The Prisoner - Prologue
By Arty

A Victorian cell that was built for one, now held two men.
One tall, one short; one lean, one squat and extremely
strong; one quiet and reserved, one threatening and
belligerent; two men, thrown together by a prison system
grown dehumanising by lack of funds and overcrowding; two
men dreaming of their last night with a woman.

He preferred to see her eyes, but she wanted the blindness
and so he acquiesced; wanting to make this occasion
memorable for her. The black ribbon was a symbol of his wish
that she keep her eyes closed. She liked the feeling of
submission; she liked the feelings that the ribbon awoke in
her.

[He liked to see the terror in their eyes when they realised
whom he was and what was going to happen to them. Sometimes
they tried to escape, but their abject terror made them
clumsy and merely delayed the inevitable. Oh yes! He loved
to hear them scream and cry and beg, especially the begging.]

Carefully he undressed her, kissing each newly revealed
patch of skin, sometimes licking her, sometimes nipping
gently. Eventually she was naked and he led her towards
their bed, where the bonds that were to hold her helpless,
were laid out. Still graceful despite her blindness she lay
back and stretched out her arms and legs complicit in the
gradual restriction of her liberty; she craved the
restraint. Now she was helpless and she tugged futilely at
each of the bonds as if to check that she was indeed his to
toy with. She moaned in satisfaction, when the implacable
leather refused to give when she pulled at it.

She writhed gently; her limbs are stretched and tied to the
four corners of the bed. Blindly she quested for his
presence, her senses were heightened by the black ribbon
that kept her eyes closed. Deep within she knows that her
bonds are just for show; that by uttering just one word he
would release her, but until then she was defenceless and
she relished the sense of abandonment that this gave her.

[Oh yes he loved the begging; the pleading as he attached
them to the makeshift, but oh so effective, crucifix; the
offers, the imprecations. But of course he never gave in,
never partook and once they were attached, they rarely had
breath for much when the realised the full horror of what
crucifixion meant. Of course the Romans were the true
masters of this, he'd like to have used nails, but his first
one had bled to death instead of suffocated, so now he
contented himself with just tying them. Still it worked well
enough.]

Feather-light she felt a touch and she moaned at the sudden
stimulation. The sudden sting of a strap caused her to cry
out. A kiss quieted the slight pain and she sighed. And so
it continued, a caress, a kiss, a sting, each at random
times and she never knew where or what she would feel next.
Slowly and carefully he excited her and noted the small
betrayals that, Judas-like, announced her arousal.

She was lost. Desperate now for release, her breath came
quickly, but her marathon is only half over. Her breasts are
flushed and full. A slight sheen of perspiration glistens in
the light of the many candles. Each drop refracting means
that from certain angles she was covered in stars. He loved
it when she was like this, carefully and quietly he
undressed and positioned himself. She was tense now,
expectant; her pleasure was dammed and waiting for just one
more touch to overflow and engulf her.

[Now it was time for a little scourging. They usually
screamed well enough, as long as he didn't leave it too
long. This one had been strong and managed to support
herself even with her legs cruelly doubled up and tied as
they were, the whip had left red welts and she screamed
loudly. Perhaps too loudly, but that was a regret for later.
She was quieter now, concentrating on conserving her
strength for breathing. It didn't matter they all died in
the end.]
 
He entered her in a single, smooth thrust, and, as he
reached maximum penetration, he was careful to grind himself
against her engorged clitoris. It was enough. She screamed
and came, her release was tumultuous and he continued to
thrust into her in a successful effort to prolong her
orgasm. Finally she relaxed and he stopped thrusting. He
slipped the blindfold off her head, she blinked owl-like,
even the dim light of the candles was bright after so long
sightless.

"You bastard! What the hell did you do to me? And when can
you do it again?"

The lustful smile removed the sting from the harsh words.

"Later. It's my turn now."

With more abandon now, his thrusting demanded payment for
the labour of love that he had just performed. She loved
this too, as he took this opportunity to use her without
regard for her pleasure. She enjoyed the helpless feelings
that this treatment aroused within her. She loved the
selfish passion that she could see in his eyes. And she
cheated him as she came again just as he poured himself into
her.

[And now it was time for the final ritual. Rolling a condom
onto his carved wooden phallus, he positioned it at the
entrance to her fuckhole. Pushing hard he roughly impaled
her with it. She groaned in despair as this parody of
fucking began to turn her on. Oh yes he loved it when they
couldn't help themselves. He noted the excess lubrication
and the whiteness of the sperm mixed in. Oh this was too
rich! He wondered who had fucked her last. He'd never know.
She screamed her release. Oh yeah he loved that almost as
much as the terror!]

Knowing what she liked he remained within her and carefully
reached up and pulled the cords at each wrist that released
her. With her arms free she clasped him to her and allowed
herself to cry.

"Oh God Alan! That was just…"

She was lost for words.

"If it gets any better than this I'm going to die from
pleasure."

"Yeah, but what a way to go."

He kissed away her tears. Then he looked deep into her eyes
and when he was satisfied with what he saw there he reached
under the pillows and withdrew a small box.

"Catherine. Will you marry me?"

Her eyes widened in shock, but he noted that her pupils had
dilated until her irises had almost disappeared.

"Yes of course I will." She laughed, doing delightful things
to his embedded penis. "You rat-bag! What am I going to say
when they ask me how you proposed?" 

[Now it was time to leave. He placed the plastic bag over her
head and tied off the loose ends around her neck. This was
just to help things along he wanted each breath to be as
much of a struggle as possible, too bad he couldn't stay to
watch, but he had a job to do and the people who he worked
for were almost as bad as he was. As he left he noticed the
engagement ring, it looked almost new, he slipped it off her
finger as a memento. Oh yeah, this had been one of the best.]

"Oh you remembered!"

She had looked more closely at the ring, now that they had
moved from the bedroom. A single pale emerald, surrounded by
tiny, brilliant-cut diamonds, sparkled on the third finger
of her left hand. She grabbed him and smothered him in happy
kisses.

"We're going to be so happy!"

[Of course the job had gone pear-shaped and he'd ended up
here, but he remembered the girl and the ring, he remembered
the ring, it wasn't often you saw an emerald in an
engagement ring, people considered emerald unlucky - it sure
was for her. Oh yeah!]

Two men stirred restlessly as they dreamed about the last
night they spent with a woman.

-Fin-

-- 
http://www.asstr.org/~arty