New York City Submissive Female

"You have to cum right here in the bar," he ordered. "Quietly, bitch." His fingers began rubbing her clit and g-spot, catching them in a pincer motion.

Squeeze. Rub. Squeeze. He couldn't tell what was arousing her more, the motion of his fingers or the cruelties from his mouth. "I'm going to use you, bitch. I'm going to finger-fuck you here, then I'm going to take you home, I'm going to whip you, and then I'm going to rape you. Do you want that, you — you stupid white whore?"

"Yes, master. Yes," she said hotly, her body shaking. Sue's breath was coming in rapid puffs, her cheeks pink as paint. "I'm your slave. I love being your slave. I wish you could beat me and rape me all night long... oh...oh..." She knocked over the Diet Coke she'd been drinking, but managed to keep her head motion to a limited jerk.

Phil snapped the collar around her neck and attached the leash, then dragged her out to the street.

"Strip to your underwear."

Sue's eyes flitted around nervously, realizing she was about to expose herself like never before.

"What if I get arrested, master?"

"Underwear is not illegal, you stupid bitch."

Very slowly, frightfully, she took off her clothes. She had on red lingerie, a flimsy red bra and a tiny square-shaped thong, its back strap as thin as a pencil.

A crowd of onlookers was gathering. Thankfully, there were no children among them, but plenty of men and teen boys with lecherous grins and evil eyes. Several had whipped out cameras or camcorders.

"This girl is my slave," said Phil loudly. "Isn't she a whore?"

The crowd hooted in appreciation.

"Anyone want to cop a feel? Put your hands anywhere you want."

Phil could barely see Sue for a few minutes after that, so many were the hands squeezing her tits, yanking them, grabbing her ass. Phil had only said hands, but lips and tongue were at play as well, some gentle, some not. Sue didn't open her mouth, but tried to keep her lips pointed in the right direction. One laughing man licked her arm from elbow to shoulder.

Finally, Phil had enough. He used the leash to pull his slave away from the crowd, dragging her across the street. Men stamped their feet, whistled, and cheered.

The entire hotel lobby stopped and stared at this beautiful lingerie-clad woman walking in on a leash.

"Clean my shoes, slut."

Sue looked around wildly. Phil knew what she was thinking — this was private property, what if the hotel chucked them out? The risk only added to the thrill. He could only hope the largely male staff would enjoy the show too much to do so.

Not looking up, Sue took the baby wipes out of her purse, sank to her knees, and wiped the shoes clean.

"Stand up and put your hands behind your back."

He snapped the cuffs on her. "Now pay your respects."

Sue's cheeks were flaming, but she obeyed her master. He smirked at the onlookers as she kissed his shoelaces, crawled between his legs, pressed her lips against his rear, and ended up with her lips on his zipper.

He pulled her to her feet and dragged her to the elevator. Quite a few people followed, even a pair of couples who had been eating in the restaurant. The elevator was so full that Phil had to ask some to leave. Not a single other button was pressed than their floor.

When they exited, Phil decided to release her hands and force her to the carpet. He quite enjoyed the murmurs and shocked whispers as Sue gamely crawled to his room. On the way, he gave her a few kicks, hard enough to hear mutters of "oh my god" and "why does she let him do that?"

He had to let go of the leash to open the door. True to form, Sue rose to her feet.

"Did y'all enjoy the show?" she asked to general catcalls all around.

"How much does this cost?" a man asked. "Suck my cock!" shouted out another. "Do you make a lot of money?" asked a woman.

"Sorry, I'm not for sale," she replied sweetly. "But here's a taster." She stripped off her bra and panties and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor, soon to be snatched away. She stood there, saucy and arrogant in her nudity, then impulsively grabbed a man and kissed him. While he started to paw her tits and ass, she gave another man a come-hither look.

Before long, the men formed a line, one of the women joining in. Phil was stunned to see Sue neck shamelessly with them all, giving away her mouth, tits, cunt, and ass like candy to their eager hands and lips. Was there no limit to her depravity?

"Bye, now!" she called out when Phil yanked on the leash to pull her into the room. "Master, that was wonderful, wonderful!" she chortled, laughing on the floor.

Phil shut the door, removed his shoes, and took the long chain. He'd observed earlier that the one of the lights, above the desk, was attached to a large hook. By standing on the desk, he could reach just high enough to remove it and loop the long chain around the hook.

"Stand under the hook with your hands above your head, whore," he told her. She obeyed, and he used the short chains to bind both ankles and wrists together. Then he attached the long chain to her bound wrists.

Sue was now standing with her ankles bound together, and her wrists also bound together above her head. A chain effectively bound her to the ceiling.

"You can swing back and forth, but can't otherwise move, can you slut?"

"No, master."

Phil slapped her again. He felt the joy of the dark side course through him, the joy of sadism, of taking pleasure in another's pain. The smile that still had not faded from her lips drove him wild with desire.

He took out the whip, stretching out its long, fearsome lash, stroking it approvingly. "I wonder what it feels like?" he said. He saw the fear in Sue's eyes. The fear stroked his ego, made him feel powerful.

Phil slid the whip in front of her nose, letting her take in the smell of fresh nylon. He took the tip and touched it to her face, her back, seeing her gasp, wondering what pain lay in store.

"You know," he said idly, "I've never used a whip before. I might get it wrong."

This was true, but Phil didn't mention he'd spent time at the office researching this online.

Facing Sue, he stepped back a few paces, then launched the whip into the air. It hit the corner of the bed with a loud crack.

He saw the shadow of fear cross her face, and felt his cock respond.

"Turn around, cunt," he ordered.

Beautiful golden hair. A sensuous, curvy back, and a delectable round ass. Filthy thoughts occurred to Phil.

He brought the lash down on her back. She screamed.

Phil's blood ran cold. He hurried around to face her. "Are you all right?" he asked, worried.

True to form, she was as cool as a cucumber. "This is wonderful, master. You're doing great." He could scarcely believe his ears.

"Are you trying to reassure me?"

"If I have offended master, he is welcome to punish me," she said shrewdly. "Don't be scared if I scream and shout. If I don't use the safeword, assume you can keep doing whatever you want."

Phil kissed her, his cock digging into his stomach. Kissing a woman is different when she is chained up. Her body bends backward, with elastic force from the chain pushing her right back into your face. He looked into her glittering eyes and slapped her again, enjoying the sight of her flinching, before resuming his place at her back with the whip.

At first he kept interrupting himself to check on her, scared to see tears rolling down her face, but she kept urging him on. He had to push himself hard, resisting the urge to comfort or massage her. Soon he learned to enjoy her screams, to take a sadistic delight in her cries of pain. He whipped her back. He whipped her ass. The lash flew slowly, deliberately, giving her wails the time to set his blood on fire.

He groped her cunt. To his surprise, it was wet as sweat.

"Why are you turned on by pain, slut?"

"I'm turned on by humiliation, master."

"I'm finding... I'm finding myself turned on by cruelty. I'm like a monster, I'm enjoying hurting you."

"That's great, my lord."

"But I like to look in your eyes when I hurt you," he said, drawing closer to her. The websites he'd checked gave strict instructions on where a whip could safely go, and the list was short — basically just back and ass, and even that only from a safe distance.

He climbed on the table and unhooked her. She toppled to the ground, sore and battered. Phil circled around her, more aroused than ever at how helpless she was.

He removed the long chains. He had her kneel on the bed, legs folded under her. Her ankles could then be tied together with the short chains. He put her arms behind her back and joined her wrists the same way.

"Now you are even more helpless than yesterday. You can't rise. You can't move. You are totally at my mercy. And today," he gloated, "I can hurt you."

Sue was writhing in her chains, wiggling her body, as if trying to seduce him further. He took his cock and drew it over her face, leaving drops of precum. She hungered for his cock, straining to bend forward to kiss and lick it, but was too tightly bound to go further. The expression on her face was of purest bliss.

He clenched his fist and brought it to her face, pressing his knuckles into her lips. She kissed them, opening her mouth to lick them. He kept pressing his fists into, her cheeks, nose, even eyes. Still the same welcoming smile.

He kissed her gently. Then, without warning, he punched her in the stomach.

Sue cried out as much in surprise as in pain.

"How did you like that, whore?"

"I didn't expect it, my lord."

"But did you like it?"

Sue looked at the hungry, eager expression in Phil's face, the excitement, the rise of powerful emotions to the surface from where they had been buried for so long.

"Yes, master, I did."

From early childhood Phil had heard stories about the horrors of domestic violence. There had not been any in his own family, but the endless tales were all around him.

Fist on female flesh was a taboo so strong that even pornographers obeyed it. Whips and paddles can be freely found in porn, but not fist. A fist may be thrust into a girl's pussy or ass, but never anywhere else. Girls may have cocks jammed into their mouths, be violently fucked, even choked — but punching and kicking remains verboten.

Phil's greatest fantasies were the smashing of strictures, the rending of rules. It was Sue that he was hitting, but he felt no anger towards her. It was against every tract that told him that his desires were wrong, every lecture on TV he'd heard about what a pig he was, every bitter remembrance, every angry blog post, every one of the hundreds of sources of guilt and shame that he carried in his memory.

Phil was not trying this blindly. He'd practiced punching himself a few times that afternoon, just to get a feel for it. He beat Sue in the stomach, on the breasts, on the legs. Each cry of pain was music to his ears, music that left his heart pumping and his cock hard.

Sue was tied too tightly for him to punch her cunt, but he was able to maul it, thrusting his fingers in roughly. It was wet enough to take his fingers easily. He tried molesting her with one hand while he punched her with the other.

"You're crying."

"Yes, master," she sobbed, "but don't stop. Can you feel how wet I am?"

"You're crying and turned on at the same time?"

"Yes, my lord," she sniffed. "It hurts so much, but it feels so good."

There was a knock on the door.

"Go and answer it, whore," said Phil coolly. He unhooked the chains, but left them on. He dove under the bed covers, but he could easily see Sue from the mirror on the closet door.

"We had a complaint about screaming in this room..."

"Oh, sorry about that. That was me. We're, um, playing a game."

"Are you being sexually assaulted, ma'am?"

"No, no, nothing like that. It's just a game."

Phil would have given a good deal to see the expression on the man's face. He imagined what it would be like to look at Sue, naked, in chains, with tear stains and disheveled hair, yet with the same winning smile and calm voice she always had.

"Ma'am, I have to ask. Are you a prostitute?"

"As it happens, I'm not, but what I do in my private life is quite frankly none of your business," said Sue frostily. She shut the door without another word, then crumpled to the floor and crept like a dog towards Phil.

A feeling of power came over him, a power he had felt absent all his life. He went over and chained her ankles, then her wrists, leaving just enough room for her to keep crawling. He pulled her with the leash.

Her chains clinked.

Each clink was a vow of submission, a reminder that something wonderful had happened to him. Each clink excited him, aroused him, told him that Sue was his slave, his property, his to do with as he liked.

Phil circled her, drew back his foot and kicked her in the ass. She yelped, and as she fell to the ground her chains clinked again, thrilling him. He wanted to kick her again and again. No. He must humiliate her.

"Look at me, slave."

He was astonished to see a smile on her face. "If you liked that, kiss my foot, bitch. Kiss the foot that kicked you."

Sue didn't just kiss the one foot, she necked with it, as adoringly as if it was a long-lost lover. Then for good measure she did the other. Phil pulled it back. She tried in vain to crawl after it, but was hampered by the chains. Moving faster than she could, Phil aimed another kick, this time from the side.

Sue screamed. Her pain only made his pride puff, his cock jerk. He embraced the sadism, the cruelty. For so many years he had suppressed his emotions, tolerated the rudeness, the condescension, the smug superiority of others. Never yell. Never fight. Never resist. Turn the other cheek. Give him your coat too. Go with him two.

Phil toyed with Sue, yanking on her leash and dropping it like a yo-yo, slapping her face when she rose, then literally kicking her when she was down. He knew she was in pain. He knew she was suffering. But he was drunk, drunk with power, corrupt with absolute power, just as Lord Acton had warned.

"You can end this at any time, cunt."

"I don't want to end it—"

Phil silenced her with a kick to the stomach, hard enough to make her scream. He wondered if there were eavesdroppers outside listening, then wondered what difference that would make. Sue tried to crawl away, but the chains were too hard to move in. Phil kicked her as if dribbling a soccer ball, while she tried vainly to dodge his feet, shameless as an animal.

When he finally stopped, she looked up, giving him a wan smile. He spat in her face, but her smile flickered for only a second. She sidled up to him, rubbing up to him like a real dog, until he patted her head. She looked up at him coyly, then entirely without prompting, pulled his socks off with her teeth and kissed his feet fondly.

She's learning, he thought. She really thinks like a slave girl.

"Good dog," he said. "Now pay your respects, cunt."

Clink. Clink. The sound of the clink felt like release from prison. The chains clinked as she prostrated herself to kiss his feet. They clinked as she kissed his cock, and he marveled at the leash in his hand. He yanked her down again and half-dragged her under him. As he felt her lips brush his ass, he jerked it backwards, smacking her in the face.

He turned around to face her. She was masturbating. She's turned on, he thought, amazed. The more I humiliate her, the more aroused she gets. Despite all he had done to her, he could not break her, though it sure was fun trying.

What was her limit? Did she have one? He thought of abusing her more and more, surely there was some point when she would break, when arousal would turn to anger. He viciously slapped her in the face, but her fingers only dug deeper into her cunt.

He spat on her face again, hitting her in the other cheek. "Undress me, slave."

White drops flowed down both sides of her face now. Phil felt the mania flow through him again as she undressed him. Each article of clothing coming off him, the hunger he could see in Sue's eyes, the streams of spit flowing down her cheek without shame, the clinking of the chains, all overwhelmed him.

When he was naked, she looked longingly at his cock. "Please, master, can I suck it?"

He wanted to say yes, but he could not. "I'm saving it for the rape, you stupid whore."

Her eyes lit up at the word rape.

"Then," she begged, "can I have something else to drink?"

Phil stared at her in disbelief, then shoved her back down on all fours, practically dragging her to the bathroom.

"Pick up the dog bowl," he ordered. "With your teeth. Put it in the tub and kneel behind it."

Once in the tub he tightened the chains, leaving her on her knees, hands behind her back, virtually immobile.

He could see the mix of emotions in her eyes, the lust, the joy, but also the nervousness and fear.

"Close your eyes, bitch. Leave your mouth open."

She was actually trembling a little. He revelled in the power he had now; he had his fists, his feet, the whip if he so chose.

He leaned in close and spat on her, on her eyelids, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her lips. In between spits he glugged more water from the sink. He spat on her tits, left white strains in her hair.

He stared for a moment at that unbelievable sight. She was tied up, naked, and helpless, her face covered in spit, dripping with degradation.

"How do you feel now?"

"Dirty. Shameless. Like a whore."

"You are. You're a filthy white cunt."

Sue dimpled. "I feel like I'm in heaven, master—"

The flow of piss cut her off. Not as much as yesterday; he hadn't drank as much. But plenty to wash all the spit off her face. Enough to soak her entire body, hair and all. She gamely kept her mouth open, struggling to swallow as much as she could.

She opened her eyes and looked down at the bowl.

"Do you want to drink it, slut?"

"If it will please you."

His jerking cock gave its own answer. Sue couldn't lift the bowl, her hands were chained behind her back, so she bent low on the ground to drink the remaining piss.

Phil's emotions were surging out of control. He wanted to break right there, force his cock into her mouth and shoot cum down her throat, but he had promised to rape her. He stood back, heart throbbing, breath heaving, while she gulped down more and more piss, defiling herself with his filth.

Finally he undid the chains and pulled her to her feet. Once she had washed herself off and brushed her teeth, he grabbed her in a tight bear hug, squeezing her so tightly she yelped. His lips were hot on hers, probing greedily into that incredible mouth that had performed this miracle. "Oh, master," she murmured. He jammed his fingers into her cunt, using the sawing motion to rapidly drive her to another orgasm, the pounding of the shower only adding to the intensity of the moment.

She knelt behind him, and he felt her nose try to make its way up his ass — before she had washed it!

"Don't break the rules, you filthy whore," he said, donkey-punching her. But the attempt had the effect she'd hoped. A surge of energy drove through Phil. He was descending into the jungle, into re-primitivized man, a man who thinks only with the lusts of his flesh, who knows nothing than his desire to dominate, to overpower, to feed his own insatiable appetite.

He mouthed obscenities when she washed his ass. He practically shoved her out of the tub. He punched her when she dried him off. He chased her on her knees out of the bathroom, kicking her in the ass, the stomach, anywhere he could. He grabbed her by the leash and dragged her to face him.

"What are you?"

"I'm your slave, master."