Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Okay avoiding Trigger Codes for Spoilers.  Torture, did I mention Torture?
Leitmotif: Sneaker Pimps - Spin Spin Sugar (Eponymous)

   Mona {Mff...G NS}

   "Are you models?" I was just cutting through for an iced tea before
meeting my poppa at the parking deck, but I stopped.  They giggled, and
shook their heads.  "Well," He leaned over their table, "you're certainly
beautiful enough." With his arm up, like Gaston {Beauty and the Beast.} "If
you think you'd be interested," He flipped a card out, like a card-trick,
"Why don't you give me a call?"

   They held it together, talking and giggling while he walked off, looking
back...

   He almost ran into me, "I am," and looked down.

   "What?"

   "A model?" I looked back at the studio, across the food court.  "I just
finished class, but I don't have an agent, yet." He got out a gold plated
case, and another card.

   [...  Artist, Author.
Cell: (###) ###-####]

   I tuck it in my training bra, strike my best playboy pose.  "You busy?"

   He pulls his cufflink over his expensive watch.  "I have some time."

   So, I did my best runway walk, out the doors.  "Where're you parked?"
The wrong ones, I heard about him.  One of my friends, but he just bought
her clothes, took pictures, and sketched her out.  Well, not just clothes,
underwear.

   I was so excited, I almost dropped the Pager.  Popping out the battery,
to but in a drained one.  NiMH, AAAs, but they don' recharge forever.  So,
I saved a dead one, rolled the good one under a car.  Pretended to tie my
shoelaces, while Poppas jeep pulled around, looking for me...  Then he
turned the corner.

   I didn't have to translate the last alphanumeric message: [#Wher-eRU /#]

   "Over here," his car blinked, and chirped.  BMW, car alarm, luxury
sedan, and a carphone between the seats.  This was a while ago, I'd never
seen one before IRL.  Poppa was probably driving himself insane with worry
by now, imagining all sorts of horrors.  The Sheriffs call, after pulling
me out of a ditch.  Raped, I giggled.  "What?"

   "Oh nothing," shrug, "I haven't seen you at, [Agency Name] Studios." I
actually went there for dance classes.  I guess poppa figures we can't get
in any trouble, if we don't have the time.

   "Well," he lied, "I work weekends.  But I'm always on the lookout for
fresh faces, and new talent."

   "What kind of artist?" Like it said on his card.

   "Photography, painting.  I also write short fiction, but I'm working on
a novel."

   I bet!  Dilettante', everything about him said Trustee, money, boredom,
and he likes to exploit young girls.  "Nudes, erotica?"

   "How old are you?" he frowned.  Probably virgins.

   "Eleven." True, but he wouldn't like me if I was too old, mature, or
wary.  The suburban 'tween, confident, but gullible.

   "Really?" Fake shock, "But you look so much older!  Obviously so much
more mature than other girls your age." Like the high-schoolers, back at
the mall.  Verbatim, practiced, word for word what he told my friend.

   "Well," I brushed my hair back, "I did skip a couple grades." Also true,
already in Jr.  high.  "My poppa just makes me dress so modest, to try and
keep me off the pole."

   "The pole?" He shook his head.

   "The stripper pole?" I laughed, "My mom used to dance, but she stopped,
when we had kids." I lied, too.

   He smiled, "Really?" Didn't have to fake interest.

   "Where's your studio?" Across the street, but he had to navigate the
garage, and the parking lot, then pull around the massive building of the
mall itself.  Convenient, to cruise for fresh talent.  Young faces, and
bodies, his type probably doesn't stay barely budding very long.  Tucked
behind some storefronts, no sign or anything, just a steel door, and
another that rolled up like a garage.  He unlocked it, and walked around
turning on the lights.

   "You ever seen Titanic?" Rated R.

   For nudity, I nodded.  They all pointed at a bentwood chaise draped with
patterned velvet.  Like curtains, maybe even pulled them down off of
windows somewhere, but just cut off straight at the edges, and frayed a
little.  A camera, his, but no tripod for it.  Just set on some handwritten
notes, photos strewn around, no lenscap.

   "I have to set-up," he pointed at a door, "If you want to pick something
out in the dressing room."

   He put on some music, "What's this?"

   "Sneaker Pimps."

   "Huh!"

   {Spin Spin Sugar - Armand's Garage Mix}

   More like a wardrobe, or the Wardrobe Dept.  at our Acting classes. 
Everything but Modeling, really.  I even tried Soccer, but too much
running. I looked for hidden cameras, or peepholes while I unbutton my
sweater, and blouse.  Trying not to look like I was looking, out of the
corner of my eye, but I didn't see any.

   I held up the shortest dress over my underwear, and stood in the open
door.  "How about this?" I switched to another, "Or this one?" Flashing my
underwear between them.

   "Which one do you like?" I shrugged, held up the first one, and turned
back.  Made sure to sway my hips, in my plain blue underpants.  I found
some shoes, heels.  Never tried them before, but they made my legs look
great under the hem of the dress.  A little tight too, I'm tall, for my
age, but I'm 11.  Shouldn't even be in middle-school, which made me wonder
that they make sexy clothes like this, so small.  Flat front, so I took my
training bra off, and my nipples poked out the tight fabric.

   I swayed on the heels coming out.  "How do I look?" I twirled, so the
hem swirled up over my legs, and the bottom of the underpants.  "You mind
if I turn the AC up?" He started without me, sketching furiously, and
didn't even look up.

   "Mh hm?" He nodded, sketched another line.  I didn't know they made FM
pumps in my size either.  For `Fuck Me,' I sure was feeling it.  Tried not
to pant, or fall down stepping over the cables for all the lights on my way
back to the lounge.  The lights were still hot, with the air blowing, and
the thermostat turned all the way down, but I didn't think my nipples would
get any harder.  "Just lie down, make yourself comfortable."

   The velvet was hot already, but I let the hem slip up my hip, over the
side of my underpants, and pretended not to notice.  "There," he pinched,
and kneeded the erasor in his fingetips, but kept sketching.  With his leg
crossed, and the sketchpad over his lap.  So, I couldn't see anything,
under the expensive belt, and fine linen of his trousers.

   "Huh!" So hot, and it was hard not to fidget with my heart pumping so
hard, and fast in my chest.  But goosebumps popped out on my exposed
shoulders, down my thigh like my nipples which were so hard they ached.

   ...  A little later: "You mind if I take some reference photos?" I got
up.

   "Nude, or clothed?" I looked up at him, bit my lip so he looked down
from my eyes.  His looked, I don't know, puzzled?

   "Would you be comfortable nude?"

   "Well," I just pulled it over my head, "You said reference photos," my
hair flopped down on my chest like whips.  "So, you can see better without
the dress in the way?" I flipped it back, over my shoulder.  Ran my thumbs
back, and forth in the waistband.  "You mind if I keep these on?" To pull
them up, when I really wanted to stick my fingers in there, and unzip his
expensive linen trousers.

   "That's fine," his camera buzzed, snapping rapid fire as he walked
around, and I was still amazingly hot, in a pair of panties and pumps.  My
goosebumps didn't go away, and I shivered for no reason at all.

   "There," his trousers looked tight, and I covered myself.  I'm not sure
why, he'd already taken his nasty pictures, but I couldn't run back to the
dressing room in those heels.  All I could think about was her crying, and
wondering what was so bad about that?

   I closed he door this time.  It felt cool in there, but I took those
shoes off, and rubbed under the straps first.  "Huh!" Then I thought about
what I was doing?  "Uh!" I gave him a good long while, to jerk off. 
Thought about what my poppa would think, and that made me feel better.

   He knocked, so I opened the door.  "Ready?" I nodded.  "Um," he walked
me out to his car.  "What's your name?"

   He frowned back at me, "What?"

   Monica {F Solo, Exhi, Sabo MC.}

   I couldn't sleep.  Usually, rubbing one out in my underwear does it, but
I was too exited.  Thinking about him, looking at the pictures, and jerking
off.  Showing it to his friends, like my brothers looking at the underwear
catalogs together.  Poppa seeing them.

   So, I got up, opened the window, and got some cool fresh air.  And an
idea, out of boredom I went out across the Garage in my slippers, and
dropped down to let myself in the side door.  The light was on, or all the
outside ones, but I had a key stashed.  Put on gloves, to avoid any
telltail grease under my nails, or chipping them.  Read the Chilton's by
the light through the window in the door.

   Got the spare key out of the magnet box under the wheel well.  He runs
the motor-pool, on base.  He's an officer, but still keeps the Cherokee in
perfect condition.  Which is why the constant breakdowns drive him nuts. 
Of course, he suspects Sabotage, but not me, his 'Good Girl.' Probably one
of my brothers, but their window was dark, so nobody saw me out on the
roof.

   Not my fault dance class ran long, and my pager died, so by the time I
called the agreed apon payphone, he was already frantically searching the
parking deck, then talking to Security.  Again, of course they won't show
him the cameras, run them back, not the first time one of us had gone
"Missing, then turned up later, safe and sound.  A loose sparkplug wire
should give me a few minutes, while he goes over everything, to "Sleep in."
Or go set up my studio, now that I have someone to show it.

   I closed the hood quietly, and had the Chiltons back in it's place, but
he came-out anyway.  Turned on the light, so it shone out the window, so I
snuck around the corner, lifted the boards in the fence, and slipped back
into the neighbor's yard.  Just in case he came outside, and for some
reason this house never gets sold, neither!  I suppressed a snicker, and
got the other key from it's hiding place...

   Discipline {Throbbing Gristle (Once Apon a Time)}

   I turned it up, ostensibly so I couldn't hear, but I got in the closet,
with a glass to hold up on the wall.  He hates it, of course, which only
makes him beat them harder.  "This!" had to hurt, "Should teach you some
DIScipline!" They cried, so I giggled.  Not that he'd even yell at me.  I'm
the good girl, I sure never get spanked.  "Why are you crying?  You want
something to cry about, you sniviling wuss.  Is that what you want,
something to cry about?  Get over here!" My other brother's turn, I guess.

   I never even heard of BDSM before, but most people don't know every
letter stands for 2 things.  I'm not Submissive, nor Dominant, much less a
Masochist.  {Die Form.} When they got back, the boy's room was a mess.  As
if they didn't get ready for Pee-wee fast enough to clean up, even with an
extra 15 minutes while poppa found the right wire.  And probably checked
the rest of the truck.

   "Ah!" My other brother was just crying.  Then momma limped in, so I hid
the glass, and remembered my little brother.  So, I could cry, and pretend
to be traumatized.  Why I don't mess with the brakes any more, and she quit
dancing.  Not that she was ever a stripper, she watched Fame, not
Flashdance.  Recorded the reruns on the VCR.  Bought the movie, and still
watched them, reliving her childhood dreams.  I just had to learn to make
my chuckles sound like sobs, she couldn't see my smile in her shoulder.

   "Rich" {MG NS Shad.  At this point, that's more for Shadenfreude than
true Sadism, but we get a glimpse at what she really is.}

   Of course, I'm not going to use real names, but that's what he is. 
Never bought me anything, but it's not like I could hide it forever. 
Immodest clothing.  I had to tell poppa my friends wanted to hang out, the
new one at my dance class, I had to make up to explain him giving me a
ride. He warned me about giving out my Pager#, again.

   "Yeah," I nodded for him, "I guess I can get away from the old man." He
frowned.  "There gonna be a chaperone?  Good, have him pick me up, so he
knows I'll be safe."

   "Hey," I got in, "We don't have long, so did you bring your stuff?" He
had his pencils, and stuff in this leathery case, "What about your camera?"
I wasn't planning on him being able to draw.  He shook his head, so I just
felt the pebbly case next to the seat, with my leg.  In shorts, wish I had
a skirt to wear for him, but this was an old pair, and my underpants felt
tight in my underwear.  "Turn left." Again, and again.  "Right here," I
pointed across his seat at the driveway, and he pulled in.  He looked up,
at my roof on the other side of the yard.

   "Isn't this," the yard directly behind ours?

   "Yeah," I got out, "Try to act like a Realtor." Carried his, notebook,
thing.  Like a Trapper-keeper, for artists, and Dilettantes.  "Thought you
worked weekends?"

   "My appointment canceled." Right, "So, I'll go in this afternoon." I
told him the code, so he could open the lock-box.  This one has a separate
garage, and fresh coat of paint over where I wrote [Fuck You], and [Helter
Skelter] all over the walls.  They put the couch over the red spot where I
poured out the extra paint too, but I bet the price kept going up with all
the damage from vandals, and in this market?

   "Come on," I led him out back, "Let me show you my studio." They never
changed this lock, just showed the garage, but they didn't really go in,
and look around much.  "What do you think?"

   He gasped, looking up, and covered his mouth.  "What is this?"

   "Well, dungeon.  I never shewed it to nobody before, so as another
Artist, I'd really like your honest opinion."

   "You're," I drank in his fear, "Sick!"

   "Well, yeah.  Why I thought of you.  Come on, you know what I'm talking
about, your dirty little pictures, and I read part of one of your stories?"


   He backed out, "How?"

   "You didn't hide them?  So, I just picked up some notes lying around
your studio.  Well, the dressing room, while you're jerking off?" He ran,
so I just closed my eyes, and sighed.  Then, I locked up, and walked back
around the block before poppa paged me.

   Of course, he called back, or paged me.  His cell number, but he has to
take it out in it's satchel to charge it up.  It was years before they
adapted them to the lighter socket, though I'm not sure the big clunky
first generation ones would've worked.

   "Hello?"

   "Couldn't stop thinking about it, huh?"

   "No, I." he stopped, took a breath, "You weren't thinkin' , 'bout, going
to the police, were you?"

   I laughed, "Well, they'd be interested, I'magine, but no.  I don't want
them to lock you up."

   "You mean;"

   "You know what I mean."

   "Where did you even get that," come on, mister Intellectual, Impress me
with your big word, "Apparatus?"

   "Well," I giggled, "The winch was already there, I just added the
shackles from an old chainlink fence." And a wing-nut.

   "Well, don't you think it looks a little," He sounded scared. 
"Dangerous?"

   I giggled, "I never used it!  Besides, they're too small for your wrists
anyway."

   "Me?"

   "Well, if you'd rather meet me at your studio, after my my weekly
class."

   "Why?" Not really all that bright.

   "To return your notes?" I cleared my throat: "Ahem, [She was just so
grateful, for everything I'd done for her, that she could not help but
develop a little fondness, remembering all the time we spent together, as I
showed her how beautiful she was becoming.] Run-on much?  How old is
Stephanie, anyway?  Doesn't look more than 13 in this photo.  "Remind me,
what's the legal age in Texas again?"

   "What do you want?"

   "Nh!" I didn't moan, "Hh, I want to, uH!  See You, Huh!  Again..."

   "Are you?" Playing with myself?

   "Yeah," not really, "You?"

   "Hang on." Fumbling.

   "I can't hear it." Gentle fapping.  "Harder!" Louder...  "But don't hurt
yourself." I had to put the phone down, "Save that for me." So, I hung up.

   Then, I got my hands down mypants.  Of course, he's right, I didn't make
any of that for sex.  At the time my fantasies were about Torture, and
they'd probably fit a tweenage boy's ankles better anyway.

   I'magined the Wicked Queen, what would she do if she ever caught Snow
White?  Had to have a Dungeon in that castle of hers, sure probably people
to torture for her.  Like Count Rugen, but while she watched...  "Uh!" Or
the Huntsman, once she found out he tricked her, lied to her.

   But now all I needed was to hear him, begging me over the phone, almost
crying, and possibly buying me he things I need to torture him.  Yeah, I
should have told him that, he's got the money, and it's not like I can buy
anything likeat.  Or lingeree, where does he get it, in those sizes?

   "Huh!" I'd have to call him back, after I rub one off...

   "Rich" {M Mono Text.}

   [I guess I never really thought about it.  It's art, but now that I do,
I realize that my models gradually became younger over the years.  Too
slowly for me to notice, to realize what I was doing, but eventually I must
have been exploiting children.  Well, not children, young adults, but I
never touched them.  My attractions are purely visual, but I must admit I
got off looking at them later.

   It never occurred to me to install cameras, or peepholes in the dressing
room, because what would the point be if I wanted to draw them in the
Studio?  I suspected from the moment I met you, but when you flashed me
between outfits, I saw something special in your eyes.  How did you know
those were 2 of my favorite outfits?

   And you are so beautiful, that wasn't just a line to see you in your
underwear, I can't quite put my finger on it, nor remember it, but going
back over your reference photos, I can't see it there, either.  I saw it
best in your studio, but I was so shocked by the display, and it wasn't
just the look in your eyes, but I must admit I'm a little frightened at he
thought of the pain.

   Those shackles, looked like they could do some permanent damage, and I
am nothing without my hands.  Even as I admit I probably deserve it, to
break them before they do something truly wrong, and evil.  But first, I
have to see you, capture that unique spark in your eyes, that fierce
intensity I'd only seen models feign in photos.  I feel it's what I've been
searching for my whole life, career.

   Please, I will do anything.  I mean it, turn me in to the police, break
my hands, torture me to death, but just let me see you again, and try to
capture that look in your eyes one last time before you drive me insane! 
After that, I'll accept my fate.

   Truly Yours; Signed]

   "Hey," did it even finish ringing once?

   "Can I see you?"

   "No."

   "Please!"

   "I can't get away, you know my pop;"

   "Not really, I mean I met him, once, but I can't really see what you
mean about being such a control freak."

   "Well," huh!  "I guess you'd have to live with him," or be his daughter,
"Being the only girl in his house is like being an only child." I have
friends who are.  "Even the boys don't want to play with me any more,
because I'm a girl." Made a face.

   "You wouldn't believe how many people in my circle turned out to be into
that lifestyle."

   "Which one?"

   "Bondage, S&M." I giggled.

   "You trying to turn me on again?"

   "No, but I got a book."

   "Huh!" Okay, "But what about some decent bonds?"

   "Well, they don't really have stores for that sort of thing." Round
here? You don't say!  "I ordered some things, but most of it is Custom, so
it could take a while."

   "Leather?"

   "The medical restraints," I'magine he nodded.

   "Uh!"

   "You wouldn't imagine how horny just thinking about this is making me."

   "Are you jerking off?"

   "Are you?"

   .  .  .  I listened, "Well, Stop It!"

   "Uh?"

   "You've done more than enough of that, looking at your dirty little
pictures, so for now, you're cut off, you hear me?"

   "I can't,"

   "Not until you find me some good bonds, so I can do it to you.  You have
no dick, it's Mine now.  Understand?  you can wash it, and take a piss, but
if you shake it more than twice, you're playing with it."

   "Please,"

   "And I don't know where you get little girl's lingeree, but find me
something," I had to think about it, "Go there and find something that
makes me look wicked."

   "I don't know your size."

   "You know that dress I wore for you?" get hard again, "Yah, you remember
how tight it was, over my little breasts, and thighs in those pumps?  Well,
that's my size." Oh, and I remembered, "And lose my number, Pop's getting
suspicious whenever my pager rings, so I'll call you."

   "And I can't,"

   "I swear to fucking god, if you jerk off again before this thursday, you
will never get hard again.  You're cut off."

   Click.

   Well, I never told him I wouldn't play with myself...  "Huh!" Good,
nobody looking, because that was awesome!  It's not easy to walk with my
hands down my pants, so I just pulled them up into a wedgie real quick
before anyone noticed, and nearly fell down when my knees went out.

   "Are you okay?"

   "Fine!" I pushed her back.  Just have to get to the bathroom, and
wouldn't you know it they'r clear around the lunchroom from the payphones.
I almost lost the mood before I get in the stall, and lock the door, but
all I had to think of was, "You're cut off." It wasn't their eyes on me, or
pop being pissed, if I skipped, but "Uh!" I was wet?  I mean literally wet,
inside, so I slipped some up to the top, and rubbed it in.  "Nh!?"

   I didn't really threaten to castrate him, but ever since that Lorena
Bobbit story came out in he news, even before I found somebody to try it
on, "Huh huh!" and my fingers can't move fast enough, but I wonder if he
smokes cigars, and has one of those guillotine cutters.  Only gold plated,
and shiny to match his card case, an maybe just the tip?

   "Nguh!" Yeah, I wonder if it'd still get hard like that?  I never, felt
one.  Caught the boys jerking off, a few times, but I've only heard him
crying, and panting over the phone.  I haven't heard his screams. 
"Huhuhuhuh!"

   Flush, and go out to wash my hands.

   I forgot to tell him a skirt.  Poppa won't buy me them, and it's just so
hard to get off in pants!  The way it felt, brushing my underwear, and the
lacy hem on the tops of my thighs so I felt half naked, and the way it
twirled up when I spun for him in those heels, and my nipples poking
through the tight silky fabric cupped around my chest instead of flattening
them like a training bra.

   The bell rang, but I can skip one more class.  So, I locked myself back
in the stall, until I fell off the toilet, shivering, and panting on the
filthy floor.  I can't wait any more, but at least I know he's waiting too.
Waiting for something to bind him with, leather medical restraints, he
said. "YeahHhuhuhuh!" Wash my hands again, and look in the mirror.  I
looked sick, for all they knew, i threw up, ever since lunch...

   "Hello?"

   "Can you come get me?  Dad's got the jeep on base, and mom doesn't drive
any more anyway."

   "Where?"

   "At school?  The middle school, um, let me get the address."...  All
over the office.  "Hurry, I think I'm going to throw up again." Or play
with myself in the office lavatory until he pages me...

   "Nice belt," I tied my hair back.  {Perry Ellis.} I was so releivd to
see him, I almost wanted to kiss him.  But I wasn't here to reward him, bad
enough I skipped ahead on our date.  "You been jerkin' off?"

   "No," he winced, "I can't."

   "Why not?"

   "Every time I get hard, i think of you;"

   I hit him, "And that makes it got down?"

   He rubbed it, "No," his arm, I mean, "I'i think of you, cutting it. 
Off."

   I almost got off again.  "Mhm?" Felt, dreamy?

   "I can't get the image out of my head!"

   "Huh!" I just closed my eyes, and felt the headrest on my cheek.  Rubbed
it against the fine leather.  I didn't, I mean I felt moist between my
legs, but all I could think of was it Worked!  I just had to say `You're
cut off,' twice I think, to plant the seed, and now he thinks it whenever
he gets hard!

   "Are you okay?" I opened my eyes.

   "No," I grinned, "I'm sick!" Said it himself.

   "You wouldn't," he looked away, "You wouldn't really?"

   "Cut it off?" I laughed, "Don't make me have to."

   But he was hard, and we're almost to the Mall.  There was the sign!  He
signaled and moved over to the exit lane.

   Rich {GM Tort.  I mean it, this isn't Sadomasochism, Pain Play, nor
Erotic Domination.  It's Torture, sadistic sexual abuse, and punishment. 
It should also illustrate what I mean when I say "Never trust a Dom who
never subbed" and "There's no such thing as a Natural Dom." Because that's
called a Sadist.  In this case, Anger-Exitation.

   Why I chose the example of an 11yo girl, because if you don't know what
you're doing, you'll probably do something stupid.  Like escalate from a 5
swat bare handed spanking to caning her bound standing in her second scene,
or insisting "I am a Dominant." ~C.  Grey.  You aren't, either you're a
lover who understands it's all about her fantasy, or you're an Abuser with
delusions of grandure.

   So, don't try any of this at home.}

   "Sit down," she stretched out on the chaise in her school clothes. 
Pants, sweater vest, button up blouse, and kicked off her shoes.  "Okay,
now jerk off."

   "What?"

   "You heard me, get it out, I wanna see it!  What, you don't have a
problem talking little girls out of our clothes, but now you're shy?  Are
you ashamed of it?" No, but I admit this was a bit humiliating.  "Is that
why you never touched us, fucked us, Raped us, because you can't get it
up?"

   "No," I tore open my pants, "See!?"

   "I'm impressed," she rolled her eyes.  "My little brother could get it
up in his diaper, you think that makes you a Man?" Uh!  My hands were
shaking, and I was crying, "That's right, jerk it.  You sick fuck, you
remember Britney?" Who?  "Britney Connor, she was about 14 when she told
me, how do you think I found you?  You think she enjoyed it, it made her
feel pretty?  That's not what she said when she told me, crying about it.
You don't make us feel pretty, you make us feel Dirty!"

   I never really did it without some lotion, or someother kind of lube
before, but she was right, i exposed them, all those girls so i could jerk
off in private because i was ashamed.  Why does it feel so small?

   "You smoke?" Right in my face, I glanced back at the chaise, but she'd
undone her sweatervest.  "Up here," something cold under my chin, "I asked,
Do, You, Smoke?  Cigars, I know they're expensive, but;" she didn't give me
a chance to answer, "But my uncle does, and he's not nearly as rich as you.
That's where I got this," I looked away.  "Looks like they forgot to
circumcise you, but you're getting hard again.  Maybe just a little trim, a
little off the top?"

   I made this, mechanical, shearing sound.  Sharp metal edges against
eachother, and I think there's a spring in there.  Right in my ear?  My
eyes flew open, and I looked down, but it was just my buckle, brushing
against it as she pulled my belt out.  "Arms behind you." Like a boyscout
belt, it slips through the buckle, so a roller can lock against it when it
pulls out.  But she wrapped it around a few times.

   "Sit tight," she went back into the dressing room, "I'm gonna change
into something a little more comfortable." Snip!  The cigar cutter sheared
between her fingers, then she was gone.  So, i let out the breath i didn't
realize i was holding.

   "HuhhhhhhHhuhuhuh!"

   Monica {...  Pretty sure you see where this is headded.}

   "Huh!" I got ahead of myself.  Ment to save that tirade for last, or
later.  When I broke him, but "Dickless freak!" I snipped the cigar cutter
in my fingers, but he wasn't circumcized!?  All my brothers were, so I
never saw a foreskin before.  A real one, just the drawings in Health
class, and who'd they get to draw them?  "Where's My shoes?" I peeked
around the open door, "You know, the ones I wore when I was here before?"
That rhymed!  remember the wording, because I thought about penning a poem
about this.  English class, not that I could turn in one about bondage, and
turn it in.  All I'd done so far, besides Humiliation, but I didn't think
about that at the time.  It occurred to me he'd cleaned up, though.  Just
the pictures, and random notes, for his "novel.  Phf!" I scoffed.  Well,
the ones of other girls, I pulled open a rack of hangers, and stopped.

   "huuhH!" I caught my breath, and sat down.  There's one, picture, but
he'd hidden it.  Rolled a rack of clothes in front of the wall, and the
painting.  Unfinished, just a portrait but huge, and where the eyes should
be where just pits filled with graphite and erased until they looked
hollow. I strapped one on, should have taken them with me, but where would
I hide them?  I'm to old for my father to be searching my room, as long as
I keep it clean, but these pumps aren't like dirty pictures, or a sheet of
notes.  Maybe in the air vent?  "Oh," I got up, limped out to the
thermostat.

   Such a talker before, but now.  It's weird, maybe he hadn't practiced
what to say?  He just turned, until I was behind him.  In my underwear, the
blue ones with a bow sewn in front.  "Be back in a minute," I limped out,
"Got to find my other shoe." Careful over the cables that nearly killed me
last time.  The first time...

   He wants to see me naked, why he brought me here before, but I pulled
the longest dress down and pulled my underwear off.  Next to the open
doorway, I just dropped them.  Behind me, where he could see them, and
pulled the dress over.  It hung halfway down my thighs, so he could see,
but I had to peel the underpants off, and I stank.  I looked up at the
wall, where he'd taped the reference photos around the portrait.  Saw the
look on my face, and remembered.  When I first felt it, ashamed, the sick
feeling that made Britney cry.  But these were me, all of them where of me,
shooting my hip, and turning back.  My hair flopping over my shoulders,
trying to pose like the models in the catalogs.  Never even seen the inside
of a playboy before, just the covers behind the counter at the 7-11.

   But I was ready now.  I got up, unsteady in the heels, but they
stretched out my legs so they looked fantastic, and made this great sound
when I walked on the concrete.  I tried the model walk, I was a dancer, or
taking classes, but then decided to concentrate on not falling down.  He
wants to see me, looked up in the doorway.  I smiled, and hit him, "Don't
look at me!" Honestly, they aren't comfortable, they hurt.  I wonder if he
can get lingerie too small for even me, maybe he can get heels in his size?
But not now, now I had work to do.  And I'd never been so horny in all my
life!

   Captive {Again, Torture.  Mind Control, No Sex.  Not going to warn you
again.}

   Her heels on the concrete, "How do I look?" She hit me.  "Don't look at
me." Behind me, so I couldn't see, but she turned on all the lights.  I was
already hot enough, and the belt felt clammy on my wrists.  "I don't dress
like this for you.  Men, you can't imagine that maybe We like to look
pretty?  Dress up for ourselves, eachother.  You have any sisters?"

   I nodded, "Yh!" She pulled my head back by the hair.  "Well, did they
play dressup for you, or their friends?" She pushed my head down, behind
me, but sniffed.  I could smell her.  Not her soap, I don't think she wore
perfume, but she smelled strange.  Different somehow.  "You ever watch them
dressing, fooling around," right in my ear, 'fucking?' The barest whisper.

   "No," why was I crying?  She hadn't hurt me, that much, but the belt
felt so tight, and my arms ached.

   "But no, you have to go an' turn that around into something sick." She
sighed, but it shuddered, like 'HuhHhHuh' "Make us feel, now what was the
word, "Beautiful"?" Was she?  "Over and over to manipulate me into what you
wanted.  A whore, you think I ever wanted to feel likeat?  Uh!" She was! 
Playing with herself, behind me.  So I couldn't see, but I thought I heard,
wet sopping noises too?  "Any of us?  Of course, you didn't pay me, touch
me, fuck me, rape me.  I didn't get anything out of it but this sick
feeling, that made me want to torture myself.  Well," she pulled my head
back again, "I'm not going to," and even up side down, "Torture myself,"
the fierce intensity was back, "for being pretty.  Not any more, now that I
know how you did this to me."

   "Ah!?" she pulled my hair back again, "LOOKIT me!" I had to close my
eyes, "Look at what you made me," tried to remember it, her Look.  "With
your eyes, your leering, staring, glances.  Your dirty little pictures, and
that sick, fucking shrine you tried to hide in the wardrobe." She let my
head fall.  "Uhn!" she moaned, "Huhhhhn!  You know what finally did it? 
Hearing you cry, like a scared little boy on the phone.  That's when I got
horny, the first time I touched myself, nH!  Like this?"

   "Please?" I just wanted to let go, stretch out my arms, and maybe lay
down on the chaise?  I tried to crack my neck, but then I straightened up
to the sound of her walking around.  How, did she?  Without anything to sit
on, but she's not that short, especially in those heels, and she sounded
like she was right behind me, when she wasn't right over my shoulder,
whispering in my ear.  My fingers just shook, and my breath caught in my
throat.  I was so hard, but I couldn't touch it.  "You smell it?" She bent
over, right in my face, and held her fingers in front of my face.

   It didn't smell like fear.  "No?" I turned away.

   "Well," she straightened up, and the skirt hung down over the tops of
her thighs.  I couldn't even see if she was wearing underwear, nor remember
seeing it, through the door, right in front of me.  No, past the chaise,
she sat down, with her leg crossed over the other.  Then she touched me,
and I shrank back.  She touched my penis, picked it up, and it felt so
disgusting.  I didn't want to get hard again, fearing she'd cut it, I just
tried to swallow.

   "Don't."

   "What?  she laughed, "Jerk you off?  It's only fair, are you ashamed of
it?" No, "That I'll see it?  Come on, I think we're past the part where I
might find out your little secret.  I see you tried to hide it, where are
they?"

   "What?" I shook my head.

   "The pictures," she grinned, raised her eyebrows, "I know you jerked off
in here, I bet before I even got dressed last time.  It took me a while,
having to stop and cry, but I was confused, it was my first time.  You ever
had a handjob before?"

   "No, stop!" but it was hard.

   "Nhihihnyeah!" She squeezed it, "You like it, see?  Don't want to admit
it, for some reason, but you're sick.  So, where are they?"

   "There's a box," I had to point with my chin, "Under the drafting
table," and thank god she let go.  Her heels, I couldn't look, or get the
image of the ruffled edge of the dress swaying over her hips out of my
head, as if projected on my eyelids.

   "Well," She picked it up again, "How hard could it be?" she giggled, so
I shuddered in disgust, "No pun intended of course, but is this all it
took? You need someone to punish you so you can have sex?" Do I?  I mean, I
had sex before, of course.  But thinking back, at least my most memorable
lovers were prima-donnas, or Bitches to be less politically correct.  They
abused me, into fucking them?  My face felt so hot, I wanted to tell her to
turn down the lights, but with the dark shirt, and pants, they clung to me,
and my hair was soaked.  "Wow," she threw photos in my lap, "How many are
there?" Another hit my pantlegs.  "So many victims, and how old are you?"

   "36?" She laughed, pulled my hair down by the spiked bangs, and slapped
the top of my head.  "Yeah right.  Premature balding?  Must be an expensive
haircut to cover up that spot.  Don't lie to me," she held me up, to stare
in my eyes.  "You wanna get off?"

   "No!" It was so hard it hurt.  I don't know why I said no, but I can't
say what I was thinking.  I didn't recognize all these feelings, yes shame,
and pain, and fear, but this weird arousal, and excitement.

   "How," she almost sang, "Old, are, you?"

   "41." She let my head fall, and I sobbed.  But she kept stroking, and I
heard another photo flap out of the box.  Stacked up inside, what the box
was made for, 8"x10" for storing proofs, instead of comic books.  "Hmm," it
fluttered down, off my lap to the floor.  "What should I ask next?" But her
hand never stopped, relentlessly pulling the skin over the head, and even
gripping so it slipped in her fist.  "You liked jerking off to them?"

   "No!" She just held up her hand, but I winced, and turned away.

   "Don't," she patted my cheek, "Lie," pat, "To," her knuckles brushed the
other side, "To , me!"

   "Uh!" I shook my head, "I couldn't help it, I mean it!  I didn't want
to, but I couldn't stop, get it out of my head, or concentrate with a
hard-on." It's true.  It wasn't porn for me, it was supposed to be Art!

   "How many?" she threw a handful, "How many girls," but kept stroking,
"How many victims did you make feel 'Beautiful' with your modeling scam?"
Now just wads of them, more and more, until my lap was covered.  "Look at
them!"

   "Uh!" Harder, and faster.  "Does she look happy?" she slapped me with
one, "Don't look away, you took this picture.  Why, to look away?  What's
wrong, can you see it now?"

   "Please stop."

   "What was her name, Nicole?" another, "Janeanne?" another, "Well, as
soon as I'm done jerking you off, you're gonna count.  Every last one of
them, every daughter you ruined, every name you forgot, every child you
made feel sick so you could get off, looking at them." She said she could
make it never get hard again, and i didn't believe her.  "All the innocent
beauty you ruined, Lookat them!"

   "I'm sorry!"

   "No, you're not!" I hate her laugh, "Look at Simone here," she held it
up, "Does she look like you made her feel beautiful?  Can't you see the
tears in her eyes."

   "Nhn!"

   "Oh!" she bent it down, and wrapped her thumb over it.

   "Uh!"

   She started stroking again, but i couldn't look at them.  All those
faces, and bodies with my shameful semen splashing over them.  It softened,
and crawled back into her fingers like an ashamed worm.  "Uh!" she shook
her hand, hard enough to hear the thick drops spray onto the glossy stock.

   Captor {GdoM MC.  Yes, Tort, not even that much pain involved, but I
never promised that kind of Torture.}

   "HuhHhHhH!" I just lay back.  It felt like I just got off.  Well again,
but while I was almost dripping by then, it wasn't like that.  At all.  I
didn't even want to touch myself, much less need to, but I almost fainted.
Not sure that I didn't.  It was so powerful it felt like my brain melted,
and dripped down into my chest.  "Nnnnnnh!" I felt my head, then held it,
turning on the hot velvet, that somehow felt delicious.  "Huh!"

   "Are you all right?" {I just can't describe the sexually sadistic
emotional release, not even going to try.  It's impossible, I hope none of
you experience it yourselves.  Might wanna try Heroin?}

   "Fuck!" I almost broke my ankle trying to stand up, but I caught myself,
and nearly knocked him over in the chair.  "Huh!" I shook wet hair out of
my eyes, and walked around.  To undo his belt, or try to, but the rest of
the literally dirty photos slipped out of his lap onto the floor, and i
helped him up until the back of the chair just fell out.  "Here," I helped
him over to the lounge, "No, bend over the back."

   "Ah!" he jumped, but I swatted the other cheek, then pulled the back of
his pants out of his hands.

   "Why're you crying?" Nh!  "You should be grateful, you ingracious fuck!
I went to all this trouble to jerk you off, I'll give you something to cry
about!"

   "No!" I fumbled at the buckle, but it took me a while to find the studs
on the sides, and figure out how to pull it back in the slanted slot. 
That, and it was pulled pretty tight to begin with.  "Nh!" he relaxed, and
just let his arms fall.  But only long enough to double it over, and swing
it back.  "AUH!" He tried to cover himself, so the next one went right
between his legs, and he jerked so hard he fell off the lounge.

   He screamed.

   "Uh uh uh uh uh!" And sobbed, curled up like a baby on the cables, and
the draped corner of patterned velvet.  I got that feeling again, and
nearly fell down, but managed to catch the back, and hold myself up until I
could lock my weak knees.  "Huh!" I dropped the belt, and shook my head,
but that didn't help.  I didn't like it, I loved it!  Even if it wasn't
quite as good as the first time, but just the sight of his dirty mess,
splattering in gushes over the faces, I had to blink it out of my eyes. 
"Huhn!" I got around to set down on the chair, and put my foot up to start
unbuckling the shoes.  He jumped, and hugged his legs when it hit the
floor, so I put my bare foot up on his trembling hip, and unbuckled the
other.

   To hide the fact that it was just about all I could do, feeling so weak,
and dizzy, and the indescribable feeling slowly fading from my arms,
shoulders, chest...  God my boobs were burning, and the dress top felt so
hot I wanted to tear it off.  And fuck him, so hard, knowing he wasn't.  I
missed it, rushed ahead so now he really couldn't get it up again, and I
started crying too.  So, I held my breath, got up, and went back in the
dressing room.  "Huh!" I looked back, and slammed the door.  Then, I got
the dress off, and my hands between my legs before my knees even hit the
floor.  It hurt, and I don't even just mean my knees, but that just excited
me more, and my fingers stabbed into me before i could stop them.  "Uh!" I
raped myself with them, as fast and hard as I could, flashing through every
fantasy, and sick thrill I ever got.  The boys' screams, and daddy's belt
slapping between them.  I always thought I'd be raped the first time, I
just never thought to do it myself.

   And it was the best pain I ever felt.

   Wretched {G/M...}

   "Gotta fireplace at home?" She came out, half naked, and picked up her
clothes.

   "What?" Her underwear from the floor, and the sweatervest from the
lounge.

   I rubbed my wrists.  "How 'bout a barbeque?" Pulled a skirt on under the
long blouse, I had to look away from.  She wore it like a dress, but short
enough to need a skirt on under it.  When I looked up, she was tightening
the belt over them.

   I relaxed, started letting my legs out, off the chaise, but then put my
hands inside my legs, to tuck in, zip, and button up.

   "I asked you a question."

   "Yes," I shook my head, "Uh, a fireplace?" Remembered the poolside
firepit, "And a grill."

   "Good," she threw the half full box on the chaise when I stood up," pick
all these up." She unzipped her bookbag, but it was empty until she started
stuffing school-clothes in.

   ...  "Come on," she pulled the flap down, and slipped the flaps in the
sides.  "Take me home, Jeeves." She waited in the car while I pulled the
master switch and locked up.  In the back, she put her legs up, on the
seats.  "Don't look, just drive." Her skirt slipped up, or technically down
her legs, almost laying in the middle of the seat with the armrest up. 
"Don't touch that mirror." I started it up, and backed out.  "Done any
shopping?"

   "Uh," drive, not First, I reached up for the leather wheel.  "I found a
book," reached for my portfolio, "Oh," saw it, "And I wrote you something."

   "Nice car," her bare leg rubbed the back of my seat, "I love the seats.
Uh!" Playing with herself, but I kept my eyes on the road.  Kept glancing
up at the mirror, but I couldn't see any of her.  She told me eleven, but
I'd never seen a grown woman get that soaked, or smelled anything like that
before.  Yeah, I turned her on, but she wouldn't let me roll down the
windows, or turn on the air.  And the sun was getting low ahead of us, I
just gripped the wheel tighter.  She laughed, "What's this?" I heard
flipping through pages.  "[Safe Sane, Consensual?]" ~SM-101 "Haha!" It
didn't sound funny, "See, you got the wrong book, this is for S&M, Bondage,
pain play.  I'm not playing, I'm punishing you for being a sick creep, and
taking advantage of me.  You read any Peers{SiC} Anthony?"

   "Who?"

   "Fantasy/scifi author, he wrote Zanth{He really isn't familiar} The
Incarnations of Immortality, uhm, Cluster?  I forget which one, but next
time I'm at the library, I need to check out one of his collections,"
{Anthology, it's a pun.} "For you."

   "No," I shook my head," never heard of him.

   "You'd like it, lots of sex, and violence, I probably read it to young,
but it's called "On the Uses of Torture," or somethin' likeat."

   She dropped the book on the seat, and I looked back to see her pick up
her shoes.  Her school-shoes, with her underwear and socks tucked in, but
she pulled out the laces.  All the way out, I could hear it when I looked
back, at the end of the straightaway.

   Mona {MG...BMW/Auto;}

   "I love the seats." Leather, noted.

   So, just take 2 shoelaces, fold them over in the middle, and, "Huh!"
knot them, "Not completely useless." with a couple loops to slip over my
fingers.  WHKT!  4 flat ribbony tails.  I'd read the rest later.

   He grunted, and rubbed his arm.  Nice short, too.  Even looked good on
him, like boy's blouse light.  With the Aglets still on, technically a
kinda scourge.  I bet they'd make him bleed.  That feeling didn't go away,
but receeded to a dull ache, while I pretended to play with myself.  Still
probably soaking through the bottom of the skirt, but not into his seats. I
pushed back to let it fall.  "Unh!" Leather coated center-console too. 
"Huh!"

   Read his, I don't fucking know, excuse?  Self appologetic bullshit, but
I thought back.  To the way he looked at me coming out of the dressing
room, but not just at my face.

   My eyes.  "Hihn!"

   So, I put the notebook up on the back of my legs, and caught a billboard
out of the corner of my eye.  Blowing past, but one I recognized in the
corner of my eye.  "I don't have a fireplace at home.  Although, my dad has
several firearms, an army uniform, and cuffs, if you want to talk to him."
He almost never got out the Pistol Belt.  Didn't think about it at the
time, everything out to write it down, "You married, Rich?" He started
shaking his head, or looking back, "Of course not."

   But that's it.  I was never abused, my dad beat the boys, never my mom,
they're still together, and even the boys didn't turn out too bad.  Jr. 
washed out a Private, and his younger, my older brother couldn't get in
with his criminal record, but I wasn't even emotionally neglected. 
I'magine it didn't help, but in retrospect, that about adds up to I was
born a sadist.  At most, that's affected how I chose to express it.  He
made the turnaround, so I let my skirt slip back down on the ramp, and
pressed my bare hairless cunt back into the damp spot in the unbossed,
small grain, glove quality leather on the back of the center console. 
Tried to make his car stink for weeks.  If he leaves the phone unattended
tonight, I might get a chance to stink that up, and I didn't even consider
the possibility I might be bleeding.  Wasn't any on my fingers, not that i
thought to check, but I just might have seen it picking up my white
training bra, and deciding not to put even socks on.  Just grab a skirt,
damn near dragged the floor, still felt half-naked.  Or whatever 2 towels
is, 3/4?

   Kept my hands free, but yeah.  Fuck your car, fucking Detente'.  {Piers
Anthony} Fuck your phone, your house, your studio, but I won't fuck you. 
You'll be lucky to see me naked later, because i can't control myself, but
that's it.  You've gotten off for the last time, I think I was planning to
mentally castrate him.  Keep them, as a reminder of what you can't do any
more, "Pain is just a spice!" He still jumped, when i only WHKT!  the back
of the passenger seat.  "I don't have to hurt you, too much.  Okay, it's
like Jelapenjos, but you don't want too much, or you can't taste anything
else."

   "Uhuh?" Okay, I love his car.  I liked this particular shape, and color
before I saw he had one, maybe some of my dad rubbed off on me, but I'm not
getting off on it, and I love that.  Especially when he changes gears, but
he probably ran out of them miles ago.  I don't know, didn't check the
time, he has a stick-shift!

   "Huh!"

   "Uhuh?" I know I can get leather shoelaces.

   "Divorced, actually." Oh.

   "What happen, she find out your dirty little secret?" Sound.  The WHKT!
of the shoestring scourge, or the cigar-cutter;

   "Just grew apart," he shrugged, "Not sure she ever was the right one for
me."

   Giggle, I mean, "Uh!  Or she got too old?"

   "No?"

   "Huh, got any Pictures of her?" He's visual, "I mean, back when she
smiled." But responds to sounds.

   "I'm not a sadist like you!"

   Oh.  "Right," even I didn't see it.  "Of course not, your eyes don't see
it, do they?  You even said, you're useless without your hands, but you
don't really see who you look at?" I didn't do the introspection for years,
"Why you can draw it, or paint it, because it wasn't there, in my eyes."

   "What?" Incredulous.

   "I told you," WHKT!  Wish I was left-handed, "Fear, shame.  You called
it Beautiful, jerked off to it." Well I did once, too.  "Uh!  I guess pain
is easier to see," and Hear.  I hadn't even read about Empathy, it wasn't a
concept.  "Don't you see?  Your Studio is," I didn't call it "Your
Dungeon." either.  I thought I was gay, of course I lied.  The first time I
was ever turned on was when Brittany cried on my shoulder.  "I'm not a
masochist, either," but I have liked pain.  I had rape fantasies, never
understood them, even since.  "Your models were your canvass.  What he
referred to in the note, what allured him to me is that I didn't have any
of that in my eyes.  I imagined subconsciously he recognized my heart was
as dead inside as his.

   "No, I'm the Masochist."

   "Uh!" I held my shaking head, "It's sadistic.  I don't know why, but I
think pain helps us identify with the Victim." We'll play it too, just give
us a chance, "but that's not our Role."

   "No?"

   "You ever rape a girl?"

   "No!"

   "Well not me, obviously.  Huh!  I know you thought about it, right?"

   "No," he shook his head, "I don't want to rape you."

   "Well, how about a boy?" Technically I promised I would never have sex
with him.  But I can manipulate him enough to find out.  If he can rape me.
I fantasized a stranger, and it took me a while to figure it out in words,
but here's the deal; If you've never been to subspace, how do you lead them
there?  I'm an intellectual sadist, it feels better to crush his soul than
any other feeling I've gotten between my legs, and unfortunately, I got
addicted to the former before I ever even felt the latter.  I'd been using
my family to torture eachother throughout my childhood, and I had the
unbelievable fortune to find a self repressed malignant narcocist as my
first victim.  Low maintenance doses of schadenfreude, so he can stay in
denial, and passive aggressively expose girls for the erotic thrill, then
became paraphillic with progressively younger victims.  I was just starting
to figure any of this out, it ultimately took a team of FBI Profilers to
teach me the words to describe it.

   Victor {M Mono}

   I never really thought about it, but she's right.  It's not pain, it's
shame, but that's the only thing I saw as beautiful.  Until I saw Her, it's
like that cute little girl went in, and she came out completely shameless.
I don't need to see the pictures, it came back for the reference photos,
but even in the preliminary sketch.  I worked my way up to her feet, but I
practically finished her hair.  I just couldn't draw her eyes, there was
nothing there, she just didn't give a fuck.  Flashed her leg, hip, and
pantieline like a burleque singer, and waited, patiently for me to draw
her. Didn't even look at me.  My foot, I tapped my foot a little, but I
don't remember driving home.  I remember Her, in the back seat, where I
could only feel her.

   And that whip she made, I read the book she got it out of first, but
didn't really think about it.  I didn't like it, but I didn't like the
bondage, either.  Just sitting there, waiting for her to get dressed, and
anticipating having sex?

   That was better than sex.  I scoffed before, but I don't remember
enjoying sex, as much as remembering it that way.  Sex is awkward, with
everyone moving, so you run into eachother and things.  Unless someone
takes over, says "Move here, no like this." I just never put my hands on
any models before, or felt that.  I was always behing the camera, giving
the orders, and playing them like puppets on strings.  Its just standing on
that stage, My stage, I always missed the play i was directing.  I never
knew how deep my art went before.  She took her skirt off, in the car,
while I unlocked the door.  Private drive, I have a gate, despite the
modest bungalo.  Never needed that much space, I'm a bachelor, why I got
the Studio.

   And, it's close to home, "And right across from the mall.  Why we need
the fireplace, to destroy the evidence."

   She brought the box, "Your victims?" Held them up to me.  Left
everything in the car, I hit the alarm, and locked it.  "What is this, a
cottage?"

   I shrugged, "Garage out back," about half of it, and a lofted ceiling to
the ridgepole, across the short axis.

   "Why do you lock up?" I shook my head, there's no foyeur, it's an open
floorplan.  "Uh!  It's got a gate, but it's like a little apartment?"

   "It was a detatched garage," shrug, "They added the apartment in back,
then they put up a fence, and I had the gate replaced."

   "It has a pool?"

   "It was the pool," now in the side-yard, "they got a new one."

   She opened the patio door.  I grabbed a beer out of the fridge, right
next to it.

   "So that's your folk's house?"

   "They sold it, they still own this, but they get a hotel when they
visit."

   "Oh," she shook her head, "Those [Sirname redacted]s."

   I nodded, "Wanna do this inside?" It wasn't chilly, and I slapped my
head.  "What?"

   "Swimwear," huh!  "I couldn't find lingerie in your size, but I bet they
have pretty good bathing suits." Standing right there, on my quarter acre,
wearing a shoelace, and a negligee.  "Let's go inside," she shrugged,
grabbed a log from beside the {Stone Masony Altar-fire, with brick sides,
and slabstone tops on other side.  Texas, D/FW area, I'magine.} grill.

   "Yeah," she grunted, and threw the log in the fireplace, "Let's start
with the fire." I shrugged, turned on the gas, and hit the igniter.  "Ok,"
she kicked the hearth.

   "What?"

   "I wanted to do it," she dropped, to the carpet.  Crosslegged, I glanced
down, then looked back up.  "What?" the look left her eyes, and she looked
like the reference photos.

   "And now that I look for it, I like seeing a little shame in your eyes."
She got mad.

   "You got a gallery here?"

   I shook my head, just a few choice pictures, around.  "Which one's your
wife." Grinning, and frowning, both sincerely.

   "Huh!" I pointed, "Yeah, she was a model.  Not hugely successful, she's
still working, but I think she's probably plateaued.  And yeah, if i saw
her again, I'd probably happily strangle her right now."

   "What did she do?"

   "She's a bitch, high maintenance gold-digger, but look at her.  She's
beautiful, she knew it, and now she can see it starting to slip away."

   "Any kids?"

   "One," with her, "She gave him up for adoption, didn't "have time for a
kid," she might have already gotten him back, I haven't exactly been
following her since the divorce."

   "Alex," she read, showed me her.  "Remember her?"

   "Well, it was a couplefew years ago." She threw the photos on the fire.
"You didn't date them."

   "The pictures?" I shook my head, "I didn't date models, aft;"

   "Ana," she waved another, "She looks like 19, so an old one?"

   I laughed, "Yeah." I already admitted, the farther you go back, the
older the models are, but she like puns.  I started picking up on that.  At
least it's not Monty Python, or something.

   Monica {...}

   "Sandy," he read aloud, and flipped it back to look at the photo again.

   "42."

   "That another reference?"

   "Allusion," she shook her head, "You officially have more victims than
years you've been alive."

   I stopped saying 'she wasn't my victim.' Some of them, I didn't start
off exploiting them, or even seducing after the divorce.  I was
heartbroken, but I do have to work.  I don't pay rent, but that's about it,
and I live pretty well on my income.  I nodded, and threw her on the fire,
she handed another.

   "Stephanie?" Flipped it back to check.  "Yeah, she was 16, I think? 
Earlier this year." I closed my eyes, "She cried.  I held her until I
stopped.  And jacked off when she left, we almost done?" I'd probably
gotten blueballs 3 times over the course of the box.  It's a big box, and
it was pretty full.

   "Wanna take a break?"

   "Depends," I frisbeed her into the fire, "You wanna be tied up?"

   "No?" She hit me, "No really, stop!"

   "All right," I forced her down, "I won't tye you." I don't think she
likes bondage.  Why she's obsessed with it, doing it to someone, I just
held her wrists.  "Nh!" I didn't know what to do, my hardon went away, so I
put her arm under my side, and reached up for my belt.  I knew how to do it
one-handed, yeah it was backwards even with the [P E] boss right side up,
but it was an awkward position, and I understood bondage a little better in
that moment.  Of clarity, it's beyond awkward.  You can't do anything, I
was helpless.  "So," I whipped it out from under her, "I'll have to do
something else with this." Showed it to her, her eyes went wide, and I felt
the hem up her lip with it bent around her bare skin.  "You like leather?"

   "No, don't hurt me!"

   "I should have thought of that," I looked up, "When you tortured me. 
Are you a good girl?"

   "No?"

   "Of course not, in your sick twisted head you hate that.  You wanna be
the bad girl, don't you.  Have you been bad?"

   "No, please."

   "I won't hurt you," I stuck the doubled over middle up between her
thighs.  "Do, you, like.  Leather?"

   "no," she turned away.  'i love it.' Then, "HhH!" when my thumb slipped
up enough to push it into her.

   Pantiless crotch, stinking snatch she waved around me, and punishing me
with.  "You get off on it?"

   "No," she turned back, "Not yet." Shameless.  Then, I closed her eyes
pushing hard enough to feel bone through it, and turned my thumb.  Side to
side, I assume between her labia, I couldn't see, or feel it.  "NH!" I
pulled it out, "Don't stop." She grabbed for it, but naturally, I brought
in my portfolio.  Didn't even think about it, unlocked, and hit the car
alarm with the other hand, force of habit.  It's always at hand, lean it up
against the side of the bed at night.  "What kind of leather?  This wasn't
smooth, like matte patent.  There was a suedey inside, but the Portfolio
has a rolled edge, a seam, and is worn on the bottom from setting it down,
well everywhere.  Even on brookside rocks for one shoot, on location. 
"Yes," she pinched at it with her free hand, when I sawed the corner into
her.  She opened her eyes, looked up, "Fuck your art." She didn't even
smile, dead in her eyes, then "Mh?"

   I'd picked up the belt.  Passed the tongue under her wrists.  "NO," she
closed her eyes, "Please."

   "You like feeling helpless?" She shook her head.  "How would you know?"
I got the tongue through the buckle, and pulled it tight.

   "Nh?" She tried to pull away, when the strap went tight.

   "You think you know what it's like, because you've got the military
discipline father?  You never called him Sir, did you?" I pulled the
tongue, and just held it over her head.  She dropped the portfolio, so I
just set it aside, Smoothed the dress back over head.  "You ticklish?"

   "No1owohaHA!  Stop that!" then "Ah!"

   "You don't want me to hurt you, so," I tickled right where I just
slapped the inside of her thigh.  "Which is it?"

   "Please, stahap!!" She struggled.

   "Fucking tease," I rolled on top, and slapped the granite tile with her
hands.  Then I saw it, she was surprised, but when her eyes came up to
mine, there was fear.  It's easier to get my pants open, without the belt,
I maybe got a couple strokes in, then shot all over the pink satin of the
nightgown like a teenager on his first grope.  "Uh!  fucking jerk me off,"
I got up on my knees, and she turnead away.  Helpless, holding her breath,
grimacing, and I saw the shot spatter up the side of her flushed cheek
right before my eyes snapped like a shutter.  "Huh!" And other one, so I
reverse blinked to catch the next shot, across her throat, and jaw.  "Nh!"
The disgust!  "Nmh!" Here comes another!

   She sobbed until I literally got off her, but when she looked up, there
it was.  Beyond shame, I humiliated her.  She got more on trying to wipe it
off with the front of the shift, and I even heard her gag a little.  Then,
I took her hands, and untied them, as I held her, while she cried.

   .

   .
   .