Jemma's Torment

A battery operated tattoo pen is flicked into life with a small inkwell sitting on top filled with dark blue ink. The buzz sounds like a swarm of angry wasps. The first touch on your inner cunt lip makes you squirm. There is a real danger that you will spoil my artwork with your thrashing. I am forced to stop in my design for a moment while a strap your hips down to the table top with webbing designed to retain truck loads.

Once you are secured, I flick the pen on again and return to my ministrations. The tiny ink carrying needle vibrates rapidly, delivering colour under the tender skin of your labia. I am only going to tattoo two letters; one on either side, but you would never get to see them, unless you stand over a mirror and pull your lips apart. Gradually and with infinite care, I write HI. I like the effect and take a few snaps for my collection.

I judge that it is time now, for relief. I need to come, having had a raging hard-on for so long. You must need to rest to I think. The needles are removed slowly and carefully, one by one. Small red dots form where the steel leaves your flesh. Once they are placed on the gurney, I then remove the nipple clamps, first the left and then the right. Your nipples retain some of the shape and are so engorged with blood that they hardly relax at all.

I pick off the hardened wax from between your breasts and stomach. Sweat and your natural body oil have released the bond of molten wax and skin. The wax over your mons has a little more purchase, having the very slight stubble of pubic hair to cling to.

I release your lips from the cruel bit of the rubber teeth on the clamps and discard the bar with its appendages to the waiting tray. I depress the release valve of the anal plug, air escapes from the toy lodged in your ass and it slips out easily. Your own natural essences follow the plug releasing a pungent odour. Your muscles, having become used to the intrusion, are relaxed, I can see the blood red tissue deep into your arse through the gaping hole left.

All that remains to free you from your total humiliation is the bit gag and the physical ties holding you to the table. The clip of the webbing is a bit stiff, but with some perseverance and dexterity, it lets go, leaving a red weal across your stomach and lower abdomen.

The bit gag has also left marks that will come out quite quickly, but it does look like a parody of the Joker in Batman. I can't help a giggle until the thought occurs to me that you might think me deranged.

"You bastard!" Are the fist words to escape from your mouth. "You fucking evil bastard."

I smile in response, looking deep into your eyes. As I rip the tape off of your forehead. You cannot see the smile though, through the leather mask.

Then your bonds are removed, firstly your ankles and then your wrists. Movement is slow and difficult after being motionless for so long, it isn't difficult to control your limbs in case you try to hit me. I place your hands under your buttocks, one either side. It will be a little while until you regain enough strength to do very much at all.

Standing to one side, I pull at the Velcro fly of the leather pants. With little invitation, my cock surges out of the animal hide prison to announce its interest in the proceedings going on.

"I'm going to fucking kill you." The venom of your promise is futile, an empty threat at this very moment, but given opportunity, you might just achieve precisely that goal.

"But Jemma, this is what you wanted; it is exactly what you asked for." Confusion flickers across your eyes.

Without elaborating any further, I slip my arm under your knees and lift and pull them toward me. I allow them to dangle over the side of the table; it forces your mound upwards in a delicious curve. I can't resist the temptation and kiss the delicate folds of your cunt, flicking my tongue over your clit, the steel of the zipper latch catches slightly at your inner thigh. I might have been disappointed in your lack of response, but, given the circumstances of your predicament, am not surprised at all.

Taking your arms and pulling them out from under your butt, I pull you into a standing position. You wobble, but I hold you around your torso and support you. The need to stand is only temporary because I turn you round to face the table and push your upper body down to rest on its surface.

"What do you mean; this is what I asked for?" You scream as I re-position you.

I don't answer at first, concentrating on getting you in the right place for the finale of the ordeal. Then, with you hands tied across the table to a cleat on the underside, I let you into the secret.

"I am the guy you wrote to. Remember you told me how hot my story 'Torture' made you feel. How you told me of your fantasy, how you privately wanted to be abused. Remember how you wrote the first part of the story? Well baby, this is the realisation of that wish." I spread your butt cheeks and inspect your ass.

"I didn't mean it." You plead.

"Ah, but you did. Remember your own words. I quote "the thought makes me so hot and I really would love it to happen;" Well this is just that, your wish come true. It was you who came up with ketamine, I had never heard of the stuff. It was you who wrote of the abduction and the secret place; entirely your own thoughts babe, just all my pleasure." I reach behind my head and undo the zipper of the hood and pull it off to be discarded on the concrete floor.

With that, my cock head passes your relaxed sphincter and into your ass. The warmth is good on my cock which snugly fills your back door.

In languid thrusts, I pump into you, slowly, using the whole length from root to head, burying it to the hilt. It's careful, but relentless. You self lubricate my cock, easing the friction.

"I...am...going...to ...fucking...kill...you." You manage to gasp out in time with my thrusting.

"Whatever." A sharp slap to your ass shuts you up. The pace increases as my hand print shows in red relief on your skin.

The need for me to come increases exponentially with every deep thrust. I will not last very much longer at this pace. I stop and pull out of your ravaged ass, leaving a perfect 'O'

"You also said in your email, that you have always fancied giving head; remember?"

You open you mouth to reply, but I pull your head back, using you blonde hair and shove my dirty dick into your throat. You gag of course, but you will not need to suffer the indignity for long, because my release is imminent. As much as I would love to coat your oesophagus with my seminal fluids, I have other plans for my seed.

I pull out of your mouth, pre-cum connects us for a moment, like an umbilical cord between lips and cock head.

I walk around the table and step between you parted legs. I notice that your ass has returned to its normal condition, puckered and dark in colour. I pull at your hips, shifting you across the table top so that the edge cuts across your pelvic region. Your exposed pussy invites me in. At least, that is how it looks to me; who am I to refuse an invitation?

It is your first time. Your virginity was taken some time back by one of your dyke friends with a vibrator, but you have never had a cock enter you before, if what you wrote is to be believed. Knowing that it is unchartered territory adds to my pleasure.

My head passes between your outer lips easily, disappearing into your silken depths. Slowly, taking my own delicious time and prolonging the moment of my release, I push my whole length into you, savouring the feel of your heat.

Setting a slow pace, using only my hips, I fuck you. My thumbs separate your cheeks so that I can see better the way your cunt grips my cock, folding in on my forward stroke and then extending as I reverse. That sight is enough to tip the balance. Pushing into you one more time, the point is reached, with a secondary thrust that drives me deeper into you than previously managed, I come in an explosion that almost denies my legs the ability to support me. I time the after spurts with thrusts that weaken in their effectiveness as strength leaves me.

"You fucking bastard." I guess it is the ultimate indignity for you; having a man fuck you to his completion when your predilections lay in another direction entirely is probably your worst nightmare. But you did in fact ask for it, or at least, wish it to happen. It was unlucky for you, that I had the wherewithal to enact your secret desire.

My come drips from your lips, hitting the floor and pooling on the concrete. My fingers enter your pussy, coating them liberally with the essences of your body and my semen. I wipe the sticky mess over your lips, your tongue wipes it away, but I know the taste will have registered.

"Remember how we taste." I whisper in your ear.

The ordeal is almost over for you. As with everything else, I have planned for that too. I reach over to the gurney and plunge another syringe into your ass, filled with ketamine.

While I wait for the effects to take you, I quickly clean up the tools of your torture, placing them in a box for disposal and then untie you.

I manage to get you in the car, dragging you helpless across the floor to the garage and the waiting passenger seat. Covering your nakedness with a blanket and locking you in with the seat belt. It takes me a while to pack everything in the trunk and clean up the evidence of your demise. All that remains of the scene are a bare table and a few stains on the concrete floor that will soon dry.

The drive is short. We arrive at your apartment; the cul-de-sac is empty of people as I knew it would be, everyone still out at work. I dump you unceremoniously on the front steps, wrapped in the blanket to wait for the return of your girlfriend and for the small dose of ketamine to wear off. I estimate that will be in approximately ten minutes. I leave your bag and clothes in a heap at your feet and drive away looking at you in the rear view mirror.

Do I get away with it? Do you call the Police or tell your girlfriend and set up a search for me? Do you get retribution when you eventually find me? Or do you relive the experience privately while your girlfriend eats you and realise that you did in fact, want it?

Some time later, before I close the email address and bury it forever, I scan through the last day's mail and see your familiar address in my in box. With some trepidation I press open.

There are only a few words; 'You bastard! Love you, Jemma.'