tagBDSMFace (Sex, Power, Love) Ch. 25

Face (Sex, Power, Love) Ch. 25


Corinna's World

I had no idea how long it had been—days, weeks, forever? Corinna and Slave kept me blindfolded and gagged most of the time, and whenever the blindfold was removed, I was in a dark place, like Corinna's stuffy, confining workout room or in the sadistic lesbian's well-equipped sex dungeon buried in the cold ground beneath her old mansion.

My world was shadows, gloom, or pure blackness. Slave put me in the artificial sun of the coffin-like tanning bed, but taped my eyes shut so that I was inundated in light, but submerged in darkness. Corinna's heavy, darkly colored curtains were always tightly drawn. When her coal black slave girl took me down to the dungeon to use Corinna's full array of man bending implements, Slave might remove my blindfold, but in the darkness, I saw only the shimmering blackness of her skin, or the flash of the whip flying through dim candlelight.

The measure of passing time slipped away. I could not tell day from night. In my long black nightmare, sleep was one of my few pleasures, but Corinna permitted only intermittent scraps of naps. Slave would occasionally wake me, beat me thoroughly, and put me back to bed. Sometimes she lacerated my sleep with a single slash and then disappeared before I awoke. Soon the cut between dreams of cruelty and my waking nightmare, between delirium and real life, disappeared. I craved deep sleep but never got it. Mistress Corinna used sleep as a tool, granting or withholding snippets, insinuating her control into me, carving my soul like a sculptress chiseling an agreeable figurine of an obedient man.

I could not name the sort of vile creature Corinna intended me to become, but I felt it incubating in my gut. Slave fed me like a dog; face down in the bowl on the floor, no hands allowed. My simple need to eat was a tool, a technique for breaking and remaking me. My sense of being human slipped away. Slave forced me eat more than I could stomach on threat of the whip, but I learned not to vomit. Being sick just made it worse; Slave would just force me to start again at a fresh bowl. She required that I ingest a full dose of the tasteless mush at each doggie bowl session. However, as unappealing as this diet was, combined with the exercise routine imposed on me, my body grew hard and muscular, as my will grew soft and compliant. The sculptress was a clever artisan.

The most powerful tools in Corinna's repertoire were fear and pain, balanced against the reward of cunt sucking. My hardening body was never without the marks of her torture. I learned the nuances of the strap, the crop, and the whip. Slave made me identify the instrument of each bruise and cut. When I erred, Slave laughed, mocked my stupidity, and demonstrated the implement again. It was easy to distinguish the wide bruise of the leather strap from the flat square imprint of the riding crop. However, it was next to impossible to tell the thin cutting mark of the cane from that of the rod; Slave insisted there was a difference. I learned a completely new vocabulary—cat, tawse, quirt. If I guessed correctly, my reward was face time with Slave's cunt.

Sometimes Slave allowed only a brief kiss, and sometimes, depending upon her whim, a long leisurely feast at her hole. She teased and taunted me with promises that if I were good, I could luxuriate in it. She judiciously rationed the privilege of extended cunt lapping tongue service at the trough of her nether lips. She made me beg for it, and then denied it.

Slave might promise that if I were especially good she would indulge me with an extravagant reward of mouthfuls of her precious gush. "Honey, just lift a little more weight, just one more time, push yourself sweetie and you can have some of this; it's right down here; it's real juicy. Try a little harder and you can go down on me and slurp it up. I'll for squirt for you."

Or, if I took the ferule on my balls without screaming, Slave promised she would let me forget my pain in the deep wet fold, the warm soaking pit of her crotch. Ferule: a flat piece of wood for punishing children, a schoolmaster's rod.

I craved pussy. Sometimes Slave let me go down on her for what might have been hours; sometimes pussy was withheld for what felt like days—the true measure of time had become a mystery. Slave encouraged me to beg for pussy, and then punished me for asking, and moments later castigated me for not pleading for her cunt. As often as not Slave's promises were lies, but I did not complain or begrudge her deceit in any way. I accepted her inconsistency. I was learning not to think.

It was impermissible to touch Corinna much less lick her pussy. Corinna left most of the physical labor to Slave, but directed everything. Under Corinna's tutelage, I grasped the justice of injustice, and realized the joy in pain.

Corinna beat Slave often. Slave would then come to me lying asleep on my cot and wake me with a slash of the crop. Her commands would be harsher than usual, her voice thick from crying. Using me, controlling me, power over me consoled Slave. She let me lick the freshly swelling welts on her slick, black skin. Then Slave exacted her full revenge upon me.

It was my function to be the surrogate to receive punishment, retribution, and pain for any injustice, or simple frustration, not just to Slave and Corinna, but also to all women. I was beaten because Slave was beaten; I was beaten because men mistreat women; I was beaten because Corinna had premenstrual cramps. I was the proxy for all men, wicked impious men who would not worship women. I was balm for Corinna's discontents. Her headaches melted away as she reclined enjoying long leisurely viewings of Slave thrashing me.

Blame, fault, and condemnation poured over me, thus injustice transmuted to right. Corinna ordered that I swallow these inequities, and I did, with growing understanding and increasing gratification for the privilege to serve. I was thankful to Corinna for her generous attention and honored by the privilege to serve women. Corinna found me useful; I was content to be at her disposal. The flood of Corinna's spite nourished me, and I ripened into the thing she intended. The clever sculptress now worked in her garden. She twisted me into a showy miniature of a male, a bonsai man.

Although Corinna did not let me touch her, she would not sully herself by contacting a contemptible male, she did occasionally permit me to be an ornament for her boudoir. I knelt still as a statue at the foot of her bed while she went about her daily business, chatting with friends on the phone, going over the bills, combing her hair, or doing and redoing her make up. All the while, she paid me no more attention than she would a chair. Sometimes she had Slave suspend me from her bedroom ceiling. Then Corinna gave Slave orders for the care of the household, chatted about business, and gossiped, all the while ignoring the male hung by the bed in chains.

She might then instruct Slave on the next twist in my reconstruction with disinterested detachment, as if she were discussing the need to take out the garbage. The only acknowledgement of my presence would be Corinna's critique of Slave's work. Corinna might point out a body part in need of a bruise or welt, or perhaps recommend a particular whip or bondage devise. She would evaluate the development of my muscles and my blossoming servility. Corinna gave no hint that she considered me in any way human. To her I was at best an animal, at worst a repulsive slab of meat. She briefly released and examined my cock. "The welt on its penis is fading. Renew it."

On occasion, I was hung blindfolded, gagged and bound while Corinna and Slave engaged in their lesbian lovemaking. I was never permitted to witness scenes of physical violence, but Corinna was nevertheless viciously cruel to Slave in these sessions. She piled verbal abuse on the poor girl calling her every vile name imaginable. Though Corinna was herself African American, she mocked Slave for the blackness of her skin and never seemed to get enough of calling her a dirty nigger and humiliating her for her race. Though I was always blindfolded, Corinna assured that I witnessed the minutiae of Slave's humiliations by relating in detail the degradations she was imposing upon Slave. The point of detailing Slave's shame to a male was to inflict additional emotional pain upon the poor girl. The abuse I witnessed was not physical, but perhaps it was worse. It was as if Corinna were flogging Slave's soul.

"What I am doing now is finger fucking the nigger slut's asshole. She likes it. Do you hear her moaning? She is a shameless whore. She is pushing her ass against my hand like a bitch in heat. Slave, play with your grotesque tits. It's disgusting he way those mammoth sacks jiggle. Does all that weight hurt? Backaches? Too bad, no bra for you. Watching you struggle with those big fat sacks swinging and bouncing while your walk very funny. You want to amuse me right?

"Let's see if I can force another finger up your ass. You're such a tight thing. Olivia's girl can easily take her whole fist. I'd trade you for her, except Olivia won't do it. She says you are too funny looking all nigger black and jumbo tits. Oh now you are crying again. What a baby. Are those tears for the fingers up your ass or because I want that other girl? Tell the vile male what you are."

"I am a dirty nigger whore. I am a bitch in heat. I am a worthless ass fuck, and a black freak with ugly obscene tits. Take me with your fist. Rip me apart if you have to. Oh Corinna, I am whatever you want me to be. I love you. Please don't throw me away. Humiliate me; even in front of that despicable male thing, treat me like the whore I am. Treat me cruel. Mistress Corinna I love you; I love it." How it could be true, I do not know, but Slave did love Corinna.

I didn't. She just scared me. I prayed that Corinna stay satisfied with abusing Slave, because if her attention wandered, her malice fell on me. Corinna would then interrupt their lovemaking, if such abuse could be called that, and order Slave to pick up the whip. Then Slave beat me more cruelly than anything she would have done if Corinna were not watching.

Corinna chattered gaily away while Slave whipped my strung up body, bubbling about how she loved to see men crushed, and ordering Slave to hit harder or to use this or that implement of torture. Sometimes Corinna directed Slave to hang weights from my balls, and intermittently interrupted their lovemaking to have Slave hang more, and then a little latter more weight upon my scrotum until I feared I might break. Eventually Corinna would walk out abruptly, usually without a word, but occasionally with some trivializing insult to Slave.

"You bore me." Then Corinna departed with a flippant promise of infidelity and a casual threat of dismissal. When Corinna was gone, Slave released me, removed the gag and blindfold, and let me eat pussy while she cried her eyes out over Corinna's cruelty.

Somehow, Slave really loved Corinna; I was simply terrified. But I came to love Slave, even if she whipped me daily. Was this unfaithful to Gina? No. I ached to return to her; I longed to debase myself at the snap of Gina's finger. What did for Slave I did for Gina. Still, my heart thanked Slave for her time and attention despite the cruelty it entailed.

And I learned to love the whip, sort of. I hated the pain while it is happening, but I pined for the attention. Left alone I was so bored. When Slave beat me, I felt needed, or at least useful. I craved her orders. I yearned to prove my worth, to show Slave I would carry any burden and accept any agony for her. I owed this to all women, but especially to Slave, the one who beat me. I accepted that I was a worthless male, simple trash, who could only improve with the arduous application of a whip in the heavy hand of a strong woman. And so, I came to terms with my destiny. This was not resignation; it was enlightenment.

I craved pussy and took pride in my cunt eating skill. Anna and Gina had promised me more pussy than I could imagine; I got that. Soon I was introduced to Corinna's friends. They visited four or five at a time waiting in Corinna's parlor, until Slave led me into the room by my scrotum leash—naked, chained, blindfolded, and decorated in bruises, a male gift wrapped for the women of the world. The laughing and chatting stopped suddenly with surprised gasps, noises of disgust, and then whispered insults. The ladies' intrigued revulsion slithered across my skin. Even Corinna's friends were appalled at the clear evidence of freshly inflicted violence.

Corinna announced, "My friends—a male as it should be. I see that you appreciate my slave's work. It takes a nigger slave girl to beat a white boy properly into submission. She has been giving him cunt-sucking lessons, and it is time for his midterm examination. Georgia, please go first. Put its head under your skirt and grade the boy's skills. No easy grading and do not hesitate to ask for the whip if he slacks off. Slave remove Eric's gag."

They handed me around, cunt to cunt, testing and grading. I learned to wait upon the nuances of individual preferences, and began to recognize categories of inclination. I deliberated carefully at my duties.

"This cunt likes it soft and slow with a gentle concentration on the clit. Keep your distance a bit, just the tip of your tongue; that is all she wants. This one wants it hard and fast—get the clit, get it hard; get it hot; get it off, fast. This one is very wet; she wants me up her hole. Its like her cunt wants to swallow my head tongue first, and it's almost big enough to do it. She could go on for hours. The next woman is impatient; Slave is pulling me out by my ball chain. Next, get in there boy. A new taste; this one is into exotic douches. She's all lubed up, wet; she is there; she wants me to swallow. Female ejaculators—they don't all do that, but I think I like those cunts best. There is little doubt she reached orgasm—unless she was just pissing in my mouth. Why are they laughing? Oh, that was not a douche; it was menstrual blood. I guess the towel on the chair should have been a tip off." Slave wiped my face clean and it was on to the next cunt.

"Did I once just fuck these things? Was that me? How inappropriate, and what a waste. A man's cock is properly locked in a cage. There is so much more to enjoy, to taste, to smell, and to savor with the mouth—ah, the tongue, the dutiful male sex organ."

The blindfold helped. The trappings of attractiveness or fashion did not distract me; it was all about the pussy. Sweet juicy pussy; it was all good. "Let me get my face into it; let me find the flavor; let me discover the scent; exactly how does she like it? Let me eat. Thank you Gina." I thanked Gina for each cunt.

The women gave me grades of C's and D's. They could not admit in front their friends that a man could be an A plus cunt sucker. The meanest bitch gave me a D minus, grudgingly. At first, she was going to flunk me, and so Slave whipped me while the women laughed. I stood in the middle of women's circle jerk while Slave beat me on my chest, thighs and finally genitals. Because I was blindfolded, I did not know which way to turn or where the flogger would fall next. I danced and whined—and smelled females playing with themselves.

Finally, the bitch who had flunked me said I could retake the test; maybe my cunt licking wasn't that bad. Slave shoved my face into her cunt. She was hot and finally at the edge of organism. It was the one with the yawning sloppy hole. I reached in deep, drove my tongue in and sucked the ripe plum of her fat urethra into my mouth. Her loose wet folds splayed against my face and I could not breathe. In moments, thick tangy ooze filled my mouth and I swallowed. She was a frustrated ejaculator. "Ok, give him a D minus."

In the days after barely passing my initial examination, other women were invited to test me. It seemed the unrestricted use of an utterly submissive cunt-sucking male created quite the sensation in Corinna's circle of friends. I could tell by their taste that a number returned for seconds and even third helpings. Once in her satisfied afterglow a woman said, "Oh he is good. An A plus for sure." Corinna would have none of that. "It's a male. It can't do better than a C. Please maintain some decorum." The enthusiast demurred, "Of course Corinna, I just meant he was good for a boy. Give it a D."

The women apparently found it amusing to use a male at the high tide of their menstrual flow. Several asked to take me home with them so that they could keep their sheets clean without the use of sanitary napkins. The women found this quite funny and some took to calling me their 'blood nappy'. "Oh, Corinna darling, it is not that I am insatiable, it just that I have such a heavy flow this month. I afraid I am leaking again. Send the bloody nappy back over here to clean me up one more time. Your boy is such a glutton for blood. The girl I use at home does a dutiful job of changing my napkins, but she is recalcitrant about cleaning me with her mouth. She claims the blood makes her nauseous. Besides, blood licking really is task for a male. Could I take him home for just this night, until my flow lets up?" Fortunately, Corinna put them off saying that I was still in training and that I needed Slave's close supervision and discipline.

When Corinna deemed me skilled enough, she allowed me to eat out paying customers. Women came individually or in couples and paid Corinna for my cunt sucking, or paid just to watch Slave whip me. Sometimes they would inquire about my availability for weekends or for entertainment at a party. Corinna told them that I was Gina's property and that Gina had not yet decided whether to rent me out. "I'll get back to you later."

Time, I was lost to time. Awake or asleep, I floated listlessly down the river deeper into the dark jungle. Thoughts of pussy filled my head. I dreamed of pussy overflowing my mouth, filling my being, I dreamed of cunts bearing down, swallowing my face. I dreamed of whores leading me naked down public streets, dragged by a harrowing pain in my crotch. I jumped in the chains that held me in my cot, awoke, and realized, "It is not a nightmare; it is my life." The whip struck my crotch again. "Gina please, take me home." Then once again, I slept and dreamed of cunt and pain.

Slave woke me with a slap across my ass with her crop. For the first time since the day I had arrived, Corinna herself had administered a whipping. It had been the most vicious yet. She drew blood. Slave's slap reopened a wound and I cried out as I awoke. But finally, I had had a long satisfying sleep. Slave had actually given a narcotic to help me sleep after Corinna's violent trashing.

Slave unchained me from the cot, clipped a leash onto my ball harness, and led me blind down the long hall. "She is taking me to the parlor. Great, that means pussy." I salivated. Corinna's dog had learned that the parlor meant it was time to eat pussy. My mouth watered in anticipation as I limped painfully along behind Slave.

Slave dragged me into the parlor and I smelled the presence of a group of women. "Ah good, lots of pussy, a buffet. I am hungry." These smelled like white women. Corinna's white friends tended to be more polite, though somewhat more cruel. "That's fine with me. Bring it on, abuse me as you please; just let me feed between your legs." The odor of their cunts blended like the varied aromas of a wildflower garden. "Who will anoint me first with the pure scent of her oily nectar?" Then I heard her laugh.

Yes, Gina laughed. I was sure it was Gina. It was Gina's full throated, uninhibited laugh. I loved her for that laugh. "She is here. She will save me from that bitch Corinna. My love will save me. Gina please, take me home."

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