that second, that I had always somehow wanted.
I was ready. My body was his to do with as he wished. My body was Petronilla's body.
I was become Petronilla.
I stepped forward. I walked out of my flat. I said, in a clear voice:
'Goodbye'
"Now move"
Just two word. I thought I had this so much under control. But he said just two words.
It seemed like days. It seemed like months. I stood there. My foot oozing blood through the bandage. I stood.
It was a second. My mind raced. It was the gate to heaven, it was the gate to hell. It was the path of extasy, it was the road to agony. It was the universe, it was oblivion. My heart screamed 'yes!', my body was telling me 'no'. I could step forward into untold pain, I could retreat to a life. An unfulfilled, unfulfillable life.
I looked at my flat. At the things that seemed so important only a few hours ago.
I looked at my toes, bleeding.
I looked at my bound nakedness.
I looked at him. I looked through the open door. I looked to a future - a short future - of damnation and torture and suffering.
I looked into my soul. I knew. He could do what he wanted. My body would be the vessel of my pain. My body would carry my whip marks, my torn flesh, my broken joints, my burns and scars. My body would do this for me, because this was what I wanted. What I knew, in that moment, that second, that I had always somehow wanted.
I was ready. My body was his to do with as he wished. My body was Petronilla's body.
I was become Petronilla.
I stepped forward. I walked out of my flat. I said, in a clear voice:
'Goodbye'