My "Images" (a term I stole from Suki) are short ideas, images,
and sketches written for the amusement of and offered as tribute 
to my Liege and Lady.  A few selections follow.  They are generally 
cruel and nonconsensual and of interest only to sickphuxs, so please 
read no further if such doesn't appeal to you.

The Images are impurely the products of a warped imagination, and
should not be seen as a reflection of the scene, nor should they be 
imitated by anyone not interested in a protracted term as the ward 
of the state.

Steven S. Davis

Sliding Along

The prisoner - hands cuffed behind her, blindfolded and gagged,
stumbling a bit in her heavy legirons - is brought into the room,
simultaneously dragged on the leash about her neck and driven by
the prods and strokes of the cane by the person behind her. The
leash is chained to a ring hanging from the ceiling, and she's left
to listen to the sounds of torture as a few other slaves are worked
over in various ways, all of them quite cruel (the sound system is
excellent, so the playback is extremely realistic).  She's occasionally
cropped or caned or slapped or felt up by people as they pass, but
she's mainly left to stand and wait and worry and wonder what has
happened to her life. To think about how just a few hours ago she
left work to go home, thinking about a long list of things it was so
important that she get done, worrying so intently over the weekend's
schedule of housework, yardwork, shopping, and kid schlepping that
she didn't even notice the van she must have walked right past, and
then a bag dropped over her head and a couple people seized her arms
and threw her into the van and after a short, futile, struggle she was
laying chained and helpless on the floor of the van and being driven
to who knows where.  To this place, wherever it was, listening to a
woman screaming and begging as she was mercilessly whipped and burned.
To a place so very far from her life that when she got here she was
sure it had to be a bad dream, and so far from that life that now
grocery shopping seems like such an unreal activity, and the importance
of washing the porch before the neighbors notice it's gotten dirty
becomes more and more incomprehensible with every crack of the whip,
every scream, every minute she feels the steel on her limbs.  Only her
husband and kids still seem real, and she misses them all so much, and
she's so sorry she couldn't take the where they wanted to go last week
and had to put it off to this weekend (why was that ? what was it that
was so important, she can't even remember it now).

The sounds of torture slow and stop, and she stands waiting, shivering
and sweating and more than a little sick with fear.  Finally she hears
footsteps near her, and her skirt is raised, and two canes deliver a
series of short, severe, strokes to her stockinged thighs, and her
tears are leaking out from under her blindfold, and she's gagging
and unsuccessfully trying to breath through her now blocked nose,
and turning a pretty of purple when a stick is shoved under her arms
to hold her up, her legs have failed, and the gag is removed and for
a few moments, she sucks in delicious air, everything else forgotten
for the moment.  After a short time, she's largely recovered, though
when the support is removed and she has to stand wobbily on her own she
realizes how weak she remains.  And notices that the leash has been
lowered a little and isn't taut any longer.

"No matter what you are told to do, believe one thing - if you disobey,
it will be worse", a woman's voice says.  And then she feels the legirons
being removed, followed by the handcuffs.  "Take off your clothes",
another voice, this one male, orders, and while once, such a short time
ago in another life, she would have refused such an order, now she meekly
unbuttons her blouse and takes it off, then unzips, drops, and steps out
of her skirt, and stands, waiting.  "The rest of it", the woman says, and
the prisoner unfastens, removes, and drops her bra, then pushes down her
slip, slips out of her shoes, and slides off her pantyhose, and stands
naked.  "Put these on", she's told, and is handed her dress pumps, the
ones she put in a bag to carry home when she changed to flats before
leaving work, and she raises one leg, and with a little trial and error,
as she can't see the leg she's bent back to receive the shoe, puts on
one shoe and, then the other, and then her wrists are pulled behind her
and the handcuffs replaced.

The leash is unhooked from the hanging ring, and she's led across
the room, and with one person on either side of her, she's positioned,
legs spread, and ordered not to move, a cane tap on her thigh
reinforcing the order.  She hears someone trot across the room, and
then in a few moments feels something touching her crotch, something
cold and round and smooth.  It's moved back and forth and up and down
a few times, then she hears loud clicks behind her and fainter ones
before her as the pole is locked in place, and in a couple moments
her legs are being pushed together and light ankle cuffs, with a chain
about a foot long, are placed on her ankles.

"Walk", she's ordered, as she's prodded between the shoulders, and she
takes a couple hesitant steps, then stops, fearful of what may be
ahead, and she's prodded between the shoulders, but this time the poker
is red hot and burns her bare flesh, and she jumps and screams and
the voices say "WALK" and scared of what may be before her but more
scared of what she knows is behind her, she starts walking, slowly,
slower even than the short chain requires, but steadily enough to avoid
another poke. The long pole over which her pussy is sliding as she walks
seems very smooth, like highly polished wood, which in fact is what
it is, and it doesn't feel all that bad as she walks along it.  In
another time and place, when she wasn't terribly frightened and feeling
a fresh throbbing burn on her back, she might have found it pleasant.
Today though, her only feeling is relief as she makes another step
without being harmed, and enormous relief when she gets to the end
without any further damage.

Quickly her captors remove the ankle cuffs, turn her around, and
replace the cuffs.  One trots to the other side, and she hears
the locks open, and feels the pole turn beneath her, then hears the
locks close again.  Then her blindfold is removed, and she finds
herself looking at an odd, jagged, multisided piece of metal that
an elegantly gloved hand is holding in front of her face, and when
the hand drops from her face she sees a man in leather pants and mask
with a bag and a small hammer working his way over the thoroughly
scarred length of the pole, tapping the bits of metal into random spots
on the pole.  Then her blindfold is replaced, and she listens to that
faint tapping sound for what seems like forever, and then it stops,
and she stands waiting for what seems an even longer time, and then
the voice of an aroused woman loudly whispers "Walk", and when the
prisoner doesn't move, a whip begins biting into her back, the blows
fast and furious, but the frightened woman doesn't move, she just
keeps saying, between sobs and screams, "No...please... please don't...
not this, please don't make me do this...", and then a long, hot pin
is stuck in her left breast and left there to keep burning her, and
she screams and shakes madly to dislodge it, but it doesn't move,
and another is thrust into her right buttock, and she screams, and
a somewhat choked voice says "Walk if you don't want to be a pin
cushion", and she starts walking, even more slowly this time despite
the urgings of the whip across her back, wondering where the first
one was and how much it would hurt, and then she steps forwards
and feels the burning feeling as her crotch is cut, and jumps and
shrieks as much from the anticipation of the pain as from the pain
of the short, shallow cut, and she backs up into a branding iron and
screams again and steps forwards, cutting herself again on the same
piece of metal.  "If you like getting cut twice, back up again.  You
are going to walk the length of this pole, and it's going to hurt more
than you can imagine.  But not nearly as bad as some of the things we
can imagine, and if we have to do terrible things to you to make you
walk it, *GOOD*.  What's best for you is to just keep walking; what's
best for us is for you to keep resisting.  Your choice, dear.  Now,
in case you've forgotten, the order is 'WALK'".  And as she feels the
heat approach her skin, the captive takes another step, one without

One of the few without pain.
Equestrian Games

The four teenage girls loved riding, but were becoming bored with the
bridle paths on the riding academy grounds.  Sure of their mounts,
sure of themselves, and full of the energy, impetuousness, and the
giddy recklessness of youth, they departed the paths for a hard
ride over the open countryside beyond the academy grounds.  They
didn't think much about whose land they were on, even as they raced
past several postings warning that this was private land and tresspassers
were unwelcome.  But there was no one around, and they weren't hurting
anything, so what harm could there be in riding over miles of empty
countryside ?

Valuable countryside that had yet been left undeveloped and nearly
unused, quite deliberately, to keep neighbors and their eyes far
away, and to provide a vast space for screams to get lost within.

But while undeveloped, the grounds were not unkept.  Certain traps
were carefully maintained, lest anyone leave the grounds without
permission, for both entrance and exit were by the courtesy of the
owners.  Not that anyone had ever managed to escape the main facilities,
but it might happen someday.  As might, and had today, occurred an
unauthorized entrance, though as the girls bounced along on their
mounts and the concealed cameras focused on them, they were not
quite unwelcome visitors.

As the girls galloped along in another race, taut nets appeared chest
high in the paths, knocking the first two riders to the ground.
The others were able to stop their steeds in time, but were knocked
from their mounts when hit with heavy furled nets swung like whips.
Not quite so badly stunned as the first two, these girls jumped up,
and as riders appeared out of nowhere, the girls tried to run for
the cover of some heavy bush, but were run down far short of it, the
one girl lassoed, the other nicely entangled by a weighted net expertly
thrown.  Trying to run away was a serious offense for any woman on
these grounds; the visitors could hardly know this, of course, but one
takes one's chances when one tresspasses.  The net was quickly secured
so the petite and pretty young thing within the net could neither open
it nor stand up within it.  Attaching the net to the pummel of her
saddle, a rider lead her horse off at a trot, dragging the young woman
inside the quite sturdy net over some rough ground as she was taken
to the main house.

Her running partner had her blouse and bra cut off, her hands tied
before her, and was dragged on her belly (well, she started that
way, though she turned over a few times intransit) to the main house,
her route a bit erratic as the riders never seemed to miss any sand
or pebbles.

The two girls who were mannered enough to remain on the ground and
offer no resistance had combination gags/mouthpieces applied, their
crossed wrists lashed in front of them and placed on their heads,
and their booted feet tied together, with a rope run from the saddles
to the boots, so the girls could be dragged, on their clothed backs
and by their strong rider's legs, back to the main house.  Their
journey was the longest both in time and distance, as the leisurely
trip took a route that went mainly over stretches of deep, soft grass.

When they reached the house, sore but otherwise unhurt, their friends
were already there.  The arrived in time to see the badly broken but
still living body being removed from the net.  Too badly busted up to
be of much use, the captors stopped a slave drawn wagon and threaded
the broken girl's shattered limbs through the spokes of a wheel and
tied them in place, and the wagon went on it's rounds, the unfortunate
young lady spinning in place, her long red hair alternately flying
through the air and whipping the ground, occasionally being caught
under the wheel, but never quite enough of it to break her neck and
end her misery.  Internal bleeding eventually accomplished that,
but she remained on the wheel for the rest of the day, a stark
warning to anyone who thought to protest the cruelty of the keepers.

Their other friend was in - medically speaking - better condition,
more aware, and not suffering life threatening injuries, though
a lot of her upper body was painfully scraped and lacerated.  She
was, however, messed up sufficiently that she didn't seem an appealing
plaything, and so other uses had to be found for her.  As she was
a rider, the riding school seemed appropriate, so she was carried
to the school, with her friends dragged along to observe her fate.
At the school, she was stripped and tied spreadeagle on the ground,
and horses and riders that were being trained in the art of prancing
over a helpless slave practiced on her.  A common punishment for
minor offenses, considerable skill was required, for the object was
to frighten, not damage, the precious property beneath the hooves.
Considerable training and practice was required on less valuable
objects, such as hapless tresspassers, whose trampling was of no
consequence.  The young woman was used for practice by accomplished
horse and rider teams for several hours until an errant step killed
her, at which time she ceased to be as much of a challenge, as her
squirms and screams no longer needed to be accomodated, and her body
was then used for introductory training until she was thoroughly crushed.

Her friends only saw the beginning of the first practice session, at
which point they were taken to the dungeons for the beginning of their
training.  The riders followed a route that passed the polo fields,
where they stopped to watch a game in progress, the riders chasing
a nearly naked slave (the helmet, kneepads, and running shoes were
an aethestic offense to many of the players, who preferred that the
ropes holding the slave's hands behind her back be her sole accouterment,
but the gear kept slaves in play longer, therebye permitting more
frequent games, so it was grudingly accepted).  The slave was driven
forwards and back by the whips of the riders, occasionally knocked
to the ground by horses blocking her path (blocking was permitted,
though charging was a (rarely called) penalty) and whipped till
she rose and ran again.  She was nearly driven into one of the nets
used as goals, but a defender's bola enwrapped her legs and brought
her to the ground, stopping play until she could be disentangled and
taken back to the center of the field and play resumed.  It went on
only a few minutes before a block knocked her down and broke a hip,
requiring a new slave, as confirmed by a judge, who signalled to one
of the sideline sharpshooters that this one was not recoverable, and she
was shot; her body would be recovered after the game so as not to delay
play.  Another slave was moved to the sidelines on a line from the
fallen slave, and as riders waited at the prescribed distances, a referee
whipped her onto the field, and the riders went into pursuit.

But the custodians of the young ladies had things to do, and couldn't
remain to watch the rest of the game.  So the trespassers were delivered
to the dungeon for initial training in their new capacity of organic
toys, and the riders took the tresspasser's horses out to a nearbye
swamp and drove them through enough of it that when the riderless horses
returned to their stables, the searchers naturally scoured the swamp
looking for signs of the poor lost girls, but the swamp swallowed up
many a mistake, and at last the search was given up, and the girls
were considered drowned and dead.

They actually survived quite a long time in captivity.  Perhaps that
was because of youth and vigor, or perhaps the daily prayer they were
required to say contributed.  Whether or not the prayer helped, it
so amused their captors to hear them say "and forgive us our tresspasses".

"The Greatest Intimacy"

The look on her face as she read the document was intriguing.
Curiousity changing to shock and anger, and then to humor as she
became sure it was a joke, to worry as I didn't return her smile,
to utter bafflement.

"You know I can't sign this.  It repudiates things I've worked
for all my life, it rejects my deepest values, it condemns people
I've worked alongside for years and organizations to which I've
long been dedicated.  I couldn't even sign this and lock it in a drawer.
I can't possibly sign this for submission to a legislative inquiry,
it would set back what I believe in and betray my friends and, most
of all, it would be a betrayal of myself".

"Yes, I know", I told her.  She was a most dutiful and submissive
slave.  It had become quite hard finding hard tests for her.  This
was by far the hardest thing I could have asked of her, harder,
probably, than if I had ordered her to take her own life.  Ending
her life would probably be easier than repudiating it.  I wasn't
sure if she'd agree to it, but the test was a no-lose situation for
me.  If she did as I directed, I would know that my ownership of her
mind and heart and soul was complete.  If she refused, I would have
the pleasure of overcoming this rebellion.

Actually, it would be much more than that, for this was no minor
preference, nor even a major one.  This issue went to the core of
who she was, and I knew there was no way she would give in on this.
To bend her to my will, I was going to have to break her, completely,
and reassemble her again, but without this resistance.  This would
be difficult and dangerous for us both, but the challenge was far more
exciting than frightening, for there is simply no intimacy greater
than that between tormentor and prisoner in a duel to the psychic death.
In breaking her completely I would have to destroy the shell of will
and belief that held what she was, that kept all her thoughts and
feelings and experiences and desires in the shape they now occupied,
and, exposed to the raw data of her soul, I would know her as no other
person ever had known, or *could* ever have known her.

"I knew this would be hard for you", I said, quietly.  "That's why I
ordered you to do it.  An order I'm repeating now.  Sign the paper",
I told her, calmly.

She wasn't quite so calm.  She looked pretty torn up, actually, knowing
that she had to obey, and knowing that she couldn't.  I let a long
moment pass by, and then asked her, "Are you going to sign it ?".  She
looked at me, her face twisted in pain, barely restraining her tears,
and tried to speak, failed, then shook her head "No" before she managed
to choke out a "I *CAN'T*...  I'm sorry... please forgive me".

"I understand, dear, I really do know how dreadful this is for you.
But you know my position.  I own you totally, without limit or
reservation.  You must obey *any* order I give you.  And you *will*
obey any order I give, while your are mine", I said as I rose, seized
her by the hair behind her had, and dragged the crying woman into the

"To your left is the door to this house; if you are no longer mine,
walk through it now, and do not return.  To your right is the door
to the dungeon; if you are mine, walk through it, and I will deal
with this rebellion", I directed.  She was trying to say something
through her tears, which I made out after a couple failed attempts
to be "what".

"What will I do ?  If you are not mine, the point is moot.  If you
are mine, it is not your concern what I will do.  So the question
is irrelevant.  Make your choice, now.  If you will not obey me
and make a choice, then I must assume you are not mine, and I will
push you out of this house.  Make your choice", I said, calmly and
quietly but with no hint of flexibility.  Though I was almost certain
what her response would be, it was with enormous relief that I saw
her turn to the right, and slowly start down the stairs to the dungeon.
I did not often gamble with with anything so precious as her as the

I left her alone in the dungeon for a few minutes to compose herself
before I followed her down.

"Sit in that chair", I directed, pointing her to a straightbacked metal
chair bolted to the floor, but lacking spikes, electrical wiring, or
a space in which to slide a drawer full of hot coals.  In short, the
most comfortable piece of furniture in the dungeon.  As she sat down,
I began chaining her to the chair, inescapably but not particularly
uncomfortably, and, I'm sure to her surprise, without removing any
of her clothes.

"Alright, my dear, you wanted to know what I was going to do, and
now you shall know.  This rebellion is unacceptable.  You are pledged
to obey me, and you shall.  It is far from adequate that you be
punished, however severely, and still not obey.  Before you leave
this room you will have signed that form, and given me your most solemn
vow to adhere henceforth to the positions it reflects.  I hope you will
do this because you recognize that you have no right to ever refuse or
resist any order I give you.  I will still punish you quite severely
for your failure, but it won't be anything you can't bear.  If I have
to overcome your resistance, I'm sure you understand that it will be
by means that you *cannot* bear".

"I'll be back in an hour", I told her as I put a hood over her head.
"I want you to think very hard about what you want to do, and I do
hope you will understand that what you want to do is irrelevant: you
will, eventually, do as I instruct you to do".  At that I turned and
walked out, leaving her hooded and helpless in a room the horrors of
which she knew very well, to contemplate her choices, or lack thereof.
She might possibly recognize the uselessness of suffering horribly
before doing what she must eventually do, and recognizing, that fact,
decide that she must honor her pledge of obedience and do as I told
her.  That would be much easier on both of us.

But I didn't think she would, and as I left her to her thoughts, I
realized how desperately I hoped that she wouldn't.
A "sick image

I must be ill today.  I was thinking about a woman sitting in a chair,
wrists and ankles locked in padded cuffs that are locked to the sides
and legs of the chair.  This doesn't restrain her very tightly, so
a broad band of bunnyfur is stretched, soft side facing in, across
her chest, which, like the rest of her, is unclothed.

I say she's in the chair, but the chair is also in her, as it features
a carefully placed projection on the seat.  Her squirming isn't entirely
motivated by a desire to be free of the chair.  She actually seems to
be enjoying herself.

As I said, I must be sick today.