Monster Cock: A Theo Story

Angelica and the Monster Cock: A Theo Story

Author's note: If you want all the background, you could look up "Theo's BDSM Slave Service" and "Signing Up for a Life of Slavery." However, I've tried to make this story as stand-alone as I could, so you don't have to in order to understand what's going on.

You've met me before: Angelica, the only slave who willingly abandoned herself to Theo's slave service. Some of the other women used to be into bondage in their previous lives, and a few were even into a bit of pain, but none desired the total lack of control that comes with being a real, honest-to-goodness captive sex slave. The factor of our existence that drives some women into chronic depression is like a tonic to me. It was the one aspect of BDSM that I couldn't get in the before-time, not for real as opposed to part of a role-playing game. I love having no established boundaries, no safeword, and no choice. I have to put up with whatever next comes through that showroom door.

As I stood in the showroom lineup waiting for business, I had time to reflect on the irrevocable choice I had made two years before. As I expected, the non-consensual bondage and sex never seems to get old: the creative ways clients restrain and hurt me keeps it interesting. But one aspect of the lifestyle I hadn't really counted on is the day-to-day monotony. Except for my nightly (or sometimes afternoon) shift in Theo's entertainment suites, my days seem mostly occupied by efforts to fill in time. If you've ever seen the Shaun the Sheep movie, you'll remember the opening scene in which the sheep finally get so bored with their repetitious lives that they go AWOL. Sometimes that's me. Except that there's no AWOL here.

Still, when I balance it all out, I'm happy with my choice. The possibility of getting a client who is into subjecting women to pain still excites me, and to tell the truth, my days aren't all that much more monotonous than days at my old office job with some bondage sex on weekends.

There have been no more new arrivals since I signed on -- twenty-five slaves seems to be just enough to allow Theo to expand his business as much as he feels like doing at the moment. I know the numbers go to twenty-seven (me), but two numbers have been retired. One slave was killed in a foolish escape attempt and another committed suicide when she couldn't adjust to her situation. When he was first walking me through his operation, Theo had also mentioned a few whom he had had to "put down" because they couldn't adjust, but whenever we had a full table at mealtimes, I always counted twenty-five. I concluded that Theo had made up that last part just to mess with my head.

The first twelve of us stood there in our usual showroom positions -- naked except for high stilettos, ankles forced apart by half-metre spreaders, wrists behind our backs in leather cuffs, mouths taped, and steel dildos mounted on poles forced up into our pussies to hold us in position, totally helpless.

I recognised the first guy who came in. We hadn't settled on a good nickname for him yet, but "OK Otto" was in the running. No nuance though. We were still working on it.

He was tall and muscular, with a short dark beard and piercing dark brown eyes. He seemed vaguely threatening, but I had had him a couple of times before and knew that he wasn't one of the nastier ones. He had an average cock, maybe a bit on the smaller side compared to a few of the monster cocks I've met in here. Remember that an "average" cock is about fifteen centimetres, or six inches -- look it up -- and men can easily be either bigger or smaller than that. Porn has given us a false expectation of penis size, and really, most women prefer average, used well, as opposed to a monster that requires special care not to hurt.

Aside from his average cock, I also knew from experience that he wasn't especially into creative sexual tortures. He loved to have women spreadeagled on the bondage bed, loading them up with lots of restraints, pushing vibrators into their assholes, getting his cock sucked, maybe some bare-hand bum spanking, finishing off with a good fuck in the cunt, but he never seemed to bother with painful suspension, nipple clamps, monster dildoes, or even anal sex aside from a vibrator or plug. Just a good old-fashioned bondage fuck. Hence the prospective nickname "OK Otto" -- he wasn't a great client like Gentleman Bob, or a horrible one like Whomping Willie, just OK. Frankly, he was a bit wasted on me, since I enjoy pain and came here precisely to get it, but he was popular with most of the other women.

He checked out the whole lineup, but kept stopping at Grace. She's a small, beautiful Asian-Canadian woman with slender hips, compact but inviting breasts, and a winning smile when it's not covered up by microfoam tape and she's not waiting apprehensively for an unknown client. Unknown rapist, to be exact. As usual, Grace looked slightly scared. She used to be pretty sexually adventuresome on the outside -- a bit of a slut, frankly, judging by her descriptions -- but she didn't like having to take whatever, without choice or limits. She always looked as though if she could find a way to lever herself off that fucking pole, she'd just run.

I really wanted to tell her not to worry, he's one of the nicer ones and wouldn't really hurt her, but of course with a wide strip of microfoam sealing my lips, I couldn't. Still, I was glad when he slid the dildo out of her and walked her down the hall to an entertainment suite. As she left, she looked back at me and I nodded my head in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture. She seemed to take it as such.

Her breasts are too firm and compact to jiggle, but her little ass swayed a bit as she disappeared through the door to the suites.

The next guy that came in was really big. Big arms, large round face, large body -- not fat exactly, but very thick through the middle. He had a mid-length bristly black beard that stuck out in all directions. He reminded me of no-one more than Bluto, the villain in the classic Popeye cartoons. Cartoons being cartoons, all he wanted to do was kiss Olive Oyl against her will, but looking back on it I could see they were hinting at the possibility of a lot more, just like this guy was unlikely to stop at unwanted smooches. But no Popeye was going to rescue me.

After his first walk-through, he did something I've never seen before in the showroom: he took off his pants and underwear. Usually guys wait until they are in the entertainment suite and have you restrained in their preferred ways, but Bluto seemed to want to make this part of the sorting ritual. I had a pretty good idea why: when he dropped his underwear, he revealed the biggest, most monstrous cock I've ever seen. Trust Theo. Knowing my ability to take all sorts of bizarre and painful sexual encounters with pleasure, he generally had me in the lineup when a client came along who was likely to hurt a slave. This certainly looked like one of those times. He body was large, but his cock was large out of proportion to everything else. He seemed to want to gauge our reactions to it as part of making his selection.

Poor guy. I guess he had a lot of trouble finding a woman who would consent to having that firelog shoved in any part of her body, so he had to pay $2000 to bypass the consent part.

"Which ones of you ladies would love to have this piece of meat shoved in your holes?" he growled at the whole lineup. He even talked like an X-rated version of Bluto. Then he started walking down the line, asking each woman separately. "How about you?" Alice just stood looking straight ahead, unsure of whether this was a genuine question or just an intimidation tactic. Belle, whom he came to next, decided to interpret it as a real question whose answer might even affect his behaviour. She shook her head firmly and made a negative "uh-uhhh" noise behind the tape. He left Belle alone and moved on down the line. He got the same response from Mary-Beth, from Amanda, even Serena, who seemed big enough to take almost anything -- no-one seemed to want to be split in half by a cock the size of a small fire hydrant.

When he came to me, I contemplated my response. I knew my vagina would stretch to take it, even though it would certainly hurt; it had been stretched nearly every night to the point that it seemed to be able to take almost anything. My anus was another matter, but his cock didn't look much bigger than the biggest dildo in the set of anal stretchers we all used regularly. And as I said above, I really love some pain with my pleasure. So I took a flyer, nodded, and made an affirmative "mmm-hmmm" noise.

He seemed surprised. "Really?" he said. "Take a good look at it." I had already checked it out thoroughly, but I stared at it again to keep him happy. I repeated the nod.

"OK, sister, you've got it." He took off the spreader and unlocked the dildo pole so I could go with him to the entertainment suite. I was perfectly prepared to follow him, but he felt the need to half-drag me by my right nipple, clamped firmly in his vice-like hand between forefinger and thumb.

As I concentrated on controlling my pain reflex so I could walk after him before he ripped my nipple off, I thought, "I think this might be fun. Or maybe not, but I'll know either way soon enough."

**

Theo directed us to Room Four, which I hadn't seen for a while. As soon as we walked in, I saw that Theo had been busy renovating to give clients some new restraint options. Off to one side was a thick post, obviously not designed just to hold the roof up. It was about twenty centimetres in diameter and covered in metal eyebolts to be used as restraint attachment points. From where I stood, I could see that it was covered in a layer of what looked like a rubber-like material, I guess to cushion it and reduce the chance of bruising. There was a low stool in front of it to let a victim stand higher against the post to be restrained, and then dangle there when the stool was removed.

Bluto posed me with my back to the pole and contemplated the tape gag. He ripped it off -- ouch! he was hurting me already -- and browsed the shelves for something more interesting. From the vast collection of gags on display, he selected a red panel gag, wide enough that it had a notch under the nose to keep it from blocking the wearer's airway. He picked up two of the small wipe-up cloths that always sit on the side table, wadded them up together, and forced them into my mouth. They kept my tongue pressed down and stoppered most sounds I might try to make. To hold them in place, and to add an extra layer of soundproofing, he covered it with the panel gag, which he cinched tightly behind my head. It all felt very confining and smothering, although in fact I could breathe perfectly well through my nose, and it was better than the complete head-wrap with tape that some clients liked -- the tape was always a bitch to get out of my hair afterwards.

I was still wearing my red stilettos, which were now nicely complemented by the red gag. Good taste in slave decor, I thought to myself.

He pushed me back so I had to climb onto the stool to avoid falling over it. He unfastened my wrist cuffs from each other, pulled them up over my head and behind the pole, and clipped the cuffs to an attachment point. This pulled my breasts up and forced me to arch my back. Then he took the cuffs off my ankles, walked around behind the pole, and grabbed an ankle in each hand.

He pulled me off my feet, and I gasped as my full body weight was taken up by my wrist cuffs. The cuffs were designed for the job, wide and well padded, so I knew I could hang there for a long time without them sawing my wrists the way ropes or metal shackles would have done, but it was still painful for my arms and shoulders. It wasn't nearly as bad as being suspended in full strappado, but it was in the same ballpark.

He pulled my ankles back and crossed them behind the pole, securing them with several turns of cotton rope. Then he walked back in front of me to admire the job. The pole between my shins forced my knees apart, and because my ankles were crossed behind it, the angle made the spread much wider than you would expect from the diameter of the pole. I was forced into a backwards curve, my pussy on full display and my breasts pulled up and out by my bent-back arms. The position was almost unbearably sexy, and I felt my pussy start to juice up as I took in my own exposed vulnerability. It was only mildly painful at the moment, but I was glad I wouldn't be left like that for more than an hour and a half, tops. I'm good at withstanding and even enjoying all manner of stress positions, but my endurance isn't infinite.

He admired my simply but helplessly bound body for a while, then started investigating my pussy with his fingers. Two went inside and his thumb began making tiny circles on my clit. That stimulation on top of the sexy position made the first orgasm of the evening build and explode quickly. I screamed through the gag, stiffened, and would have arched my back if I hadn't already been stretched as far as I could go.

Although I'm sure he wasn't there for my pleasure, he seemed to enjoy the sense of control, having wrung an orgasm out of me so easily. It wasn't the least bit involuntary, but he didn't know that. I was happy to let him go on relishing how much power over me was contained in his fingers and thumb.

He went over to the generously stocked toy shelves and picked up a flicker whip. He swept it through the air a few times to get the feel, then walked back to me and started flicking me on the belly and thighs.

I have to admit that he was quite the master of the flicker whip. Theo won't permit clients to use heavy whips because they can easily leave long-lasting marks or even scars if used too vigorously. But a flicker whip is designed to sting like hell but not to break skin. It had a thin, slightly flexible straight handle about a metre long, terminating in a short piece of braided cord. At the end of the cord was a tuft of bristles like a tassel. It was the bristles that were supposed to be the point of contact with the skin, and because they are very stiff and unyielding, in the right hands they could really make a victim hurt without leaving behind anything more than a bit of temporary redness.

They aren't really all that hard to use, but I've had some clients over the years that were pretty incompetent with them. I had one guy a while back who locked me on hands and knees into a doggy-style bondage frame, buckled a ball gag in my mouth, and began working me over with a flicker whip. His were evidently not exactly "the right hands": he didn't use the little flicking wrist action that most clients use to get the tassel to flick skin quickly but effectively. He just whomped me with if as if it were a regular whip, pulling it back and bringing it straight down on my skin, and mostly just hitting me on the back, thighs and bum with the braided cord. The cord was pretty light-weight, and without the proper action of the stiff bristles, it really didn't hurt all that much. Amateur, I thought to myself.

Unfortunately, I forgot to carry on and let out muffled screams behind the gag as if the whip were really killing me. When he realized that he wasn't having much effect, he decided to move on from large areas of skin to more sensitive parts. Most clients do that at some point, trying to wring maximum effect from Theo's -- I won't say tame, but I'll say non-damaging -- toys. At this point, I was pretty confident that Theo would be watching the cameras to make sure he didn't keep working over the same area long enough that it would hurt for days and spoil the next client's fun.

He started with nipples. He was beginning to get the hang of the flicking action a little more, and when he gave little underhand flicks where my breasts were dangling down, he got my sensitive nipples with the bristles two, three, four times in a row, I didn't have to pretend that it hurt. I let out muffled yelps around the ball gag, and I finally started to feel the first stirrings of the orgasms I get from pain.

Before my nipples got long-term sore, he moved on. Or more accurately, down. As they almost all do, he started whipping my pussy. That really hurt. Even though my legs were spread and my pussy was pulled a little open, my outer lips were still mostly closed and were protecting the most sensitive bits, as nature intended when she designed the female apparatus. Still, those bristles were making a stinging mess of my whole pubic region.

Still not satisfied, he reached down and used the fingers of one hand to pull first my outer, then my inner lips wide apart. Now he had good access to my clit and all the sensitive areas of the innermost parts of my pussy. He pulled back the whip and did another underhand swing, bringing it up as hard as he could.

He mostly hit his own fingers. "Shit!!" he yelled, and sucked his fingers. I was glad that I was gagged, as it made it easier to stifle the fit of giggles that was trying to come out my mouth. Never piss off someone who has you locked helplessly in a bondage frame.

Bluto, on the other hand, reminded me of an expert fly fisherman, sailing his lure through the air and jerking his wrist back at the last moment to make it flick the water and then jump back before the fish could get a good look at it and realize that he wasn't actually going to bite down on a tasty insect. The lash hurt like a hornet sting, although without the lingering pain of injected venom.

He worked over my belly and thighs, and then moved on to the bits of buttock that weren't obstructed by the pole. Then he started whipping my breasts, which hurt more than the larger skin areas. First he just did the large areas of breast skin, but then he got on to my nipples, right, left, right, left. With each flick, I made a stifled yelp of pain. I could feel another orgasm starting to build as my body responded to the abuse it was suffering. Each hornet sting ratcheted up my excitement another notch.

Speaking of abuse: my forearms where they contacted the pole were feeling the pressure of my entire body weight against the padded but still very solid pole. The same went for the insides of my legs, just below the knee where they were pulled tightly against the pole by my crossed, bound ankles. I kept trying to spread my knees farther apart to ease the pressure, but it only helped a little. I thought I could feel bruises beginning to form.

Now that he had both nipples ringing with pain, he moved on to my pussy. The lash flicked hard against my sensitive lips, pulled slightly apart by my tightly spread position. This redoubled the pain from my nipples and the rest of my skin. My clit was more or less protected by my inner lips, but it was getting enough punishment that my incipient orgasm began to force itself to the surface. My yelps of pain started to turn into yelps of pleasure (not very distinct from each other from behind the gag, but perfectly distinct to my over-stimulated brain). A series of small screams gradually built to a crescendo as a second orgasm washed over me.

Bluto let me hang there in peace for a minute while my breathing slowed from rapid pants to long, slow breaths of pleasure through my nose. While I did that, he went over to the toy shelf and picked out something else.

When he got back in front of me, I could see that it was a labia spreader. These come in all sorts of forms, from little silicone spring-like devices that sit just inside your inner lips, to fearsome-looking metal contraptions like speculums on steroids, designed to open up your whole pussy, not just your vagina. This one was in between. It consisted of a pair of straps, each with a clamp on each end. Bluto clamped one on the lower part of my left inner labia: it was rubber-covered so it didn't bite, but it had a slider to adjust pressure, and of course Bluto slid it to the maximum so it was pinching almost unbearably hard. Then he wrapped the strap once behind my thigh and around to the front again, where he applied the other clamp higher up on the same labia. He slid the same on the other side, and pulled the straps through adjusting buckles so my labia were pulled firmly into an obscene gape that revealed every tender bit that lay between them.