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


The woman is laying on her stomach on a bed, her wrists secured to the
bedposts, her ankles in soft but snug and secure leather cuffs that at
this time are connected by a short chain. The cloth gag in her mouth
obscures her words but doesn't quiet her (the application of a cane to
her ass and thighs whenever she attempts to speak accomplishes that).
She's wearing only panties.  Her head is at the bottom of the bed, and
her long hair gathered and tied and fastened to a rope pulled taut across
her crotch and tied tightly around her waist.  This holds her head up so
her captors have a view of her face.  It also causes movements of her
head to rub her through her panties, a pleasure that mingles with the
pain in her scalp when her head dips a little, as fatigue requires.
After a time, a captor sits alongside her and fingers her, slowly,
gradually bringing her to the brink of orgasm, then stopping and leaving
her to stew.  Her need is so intense that she risks making pleading sounds
as her wide eyes plead for relief, but her captors have no mercy.
Desperate, she begins moving her head up and down and side to side as
much as her bondage permits, trying to rub the rope against her clit
and bring herself to orgasm, the pain in her scalp secondary to the
ache in her loins.  She's almost there, when one of her captors cuts
the rope, depriving her of her stimulation, and the frustration overcomes
her and she lays there squirming and crying.

Her captors enjoy her discomfort until she quiets, then leave her alone
for a few hours.  When they return, they finger her to arousal again,
then pull a chair up to the bed, and, her head squeezed between one
captors legs while another fingers her just enough to keep her hot as
she brings each of them to orgasm.  And then, again, they leave her,
again without relief.

They return again, remove her crotch rope and panties, and fasten a
collar around her neck.  One end of the collar contains a ring, and
a rope is run from that to her now raised feet.  The chain between
the ankle cuffs has been replaced by a single ring.  Much of the
collar is notched in a way that allows it to tighten easily, but not
to loosen.  After positioning video cameras in front off and on either
side of her, to record all the scene and especially her face as it
proceeds, her captors begin intermittently tickling her feet and
continually fingering her clit.  With each involuntary movement of her
feet to evade the terrible tickling the collar tightens a notch, and
even when she realizes this and tries desperately to be still, she can
only slow the process, not stop it.  Meanwhile, the constant, relentless
stimulation of her clit is having it's effect, as the image of her
flushed face on the videotape will attest.  This time the stimulus
doesn't stop, though it's carefully paced to prolong the process and
matched to the tickling so that as she finds herself approaching
orgasm the collar is starting to choke her.  As the orgasm begins to
hit, her captors step back to enjoy the spectacle, as her squirming
and bucking cause the collar to tighten more, and the red of her face
begins to shade to purple, and the collar tightens further as she spasms
and jerks and then it's as tight as it will get and the woman's face is
twisting even more violently than her bound body, and then she becomes

She's obtained her release.
Death by Chocolate

I'm presently having a pleasant vison of you entangled in a
net; it's a pretty view, you naked - save for your blindfold and
bonds - hanging trapped in a net made of wide coarse rope (with
spaces large enough for an arm - among other things - to reach in
or out of the net, but small enough that no person will get out;
not that it does you any good, as your wrists are bound in front
of you and your arms are tightly enwrapped in rope) while a pair
of people with koosh floggers pound away at your helpless form,
spinning the net and you inside it until it will go no further,
then letting it spin back, so the process can begin again; when
their arms finally tire, they lower the net and your bruised
body into a large tub of *very* warm (but not scalding) oil to
soak your sore muscles.

And later, perhaps they might grap your legs and slide them through
the holes in the net, carefully positioning you within the net so
the ropes slide into interesting spots, then tie your knees together.
Lowering the net so you can put your feet on the ground, you'll at
last have some relief from the ropes pressing into your bare flesh.
But not for long, since soon they start raising the net, bringing
you to your tiptoes, and lowering it a little, only to raise it
again, higher and harder.  After letting you dangle a few times, your
ankles will be tied together and fastened to an "O" ring, so the
pressure won't lift you, the ropes will press some carefully chosen
spots; this pressure will be aggravated when both tie ropes around
the net and alternate raising and lowering you with rocking you
back and forth.

If you respond as expected to this, the movement will be stopped
periodically to keep you from reacting too much.  Eventually, your
ankles and knees will be untied and spread wide as you are suspended
by them.  Of course, as you hang there squirming, your captors will
continue to play with the ropes, and to finger your clit, and to lick
you, while twisting and sometimes teasing your nipples, and rubbing
you with ice and dripping you with hot wax and whipping you (and
sometimes not doing anything to you), but you will not have any release,
not even after the net's been lowered and you've pressed your face against
the ropes to relieve their need, for your cries and pleas will never
pierce the icy hearts of these true sadists.

Then, when done with you they remove your blindfold, then position the
net at a height over a vat of something fun - molten chocolate, perhaps
(death by chocolate, indeed).  After a while, they return, then put a
small flame to the rope holding the net, so you could spend a nice long
time alternately watching the bubbling chocolate and the burning rope,
until at last it broke, and you plummet towards the hot chocolate - but
just above the vat, a clear, thin cord hidden among the other ropes
would stop you, because *you* do not get the mercy of dying screaming
in boiling chocolate; much, much, worse awaits you.

Self-bondage can be dangerous.

Especially when one has caught the eye of a pervert who has you
under surveilance.  Who might perhaps have your phone and residence
bugged and your schedule recorded, and would from that have learned
that you have some SOPs for your self-bondage, such as calling a friend
to request a check-in at a certain time, and changing the message on
your answering machine from "I can't come to the phone now" to "I'm
all tied up now, but I should be free after <name time>" so friends
who call know when you're indulging your kink, and when to come help
(since you always change the message back after you get free).  A very
wise backup to a quite secure system, wrists together in padlocked leather
cuffs, legs spread with leather-cuffed ankles padlocked to rings in
the floor, the key which opens all of the padlocks on the floor between
your legs.  Shortly before the appointed time you lock the end of the
abundence of chain to your wrist cuffs, fasten the harness with built-in
blindfold on your head, and wait till the timer triggers the motor which
raises your arms high, but not tautly above your head.  Then you struggle
for an hour, imagining unseen men watching your naked flesh rippling as
you twist helplessly in your bonds, dreaming of the whip across your
back, the cane across your ass, the clamps on your hard nipples and wet
pussy.  Not that you'd want any of that, of course, being actually rather
shy and a thorough wimp when it comes to pain.  But it's a fun fantasy for
an hour, the end of which is always a slow in coming, as by then you're
getting tired and uncomfortable and the high heels hurt your feet.  You
always wonder if the timer will go off, though you know that with a backup
timer, backup motor, and a backup power supply if the house power should
fail, there's no danger of such a failure, and none has ever occurred.

And so you're happily squirming and struggling, lost in your reveleries,
when the distant sound of a tape recording pierces your consciousness.
"I'm sorry, I can't come to the phone now, please leave your name and
number at the beep" you hear your voice saying.  And then what sounds
like the tape on your answering machine being changed.  You ask "Is
someone there ?" to no reply.  Then you hear your own tape recorded
voice saying "Hi, I'll be hanging around my rec room till eight o'clock,
how about giving me a call a little after eight ?", the message you
left on your friend's machine this afternoon.  She always gets home a
little late Friday.  "Is someone there ?", you say again.

"Of course someone's here, silly" an unknown voice replies as the
the first of several strip of duct tape are placed over your mouth.
"And at 5:15 I was at your friend's house and picked up this tape,
which she never heard, from her answering machine.   I already knew
to come here a little after eight to catch you all securely restrained.
I unplugged both motors, turned off both timers, and changed the message
on your machine.  Uh, and this afternoon I cleaned enough out of your
garage to fit your car in it, and when I came back this evening I turned
off all the lights that can be seen from outside; convenient that this
rec room has no windows, isn't it ?  Don't want anyone seeing in, do
we ? If anyone stops by it will look like you're out, maybe away for
the weekend.  I know your boyfriend's too busy to see you this weekend
- though if he could see you like this, he'd make time for you - and
unless someone else has your phone tapped, no one else knows what's
happening.  Nobody will be looking for you till Monday - but then, 
since you missed work last Monday, maybe no one will look until Tuesday, 
maybe even Wed.  Won't that be fun, standing here like this will the 
police break in next Tuesday and find you like this ?   Nearly four 
full days of bondage, won't that be wonderful ?  Oh, yes, I knew you'd 
like that idea.  You do such a good job of self-bondage, no one could 
ever get out of that without help".

"Please don't stop on my account, my dear.  You looked so sexy struggling
like that.  Not that you don't look lovely now", the voice continues, as
fingers glide over your bare breasts. "But I know how much you enjoy
your little routine, so please continue.  PLEASE CONTINUE.  Ah, having
stage jitters ?  You certainly seem to be trembling enough.  You've
never actually let anyone see this, have you ?  Such a waste.  Please
resume.  Ah, well, perhaps you need to know your motivation for this
performance", the voice continued, and then a cane sharply strikes your
ass.  "How about that ?  Now enough of this jitters and on with the
jiggle" the unseen observer says, and the cane strikes your ass again.
"Let's see that fine female flesh flow.  Make them bounce", he says,
as something stings your left breast, and you start to squirm and
turn and twist and try your bonds.  "Much better, my dear, please do
continue.  That, in case you were interested, was a riding crop.  Just
one of many toys I've brought.  Like these clamps for your nipples.
Don't they feel fine ?  They bounce so nicely.  *DO* please keep them
bouncing.  And this rat trap will look so lovely on your labia; yes,
it's just wonderful.  And it will look even more wonderful with this
weights waving from it.  There.  So nice".

"Yes, my dear, I've brought plenty of toys to try on you.  Canes and
crops and rods and rubber whips and wax and some of the most fiendish
floggers.  You'll know exactly how they feel before I leave, which
won't be till sometime Sunday, and I'll take some pictures of you then
in case any of the marks have faded by the time anyone finds you, so
you'll know just how the marks looked.  I'll send you copies.  And your
boyfriend, and your best friend, and your boss and, well, whoever else
I can think of.  Maybe I'll scan the images and upload them onto the
net.  You know, it's really not a good idea to list all your userids
and passwords in your address book.  Poor computer security, my dear.
But allow me to compliment you on a very nice system; scanner, fax
- what was the number of your fax at work, oh, yes, here it is - high
speed modem.  This should work very nicely."

"Now, my dear, let's start having some fun", the voice says, as the
whip burns your back.
Harmful to your health

The woman, a nicely fashionable individual in her values as well as
her clothes, was laying quietly, perhaps meekly, on her bed after her
rape.  Her wrists were tied behind her, there was a rope passed around
the bed and through her arms, and her legs were spread and her ankles
held loosely by ropes running to the bedposts.  Though unable to get
off the bed or attack her attacker, the arrangement allowed for a lot
of movement.  She had taken full advantage of this in her considerable
efforts to squirm away from the rapist.  She'd known the effort would be
futile, but she'd needed to offer some resistance (her meek submission
to being bound was a different case, as she knew enough about guns to
know what twin 19" shotgun barrels spewing buckshot would do to her
stomach, and had been very still and compliant as long as they were
aimed at her), and now, while she was shaken and hated what had happened
to her, she was also sure she had done all that anyone could expect of
her.  Now, if he'd just take whatever else he wanted and go away.

She was fully dressed in a nice knit white top and a white skirt, both
raised to allow access to her bits; her bra and nylon pantyhose had
been cut and torn as necessary to permit access, but were still on her.

Her rapist lit a cigarette, and took a few drafts as he reclined
alongside her.  Then he turned to her and blew smoke in her face.  She
turned away, annoyed, and said, in a practice, clipped, dismissive tone.
"Please don't smoke".  It wasn't the brightest response, she instantly
realized, but the response was habitual, nearly flexive.

"Oh, you don't smoke ?", he asked.

"No", she said.

"You think it unhealthy, I suppose ?", he said.

She said nothing.

"I'll bet you used to smoke, before it was sufficiently fashionable
to be anti-smoking that you could take an attitude about it and it'd
be OK.  You couldn't possibly pass up a chance to be fashionably rude,
could you ?", he asked.

She didn't answer.  He flicked some ashes on her nipple, making her 
jump.  "Did you smoke ?", he asked.

"Yes, I used to smoke", she said.

"Ah.  I'll bet there's still times you want a cigarette.  After dinner,
or with your morning coffee.  Or maybe after sex ?  Well, I don't plan
to stay for breakfast, but you just had sex, so you can have a cigarette
now", he said, extracting another from the pack.  "I don't think anyone
will hold this against you.  Good thing, too", he said, before brushing
her flank with his lighted cigarette and making her shriek.  He held
the unlit cigarette up to her face, and said. "like one ?".

"No, thank you", she replied, tightly, trying not to cry from the ache
of the burn.

"Yes", he said, placing it between her lips, only to have her spit it
out as she angrily said "NO".

He looked at her for a long moment.  Then said, "So you won't smoke,
it's unhealthy ?  Spit out my cigarette, eh ?  We'll see about this",
he said, and left the room.  Realizing she was in trouble, she began
struggling with the ropes, hoping that something might have loosened,
but nothing had, and she could only wait for his response.

She didn't need to wait long, as he soon returned with a container
of alcohol, which he dripped over her stomach crotch and thighs,
and then poured it liberally over her breasts and her rolled up top.
He put some on a cloth, and ran it over her lips and face, then went
into her bedroom to wash his hands.  Coming out of the bathroom, he
lit a cigarette while standing a few feet away, and stepped in close
and quickly pressed it into her lips.

"So spit that out.  They say alcohol fires are the hottest.  I was
going to stay and play with you some more before cutting you loose
and taking my leave, but I think I'd better leave now.  Enjoy your
last cigarette", she said, as he grabbed her jewelry box and walked
out, leaving her wide eyes watching that red ember approach her
Image - Slave Soup

Just something I thought you might find amusing.

Not a suggestion.  Really, it's not.

I'm going to go get some soup.

 The idea of having you in hot water - perhaps sitting in chains in 
 a hot tub the temperature of which is gradually rising from "feels good" 
 to "this is hot" to "Ow ! Where's the temp gauge ?" to "<pant> Why are 
 you <pant> dicing celery [show slave paper with recipe for "Slave Soup]"
 - is sort of fun.
 Hmmmm, you know, I kinda like that "Slave Soup" idea.  First you 
 get stripped, twice enemized, and thoroughly washed (and well
 scrubbed).  You get tenderized with a nice long DKF beating, and then 
 you are tied nice and tight, before being fondled (I'll have washed 
 my hands; isn't that fair ?) and fucked with a nice clean dildo and
 clit-licked (damn cellophane; oh, well, so it will take a little longer) 
 till you come, then the fondling, fucking and clit-licking is repeated 
 till you're very "hot" and your juices are flowing.  Then we put some
 clothespins (previously cleaned, boiled, and then simmered in a spiced
 broth) on your breasts (nips included, certainly), and place
 you in a large pot full of hot water, the temperature of which is then 
 raised to the just barely bearable point, and you sit and simmer for a 
 few hours, or until you pass out, hopefully the former, as we add add 
 some spices and stewed tomatoes and some finely diced onion and celery 
 and cabbage and maybe some bullion. After this has simmered for a time we 
 take you out of the pot, toss in the diced potatoes and carrots and the 
 peas and lima beans and chunks of meat, and raise the temp first to a 
 rousing boil for 20 minutes or so, then set to a low boil and cook for 
 the rest of the day, stirring frequently with wooden spoons that have 
 been flavored by beating you.  By the end of the day, we'll have a 
 delicious pot of slave soup.
 What *really* would make this fun is to have it a group project.
 I think I'll suggest to <X> that sometime next year he have a
 party at his place a feature of which will be special "Slave Soup", 
 and when the group shows up, it can be a group project to first prepare 
 the soup's special ingredient, then cook the soup.  Of course, while
 you're simmering, and later while you're laying on the kitchen table
 (still bound, though your ropes will have been loosened a bit, partly
 for your comfort but mainly to make it easier to lick the broth from
 your body) between treatments of the spoons, well, things will get a
 bit dull, and people will be finding ways to pass the time (we'll
 probably keep you blindfolded from the time we start preparing you
 till the broth has been licked off (so you can only guess who will
 have done what to you - everyone present will be encouraged to at
 least lick you a couple times), then remove the blindfold so you
 can see what goes on, including the people ominously picking up
 the wooden spoons and approaching you with vefgs.
"I want you alive" (cyberscene excerpt)

Just an FYI about the following (please forgive me if this is all
painfully obvious).  In these cyberscenes, text inside the "<" and
the ">" marks describes the action that's going on.  The rest is
the "strange man" character speaking.  The victim of "SM's" designs, 
whose name has been replaced with "X", is never heard in these pieces; 
she speaks, she's just never heard (rather like the old Bob Newhart
pieces where he'd be having a phone conversation and the audience
heard just one side of it; FWIW, the first cyberscenes I wrote for
this person were entirely in that "Newhart" mode, but after a
while I started using the <action described> gimmick because that
business of conveying/suggesting everything via a one-sided 
conversation is quite hard to sustain; oh, and I don't plan on 
paying him any royalties for the idea <g>).

begin excerpt

<rolls dolly and doll from house to waiting van, puts case in van,
and drives away, following a repetitive and circuitous route for
a time, then pulls into a building and stops the van>

Just transfering you to another vehicle.  And to another container.
One can't be too careful, can one <opens van, takes the [censored] case
to the other vehicle, then moves you to the other vehicle; goes to
first vehicle to wipe it down and lock it up, then returns>

<opening case>  Crawl out, "X".  Good <removing your blindfold and
gag, putting a leather training harness over your head>  I want you
to get a look at this <opens chest, and removes wooden floor>  A
false floor, dear, the better for hiding valuable cargo like yourself
<applies harnesses around your waist and crotch, and around your
shoulders and chest, then removes the handcuffs>. Get in the box, dear,
it will just fit you.  Good <fastens wide padded leather cuffs around
your wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles; attaches your harnesses to the
box.  Opens crotch harness to insert a vibrator, then locks it in place.
Fastens something around each of your thighs.  Slides your hands into
blocks (solid on bottom, three strips on top) and lowers the top strips
enough to hold your hands and fingers motionless. Puts your bare feet
into stands and uses wires to hold each toe, and then adds extra straps
across your calves, thighs, waist, and chest>  I think you'll agree that
this should hold you quite securely. In fact, I don't think you can move
anything below your neck.  And that deficiency we'll address now <slips
a painted black face mask on you, inserts a mouthpiece and buckles it
behind your head, then uses rings atop and on either side of the head
harness to lock your head in place, and applies earphones.  A number
of electrodes are glued to your head and other parts of your body, and
then you faintly hear the wood board being replaced, and there's
several minutes of silence before you hear me speaking into your
headphones>  Hello, again, "X", I needed to seal the board in place
(it's quite airtight now) and cover it with some clothes.  Yes, dear,
I did say airtight.  The mouthpiece serves two functions: it keeps you
quiet, and it allows me to pump oxygen to you.  Without it you'd
quickly suffocate.  And if I want you to go without oxygen, all I
need do is turn a knob.  Similarly, if I want you to breathe nitrous
oxide or carbon monoxide, all I need do is turn a nob.  You are alive
now, and will remain alive, for one reason only: because I want you to
remain alive.  Everything that happens to you will be because it's what
*I* want, you have not the slighest influence over your fate.  If I want
you to feel pleasure <vibrator begins moving>, you will.  If I want you
to feel pain <sharp electric shocks hit each of your thighs and several
of your toes in succession>, you will.  You will hear only what I want
you to hear, and as you are aware, you can see nothing (the face mask
would prevent it even if you weren't laying in complete darkness), nor
can you move at all.  I'll know when you are awake or asleep, or calm or
agitated, among other things, from some of the many electrodes glued to 
you, and if I don't choose for you to sleep, I'll add some pungent odors
to your air supply, and if I don't want you calm, I'll cause you distress.

It will be a fairly long trip - how long will be for me to know, but
it will seem much longer to you than it actually is - and you will
be totally under my control for the whole time.  I have some nice
indoctrination tapes prepared, but I don't think I'll use them on
you - you'd be surprised how effective they'd be after a few hours
with minimal sensory input, but as I much prefer your mind dirty, 
there's no need to brainwash you.  But that too is *my* choice.  
If I wanted you to think something, you'd think it.

Now I'll be switching to some white noise, dear.  Try to relax for
now.  There's nothing you can do about anything, and if I want you
to not be relaxed, I'll be in touch.
end excerpt

Very Quick Image

More an Image of an Image than a full Image, but perhaps you'll
enjoy it.

These two pretty young ladies got dressed up to go out in search
of a good time.  They could hardly have guessed that they would
be snatched in mid bar-hop and wind up locked in and with their
sexy outfits cut from their bodies, leaving them in just their
high heels and hose.

The young women lay alongside each other on a table.  Normally
one woman would lay spreadeagled on this table, but tonight the
two of them lay on it, each captive's wrists fastened together above 
hir head, each pair of ankles cuffed together, and their trim bodies
taut between the restraints.  They would lay there for several hours
as their calls went unanswered and their mix of anger and fear changed
to nearly all fear.  In part because of the presence, more clear in the 
dimly lit room as the captives' eyes adjusted, of numerous instruments 
of torture and death.

When at last someone entered, he promptly silence the flood of
questions.  "You will survive this event, if you survive it, by
being completely obedient.  Any hint of refusal or resistance
and you will die very painful deaths.  Your first order is: be

This is what's going to happen to you.  You will each, in turn
be tortured until you break.  That point will be judged to have
occured when you are sobbing or screaming or begging genuinely,
unreservedly, and uncontrollably.

You will then be allowed several hours to rest, recover, and to
remember the horror you have experienced.  Then the pleasure
will begin.  Each of you will, in turn, be teased and stimulated
until you come.  You will then be tortured again, and it will,
I assure you, be worse than was the previous torture session.
So you will probably want to resist the orgasms for as long as
you can.  The effort will, of course, be futile.  This process
will be continued through 30 orgasms, or your death, or until
catatonia sets in.  If trauma and fatigue seem to be the reason
why you can't be made to come, you will be allowed time for
rest and recovery before the resumption of the ordeal; I have all
the time I need for this project, and you pretty young ladies now
have no other reason for your existence than this project, so we
can take all the time we need to do it right.

Each time you succumb to pleasure your surrender will be followed 
by pain that is not simply terrible, but is worse than any you have 
ever known.  Each orgasm is going to raise you to a higher level of 

If either of you survive this project, and I think you'll agree
that there is a good chance you will die in it's progress, you
will be released.  It should be interesting monitoring you to see
how you react to sexual pleasure in the future.


Taste Test

The chocolate-loving lady was tightly tied to a wooden chair.
She was naked.  Not for any particular reason, just because her
master liked her naked.  Her legs were bent back a bit so that
the bare soles of her feet were facing upwards.

Two bowls, one white, and one blue, were placed on the table.  
Both were sealed in plastic bags (she could even see the 
as-seen-on-TV color strip where the bags were sealed).  Both 
bowls contained a brown substance that had been whipped in a 

"Now, my dear, I know how much you like chocolate.  *One* of
these bowls may contain chocolate, which I know you want to
eat.  The other definitely contains - well, let's say it's 
something that *I* want to see you eat.   It's your choice,
dear.  From which bowl do you wish to eat ?   As always, you 
are free to refuse this direction - and receive something much
worse than what you refuse.  Now choose."

Staring at the two bowls, with their identical appearing
contents, the woman had no idea what was in either.  Wanting 
it to be done, she said "The blue one".

"The blue.  That's your choice ?"


"You're sure ?"

"I'm sure it's my choice.  I'm not at all certain it's the right

"Let's see".

He took the blue bowl, stepped away from her, opened the bag, then 
stepped up behind her, knelt, and smeared some of the substance on 
each of her bare soles.  Then he went to the door, and opened it, 
allowing the two dogs to scurry in.  They soon rushed to her feet 
and began licking at the substance.  Actually, they went to her 
left foot and began licking at it, pushing each other away as each 
tried to get what the other wanted.

Their mistress had started to squeal as the dogs' ticklish
tongues began working on her defenseless foot, but a towel
stuck in her mouth kept her from saying anything that might
discourage the dogs, leaving her to twist and squirm and
laugh till she cried while the dogs finished their treat.

"I know that chocolate isn't very good for them.  But they 
don't get a treat like that very often.  And I know that 
what you're about to eat isn't very good for you.  But I
don't get a treat like this very often", her master said,
as he pulled the towel from her mouth, seized both her hair
and a large wooden spoon onto which he'd scooped up a heaping 
from the white bowl, and held her head steady as he pushed the 
spoon into her gasping mouth, her "no" being muffled as the 
spoon filled her mouth and her mouth filled with the taste.

"Bitter, eh ?", he said, scooping another spoonful from the
bowl, and bring it to her lips.

"I prefer the milk chocolate myself, but I suppose I've an
unsophisticated palate", he said, as he pushed the spoon
against the lips of the woman, who was crying again, but
managed to scarf the chocolate off the spoon.  And off
the subsequent spoonfuls that he raised, more slowly and
more gently, to her lips, and which she, wordlessly, her
eyes gleaming though her tears were done, most artfully
licked from the spoon, her tongue gliding back and forth
over the spoon to be sure she got it all.

"You see, my pet, I *do* like seeing you eat chocolate.
There are other things I'd like to make you eat, and maybe
someday I will, but not today", he said, as he loosened her
bonds.  And then, his hand still in her hair, he sat down,
pulling her to her knees as he said "But chocolate isn't
all that you'll eat tonight".