painslut part 4

Chapter 17
The next three days are entirely a blur. Many thoughts of the
possible things Pete had in store for me ran through my head. My God. He
was willing to pay just to be able to cut off a slaves toe. What would he
do to a slave, his till death do us part? Did he kill the previous girl?
Why? He had to have as much control as he needed. As I headed up for my
last breakfast, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I knew the answers to
those and many other questions.

We had the usual scrumptious breakfast. Would I ever be
allowed to enjoy another meal? Mistress took good care of her investment,
but Pete might just as well kill us as feed us. God help me. Missy and the
girls all came over and gave me a nice kiss goodbye. Candy was especially
nice, and Missy had to tap her shoulder before she let go of our embrace.
It seemed we would have become close if time was on our side. Not one of
them had a dry eye. Mistress thanked me for the excellent way I had
behaved and walked out of the room. Maybe, just maybe, at the bottom of
this woman’s cold heart, there was a tinge of regret for what she had done
to me. The girls followed her out, and Pete walked in behind them. He
looked about 50, a little gray around the temples, probably 6′ or so and a
solid, trim body. Saying nothing, he grabbed my hand and led me to his
car. The cool night air felt nice, as I wore nothing but my usual mealtime
loincloth. It was the first time in a week I had seen the sky or had a
chance to take a deep breath of fresh air. Would it ever happen again?
Maybe not, if the stories Missy told me had any validity. I slid in the
front passenger side after Pete opened the door. Pete entered on his side,
started the engine and drove off. Surprisingly, I wasn’t blindfolded. Pete
must not care if I know where he lives, probably because he felt there was
little chance of my ever telling anyone.
Not a word was spoken, After about 20 minutes Pete pulled a
right hand turn onto a dirt road that ended at a dead end. A bright full
moon glistened over still water in front of the car. I want to find out if
the video I watched was accurate and you were worth the 100K I paid for
you. Remove your loincloth slave. He reached in his pocket for a cigarette
and even offered me one. Thank you, Master Pete. Master will be
sufficient, slave. At least he’ll only be using a cigarette, not a cigar,
I thought. But I had read him wrong. He just sat and looked me over and
tossed his butt after 3 or 4 long drags. I’ll let you enjoy that before we
try anything. Through my mind went thoughts of having to go down on him
was maybe what he’d want. Kind of simplistic and definitely wrong.
Slave, now that you’ve enjoyed a smoke you need to show that
you can bring enjoyment to me. You are to take the lighter, push it in and
hold it for at least 15 seconds to get it good and hot. The, pull it out
and press it into your cock and hold it their. Failure to do so means I
tie your hands and do it five times myself. Go ahead. I had some choice.
Burn myself once or get burned five times by Pete. I pushed in the lighter
and held it in a long time, afraid to remove it. Now, slave. One long loud
scream, and I passed out.
When I awoke I found myself strapped to a table not a lot
different from the one used for my comfort just four days ago. I was face
down and well secured. Pete must have drugged me or something as I never
woke after the lighter, even while being carried in from the car. Pete sat
in a chair near my head and told me to remain calm. We would have a get to
know you type talk before even considering any playtime.
As I told you in the car, always address me simply as Master.
You know my name is Pete, but no need to be formal here. From discussions
with Carla. I know your girlfriends nicknamed me Peter Pain. Cute and very
true to my personality. And I’ve already shown you with the little
incident in the car just how much I relish inflicting pain. I am 100%
heterosexual. You are here to suffer, not to service me. I have no problem
relieving my sexual needs with an assortment of lady friends. I never
bring them or anyone here. I have a penthouse that I entertain in down on
the river. That is your only saving grace here. I know from Carla that
being with a man is something that was forced on you. Never again. Carla
should take some lessons from me on pain though. She did use an
interesting little session on you with the cigar taped to your penis. I
loved watching that and it probably was the deciding factor in my decision
to purchase you. Your ass will however, always have a large plug in it as
you will never have a moment in the rest of your life when there isn’t at
least some discomfort to remind you of why you are here.
My last slave was a young woman. I didn’t buy her. She was a
young prostitute that specialized in letting men rough her up. I made her
an offer she couldn’t refuse. Unfortunately for her, she failed to live up
to her end of the agreement, so I had to stop her from living at all. Far
too much damage had been done to her body to take the chance of anyone
finding her and tracing her back to me. We had been seen together when she
was a working girl. I had even suggested marriage to the young lady so she
could feel she had long term security, but she never really understood
what true abuse was all about. It’s a shame, She was really a beautiful
young woman.
Obviously, you can see that I’m an equal opportunity sadist.
Man or woman, I’ll be glad to bring anyone to the brink, and bring them
back, time after time. I’ve read extensively the writings of the Marquis
De Sade and countless other books on ritual torture and modern methods.
There were many renowned inflicters of pain through the generations that
I’d love to talk to.
Cindy, your predecessor lasted a little more than a month. She
became very much like a woman in love rather than a slave. She resisted my
attempts to teach her endurance and obedience. And the hassle became too
much of an effort. My time needs to be used producing pain, not fighting
with my slaves. If you show yourself to be the slave I believe you to be.
We should have years together. I’ll never tire of a receptive slave.
I do work. Out of love for what I do, not for financial
reasons. It does give me the opportunity to buy little toys like you.
Something that might be a stretch otherwise. Seldom will you see me more
than an hour or two per day and then seldom more often than four times a
week. Our sessions can be very intense and a couple of days to recuperate
keeps your attitude more positive. My varied hobbies and friends keep me
pretty busy. Now slave, speak freely and tell me about yourself.
Thank you master for this opportunity to serve you. I will try
my best to please your need. I have been a closet sissy slave all my life,
and just came out with Mistress Carla. I always loved to cross- dress and
fantasized about serving a DOM for many years. My only regret was not
having the chance to be transformed, as the other slaves were. My
dedication to you will be unwavering, but just perhaps, could I indulge in
dressing up in my free time.
We’ll work on that. You’ll find I can be very fair as a master.
More so, the more you satisfy my needs. You must totally forget the past
however. Carla has no idea who I am or where I live. She new me only as
Pete, and that isn’t my real name. Discretion is important, you know. No
one other than Carla and her slaves no you are with me. And they know
nothing about the real me. No one knows anything about this part of my
life and would be shocked to learn of it. We don’t have a little case of
prostitution here. And my secrecy means no one would ever tie me to the
missing Cindy. She was never here. Nor are you, if it ever came down to
it. Be good and you will eat well and enjoy other benefits. Your life
exists in this room and the adjoining bedroom and bath. There are no
windows. The door is always locked. A small fridge and microwave oven will
help you through times I’m not here to bring you a nice meal. You have a
nice Tv and video library in the other room. If you can live with 5-10
hours of intense pain per week, you will have a comfortable time here. Try
and get some rest. I have a dinner date. When I return, I have an idea
that might help with your feminine desires that could tie in with our
first session, which of course will be this evening. Before leaving, Pete
had me bend over and forced a very large plug up my ass designed so that
it could be locked in place. You will learn to eat the minimum necessary
to survive as it will be quite uncomfortable for you developa need to shit
when locked up. Over time you’ll learn to regulate yourself to keep the
discomfort down.
Not a chance that I could get any sleep in the time Pete was gone.
Thoughts of the life and expectations I had just four days ago
interspersed with fears of what lay ahead with a new owner. That and the
matter of fact attitude he had about taking Cindy’s life. How safe could I
feel. But then again, he got Cindy for nothing, and I cost him 100K.
Surely that would offer me some protection from any rash decisions. Only
time would tell, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter 18

Master entered carrying a bag from CVS. First day and I’ve
already brought you a present, and I’ll bet it surprises you. He dumped
out a small pile of Revlon fingernail polishes. You even get to choose
your own color. If this works out well. I’ll get you some matching
lipstick next time. See, despite the fact I’m going to hurt you, you need
some sort of goal you can appreciate working towards. Never say I am not
fair to you. The nail polish ties in nicely with my plans for tonight. I
noticed your long fingernails and thought a bright red might be nice. What
do you think. Red works great for me, master. Yep, red fingertips are the
order of the night, he said with a snicker in his voice.
I’m going to release your arms and allow you to do your nails.
There is a lot of trust being shown here so don’t disappoint me. Never
master,not with this unexpected treat. Thank you, thank you, thank you
master. Save your thanks for later slave. This isn’t a game here. Get your
nails done so we can start testing your resolve.
It wasn’t easy, with me lying on my stomach. But if I rested on
one elbow maybe I could get a decent coat of polish on. I wouldn’t even
consider a second one. I nervously opened a bottle and started on my
thumb. After ten minutes I had only done three nails on one hand. Master,
who had been reading a magazine, got up to check on my progress. Haven’t
you done this before? You’ve made a mess. Polish on your skin,and all over
the table. This won’t do. I’m sorry Master. It’s difficult when working in
this position.
I try to be nice and right from the start the appreciation I
get is excuses for making a mess. Well, this time I’m going to help, but
no more mistakes. Masters idea of help was not my idea of help. He left
the room and came back with some tools and a small vice. He proceeded to
bolt the vice to the table right next to the hand I had been working on. I
think that maybe you were shaking too much. He grabbed my left hand and
removed the polish with some remover he had also bought (so thoughtful of
him). He took the hand and put my thumb in the vice. Just a little bit of
pressure to hold it still for you. Now try again. By now I was shaking and
sweating. And my thumb looked worse the second time. He slapped me across
the face. Damn it all slave. I want to make you happy. Help you feel like
a woman, for who knows what reason, but I want to be as nice as I can as
your master. Three strikes and your out they say. So this time, I’ll do
it. But when I have to do your job for you, you get to pay me back with
screams. Your fingertips are going to be a beautiful shade of red. And you
are going to scream your thanks for my indulging your desires. And master
proceeded to tighten down the vice. And then tightened it some more. He
looked at me, looked at my thumb, and kept going till I finally let out my
first scream. There you go slave. A little work by me, a little scream by
you. Quite a workable system, if I do say so myself.
Next, master took a pair of pliers from his toolbox. Good thing
you have extra long nails or we’d have to do this the hard way. He grabbed
the end of the fingernail in the tip of the pliers and started to pull.
Now, now my dear slave. Here I have done everything I could to satisfy
your desires to be feminized by going out of my way and getting you some
nail polish. You thank me by making a mess. And I’m continuing to help
make your fingertips red, and now you start moaning more protests.
Sometimes I truly think there is no way to make a slave happy. And he
slowly and painfully pulled the nail out of my thumb. A long, agonizing
scream escaped my lips and I fainted. When master revived me he was
holding my hand up and showed me that the thumb was nice and red. Red from
blood and throbbing with pain. But look slave. I’ve painted your fingertip
with polish for you. Thank your master for his thoughtfulness. Thank you,
Master, I mumbled between my screams.
Well, we can’t leave you with just one nail done now can we?
And he took my index finger and put it in the vice. The next 15 minutes
were spent removing the rest of the nails from my left hand. I lost track
of how many times I passed out and was revived before he finished the
work. Isn’t your hand just so pretty he said holding it up for me. There
was nothing to see other than blood running down my my hand, wrist and
arm. So pretty with the bright red polish blending perfectly with your
blood. So smart of you to pick the red polish. Otherwise we would have a
problem with your color co-ordination.
Look, I know you are just as anxious as can be for me to
finish the job and do your right hand, but I’m not through with your left
yet. I’ve noticed how most of you girls love to tap your fingernails idly
on the counter or table. And you shouldn’t be stopped from enjoying doing
that. But how, you might ask without any nails to tap. Well, modern
science will come to the rescue and save the day. I’m going to give you
some artificial nails. Actually, nails don’t work too well, but screws
have the same effect. I looked up at master through tear filled eyes. The
look on my face told him there was confusion on my part. Don’t fret slave.
You’ll be tapping your nails in no time at all. And my thumb went back in
the vice. Once again he tightened it down and my thumb was immobile. Back
to the toolbox. A screwdriver and some screws about three inches long were
produced. Taking a screw in hand he moved over and put the tip up against
the end of my thumb. And he began screwing the screw into my thumb.
Probably two and one half of the three inches long screw was worked it’s
way down my thumb. The pain was indescribable. Unlike a needle from a
doctor which would slide in and out, the screw compressed anything in it’s
way. And I could feel little cracks as it worked it’s way through joints
in the thumb.
Half an hour later I had a new set of artificial nails on my left hand,
which was free of the vice when Master revived me for the nth time. C’mon
slave. Show master how you can tap your nails. I mumbled something but was
shaking so much I didn’t react. Master grabbed my left hand and pulled on
one of the screws with his pliers, and I passed out again.
This is just like a slave. Not a bit of thanks for receiving a
nice new set of nails. Now please, before I get upset, show me how you
enjoy tapping your nails. And I slowly started to rhythmically tap my
fingers on the table. Very nice slave. You do as asked, and the session is
over. It will be tomorrow or the next day before I can give you a matching
set on the other hand. And then come the toes. Those will be a little more
difficult. Not being long enough to pull out. I”ll have to devise a way
to dig the nails out. But in the end you’ll have beautifully matching
fingers and toes. I’ve untied you, so feel free to relax, watch TV or fix
yourself a bite to eat. Goodnight.
Slowly climbing down from the table, my throbbing left hand
hung limp at my side. I entered my bedroom and collapsed in a chair.
Looking at my disfigured hand I saw dried blood everywhere The tips were
nice and red, mostly because it was raw tissue where my fingernails once
grew. And sticking out the end of each finger was about an inch of screw.
Would the pain ever ease? How could it with screws permanently in them. I
couldn’t bend my fingers at all as the screws went past the joints. Master
had said he had been sure to use stainless screws to help avoid rusting
and infection. Some comfort that was.
The girls sure named Peter well. Peter Pain more than aptly
described the man in control of my life. Cindy had lasted less than two
months under his torturous handling. It didn’t seem I could survive two
weeks if this was any indication of my treatment. I settled back in the
recliner and looked in disbelief at my new hand. Slowly I moved my hand to
the lamp table by my side. It had a glass top on it. Gently I tapped my
fingers. Closing my eyes, maybe, just maybe, I could imagine I was tapping
in the past when I indulged my dressing up. Who was I kidding. Each tap
produced pain, not pleasure. My GOD. How long will I live?
Fortunately master didn’t show up at all on Monday. At least I
had a concept of time here with satellite TV available to watch. The pain
in my hand had reduced to a continuous light throbbing. So long as I
remembered not to move the hand or fingers. That would produce shooting
pain. My thoughts drifted in and out, hoping for another day of respite
tomorrow.
But it was not to be. Master came in about 6PM and just went
to work. Don’t struggle or resist slave. You know I can make this
procedure much more painful than it already is. It should go more quickly
tonight. No need to experiment. Just a repeat of last night. Fortunately I
spent enough time unconscious that it was over before I knew it. Hey there
slave. You handled that much more easily. Good for you. We may just have a
good working set-up here. Tomorrow will be a better test. No nails needed
on your toes so we can just remove the nails on all ten toes and be done
with it. Pleasant dreams thinking about that, and he closed the door. It
locked automatically, leaving no chance to error if I got any ideas.

Chapter 24

I couldn’t help thinking that no matter how resilient my body
and mind were, there was little chance I could survive years and years of
this kind of nearly daily abuse. Would I want to if I could. This wasn’t
what I had in mind when I decided to spend the rest of my life owned by a
DOM or Dominatrix. Mistress had her act together. My life with her would
have been that of a sissy slave, much as I had dreamed. Plenty of pain,
yes, but nothing like this. With Mistress it was more of a sensual pain.
And forced humiliation through forced homosexual acts and degrading
situations such as the toilet games and servicing Butch. Life with
Mistress was much like the stories I had read. Maybe a little more
intense, but nothing worse than the things I might have expected.
But Pete was just a mean, sadistic bastard. He reveled in
causing as much pain as possible and couldn’t get enough. He was truly a
sick man. A slave voluntarily subjected themselves to the whims of their
owners, but few would have expected to fear for their lives and/ or their
limbs.
I decided to try, even if the consequences were death, to
escape. Death couldn’t be far down the road with Pete, anyways. When Pete
opened the door tomorrow I’d be ready for him. Maybe this would be futile,
but a slim chance was better than what I now faced. I knew I’d probably
never attain my dreams after this. But I’d be alive.
Pete came home Wednesday in a great mood, probably thinking of
our upcoming session as he sang aloud while walking towards the door to
the dungeon. As he swung the door open I pounced, landing a solid punch to
his jaw. He fell back against the wall and I sprinted down the hall.
Damn, another door, and it was locked. I ran back to the room
to get the keys from Pete’s pocket. Pete was heading out the door, gun in
hand. My fate was sealed because I didn’t make sure he was out cold. My
heart sank and I fell to the floor. Pete kicked me square in the face. You
worthless, ungrateful piece of shit. I should have known better than to
trust you from the start. You’re no better than Cindy. Promising to be a
good slave while planning my demise when I wasn’t looking.
Please Master, I’m sorry. Do your worst to me. I’ll make it up
to you.
You’re damn right you will slave. Now get on the table and
attach your ankle cuffs and one of the wrist cuffs while I hold the gun.
Satisfied with my security he laid the gun down and secured my other
wrist. You will pay dearly for your actions slave and left the room.
When he returned he placed a few items on the counter and
walked over, stopping next to my head. I can’t believe it. Two days, just
two days and you rebel against me. It took Cindy 2 weeks before the first
sign she wouldn’t fully co-operate. And she had had no training. You have
caused me to waste a large sum of money. And you my dear slave have wasted
your life. In the next couple of days you will receive a months worth of
torture. YOU WILL NOT SURVIVE. I’ll return after I eat and deal with you.
It seemed like hours, but Pete returned. He had his Pit Bull
in tow and told “Sarge” to lie in the corner. Sarge will probably enjoy
tonight as much as I do, Pete snickered.
Master went to the counter and retrieved the unseen propane
torch he had obviously brought in before and lit it. He went around my
body giving little hits here and there with the flame. Just testing he
said. Let’s begin cooking Sarge’s dinner. I had no idea what he meant by
that, but felt sure I’d find out soon. Pete released the hold on my right
hand and put my thumb in the vice, tightening it down. Slowly my thumb
started to warm up. Look over here, slave. Pete was holding the flame to
the head of the screw sticking out of my thumb. And now my thumb was
really feeling the heat. It started to hurt like hell. Patience, my slave.
I’m cooking Sarge’s dinner. He loves meat, but not burnt or crispy. I’m
cooking your thumb from the inside out. When the skin starts to blister it
will be done to perfection. It wasn’t long before I was screaming my lungs
out, and mercifully passed out. Pete, of course would have none of that.
He quickly revived me every time I went out. You can’t miss this slave.
You are Sarge’s guest for dinner and must enjoy the show. I’ll bet if you
ask nicely, he”ll share a finger or two with you.
Aah, looks like the first one is done. Let’s see, where is my
saw. He found an old rusty hack saw in the corner. Better not watch too
close slave. You might get some blood in your eye. Holding the screw with
his pliers, he slowly sawed my thumb off. Blood went everywhere. Picking
up the torch he ran the flame over the stub of a thumb that was left and
cauterized the wound. There, no more bleeding. Can’t have you bleeding to
death when this is so much fun. He tossed my thumb to Sarge and it
disappeared in his mouth. Now Sarge, you know you might choke if you don’t
chew your food thoroughly. Ok, time for the next one. For the next hour, I
was literally being cooked alive. When he had finished Pete released my
wrists to let me see the results. On the end of each of my fingers was a
little burnt stub. Such a shame, slave. They were so pretty with polish on
them. Oh well. Your loss was Sarge’s gain. He loved them.
And now for your toes. Guess I won’t have to bother removing
the toenails. There’s too little meat on them for Sarge to bother. I won’t
even put you through the cooking process. They can be removed just like
that. He picked up the saw and torch and headed towards my feet.
I’m sorry slave, Pete said. I almost overlooked the main course
for Sarge. Of course it’s your cock. Surprised? No probably not. He went
and got a six inch long screw and his screwdriver. And right down the
center of my cock he turned and turned the screw till maybe an inch stuck
out This is the end I thought, as I drifted in and out. Not much screaming
anymore as I was nearly hoarse. I doubt I could relieve myself now. Back
to that after we rid you of your toes, my slave. Having fun yet? I sure
am. As pain goes losing my toes wasn’t as bad as some things I’d endured.
Then again, maybe my senses were going numb to the pain. Pete finished
with the toes and moved back up to my cock. What do you think slave? Could
you ever have imagined having your cock cooked from the inside out, cut
off and fed to a dog? Probably not. I’m pretty sadistic but just thought
of feeding you to Sarge during my dinner. I was about to open a can of
dog food when the idea hit me. No comment, slave. Just one, Pete. I said
that with emphasis rather than master. Fuck you, and remember. You paid
100K for just 3 days worth of abuse to me. And now you are slave-less once
again. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. Pete was enraged. He left and
got a needle and thread. That’s the last I’ll hear from you and proceded
to sew my mouth shut. Before finishing he removed my well cooked cock,
looked at Sarge and said “sorry boy”, and stuffed it in my mouth. My eyes
were wide open, but I had passed out for the last time. I never knew it
happened.

THE END