[Sasha Girl]

Damien keeps me in the dog suit for days, not even taking it off to wash me. After a while, I realise he must be giving me sponge baths while I sleep. I’d like to be awake when he does it, but I’m always too exhausted from the relentless fucking. And it is relentless, in the true sense of the word. He fucks me several times per visit and he visits often. Sometimes, he wakes me up in order to fuck me, other times I’m waiting for him, gagging for cock. This is by far the worst thing about my current predicament – and the most evil part of his plan. With my clit piercing fully healed, it’s easy to keep me in a constant state of arousal. All he has to do is strap me to the bed, face down. No matter how much I try to keep still, the metal bar rubs against my clit, exciting me. Making me ready for him. I spend a lot of time being tied down in this way and I dread it, more than the fucking.

Needless to say, I’m wet all the time now, but he is never satisfied. When he visits, the first thing he does is to press the button on his watch – really a remote control – causing the piercing to vibrate and my whole body to shake. He likes to see me shaking helplessly, likes to hear me whimper and whine into the gag. I hate being gagged, almost as much as I hate wearing the suit, but my wishes are irrelevant. Only Damien’s wishes count. I’m allowed to use my mouth to eat, drink and suck him off. If I even try to speak, I’m punished severely. The last time it happened, he tied me down and shoved a bottle up my pussy. It hurt so bad, I passed out. He left me like that, stretched and in pain, for I don’t know how long. When he came back and pulled the bottle out, I wept like a child. But I didn’t speak and I haven’t spoken since.

Locked up in the dungeon, in perpetual darkness, I have no concept of time. I know only that I have been his bitch for many days, maybe weeks. Perhaps this is why it no longer feels odd to relieve myself in the little pot he has left for me, or to let him wash me. My food, likewise, is served on the floor, in a little dish with the words “pet” written on it. He has to unchain me from the bed to eat, but he keeps me on a tight leash. As though expecting me to rebel against him at any moment. He is giving me far more credit than I deserve, because the simple fact is there’s no fight left in me, any more. No thought, beyond that of pleasing him. My only hope is to earn the right to be his slave again. To be allowed to walk upright and to speak, with his permission of course.

I haven’t even considered what I will do, if this doesn’t happen. In the back of my mind, the Surgeon’s words shimmer: “I won’t kill you until you beg for it.” Well, there is always that option.

I’m interrupted in my gloomy thoughts by the sound of a door opening, followed by footsteps. I know they are Damien’s footsteps, for I’ve learned to recognise them: like his father, he wears boots most of the time and it makes for a very distinct sound against the stone floor. The room is dark and I’m tied face down, as usual. Therefore, I don’t bother lifting my head and looking at him, but lie quietly, ignoring the twitching in my pussy.

“Hey, little pet, are you ready to be fucked?” He teases, though he knows the answer full well. I feel his hand on my wet lips and I whine eagerly, just as he has taught me. Suddenly, he leans down and starts undoing the straps keeping my gag in place, saying: “I believe I can trust you to be a good bitch now. What do you think?”

To my surprise, I whine in reply. The response is so automatic I don’t even have to worry about slipping up and speaking. He rewards me by mounting me, doggie-style, pumping into me slowly. I’m so turned on that it takes me only seconds to climax, which causes him to speed up his thrusts. Without the gag in my mouth, I whine and howl at the top of my voice, as he violates first my pussy and then my ass. After pumping my bowels full of his cum, he withdraws at last, wipes his cock on my fur. “I guess it’s time to take off that suit.”

This time, I am truly speechless. Fucked senseless, my limbs atremble, I wait for him to untie me and then unzip the suit. As he pulls it off me, I turn my head and gaze at him with tears in my eyes. He pauses what he’s doing long enough to flash me a sexy smile. “Do you wish to thank me, little pet?” I nod, mutely, still waiting for permission to speak. He has other ideas. Tugging the suit off me, he unlocks the chain from the bedhead and drags me off the bed. “Kiss my feet, then.”

Such is my gratitude that I don’t think twice about obeying. He still has his boots on and I kiss each one several times, before he stops me. “That’s enough. Now, kneel for me.” Did I hear him right? He wants me to kneel, not grovel on all fours? In a state of shock, I lie at his feet, until I feel him tugging at my chain. “I said, kneel, slave.”

Finally, I understand. Shakily, I draw myself up, so that I am kneeling before him with my head bowed. When I feel his hand on my head, I almost burst into tears.

“Shhh… it’s okay now,” he says, adding: “You may speak now, if you wish. I’m sure you have a lot you’d like to say to me.”

I nod, but words don’t come easily after my protracted silence. Worried about offending him, I manage to squeeze out: “Th-thank you, master.”

“You’re welcome.” His reply is formal, but the tenderness in his tone is unmistakeable. I can’t stop myself from glancing upward, whereupon I see him smiling down on me. “You’ve been a very good girl,” he tells me. Leaning down, he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. “Come, I have a surprise for you.”

All at once, I feel nervous. Not to mention, dizzy. I haven’t stood on my own two feet in weeks. Damien supports me as I sway, with one arm around my waist. “Lean on me, darling, don’t be scared. I can carry you quite easily, but I’d prefer it if you walked. We don’t have far to go and you could use the exercise.”

Leaning on him as instructed, I cringe inwardly. He is dressed impeccably, in a dark blue suit and tie, while I am naked and covered in sweat. The smell of it is strong in my nostrils, alongside the smell of cum. In a moment of paranoia, I even think I can smell my recently sodomised ass, though I know my bowels are clean. Noticing my distress, he stops. “Something the matter?”

“No, m-master… It’s just that… I’m so d-dirty.” I stutter with nervousness, but he merely chuckles at me.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” His hand tilts my chin up, so that he may look me in the eye. “Darling, dirty is how I like you.” Without further ado, he leads me to the door. The two guards are waiting for us there, with a change of clothes for me – a short, black leather skirt and a matching top. Damien dresses me himself, while the guards watch on in silence. The simple task completed, he faces me squarely. “A word of warning: what you are about to see may shock you. Whatever happens, try not to over-react, it tends to upset the patients.”

My heart leaps in my chest as I listen. I’m about to leave the dungeon for the first time, but I can hardly appreciate it, in light of his strange warning. Swallowing hard, I nod at him: “Y-yes, master.”

As we step outside and into the darkened hallway, I notice that I’m not wearing any shoes. I wonder why that is, it’s not like I can run. He has me collared and chained, for crying out loud. And right as I think this, I feel him turning the collar, adjusting it so that the chain hangs discreetly along my back.

“From now on, we hold hands,” he says, winking at me. “It looks more natural.”

Curiouser and curiouser. I let him take my hand and tug me down the hallway. Its walls and floor are made of concrete, looks like an underground passage of some kind. Presently, my suspicions are confirmed, as we come to a brightly lit square, containing a set of gleaming elevator doors. Reading the dial, I see there are no less than ten floors above us. My knees are suddenly shaky at the thought of where I’ve spent the past several months. The worst shock, however, is still to come. It happens as the lift doors open. In one of its mirrors, I see a thin, pale figure dressed all in black, with huge frightened eyes and the shortest, black hair. It takes me a while to recognise myself in that figure and when I do, I quail. Shaking and moaning, I stand rooted to the spot, unable to take another step.

Immediately, Damien is in front of me, shielding me from the image with his broad torso. “Darling, look at me. I said, look at me! Don’t make me slap you…” With effort, I raise my head and meet his gaze, tears streaming down my face. He wipes them away with his thumbs, as he sooths me: “Ok, I know you didn’t like seeing yourself in the mirror there, but darling… no one can go through what you did and come out unscathed. Besides, I happen to think you look great, and my opinion is the only one that matters. Right?”

I clasp my hands together miserably, feeling the stump of my missing finger. It’s not the only thing I’m missing, either. My lower lip trembles as I answer: “M-master, how can you s-say that? I’m so u-u-ugly.” I mean what I say. I almost wish he would put me back in the dog suit, so I wouldn’t have to look at my scarred body.

Slap! His hand blurs as he slaps my cheek, hard. “Snap out of it,” he says, brutally. “Your inner strength is what attracted me to you in the first place. Not your looks. However, when I say you look great… I mean it.” He pauses for effect, and then continues: “There’s nothing more attractive to me than a woman covered in scars. I look at you and I see beauty without vanity, courage to match the bravest of men and a spirit that endures. I look at you and I see a survivor. I know this might be hard for you darling… but from now on this is how I want you to see yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

My mouth hangs open as I stare at him, dumbfounded. What he just told me is by far the most amazing, beautiful, wonderful thing anyone has ever said to me. It’s heart warming and inspirational and so romantic it makes me weak in the knees. For a few rapid heartbeats, as I gaze into his dark eyes, I almost forget myself. I have to look away, just to keep from throwing myself into his arms. Not surprisingly, my voice is husky and filled with emotion as I finally answer: “Yes, master. Thank you… thank you so much.”

He flashes me a grin that would make any woman melt. “Don’t mention it.”

With that, he presses the elevator button again. This time, when the door opens, I step inside with him, my head held high. And it’s as though a veil has been lifted. In the mirror, the thin woman looks miraculously transformed, gazing at me calmly. Beside her, Damien’s handsome face is likewise calm, though a slight smile still plays on his lips. Catching me looking at him, he squeezes my hand. “We make such a great couple, don’t you think?”





Ding. The elevator stops and the doors start to slide open. I squint against the bright light, as Damien leads me outside. “Remember what I told you,” he says, repeating his earlier warning. “Stay calm, no matter what.”

I still don’t know what he’s talking about. Gazing around the brightly lit space, I see nothing to be concerned about. At least, not at first glance. As we start to walk across the room, I admire the polished floors, tall ceilings and ornate window frames. The whole area is bathed in sunlight and it feels glorious on my pale skin. Honestly, I’d love to curl up and go to sleep here, if only I could find a sofa or a lounge chair. That’s when it hits me. There’s no furniture in the huge room, no decorations on the walls either. Frowning, I look to the floor for any kind of marks left by furniture, and that’s when I notice the stripes. Hastily, I raise my head and scan the windows – sure enough, there are bars on each of them, painted white for camouflage.

What is this place? I want to ask, but he’s trained me too well. Never speak unless spoken to, or without his permission. Ok, let me think about this. What kind of a place has bars on the windows and no furniture? A hospital? Except this doesn’t feel like any hospital I’ve ever been in. For starters, it doesn’t smell like one. There are no doctors and nurses milling about, no patients shuffling down the wide hallways. In fact, it’s eerily quiet, now that I think about it.

“Come on darling, keep up.” Damien’s words cut through my thoughts unexpectedly, at the same time as we enter one of the hallways. Here, at last, I see a row of doors, painted the same cream colour as the walls. As we walk past the first one, I spot a small square window at eye level. I crane my neck trying to see inside, but we’re walking too quickly and all I see are stark walls. I reach the end of the hallway, feeling none the wiser, which frustrates me.

But then, we enter the next large room – and my frustration evaporates, in an instant. I have to clasp a hand over my mouth to suppress a cry of shock, as I take it all in: the TV and lounge set, a few plants, dining table and chairs. In amongst it, there are men and women, dressed in thin white gowns, most of them strapped to their chairs. There are two nurses walking amongst them, distributing pills. The vacant look on the patients’ faces completes the picture, telling me all I really need to know. I’m in a mad house, an asylum for the insane. So, the crime ring I’ve been tracking owns an asylum? The implications are tremendous and my mind is busy trying to work out exactly where I am. Looking out the window, I see only treetops and blue sky. Damn it, it’s too high!

For the second time, Damien’s voice interrupts my thoughts: “Ok, as you’ve probably guessed this is the patients’ common room. Luckily, they’ve just been doped. Sometimes, it can get pretty wild in here… Well done for staying calm, by the way.”

I nod at him weakly, trying to hide my nervousness. Now that I know what this place is, I can’t help but worry. Wondering why he has brought me here. Does he plan to strap me to a chair and dope me up? He feels my hand shaking and gives it a squeeze.

“Come, your surprise is over in the next wing.” There is no nastiness in his tone, nothing to suggest that something sinister is afoot. Yet I have just such a premonition, as I follow him through the common room and into the next hallway. The feeling is so strong that I am tempted to pull my hand away and run. The only reason I don’t is because I know he would catch me, drag me back to the dungeon and punish me. As we stop in front of one of the doors, I’m painfully aware of the heavy chain dangling from my collar. Damien must be reading my mind, because he takes hold of it at that exact moment.

“Ready?” His other hand is on the door latch, unlocking it. Whoever is inside that room, they are a prisoner, as surely as I am. I nod, obediently. Thinking, please just get it over with.

He pushes the door open and waits for me to step inside. I hear him walking in behind me, shutting the door quietly. At the same time, my eyes scan the room, empty except for the bed in one corner. A man is lying on it, his wrists and ankles strapped down tight. Like the rest of the patients, he is stripped of his clothes and dressed only in a light gown. I can see his chest moving under the thin fabric, his breaths are shallow and fast. He is afraid, but of what? Whom? I stare at his face more closely and notice him staring back at me with wide eyes. He seems familiar somehow, though it’s hard to tell with all his hair shaved off. I force myself to take a step closer, still thinking. As I do so, he calls out my name: “Miss Patterson!”

His voice is shaky, as though he has seen a ghost. But if the man on the bed is shocked, he isn’t the only one. Because the sound of his voice is the last piece of the puzzle, the thing that lets me recognise him instantly. For a second I just stand there, thunderstruck. Then I blurt out: “Jones, is that you?”

I regret it instantly. Not only is it a stupid question, I’ve just broken the rule against speaking. Turning my head, I see Damien shaking his head at me. “It’s ok, darling. I want you to speak. Go ahead… tell him exactly what you think of him.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Jones was my partner, the one who betrayed me. Sure, he doesn’t look too comfortable right now, but that doesn’t alter what he did. It sure as hell doesn’t exonerate him. Taking another step closer, I sum up what I think of him in a single word:

“Traitor.”

Jones flinches as though I’ve struck him. When he starts talking, it’s in a continuous stream – veritable verbal diarrhoea: “Please, Jane, it’s not what it seems like, I didn’t betray you of my own free will, honest I didn’t. You’ve seen what they’re like, I can see it on your face. You know they can make a person do anything…”

I cut him off icily: “I don’t see any marks on you Jones. The Surgeon always leaves marks on those he tortures. And as far as I know, you have no family, no loved ones to worry about. So please… do tell – how did they make you betray me?”

The man who used to be my trusted colleague stares at me in silence. When his mouth next opens, no sound comes out. I’m so disgusted I can’t stand looking at him, any more. So I take a step back and I turn my back on him. It’s a mistake, because it lets him see the chain. There is a sharp intake of breath from the bed, followed by a “holy fuck”. I try not to let it get to me, but I can feel my face turning red all the same. My shame intensifies when Damien tugs on the chain, making me stumble. He isn’t doing it to embarrass me, however. Instead, he brings me close and helps me regain my balance by wrapping an arm around my waist affectionately.

“Pay no attention to our patient,” he murmurs in my ear. “He’s a dead man, anyway.”

Pulled against his firm body, inhaling his familiar scent, I shiver delicately. As always, I’m grateful for his presence, though I do have one more question to ask. “Master?” I make it a whisper, because I don’t want Jones to hear me addressing any man in this way. “Forgive me for asking… but the Surgeon said my partner was long gone. I don’t understand what he is doing here.”

Damien’s hold on me tightens imperceptibly, as he answers: “He was gone, darling. It took a lot of work to track him down and bring him here, alive. Particularly as I had to keep it a secret from my father.”

At this, I raise my head and stare at him, searchingly. “You mean…?” I trail off, not knowing what it is I’m asking. His dark eyes gaze back at me, sparkling with excitement.

“That’s right, my darling slave,” he says, seriously. “I got him back, just for you. Now, tell me… how would you like him to die?”

For a long time, I don’t know what to say. On the inside, I am a cauldron of emotion, but on the outside I am frozen. Thinking about agent Jones, tied down to that bed, helpless. He’s a traitor and a coward, and he deserves to die. On the other hand, killing him won’t take back what he did. It will simply remove him from the reach of the law. Thus thinking, I shake my head slowly. “I… I’m not sure I want you to kill him.”

Now it’s Damien’s turn to look surprised. “But darling, that makes no sense.” His brow furrows then grows smooth again, as a look of steel comes over his features. “Besides, I didn’t ask if you wanted him dead. I asked how you wanted him to die. As for me killing him, that’s something you don’t have to worry about. Since I have no intention of stealing the honour from you.”

The blood drains from my face, as I process these words. Apparently, Jones has heard it, too, because I can hear him struggling in his bonds, whimpering: “Please don’t kill me… please have mercy…”

“Mercy is for the weak,” Damien tells me, fixing me with his dark gaze. “You’ll be doing the world a favour by killing him. And you’ll be making me proud.”

Still, I hesitate. “What if I refuse?” I quake as I ask this, but he merely smiles at me. Without releasing me from the embrace, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a Polaroid picture. Wordlessly, he hands it to me. As I take it from his hand, I note the date in the corner. It’s from a month ago, well after I was captured. Then I see the people in it, a man and a woman – and my hand starts to shake.

“That’s my sister,” I say, breathlessly. My sweet, innocent sister, who has dated a total of three men in her young life, is in the photo. Naked, tied to a bed, with a man on top of her. It’s not a large picture, but I would know that profile anywhere.

The man in the photo is Jones.

As I lift my gaze, my jaw is set. “Who took this photo?” Not that it matters much, but I still have to know. Damien shrugs nonchalantly.

“One of my colleagues. It was sheer dumb luck. I don’t even know why I asked for the surveillance, I already knew enough about your family.”

I’m not sure I believe him, but I have no desire to question him further. For one, I doubt he would be inclined to answer. Two, Jones has worked out what is happening and is making a ruckus.

“Jane, no! Don’t listen to him! I was framed, I was set up! I swear to God, I didn’t know she was your sister! She was out of it, she must’ve been drugged…” He starts sobbing, in genuine distress. Strange, how he thinks this will make any difference.

I look at Damien and he looks at me. A silent yet perfect communication takes place, at the end of which he pulls out a knife. Hands it to me while stepping away. “Take your time darling. I’ll be right outside.”

Yes, master. I think, and then I turn toward the bed. “Say your prayers, asshole. I’m all out of mercy.”






I have never thought of myself as a violent person. As anyone that has ever worked with me could testify, I am always in control of myself: or was, until today. Walking up to Jones, strapped to the bed before me, I don’t think of myself as an agent. I don’t even think of myself as a woman, because a woman would have some control left – whereas I have none. The only thing I have is rage. Blind, uncontrollable rage such as I have never experienced before. I can feel it building up inside me, with each step that I take. With each step, Jones’ pleas grow louder, though I can hardly hear them now. It’s as if the volume has been turned down, which is just as well because I don’t want to hear anything he has to say.

All I want is to hear him scream.

Leaning over the bed, I grab the thin cotton gown and rip it off his foul body. He screams something at me, in a high-pitched voice. The words I can’t process, the fear I can. He reeks of it, in fact. I wonder if he stank like this while he raped my sister. Snap.

“Fucking asshole, fucking coward rapist piece of shit fucking cunt!” I don’t realise I’m screaming, until the last curse is out. His mouth is a silent ‘O’ of terror and that is as it should be. Since this is the moment of reckoning. The fate that in his arrogance he thought he could avoid. Growling loudly, I reach between his legs and grab his limp cock. Stretching it taut, I feel his hot piss running down my hand. No mercy, I feel no mercy. Only hatred. “No one hurts my baby sister.” Snap.

Screaming, glorious screaming fills my ears. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sweeter sound. Blood sprays all around me as I lean down once more. The knife is sharp and his balls are small. They come off easily, too easily in fact. My hand keeps squeezing, though he can’t feel it any more. Fucking asshole, he’s not getting away with it that easily. A red haze falls over me. No, not red: alizarin crimson. That is the colour of blood, in artists’ terms. I grin down at the piece of shit that hurt my sister. “We need more paint.” Snap.

His screams are growing quiet, despite everything I’m doing to keep them coming. So weak, he’s so weak. Why, I remember poor Betty lasted at least ten minutes after the Surgeon gutted her. Tugging at the mass protruding from his stomach, I string it out around his neck – loosely, so as not to choke him. “You deserve a slow death.” His body convulses, his eyes staring at me glassily. There’s no remorse in them and there never will be. In a final burst of anger, I slam the knife through his throat, all the way to the hilt. “Rot in hell, where you came from.”

Snap. The rage is gone, extinguished along with Jones’ life, in its place a dull stupor. I gaze around me slowly, as though seeing it all for the first time: the mutilated body, the blood-spattered walls, the sheets stained red and dripping bloody droplets on the floor. My agent’s brain duly informs me that this is the scene of the crime. Ipso facto, I am the criminal. It is a chilling thought and hard to accept, at first. But as I lift my hands before my face and stare at them, I see the hands of a murderer: grotesque and bloodied, with one finger missing and the rest curled like claws. All of a sudden, I feel sick. Sinking to my knees, I try to wipe the blood off on my clothes, but they too are sticky wet. The smell of death is everywhere, permeating my skin, my nostrils – my very soul.

Inexplicably, I find myself rocking back and forth, with my eyes closed. Thinking: “Oh God, what have I become?”

Right then, I hear a familiar sound, a heavy footstep echoing off the tiles. Still, I keep rocking, unable to stop. A few seconds later, his arms are wrapping around me, tightly. It’s just as well, because the moment he does it I go berserk. Screaming and thrashing around, I let it all out: all the horror and the pain, the fear and self-loathing that I feel. In response, he tightens his hold until he’s practically crushing me, encircling me in a grip of steel. It’s an awesome display of power and it leaves me breathless, in more ways than one. I keep struggling for a while longer, feeling his hard body against mine. When at last I cease, I am spent, my head hanging low. He loosens his hold at once and kisses my neck, shooting darts of pleasure down my spine. As I swoon in his arms, I feel his hot breath in my ear, whispering:

“Well done, baby. Even my father would be proud of you. Just one thing… Next time, when you’re going through hell, remember to call my name.”

I can’t say anything to that, because I’m too worn out. However, I can’t help but wonder what he means by “next time”. What other hell is he planning to put me through? He interrupts my thoughts, saying: “You’re a bit of a mess, darling. Let’s get you cleaned up and then we can go back to your room, yes?”

There’s nothing I can do but nod. From my position on the floor, I watch him extract the knife from Jones’ throat and wipe it on the edge of the bed, before sheathing it. Belatedly, it occurs to me that I just missed the perfect opportunity to take him on and win. He left me untied and armed with a deadly weapon. If only I had kept my wits about me… but it’s too late to think about that now. Besides, chances are I wouldn’t have escaped, even if I won. That’s the thing about insane asylums. They’re just like prisons, easy to get into and near impossible to get out of.




Inside one of the large bathrooms, Damien is all business. “Strip.” He orders me, as he sets me down. I want to collapse and curl up into a ball, but he doesn’t let me. “I said strip.” Repeating the command calmly, he steps back and picks up a shower hose off the wall. As distraught as I am, I manage to obey him. Swaying weakly, I unzip my skirt and let it fall. Then I peel off my top, grimacing as it slides over my face.

“Good girl,” he says and he turns on the tap. I shriek as the cold water hits me, in a powerful stream. The tiles beneath my feet are dyed red, as Damien plays the jet over my head and body, both. Once the water is running clear, he stops. Picking up a brush and a bar of soap, he walks over to me. He scrubs my hands first, paying particular attention to the fingernails. Then he turns me around and starts to soap me up, all over. When I feel his hand between my legs, I gasp. His finger slides over the metal piercing, rubbing against my clit. “Patience, baby.”

The second hosing off is a lot quicker than the first, but no less thorough. He disposes of my clothes and his own blood-smeared top, as well, shoving them in a nearby bin. After that, he rinses the entire bathroom. By the time he’s done, there isn’t a drop of blood to be seen. This fact alone makes me feel better. I stand there shivering, waiting for him to bring me a towel. But he merely strolls over to me and grabs hold of my chain. Yanks on it so hard, he almost pulls me off my feet. Growling: “Turn around and place your hands against the wall.”

I hesitate for only a second and he uses it as an excuse to shock me. That is, he pushes a button on his fake watch and activates my piercing. The effect is instantaneous. As my clit starts to vibrate, I twitch and shake, struggling to stay upright. He “helps” me by tugging on the chain and spinning me around. I have to put up my hands as I’m shoved against the wall, to stop my face from smashing into it. Mewling in fear, I feel him taking up position behind me, kicking my legs open. I don’t understand why he’s treating me so roughly, after what I’ve just been through. Also, I worry about someone walking in on us. The bathroom has no lock on its door and there are nurses walking around outside. What if…

And at that exact moment, a woman’s voice exclaims, from behind us: “Hey! What’s going on here?”

On hearing it, I want to run away and hide. I’m painfully aware of the tiny vibrator buzzing at my clit, my naked body with its legs spread, the collar and chain around my neck. Damien, however, is un-phased. After snapping at me – “don’t move, bitch” – he turns his head and calls out: “It’s ok, Susie. This one isn’t a patient. She’s my slave.”

My face burns at his words. I’ve never been more humiliated and I tremble, expecting a shocked reaction from the nurse. Instead, I hear her sighing with relief. “Oh, Sir, it’s you. I beg your pardon, I didn’t recognise you at first.” She turns to leave.

“Wait a second, Susie.” He calls her back, at the same time pulling out his cock and sliding it between my thighs. I have to work extra hard to suppress a moan, as the smooth head rubs against my throbbing, pulsing clit. The effort causes my legs to shake, while he talks to her calmly. “Now Susie, don’t panic, but there’s a bit of a mess in one of the cells, number 17. I’m going to get my men to clean it up later. In the meantime, if you could make sure no one goes in there, I would be most grateful.”

“Sir, yes Sir,” nurse Susie recites, politely. “Would that be all?”

He doesn’t reply right away, but grabs my hips and impales me on his cock in one smooth move. This time, I can’t help the moan that escapes me, a low, guttural sound that echoes loudly in the tiled space. I shut it off quickly, but the damage is done. Helplessly, I listen to the nurse chuckling, while my master fucks me. He thrusts into me slowly, making my hips jerk. One, two, three thrusts – and to my horror, I can feel the orgasm starting. I grit my teeth for several thrusts more, fighting the inevitable. But my clit is too well stimulated, the hard cock sliding in and out of me with metronomic precision. As I first groan then begin to moan, he speeds up the tempo, pushing me relentlessly on. And then, he gives the order: “Now, bitch, stick out your tongue and whine for me.”

With my upper body pressed against the cool tiles and my pussy pounded from behind, I have no choice but to do as he says. It happens without me thinking about it, the way it has happened a hundred times before. The instant I stick my tongue out, my orgasm starts. I whine as I climax, the sound bouncing off the walls, on and on. When it is over, I hang my head in shame. He is far from finished himself, of course, and he keeps me impaled on his cock as he answers the nurse at long last.

“Sorry, Susie, I got a bit carried away there. She’s like a bitch on heat, as you can see.” Stroking my bare bottom with one hand, he concludes: “Anyway, I don’t need anything else, thank you. You may go now.”

I’m not sure why, but as soon as the nurse is gone I start to cry. Damien fucks me slowly for a few moments, seemingly uncaring. But then, he stops. “Darling, what’s the matter?” He’s using the kind voice again and it makes me cry harder. How can I explain the devastation that I feel? After some more coaxing, though, I tell him.

“I… I… I was so… hu-hu-humiliated,” I stammer, between sobs. He laughs loudly at that, like I just told him a great joke.

“You thought that was humiliating?” he asks and straight away, I start to get a bad feeling. It’s too late to take my words back, however. He is already pulling out of me. Grabbing me by the elbow, he spins me around and marches me toward the door. Nearly ripping it off its hinges, he flings it open and barks at me: “Get down on all fours.”

I make the mistake of resisting. “Please, master, I’m sorry.” In response, he kicks me in the backs of my knees, helping me to comply instantly. Then he is strolling forward, tugging at my chain.

“I don’t want to hear any more words out of your mouth,” he says, his tone cold. “You are to remain silent, until otherwise instructed. Anything you say can and will be used against you…” He chuckles at his own dark humour, while I reel in shock. It was bad enough being treated like a dog, in the private space of his dungeon – but to be paraded through the halls of an insane asylum, on all fours? Words cannot describe the degradation that I feel, at being treated thus. For the first few steps, the urge to get up and fight is great. The odds, however, are stacked against me – and the consequences of failure don’t bear thinking about.

So, I shuffle along on all fours, doing my best to keep up. To my horror, Damien heads straight for the common room. Finding it empty, he wastes no time in summoning an audience. As the staff pile into the room, I notice they are mostly male. Evidently, there are a lot of male nurses at this asylum. They grin as they stare at me, as though they see nothing wrong with a woman being chained and made to crawl. I’m so humiliated I can’t stop crying, but the worst is yet to come.

“Thank you all for coming,” Damien’s voice booms, above me. “I know how you all appreciate a good show, so I decided to give you one. Please, sit back and relax, while I teach my slave a lesson she will never forget. At least, I hope she won’t forget it…”

Amid much raucous laughter, he unbuckles his belt and slides it off his trousers. This done, he sits down in one of the chairs and pats his knee. “Come lie across my lap, bitch.”

Tremblingly, I do as he says. He helps adjust my position, before taking hold of my collar. “Now, baby, remember how I said mental torture was my specialty? Well, sometimes, just sometimes, it’s not enough. Today is one such time. What I’m trying to say, baby, is – I’m going to hurt you now.”

Lying across his lap, with my bare bottom sticking up in the air, I whimper softly. Between my legs, the piercing is still vibrating, because he never bothered to switch it off. Dimly, I wonder if this was intentional, but I don’t get to wonder for long. With the first loud “swish” of leather through the air, a hush falls over the room. He takes a few experimental swings, making me jump nervously. Then, when I least expect it, he strikes.

“Aaaah!” I cry out, as I feel the sting of leather on my soft cheek. He never pauses, but strikes me again, on the other cheek this time. The pain is not too bad, to begin with, but with each strike it intensifies. Soon, I’m crying and whimpering in earnest, my buttocks clenching and shaking. “Aaah! Mmm! Aaah! Mmmm! Aaah! Mmm!”

He belts me for a long time, long enough to make me scream. Only then does he stop, lets me fall to the floor. By now, my buttocks are on fire and I sob loudly as I curl up at his feet. But he still isn’t finished with me. Dropping the belt he was holding, he kneels behind me and pulls me up by the hips. “That’s the punishment over. Here comes your reward.” With that, he pulls my throbbing cheeks apart and spits on my ass hole. I whimper pathetically as I feel him lining up his cock with my tight opening. Please, no. Please, oh please.

“Aaah!” Another scream escapes me, as he rams into me, in a single thrust. His cock is rock hard, stretching me mercilessly, over and over. Having been sodomised many times in the past month or so, I should be able to bear it well, except for one problem. Each time his hips press against my cheeks, it re-ignites the sting of the belting. This makes me cry and tremble, adding to the humiliation of the rape. Not even another climax – brought on by the stimulation of my clit – helps to dull the pain. My suffering seems endless, so that I almost can’t believe it when it ends.

“Mmm… I enjoyed that,” he says, while pulling out slowly. The gathered men clap and cheer, obviously impressed by the performance. I keep my eyes shut tight, until I feel a tap on my shoulder. “Kneel, slave. I want you to clean me up.”

A shudder runs through me at these words. He can’t be serious, he just can’t be. But he is serious and when I don’t respond immediately, he jerks on my chain. “I gave you an order. Do not make me tell you twice.”

There is nothing for it but to do as he says. Shaking visibly, I pull myself to my knees. As I take his cock in my mouth, I hear someone whisper: “Fuck, that’s hot. I’ve got to get me a girl like that.” You fucking bastards, I think, but with my mouth full of cock I can’t speak. Mewing quietly so as to tune the voices out, I close my eyes and focus on my task. Suddenly, it’s as though the others in the room don’t exist. I’m aware of their presence, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is pleasing my master.

Damien notices the change in me at once. “Good girl,” he says, stroking my head. “That will do, now. I think you’ve learned your lesson.”

I look up at him and nod. “Yes, master. I have.”






After the adrenaline-laced afternoon I’ve just had, I feel surprisingly relaxed. So relaxed, I have trouble staying upright during the short trip back to the dungeon. Damien refuses to carry me out of principle, saying it wouldn’t look right in front of the nurses and the guards. Once we’re inside the room, however, he sweeps me off my feet and carries me quickly to the bed. Laying me on it gently, he padlocks the chain to the frame, before reaching for the blankets. As he’s tucking me in, I gaze up at him plaintively. Don’t go. Please, don’t go. He reads my expression and smiles.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m not going anywhere.” Without taking his pants off, he lies down beside me and cradles me in his arms. “Close your eyes. Don’t think about anything. You’re with me now… my little slave.”

There is something terribly wrong with this scene and deep down I know it. I just can’t be bothered to work out what it is, right now. My eyes are already closing, and my body is snuggled up comfortably against his. True, my buttocks still throb from the belting he gave me, but it doesn’t bother me. He didn’t hurt me bad, just enough to teach me a lesson. Wrapped in the protective circle of his arms, I sigh gratefully. Within moments I’m drifting off. I don’t think about anything upsetting, since he told me not to. It really is that simple.

I’m not sure how long I slept for, but when I wake up he is gone. For some reason, this upsets me, makes me feel abandoned. I realise that the feeling isn’t rational. After all, I’ve been waking up alone for weeks now. Nevertheless, I can’t shake it. Lying silently in the dark, I ponder on it for a while. Gradually, it dawns on me that I’ve become dependent on him, emotionally as well as physically. He alone provides me with food, drink, companionship… and of course, sex. I blush as I think this, while between my legs my pierced clit throbs. The feel of him is imprinted on my body, so that my mind no longer has control over it. In a true sense of the word, my body belongs to him – and now, it seems, he is stealing my heart, my very soul.

As this thought is formed, alarm bells go off in my head. Don’t let him, Jane! Remember he’s the devil. He may be beautiful, sexy and charming, but he’s still a killer. He’s the enemy – don’t ever forget that.

It’s a moment of clarity and it makes me mumble out loud. “Ok, ok. I remember. I’m Jane Patterson, the FBI agent. He’s a dangerous criminal, trying to scramble my mind.”

On cue, a deep, masculine voice replies: “Now, that’s not a very nice thing to say.”

Damien. Apparently, he’s been hiding in the darkness, waiting for me to wake up. It’s not the first time he’s done that, either. Why didn’t I think of that, before I opened my big mouth? It’s too late now, however. His footsteps are slow and deliberate as he strolls up to the bed, in pitch black. I think he must be wearing night vision goggles, because I sure as hell can’t see him. But when he lights the first candle, his dark eyes are fixed on me, unobscured by goggles of any kind. His expression is grim and seeing it, I cringe. “I’m sorry, master, I was just…”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to speak,” he says, icily. The way he says it makes me freeze, even as my heart starts to race. While I cower down in silence, he strolls away and lights the second candle – then the third and the fourth. His movements are unhurried, which adds to my anxiety, but of course that is his intention. By the time he’s finished I am trembling, a fact that he notices immediately. “I suppose you’re expecting a beating?” he says, smirking. His handsome face looms over me, as he leans in close and whispers: “You should be so lucky.”

Before I can react, he’s kissing me, his lips smooth and warm against mine. I can’t help the moan that escapes me when he runs his tongue over my teeth, and he takes advantage, pushing it into my open mouth. He explores me expertly, taking my breath away – literally. As he pulls out, his teeth graze my lower lip, biting first gently and then more forcefully. By now, I’m moaning in earnest. Excited by the pain come pleasure, I reach out to him, wanting to pull him close.

At that precise moment, he stops. Taking hold of my wrist, he rips my hand away from him. Grabs my other wrist and slams them both down, over my head. “No. You don’t get to touch me. I’m the enemy, remember?”

Is it my imagination, or is there pain in his voice? I want to tell him I’m sorry, yet again, but remembering his earlier rebuke I keep silent. He stares into my eyes for a few seconds longer, as though unable to tear his gaze away. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, he releases me. As he turns to leave, he delivers the parting shot: “Yesterday, I watched you kill a man… you butchered him like a piece of meat, yet you call me a criminal. Think about that, while you wait for me to come see you again. By the way, it might be a while.”

“No, please!” I cry, but he ignores me. He doesn’t even reprimand me for speaking, walking away without a backward glance. The devastation this makes me feel is indescribable. I’m alone with my thoughts and they aren’t pretty: gruesome images of agent Jones on the bed, his entrails spilling out of his abdomen. The photo of my sister, tied up on the bed, as he rapes her. Is she ok now? I forgot to ask Damien. I could have asked Jones, before I started cutting him, but I didn’t. I was out of control, as dangerous as the criminals that have captured me. Oh God, maybe it’s just as well that I’m locked up down here, chained to the bed.

Assailed by these dark and dreary thoughts, I curl up into a ball and wrap my arms around my sides. Then, predictably, I start to cry. I may be an FBI agent, but I’m first and foremost a woman – and right at this moment, I need someone to hold me. The only man who could help me is gone. For how long, I don’t know. Knowing him, it could be days. What better way to punish me?

The windowless room echoes with my cries for a long time.

Some hours later, I wake up in time to see the last of the candles flicker and die. I must have cried myself to sleep, though I did not intend for it to happen. Now, I’m doomed to spend my waking hours in total darkness, as well as isolation. Gingerly, I slide my legs off the bed and feel around for the bedpan. After relieving myself, I slide it away, so I wouldn’t have to inhale the smell of urine. As I drag myself back on the bed, I hold onto the chain. It helps to pull myself up, and it sooths me, too. Quite why this is, I couldn’t say. All I know is: the collar and chain help to keep me sane. By restricting my movement, they stop me from pacing anxiously, ensuring that I stay put. And that’s exactly as my master wishes.

No sooner do I think this, than a light goes off inside my head. He’s doing it again! He’s in my mind, messing with it… and he’s not even here. Oh God, oh God, what does it mean? Have I gone entirely, certifiably insane? A wry voice in my head tells me not to worry – I’m already in an insane asylum. I actually guffaw at my own joke, before dissolving into sobs once more. When my tears dry up, the darkness presses in on me, from all sides – silent, devoid of life of any kind. I’m so desperate for some kind of stimulus that I decide to touch myself. Reaching under the sheets, I run my hands along my naked body, from my mutilated breasts to my scarred thighs. It seems only natural to move to my mound, next. Gently, I finger the piercing over my clit, as a familiar calm settles over me. This time, I don’t berate myself for thinking about Damien. On the contrary, I recall the memories on purpose.

Thinking about him is what makes me come.