THE COLLECTOR

THE COLLECTOR

The Young, arrogant Dominatrix meets the Collector, his real self as she receives her initiation into his world.  A quick and painful workout by him, a short respite and she’s turned over briefly to his assistant for a brief but painful introduction.

Chapter Eight

       Angry, frustrated at the audacity of being striped naked, humiliated and bound, never having been on the receiving end in the sadomasochistic element of her world, she twists, jerks across the sharp wooden rail between her legs as she virtually ignores the discomfort.  Fruitlessly struggling, her arms are virtually numb behind her back in the tightly bound black bondage sleeve.  Her proud breasts standing out bare, the nipples beginning to drip blood from the currency painfully clamped to their tips, again more anger then pain as she’s never allowed a man to touch her breasts before.  Glancing down back and forth toward her heaving chest, saliva drools across the firm globes from the bright red ‘O’ ring stretching at her lips as she grunts and twists, bounces, again to no avail as she’s unable to free her jiggling nipples.

       Fully alert, the seconds seem like minutes as her heart pounds, the pain escalating, her temper becoming uncontainable. Glancing around the stark room, obviously their ‘bondage’ room, she’s furious as the sound of the door opens to her side.  Glaring at him entering, she bucks, grunts, the serrated clamps jerking at her compressed nipples, the paper currency.

       Stepping beside her, unsnapping the strap from behind her neck, removing the gag from her mouth, he steps back a step as she butts her head, twists her body toward him as she screams.  “Mother-fucker”… Let me go you bastard!”  Eyes blazing, spitting, kicking, her naked body gyrates as her vagina grinds, scrapes the hard pointed wood.  “I’ll kill you… You Bastard!”

       Stepping back in front of her, head lowered, eyes staring toward the wooden ‘V’ spreading her thighs, digging into the spreading, stretching folds of he vagina, he silently glances down toward his left hand, slowly raises it as she continues her ravings.  “Smack… Smack… Smack… Smack… Smack!”  Backhand, forehand, another backhand followed by another forehand, another backhand controllably smashes across her face.  Left cheek, right cheek, back and forth, the sounds of the harsh, forceful blows reverberates in the room as her body rocks backwards across the creaking wood.

       Reeling, twisting, her body bowing back, blood oozing from her cut lip, he grabs and twists her hair, jerks her head back.  “Smack… Smack… Smack… Smack… Smack!!”  More back hands, forehands, again across her face, again drawing blood, now from a nostril as stunned, her body practically goes limp, held up mostly by his gripping fist.

       Releasing her hair, stepping back a step as she slumps toward the side, he remains silent, her hazed eyes no longer glaring but barely focusing at his own now glaring, dangerous eyes staring back as he again steps forward with cupped fists.  Shifting, bouncing on his feet, lunging toward her, he swings. “Thwack!”  A harsh punch just above her belly button, ached forward as his fist sinks into her stomach, the sound of air escaping her lungs, whooshing from her bleeding mouth’s followed by more blows, higher.  “Thwack…Thwack…Thwack… Thwack!!”  The serrated clamps, currency jerking free, falling to the floor, he continues.  A right cross, a left hook, another right cross, a left, each blow smashing across her thrust out flailing breasts.  “Thwack… Thwack!!”  Another left, another right, his fist burrowing into her rapidly bruising breasts as she struggles for breath, unable to breathe, much less scream.

       Stepping behind her, gripping, twisting her hair and jerking her head back, he finally speaks, almost screams as light foam forms on the corners of his lips, spittle spewing from his contorted mouth across her naked flesh.  “Bitch… Just who the fuck you think you’re talking to?”  Twisting her face toward him, her eyes swollen, filled with tears, he continues.  “You fucking cunt… Did you actually think I was some kind of punk to threaten me like that?... Some kind of fag or something to talk to me like that?

       Shoving his fingers deep inside her mouth, stretching, twisting, he distorts her mouth, her face as he practically rams his entire fist between her swollen lips, her teeth grinding across the skin on the back of his hand.  Glaring, almost squinting, he snarls.  “You want to know who I am bitch?... Do you really want to fucking know?”  Gripping her tongue, pinching, tugging, they almost scream in unison.  “I’m your worst fucking nightmare bitch!... I’ll rip your fucking tongue out and eat it right in front of you if you ever… I mean ever have the audacity to even think you can speak to me like that again!... Ever again!!”

       Taking a breath, releasing her hair, sliding his hand from her mouth, he again takes a step back, turning his back momentarily as he struggles not to smile, but to keep the appearance of being some kind of lunatic.  Running his open hands back over the dampening hair above his ears on both sides of his head, his heart racing, savoring the role he loves to play with the more feisty trophies like her, he takes a moment to contain himself, continue the act.

       Straightening, turning back toward her, watching her slumping body quivering, her battered breasts jerking with each heaving breath as she struggles not to cry he slightly bends in front of her, glances into her eyes.  In an instant, having a one hundred and eighty degree change in disposition, tilting his head back and forth, almost a pleasant smile on his face and with an almost subtle voice, he asks.  “Tell me… How do you rate your service?”

       Barely able to understand him, still struggling to catch a fresh breath, the pain rippling through her defenseless body she can barely grunt as he leans even closer.  Tilting her head back as their eyes lock, his face even closer, she hears him repeat his insane question, again with a straight, calm face.  Turning her head, feeling the trickle of blood from between her raw thighs lubricating the rigid rail from the scrapped flesh of her labia, she again feels her head jerked back by his fist as he leans even closer, their noses almost touching.

       “I need to know.”  He almost matter of factly states, still the pleasant smile.  “I really do need to know if I should be, you know, more aggressive!… You know, since you’re a Dominatrix and all… You might be able to help me learn, you know?... I’ve got plenty of money for you… You know… To teach me.”  Reaching down to the floor, picking up the pair of crinkled five hundred dollar bills, he wads them in his other fist, waves them in front of he dazed eyes.

       Leaning his head back, staring into her bruised, batted face, down toward her similarly battered breasts, her raw vagina dripping blood down across the wooden mount, he enjoys the surreal moment, his mind racing, thinking how much fun he’s having fucking with her, confusing her, acting stupid.  And, knowing she’s going to beg to die before he’s done with her… But then, she won’t, he won’t let her.

       Okay!... Tell you what.”  He states as he again releases her hair, raises and takes a backwards step toward the door.  “Think about it… When I come back, I’ll bring a nice flexible cane with me and work those tits some more until you can think of an answer for me, okay?... Oh… Then I think I might just fuck you in your asshole… Looks like your pussy’s way to bloody.

       A final glance at her slumping body and he shuts the door behind him.  Adrenaline flowing, its time to fuck the assistant, at least get a quick head job before finding a cane.  A good enough romp in the sack and he might let her help give the bitch the next workout.  But, for now the bitch can have an hour or so to contemplate her new position in life while she catches her breath.

       An hour or so later, the door from the hallway opens.  He enters with his assistant; she has the cane in her hand, he a smile on his face.  Dressed in black latex somewhat like the tattered body suit spewed across the floor, she follows him in.  “I’m back!”  He quips, nods toward his assistant.  “And so is she… Remember her?”

       Barely able to glance up, the trickle of blood tracing down the inverted ‘V’ wooden frame between her legs almost reaching the floor, the Dom leans back exposing her bruised body.  Traces of blood dripping from her abused breasts across her flattened stomach, face discolored, her lips, cheek swollen under a blackening eye, she can barely grunt as she glances with her good eye toward the cane flexing in the assistant’s hand.

       “Remember when the roles were reversed.”  The assistant scowls as she steps behind the battered Dom, speaking for the first time.  “Swish… Thwack!”  The flexing cane bows through the air, smacks and borrows into the fleshy right cheek of the bound woman’s rippling buttocks. “Aaaggghhh!”

       Stepping around, positioning herself in front of her, flexing the cane.  “Swish… Thwack!”  A backhanded flick across her right breast, across the crusty blood of her bruised nipple.  “Agghhhh!”  Another grunt as her naked body rocks across the pointed plank, her toes barely touching the floor as the cane slashes across her left breast.  “Thwack!”

       “Aaaggghhh!”  Another pitiful screech as fresh traces of blood spurts across her chest.

       “How’s she doing?”  He sarcastically asks as he watches.  “She showing you how to accept the crop?...  Is she earning her money?”

       Glancing toward him, the assistant lowers the crop, reaches down and pinches the Dom’s raw clit, stretching it out over the sharp edge of the rail.  Giving a harsh jerk, dragging her quivering hips painfully forward across the glistening wood, she flicks the cane as the Dom’s head frantically jerks back and forth. “Smack”

       “Aaaaaggggggghhhh!!!”  A garbled scream, her body lurches, nearly slides of the side of the rail as the cane crushes her pulsing clit into the sharp point of the rail.  “Aaaaaggggghhh!!!”

       Babbling, jerking, barely coherent, the Dom’s recently proud body trembles across the rail, battered, bleeding, bruised.  Stepping next to his assistant, forcing the cane downward with his open hand, he slowly scans the damage.

       “Okay.”  He softly addresses the Dom.  “This is your first day.”  Taking the cane’s crimson tip, sliding it under the Dom’s chin and raising her head with it, he continues.  “There’s going to be days that make this seem like a picnic.”  Feeling his assistant’s hand pressing against his crotch as she leans against him, he continues.  “You’re going to be mounted in various positions… Fucked in every orifice… Pierced… Tattooed… Branded… Hell, who knows what else?”  Lowering the cane, letting her slump forward, he realizes she can barely comprehend what he’s saying.

         Feeling his cock being stroked through the material, thinking how much his assistant’s willing to give and be involved in his enormously pleasurable pursuit, he savors the moment of sharing.  Turning toward the door, still each with a hand on the cane, they leave the room; leave her hunched over to herself as they shut the door behind them.            

End Part 8