("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
`6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`)
(_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-'
_..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
(((' (((-((('' ((((
K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
_________________________________________
WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
_________________________________________
Scroll down to view text
--------------------------------------------------------
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but
only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of
limitation of use is included with the article. This
story is copyright (c) 2012 by The Technician.
--------------------------------------------------------
The Devil's Bull - A Halloween Story
by The Technician (technician666@gmail.com)
***
Be careful when you dance on the Devil's doorstep. You
never know when he might come out and ask you to come
inside. One of my Grandmother's sayings. (MF, nc, bd,
spank, v, halloween, beast, s&m, toys)
***
Author Notes: All of my writing is intended for adults
over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or
even extreme sexual content. All people and events
depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons
living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions,
situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should
not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the
difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside
in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that
prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories,
please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere
that exists in the twenty-first century.
***
Doctor David Ryan Richardson rose groggily from the
couch in his basement TV room and staggered upstairs to
the shower. Despite not feeling well, he desperately
needed to clean up and get ready for a very special
night on the town. He was going to a Halloween party
that he could not possibly allow himself to miss.
The previous morning, for the first time ever, he had
cancelled all remaining appointments for the day and
returned home sick. Unlike many of his doctor friends,
he was almost never sick. That was probably because,
unlike most of his doctor friends, he wasn't around sick
people all of the time, at least not physically sick
people.
One of the reasons that David had become a Psychiatrist
was that metal illness was not contagious - that and the
fact that it gave him clear access to very vulnerable
people who could not protect themselves from his sadism.
Dave had always known he was a sadist, even before he
knew what the word meant. And he always knew that he was
going to become a doctor, even before he knew what all
was involved in making that happen.
His mother had named him David Ryan so his initials
would be DR. One of his earliest memories was of her
telling him that he already had doctor in front of his
last name, now all he had to do was become one.
Most people become doctors because they want to help
people, but not David. David knew very early in his life
that he did not want to help people. David wanted to
hurt people, or at least he wanted to watch people
suffer. He became a doctor because his mother wanted him
to become a doctor, and his mother was rich enough to
pay for his medical education and powerful enough that
no one, including David, ever went against what Mother
Richardson wanted - at least not for very long.
Medical school was a nightmare for David - especially
residency. Classes were not a problem. He held a perfect
A average throughout college and med school. David was
brilliant - perhaps beyond brilliant, so trying to learn
all that a doctor needed to know was not the problem.
The problem was.... all those suffering people you were
supposed to care about... all those worried relatives
who expected you to "understand"... all those do-gooders
continually trying to talk you into a volunteer year or
two in this or that Godforsaken country... and
especially, all those sick people coughing and sneezing
and oozing their filth and contagion all over you,
trying to drag you down into the depths of their pit of
woe.
For David, THAT was medical school and it was only his
fear of his mother's power that kept him there into his
residency year. Residency was even worse because he had
to come into close contact with the puss and pestilence
of everyday hospital life.
There was one shining spot in the midst of that dark
hole of blackness called residency, and that was
psychiatric rotation. Most of the other residents
dreaded a cycle through psychiatric, but there David
found his home. Others would complain of the poor
demented souls who looked at them with such pleading
eyes, begging to be released from that terrible prison
of torment and pain created by their own minds. The
sense of helplessness in the face of such hopelessness
drained the energy from almost every other student...,
but not from "Doctor Doctor." He thrived on it.
The name of the on-call in the psych unit was never
written out fully on the contact board. Even the
doctor's full initials were not used. Instead the
initials of their first and middle names were written on
the board in the slot permanently labeled "Dr." When
David was on call it read, "Dr. DR." Thus, David became
known as "Doctor Doctor." He liked that nickname and
often used it to refer to himself.
The other residents soon learned that Doctor Doctor was
willing to trade assignments, and by making regular
trades, David was able, for the most part, to avoid the
normal wards which he hated, and the others were able to
avoid the psych ward which they hated. It was a perfect
arrangement. Normally, the supervising doctors would
have objected to such continual trades, but David seemed
to be such a natural in the psych ward and to have such
a rapport with the patients, that they let it slide.
The other residents, and even some of the supers, were
amazed that, when assigned to daily group sessions for
the "permanent resident patients," he could sit and
listen for hours to them tell their same tale of woe
over and over again. What they did not know is that
David wasn't really listening to what these demented
souls had to say. Instead, he was warming himself in the
glow of the pain and suffering that exuded from their
bodies with every word they spoke.
That's why Doctor Doctor was not worn down by these
useless attempts at therapy as were almost every other
resident forced to participate in these sessions with
the lost and unreachable. Instead, as he sat amongst
their pain, he was fed... nourished... invigorated... by
the feast of despair and anguish laid before him, which
he sucked greedily into his body.
He sought and was accepted into a full, four year
psychiatric residency, and following that went into
partnership with a Psychiatrist at the hospital who was
nearing retirement. During his four years of residency
and another four years of partnership, Doctor Doctor
honed his techniques of counseling and therapy, but more
importantly he perfected his techniques of selecting,
using and abusing certain, specific patients.
It was a given that Psychiatrists, male and female,
would use their position to get a little sexual
satisfaction once in a while. As long as it wasn't too
blatant, and as long as there were no public lawsuits,
such activity was treated with a blind eye. But sex did
not feed and invigorate David. Inflicting pain did, and
that type of mistreatment of patients was not treated so
leniently.
Doctor Doctor extensively read the histories of doctors,
lawyers, teachers, pastors, and others who had been
brought down by mistreatment of those entrusted to them.
The lesson he learned from that record was clear. If he
mistreated everyone, eventually everyone would know. If
he mistreated a few, several would know and would
corroborate each other's stories once the story of one
came out. But if he chose one carefully selected patient
at a time as his "play puppet," and if he made sure that
selected person was not around later to testify against
him, the worst that could happen would be a situation
where it was the word of ONE certifiably deranged person
against that of a well-regarded and highly respected
Doctor of Psychiatry who had worked so hard to help so
many people - all of whom were willing to publically
testify on his behalf.
At first David selected people with masochistic
tendencies, preferably with suicidal overtones. Such
people would allow him to hurt them emotionally,
physically, and mentally because, deep down, they
enjoyed it. But Doctor Doctor found these relationships
did not feed him adequately or warm the coldness that
often permeated his soul. The flicker of the flame of
pain and suffering within these people was actually
weak, and all too often that flame was overwhelmed by
the fire of the pleasure of release that came within or
after the pain. That fire of pleasure did not feed
David. It burned him and drove him away.
It was a part of David's plan from the very beginning
that if a puppet was not satisfactorily working out, or
if he had just grown tired of them, he would dispose of
them. That sounds difficult and risky in and of itself,
but when a mentally unbalanced person is standing on the
edge of the cliff of self-destruction, it is remarkably
easy for someone, properly trained and skilled, to push
them over that precipice while at the same time leaving
a records trail that looks like all of the while they
were trying to pull that poor, demented individual back
from the edge.
Several rejected play puppets went over the cliff before
Doctor Doctor finally refined his selection criteria. He
discovered that he did not want a masochist who was
drawn to pain because of the enjoyment it gave them -
despite the cost of that enjoyment. What Doctor David
needed, and carefully sought out, was a pain addict who
was drawn to pain because they needed it - despite the
fact that they derived absolutely no pleasure from it.
Some masochists progress - or regress - into pain
addicts. David had even helped one or two make that
transition. It starts when the person is no longer
driven by the pleasure of being in pain, but rather by
the unbearable distress of NOT being in pain. Like a
junkie craving a fix, they begin to crave pain just to
make the distress of withdrawal go away. And exactly
like a junkie building up a tolerance, the pain they
crave becomes more and more severe in order to give them
their fix.
Eventually it gets to a point where they no longer
derive any pleasure at all from the pain, but are driven
solely by the fact that the pain of being without pain
is worse than the pain of being in pain. That is usually
the point where they self destruct or seek someone to
destroy them.
Although Doctor David knew that it was an impossible
quest, he dreamed of someday finding the perfect play
puppet. He even knew exactly what the perfect play
puppet would be. That sadist's unholy grail would be
someone addicted to pain, but not willing to end their
suffering through the tough road of therapy and life-
style change that would release them from their
addiction.
At the same time that person would not be willing to end
their suffering through the simple road of ending their
own life. This ambivalence trapped that person
permanently in the prison of their own mind. This person
would seek pain, but then shriek in true agony when that
pain was received. The warmth given off by that kind of
pain and suffering could nourish David for a long, long
time.
Seven months ago, Doctor Doctor was growing tired of his
latest play puppet and gave her the final tap at the top
of the precipice. He often did pro-bono work. Shelly was
a "charity case." His counseling with her was non-fee.
He even arranged to pick up the portion of her in-house
treatments that the entitlement programs didn't cover.
When she committed suicide, outwardly he was devastated
that someone he had worked so hard to save had taken
their own life by stepping in front of a bus. Inwardly
he was laughing to himself about how simple it had been
to put her in front of that bus.
All he had needed to do was to point out an article in
the newspaper about someone who had been hit by a bus,
and then add, "At least it was over so fast he didn't
suffer. One minute he was here, the next in he was in
oblivion."
David knew that Shelly took the bus to and from her
appointments with him and to work. He also knew -
because she had told him - that the express busses,
which also drove in the curbside "Busses Only" lane with
the regular busses, did not stop at Shelly's bus stop.
David's comment was an "impulse grenade," and he had
pulled the pin and dropped it into her mind so smoothly
that she didn't even feel it lodge in her subconscious.
Doctor Doctor had waited until after the session had
wrapped up and the recorders were turned off to
accidentally pick up the paper lying on his desk and
make his comment. No video or audio was running, so
nothing would appear in the records trail should anyone
ever take the time or effort to go looking.
Three weeks later, the grenade exploded. Shelly was
going to work. She stood at her bus stop and watched the
express bus coming. She knew it wasn't going to stop. It
wasn't even going to slow down. It never did. But then,
as it approached, suddenly the image of a quick doorway
into oblivion flashed into her mind. She closed her
eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped off the curb.
David had the front page story on the break room
bulletin board for several weeks, but took it down
because he was afraid that someone might notice that he
smiled deeply whenever he looked at it. Now it was in a
folder in the rack on his desk. He knew it was there,
and he knew what it said. That was all that was
necessary. His smile was just as broad as he glanced at
that folder. In fact, the other day just looking at that
folder had caused him to suddenly need to call Debra,
the records clerk, into his office to review some case
records.
Debra was a sex addict whom David had "cured." At least
her husband and her family thought that she was cured
because she no longer wore provocative clothing or snuck
out of the house at night to troll the bars. What he had
actually done, however, was to change her addiction from
general sex to sex with him. Those modest, loose fitting
dresses and skirts that she wore were merely to disguise
the fact that while at work she wore nothing under them
except a dildo harness that kept plugs firmly in place
in her cunt and ass.
She was not a "play puppet" for his sadistic pleasure,
but merely a "normal" doctor-patient sexual release like
several others whom he occasionally used. He had
cultivated each of them carefully and was fairly sure
that none of them would expose him, but even if they
did, such scandal would, at worst, bring a letter of
censure from his peer review board. More likely it would
be just a "strongly worded verbal warning," and a
notation in his records that "a client complaint had
been investigated."
Debra had removed the harness and both dildos before
coming up to the office. David had texted her to say
that he needed to review "two files." That meant he
wanted her available for immediate sex. "A fast review
of a case" meant to leave the harness in place because
all he wanted was a quick blow job under his desk.
"Several files," or "some case records," meant he
actually needed records work done.
Debra was a properly trained medical records clerk. It
was her job, among other things, to load the disks into
the recorders at the beginning of the day. For some
complex legal reason, the recorder had to be in the same
room as the camera and microphone, so that meant going
to David's office first thing each morning to insert the
properly labeled disks. It also meant returning to the
office after the last appointment of the day to remove
the disks and file them. An "overnight disk" was always
left in the machine so that the doctor could record any
emergency or evening session.
The disks were not the only things inserted in the
morning. Debra would set the disk case on a chair, reach
up under her dress, remove her white "granny panties,"
and hand them to David. She would then flip the dress up
over herself, bend over and place her hands on the floor
so that David could see her sex and ass. He would
carefully fold her panties and place them in a locked
drawer of his desk. From that same drawer he would
remove the dildos and the tight leather harness.
The anal plug was vented so that gas would not build up
in her bowels during the day. The dildo in her cunt was
remote controlled so that sexual passion could build up
as David toyed with her during the day if he so desired.
The remote connected to the internet so Doctor Doctor
could access it from anywhere he was, even outside the
building.
For several days following Shelly's death, David "toyed
with" Debra incessantly throughout the day and had
called her up to review two files each day. At least
once in the morning and once in the afternoon he had
found the need for a fast review of a case. Debra knew
that something was different when, on one of those
occasions, he had her strip completely and lay over his
desk rather than just flipping her skirt over her back.
She squirmed and grunted as she tried desperately to
remain quiet while his hands squeezed her breasts
forcing her higher and higher into orgasmic bliss.
Three days after the accident, Debra was under his desk
when a colleague called about a referral. The friend
handled a lot of court-ordered therapy and had a case
that baffled him. He thought it was more in David's
field of expertise and was wondering if he would accept
the referral.
The patient's name was JoAnne. She had walked up to an
officer on duty at a street corner and slapped her in
the face. Then she resisted arrest by kicking the
officer between the legs. The fact that it was a female
officer made the officer's response no less violent.
JoAnne had suffered two cracked ribs and pepper spray
burns to the face and eyes plus a tazer burn to the side
when she still would not stop kicking and flailing.
There were no drugs in JoAnne's system. She appeared
very normal and courteous in court and passed all
psychiatric evaluations. What brought about the court-
ordered therapy was primarily the fact that JoAnne,
after collapsing to the ground and while she was still
vibrating from the tazer shocks, looked up at the
officer, smiled sweetly, and said, "Thank you. I needed
that."
The backup officer's evaluation was "That bitch is
crazier than a crack whore."
Dr. Morrison's evaluation was a little more clinical,
but no less biting. "She's not truly a masochist," he
told David. "We did the fully monitored image screening
with pussy probe and everything. The physical tests say
she receives no pleasure or sexual stimulation from
pain, but the mental tests say she craves it - is almost
addicted to it. I understand you have handled a few
other patients like this. Would you be willing to take
over her case?"
The unholy grail had been dropped on his desk like a
gift from above. David knew that JoAnne was not self-
destructive because she did not attempt to force the
officer to kill her. But at the same time she knew and
expressed the fact that she was addicted to pain. In Dr.
Morrison's short summary, Doctor Doctor could see that
JoAnne was an addict who wanted a fix, not a cure.
Hopefully, he could keep her dancing on the edge of
destruction for many years.
She was going to be the play puppet of all play puppets,
but first he had to make her his. And he had to move
slowly. One does not suddenly grab the unholy grail as
if it were a common cup of tea. One caresses it and
strokes it and slowly works one's hands around it until
it is yours.
After his sessions with JoAnne, David would take copies
of the disks home and listen to them while he
masturbated himself or had sex with his sex addict
neighbor. The neighbor was also one of his former
patients whom he had groomed for his sexual release. Her
moving in next door was not an accident. For someone who
could easily manipulate someone else into killing
themselves, maneuvering someone into moving next door
when the house was up for sale was child's play.
Besides, her husband was a part of her illness and
didn't really want her to improve. He enjoyed the
thought of her having sex with other men as long as she
made the pretense of keeping it secret from him and from
the world. She would come home smelling of sex and
cigarettes and want him to fuck her as much as he
desired, as long as he desired, in any way he desired...
and he would. Why would most men want to change that?
Whenever Cassie came over to David's house, her husband
would tell himself she was coming over for therapy. But
then he would make her show him the whip and paddle
marks on her ass when she came home. Sometimes he would
wait for her on the back deck hoping that this would be
one of those times when she ended up running across
their adjoining backyards naked to get home. Then he
would catch her at the back door, push her across the
deck table and fuck whichever hole did not have cum
oozing from it.
After JoAnne had been in therapy for several weeks, she
began talking about "The Devil's Doorstep." David was
familiar with all of the sexually oriented clubs in town
because at least one of his patients belonged to each of
them, but he had never heard of The Devil's Doorstep.
"It's a pain club," explained JoAnne. "Membership is by
invitation only.
There's sex and there's bondage at the club, but mostly
there's pain."
David let the topic drop for the moment, planning to
pursue it further later. The following Friday afternoon,
JoAnne again mentioned the club and went on to describe
a pain session she had experienced there the previous
night in which she had agreed to be used by "The
Whipmaster."
"He is so divine," she said dreamily. "Or maybe I should
say Devilish. He likes to string two of us up on
spreader bars with our hands and ankles spread wide and
then pull us up off the floor so we are suspended facing
each other while our ankle spreader bars are firmly
anchored to the floor at both ends. That way we can
shake and vibrate all we want, but we can't kick our
legs or flail our arms and we are always lined up
properly for his whips."
She took a deep breath. It was as close as David had
seen to sexual stimulation from her. "Then he stands
there with a whip in each hand and sees which of us he
can get to scream the loudest. He's good - very good,
and can hit from top to toes. He can even swing the
whips between us and snap nipples or pussy. The pain is
unbelievable when he pops you exactly on a nipple or...
your clit. He keeps going until one of us yells out our
safeword."
She paused before looking up directly into David's eyes
and saying, "I never have."
"Would you like to see what he did to my body last
night?" she asked, and then stood up and began
unbuttoning her blouse. David pressed a button on his
desk and the receptionist hurried into the room.
"I need a woman present," he said softly. Diane was a
highly qualified medical receptionist and was not, nor
never would be, one of David's pain or sex toys. She was
the one who would testify, if needed, as to how
professional David had been with all of his patients and
how he observed every rule of proper procedure,
including summoning her into his office whenever a
patient attempted anything that could be interpreted as
a sexual advance.
She gasped as she came through the door. She could see
JoAnne's back... and legs... and breasts. Actually, she
could see all of JoAnne since she was bent over sliding
her slacks to the ground as Diane was entering the room.
"They still throb," said JoAnne, arching her back so
that she was thrusting her criss-crossed ass toward
David. "You can touch them if you want. It might give me
my daily fix. Then I won't have to go out and get
somebody to beat me tonight."
"Diane, please stand next to me," David instructed, "I
want a witness to the fact that I am touching these
welts solely to observe the patient's reaction to my
touch."
David, in a very professional manner, reached out his
hand and lightly brushed a deep purple welt that ran
along the joining point between JoAnne's back and the
upper portion of her ass cheeks. Speaking to the
recorders, he said, "Let the patient records note that
the patient reacted in pain, not pleasure at the touch.
There was no indication of sexual arousal in the face,
nipples or genital area."
The same could not be said for David. He made sure to
turn away from Diane before she could see the ridge
beginning to form in the front of his pants. Seating
himself behind his desk, he said, "Diane, please help
JoAnne re-dress herself. I think that we will end this
session early. It would also be a good idea to have
Debra come up here and switch disks early so that I am
sure that this goes into the records properly. Would you
please call her and tell her that I have two files that
I need to review with her immediately, please?"
Diane waited for JoAnne to finish dressing and then
accompanied her out into the waiting room. A few minutes
later, Debra entered the office. "Naked, on the desk,"
was all that David said. He "reviewed both files" very
forcefully with her before letting her up from the desk
and sending her back to the records area.
After she was gone, and David had insured that
everything was cleaned up, he used an air freshener
spray to hide the smell of sex and summoned Diane back
into his office. "What does my schedule look like for
the coming week?" he asked. "We need to leave plenty of
space for emergency and special sessions."
Diane looked puzzled. David tapped the calendar on his
desk, "Halloween," he said. "I can show you fifty
different studies that say that moon and weather changes
and holidays like Halloween have no affect on mental
illness. But they think it does - tapping his
appointment book - and that is all that matters."
"I know Thursday is Halloween," answered Diane. "But the
electronic scheduling program is set to automatically
keep space open a week before and a week after
Halloween. Your schedule is pretty clear right now." She
paused and then added, "Except I've already used one of
those slots for JoAnne. She said she absolutely has to
see you Monday. She seemed truly terrified of something,
so I gave her the nine am slot. Is that OK?"
"That's fine," answered David, "but check with me before
filling any more slots. We may have to prioritize
appointments."
= = =
JoAnne was David's first appointment for the week. She
was already in the waiting room when he arrived at 8:30
on Monday morning. Diane said, "She was here when we
opened the doors at 8:00."
He stuck his head into the waiting room and said, "Your
appointment isn't until 9:00." When she started to tear
up, he added, "But I will see you early. Why don't you
come into the office with me."
They had barely gotten through the door to his office
when she broke down and began crying almost
hysterically. "You have to lock me up somewhere for a
couple of days. I know you can do it. You can commit me
to a locked ward for a 72 hour evaluation on Wednesday
morning. I'll be safe there."
"Now, now," he replied in his best I'm-showing-that-I-
care-about-you voice.
"Tell me more about this so I can understand what is
happening."
"Thursday is Halloween," she answered.
"And...."
"Halloween is a special night at the club."
"And...."
"Visitors are welcome. New people are invited."
"And..."
"And... and... and..." She began and then dissolved
again into tears.
"Take your time," he assured her. "We started early. You
have plenty of time.
What else happens on Halloween?"
She raised her head and looked directly into his eyes.
"It's a 'no limits night' at the club. If you go up on
stage on Halloween night, you are there until you break.
And that doesn't mean yell-a-safeword break, because
safewords aren't honored on a no limits night. On
Halloween, you go until you are totally broken, and that
means submit-to-slavery broken. Whatever is happening
keeps happening until you are totally broken and are
willing to do anything to anybody or for anybody just to
have it stop. If I go up onto that stage Thursday night,
I will come off that stage a slave."
"The solution sounds simple," observed David, "just
don't go up on stage."
"But I need it," she whined. "I need it so badly."
She looked back up into his eyes. "Even knowing how
things will turn out, I can't help myself. I will go to
the club and I will go up on that stage," she dissolved
again into choked sobs, "... and I will be broken."
"JoAnne," David began, "just about any other time of the
year, I could get you in for a 72 hour evaluation with
no problems, but this is Halloween. The wards will be
packed. In the meantime, I will look into some things
and see what I can do. Let's book you back for Wednesday
morning, first appointment. OK?"
JoAnne nodded her head, wiped away her tears and said,
"Thank you. I knew you would understand."
Doctor Doctor understood. He understood very clearly
that somehow he was taking her to that club and he, not
The Whipmaster, was going to break her down completely
and capture her as his slave forever.
"JoAnne?" he said before she could reach the door, "Do
you think it would be possible for you to give me
contact information for the Devil's Doorstep? I think it
would be a good idea if I could talk to the owner or
manager and work something out."
"Of course, Doctor," she replied as she took her smart
phone from her purse. I will text them and ask them to
contact you. What number should I give them?"
David gave her his auto-forward number. It came up on
his cell phone as an incoming call, but the caller did
not know his true number. There were a lot of reasons
for using a forwarding number like that, primary of
which was that his location could not be easily pinged
or traced by any law enforcement authorities.
A few moments later the "bing" of an incoming text
chimed in the room. It said, "Painslut Joey called. What
do you want?"
He smiled and typed his reply. "I want to come to the
club as a guest Thursday evening. I will bring Painslut
Joey so that she can be on stage, but I want to be the
one who whips her into submission."
The response was a single word "Done." Then his GPS
program self started and an address and map point
appeared on the screen giving the location of the club.
He knew the area well, but had never seen anything that
looked like a club in that seedy, rundown area of town.
The Wednesday session with JoAnne was uneventful, but
shortly after that session extreme indigestion hit him
and forced him to cancel the rest of his appointments
for the day. Doctor Doctor made a lousy patient. In
fact, he hated medical doctors and would not go to one
unless there was absolutely no other option. Besides, it
was just indigestion. He must have eaten something too
spicy or had one too many drinks last night. He would go
home and sleep it off.
Before he left the office, he texted JoAnne. "I will be
with you tomorrow night. Please meet me in front of my
office building at nine o'clock tomorrow night and I
will take you someplace where nothing can happen to you
unless I allow it. Does that work for you?"
Her reply was "Done."
"They must use that a lot in her circle of friends," he
thought to himself as he closed the connection.
Immediately after putting his phone back into his
pocket, he began sweating and feeling very ill.
= = =
The shower improved things. By the time he had dried
himself, David was feeling much better and looking
forward to the evening with great pleasure and
anticipation. As he dressed, he could envision JoAnne
strung up on stage, naked and sweating, her body striped
with welts and cuts, screaming to be allowed to submit
to him as his eternal slave. He savored that image as he
splashed some cologne on his face and checked his hair
in the mirror. Then it was time to go.
Doctor David Ryan Richardson, Doctor Doctor, pulled up
in front of his office building at exactly 9:00 pm on
Halloween night. He was hoping that JoAnne was on time
or at least not too late. He didn't like waiting.
He need not have worried. JoAnne stepped from the shadow
of a tree in front of the building as he pulled up to
the curb.
"Where are we going?" she asked as she entered the car.
"You need to trust me," answered David. "We are going to
The Devil's Doorstep."
"NO!" screamed JoAnne, her face suddenly full of fear.
She started to get out of the car, but the door wouldn't
unlock from her side. That was one of the many
modifications David had paid to have done to his
Mercedes right after he purchased it. Other
modifications included removing the inside release from
the trunk and modifying the seatbelts - other than the
drivers - so that they could be electronically locked
using a button on the dash. JoAnne's door wouldn't
unlock and she couldn't undo her seat belt.
"Don't panic. Don't panic," he said in his calm, sooth-
the-patient voice. This is best. It is really no
different than me taking someone who is afraid of
heights up to the observation deck at the top of a tall
building. In order to conquer your fears, you need to
face your fears - but in a safe way. Remember, I will be
with you."
He took her hand with his right hand and with his left
turned her head so that they were eye to eye. "You will
be in my hands," he assured her. "Nothing will happen to
you unless I make it happen to you."
Had JoAnne known the true import of those words, her
fear would have turned to terror, but instead she calmed
down and asked, "Will you protect me?"
"Do you think I would harm you?"
She relaxed and answered, "OK, but don't leave me alone
- even for a second - while we are in the club."
"Don't worry," he reassured her, "I will be right there
beside you." He then silently added to himself,
"swinging the whip."
David was surprised when they arrived at the club. He
was somewhat familiar with this neighborhood and had
never seen any indication of a club in the area, but
then he noticed the wide alleyway that hadn't been there
before. There should have been a building there. He
remembered it clearly.
He had always assumed that it was a party room for the
diner next door since it had advertizing for them in the
blacked out windows, but now the entire building face
was folded back like a huge door to reveal a wide alley
and the marqueed entrance to a club that was apparently
located behind the front buildings. The letters on the
marquee, which were red and were intended to look as if
they were dripping blood, spelled out "The Devil's
Doorstep."
"Well I'll be damned," he said as they got out of the
car.
JoAnne smiled at him and said in a strangely flat voice,
"Aren't we all?"
David paused for a moment trying to connect what she had
just said, but then extended his arm and said, "Ready?"
In answer, JoAnne took his offered arm and began walking
down the alleyway with him toward the club entrance.
The Devil's Doorstep was everything that you would
expect an "underground" BDSM club to be. It was slightly
dark, slightly unkept, and smelled more than slightly of
old cigarettes and stale alcohol. When he gave his name
to the hostess, she said, "Of course Doctor Richardson.
We have a front row table waiting for you. Please follow
me." She then led them up to a table right next to the
stage area.
Shortly after they sat down a lean, middle-aged man with
dark wavy hair that was combed straight back from his
forehead came over to the table and said, "Welcome to my
club. I am The Owner. Tonight you are a visitor. Perhaps
you will join and come on other nights as well."
From his accent, it was apparent that English was not
his first language, but David could not place exactly
where the accent was from. It sounded somewhat European,
but had overtones of the Mideast or even the Orient. The
Owner's facial features were also not specific to any
one racial or ethnic group. It was almost as if he were
a blend of all the world's racial and ethnic groups.
The Owner then bent down close to David's ear and said
softly, "Hers will be the last scene and will begin at
exactly Midnight. We close at two a.m. so it can be as
long as you want. If it plays out well, I might even
stretch my license and stay open until three or four in
the morning."
David took in a deep breath as he savored the image of
JoAnne screaming beneath the whip for three or four
continuous hours. The Owner stood back up and said
loudly, "Order anything you would like. The first round
of drinks are on the house for special guests like you."
He smiled and walked off to speak with other tables.
"What did he say to you?" asked JoAnne. Fear had
returned slightly to her voice.
"He was just telling me that there was a discount on a
lifetime membership."
JoAnne laughed softly and answered, "I'll bet they have
even better deals than that."
Again David couldn't quite connect what JoAnne had said,
but he had long ago learned to filter out any comments
from his patients that didn't make sense. He dismissed
further thought about it from his mind as the house
lights began to dim and the lights on the stage area
brightened.
The Owner stepped out into the lights. "Ladies and
gentlemen, our first scene tonight will help resolve a
domestic dispute that has arisen from two switches
falling in love for each other." He laughed and shrugged
in a Mediterranean sort of way. "Sometimes balance in a
relationship is not all it is made out to be. In this
case, neither is strong enough to overwhelm and conquer
the other, but at the same time, neither is weak enough
to submit themselves to someone not significantly
stronger than themselves. Perhaps they would have been
wiser to choose a different night, but tonight they have
come to me, The Owner, to help them resolve their
issues."
A man and woman walked out onto the stage area. They
were both naked and both had restraint cuffs on their
wrists and ankles. Two sets of cables lowered from the
ceiling. Each set was attached to opposite ends of a
steel pipe. Another pipe was clipped just below the one
to which the cables were attached. Stage hands hurried
out and detached the second pipe from each rig. The man
stood beneath one pipe, the woman stood beneath the
second.
The stage hands attached their wrists to the pipes and
then bent down and attached their ankles to the second
pipe which was now laying on the ground. The two sets of
cables rose back up into the air until the feet of both
people were off the ground. The stage hand then attached
short cables from the ends of the lower pipe to
attachment points on the stage floor. The cables then
continued their upward motion until both the man and the
woman were obviously held taut.
"Tonight, one of these star-crossed lovers will submit
to the other." announced The Owner. "And The Whipmaster
will help them decide who will submit to whom." He
paused to let a figure dressed completely in black
leather come onto the stage. "Whipmaster, if you
please...."
The figure in black snapped two whips rapidly several
times in succession toward the audience and then turned
so that he was facing the two people hanging spread
eagle. He made a quick motion with his arms and wrists.
The whip crack echoed through the room, followed a
moment later by the screams of both parties. With
measured pace, allowing the couple plenty of time to
absorb the pain of one strike and anticipate or dread
the bite of the next, The Whipmaster repeated that
action four more times. Then he went to the other side
of the couple and began once again.
"He's switching sides so the whip hand switches from one
person to the other." explained JoAnne. "Believe me, he
is exactly the same with either hand, but some people
have trouble accepting that, so he makes sure that both
sides get equal treatment from either hand."
David wasn't keeping count of the blows, but he thinks
it was around twenty-five or thirty that the man
suddenly screamed out, "I submit. I submit."
The Owner came out on stage and asked him, "Do you
submit yourself totally to this woman to be her slave
from this time forward and forever?"
"Yes," the man cried. "Yes, I am her slave now and
forever."
The Owner turned to The Whipmaster and said simply, "You
may resume."
"What!" yelled the man. "I submitted. I gave in."
"Yes, and it looks like you will enjoy being her slave,"
answered The Owner as he brushed his hand against the
man's erect penis. "You want to be a slave, and you seem
to like pain... up to a point. But did you not read the
whole contract when you signed it? This is a special
night. It is Halloween. There are no limits. Every scene
goes until the person breaks."
"But I broke," screamed the man.
The Owner laughed what could only be described as a deep
and evil laugh and said, "Yes, you have broken, but..."
pointing to the man's wife "...she has not."
Turning once again to The Whipmaster, The Owner issued a
terse, single word command, "Continue!"
The Whipmaster's pace was now much faster, and he didn't
stop at the end of every five strokes, but instead
continued relentlessly. David was now keeping track of
the strokes. There were sixty-three additional strokes,
each one accompanied by shrill cries of pain, before the
woman cried out, "I submit. I submit. I submit!"
The Owner stepped once again into the light and asked,
"Do you submit to me?
Are you my slave now and forever?"
She hung her head and answered, "Yes. You are my Owner
from this point forward, now and forever."
The Owner turned to the Whipmaster and said, "Give my
slaves fifty lashes to remind them that I am The Owner.
Then take them down and put them outside in the alley.
Tie them to the slave post. I will pick them up later."
The woman screamed through all fifty strokes. The man
passed out after about twenty, but even unconscious, he
still had a huge erection.
"Masochists," muttered David. "They will probably fuck
each other senseless all night in that alley waiting for
their new master to come and claim them."
"Our next scene should probably be entitled, 'Be Careful
What You Wish For.'" called out The Owner. "Normally
everyone here tonight receives a personal invitation
from me, but this woman found out about us through her
smart phone."
He made another Mediterranean facial gesture. With his
eyebrows raised and his mouth formed into an exaggerated
frown, he continued, "It seems she installed a special
hacker app on her phone that infected other phones and
allowed her to monitor any incoming and outgoing text on
any person's phone who had ever texted her. In this
case, she read my text to her employer's phone. She
contacted me because she craves sex and her current
situation limits the amount of sex she can receive. She
says she has never been able to get enough sex. She
wanted to come on our stage on this special, Halloween,
no-limits night in hopes that she could have unlimited
sex."
He laughed. "And that is exactly what she shall get." He
laughed again - a colder laugh. "....at least that's
what I promised her."
After a rather long pause he continued, "Yes, ladies and
gentlemen, she will get exactly what she asked for. She
will get her wish for unlimited sexual stimulation. I
present to you Slut Deborah."
David was very seldom surprised by anything, but when
his records clerk walked out onto the stage naked, his
mouth dropped open. She stood there for a few moments
very unsure of what she was supposed to do, but then two
stage hands wheeled a small platform out onto the stage
with what appeared to be a half-barrel on the top of it.
There was a large pink phallus sticking straight up from
the top. Two stage hands lifted Debra up off her feet
and set her on the platform.
"That's a Sybian female masturbation machine in case
you've never seen one," explained JoAnne. David had seen
pictures and some videos of their use, but this was the
first time he had seen one in person. He had never been
motivated to investigate them because they gave
pleasure, not pain.
Debra knew what to do and she straddled the machine in a
kneeling position and lowered herself down onto the
dildo. The two stage hands then began securing her to
the platform. They attached a wide leather belt around
her waist that had two large D rings on each side of it.
The two lower rings they chained to the platform so
Debra could not get off of the Sybian. She couldn't even
raise herself up. Then they put wide restraining cuffs
on her forearms and attached them to the upper D rings
on the belt, effectively immobilizing her arms. The
final thing they did was to put two small clover clamps
on her nipples with bright silver weights hanging from
them. By the time they were finished, Debra was
breathing hard and starting to grind her crotch into the
machine -- and it wasn't even plugged in yet.
The Owner stepped to the front of the stage and
addressed the audience. "It takes pleasure a little
longer than pain to break someone, but it will be
interesting to watch as the night goes on." He then
walked with the platform as the two stage hands rolled
it to an area just off to one side of the stage. A small
spotlight, slightly dimmer than the stage lights came up
to light the area.
After the stage hands had plugged in the Sybian, The
Owner picked up the remote and activated the motors. A
soft hum filled the room and Debra started rocking
slightly back and forth with the sensations. "That looks
enjoyable," he said. "But Slut Deborah said she wanted
UNLIMITED sexual stimulation." He looked up at the
audience and smiled broadly before continuing, "There
are actually limits to almost everything, including this
marvelous machine, but let's see what a Sybian does on
its maximum settings."
The hum became louder and Debra's eyes flew fully open.
Her mouth formed a perfect O as she gasped and drew in
deep lungfulls of air. Then she almost immediately began
to climax. The powerful sensations were more than she
could stand. She tried to buck and lift her body to
escape the dildo rotating inside her, but the belt held
her firmly in place. She twisted back and forth on the
saddle, but she could not escape the intense vibrations.
The Sybian's combination of vibration and internal
stimulation drove her into another intense orgasm. She
threw back her head and a long "Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh"
escaped her lips. This was impossible. She was already
in orgasm, but at the same time was being driven higher
and further into another... and another... and another
orgasm.
She began grunting, "Aahh... Aahh... Aahh... Aahh!"
until The Owner turned to the audience and said, "I
think that will be a bit distracting from our other
scenes, don't you?" He gave a hand signal and the two
stage hands came over and forced a large ball gag into
Debra's mouth. She tried to resist them, but could do
little with her arms held tight at her sides by the
belt. "I think we will check on her occasionally
throughout the night to see how she is doing," said The
Owner.
Doctor Doctor was now watching raptly. He could feel the
familiar warmth of fear and pain, and yet Barbra was
experiencing pleasure, or at least she appeared to be
experiencing pleasure.
"You're a man. You wouldn't understand," said JoAnne. "A
female orgasm is a combination of pleasure AND pain.
Your nervous system overloads and every sensation is
there all at the same time. If you push too far into an
orgasm, your body can't stand it and it starts blocking
the pleasure. The pain, however, just keeps going. If
she stays on that machine long enough, it will become
one of the purest forms of torture a woman can ever
experience." She gave David a very tight smile. "And
that is from someone who has experienced many different
forms of pure torture."
The light on Debra dimmed back so that she was visible,
but almost in darkness. The lights on the stage came up
once again. "Our next scene is very personal to me,"
began The Owner. One of my own indentured slaves who is
half-way through her contract made me an offer I
couldn't refuse. She has an extreme, almost unbelievable
tolerance for pain, and was willing to bet me that I
couldn't break her in thirty minutes. She has withstood
The Whipmaster's greatest efforts for over three hours,
so she is pretty confident that I could not come up with
anything that would break her in merely one-half hour.
But I think I can, so I took the bet."
"The wager is simple. If she lasts the full half-hour,
she is free from her slavery. If I break her, she is
mine forever. Let's bring out Slave X27."
A very beautiful girl stepped out onto the stage. She
was totally naked - "totally" as in no clothing, no hair
between her legs, no hair on her head, no eyebrows, not
even the hint of fuzz on her forearms. To be more naked
she would have had to have been skinned and standing
there in just her muscles. She stood there looking very
haughty and confident and self-assured. When The Owner
asked, "Are you ready?" She answered with a smile, "You
bet your ass."
He laughed and responded, "Actually you are the one
betting your ass, but since you say you are ready we
will begin. Put your hands above your head and grasp the
bar when it comes down to you."
Four stage hands had moved a rather strange looking
machine out onto the stage behind her. It looked like a
much larger and longer version of the kind of lift that
you would use to take an engine out of a car. The boom
was at least twenty feet long. There was a large tripod-
like base and a rather massive counter weight on the
portion of the boom that extended past the base. The
boom was lowered so that a trapeze-like bar hung just
above Slave X27's head.
She reached up and grasped it with both hands. The stage
crew then taped her hands in place with several layers
of camo duck tape. After making sure that she was
secure, they lifted her up off the ground and moved her
through the air to the edge of the stage.
While she was in the air, a small forklift pushed
something out to the middle of the stage. It was a large
plexiglass tank about three feet across and seven feet
tall. It was apparently filled with water. The forklift
left the stage and returned with another tank, and then
another. A stage hand connected what appeared to be
electrical or control cables from the tanks to something
off stage.
The Owner walked over to next to the suspended slave. He
made a hand motion and she was lowered until her feet
almost touched the ground. Two stage hands carried in
something that looked like a heavy bar of metal about
two feet long. They set it down with a resounding clang
just in front of the slave's feet and, using two very
short chains, cuffed her feet to the bar so that she was
more or less standing on it.
"That bar weighs sixty pounds," explained The Owner.
"Not only will it keep her legs together so they will
enter the tanks properly, it will make sure that she
sinks immediately in the water."
He then turned to the slave. "I know that you once
almost drowned and fear water. I know that you hate
winter and cannot stand the cold." He laughed his very
evil sounding laugh. "I know that I can break you."
"One of those tanks is filled with water at 34 degrees
Fahrenheit, what most people would consider freezing.
The second is at 94 degrees, what most people would
consider the optimum bath temperature. The third is at
125 degrees, just below what would immediately scald
your skin. You will not know which tank you are going
into until your feet hit the water. It might be
freezing. It might be scalding. It might be just right.
But regardless, you are going into the tank until your
feet - or at least the bar beneath your feet - hits the
bottom of the tank. That would put the water level..."
Reaching up his hand and holding it a little above her
head, he finished, "...about right there."
Slave X27 no longer looked so confident.
One of the stage hands came out carrying a piece of
cloth of some sort. "We are going to put this bag over
your head for two reasons," explained The Owner. "One,
you won't be able to see which tank you are being
dropped into, and two, as you come out of the tank, it
will be wet. When you try to breathe through it, it will
most likely trigger the drowning reflex because your
body will think you are still under water... or that you
are being water-boarded at some government interrogation
center.".
"We will be switching tanks every thirty seconds, so you
will experience the tanks sixty times in thirty minutes.
If you endure, you are free. If you break, you are mine.
If you die, well... some would say at least you are
free." He shook his head, laughed, turned toward the
audience, and added quickly, "I wouldn't say that."
Fear approaching absolute terror now showed in the
slave's face. It was obvious that it was not going to
take sixty dunks in the tank to break her. The Owner
held the bag in front of her as he spoke. "I will break
you tonight NOT because I know exactly what you fear and
what you hate, but because I know that deep down you
WANT to be my slave forever and for all eternity. It
pleases you to be my slave. You get sexual satisfaction
out of being my slave. I am so sure of this, that I will
predict to this audience that once you have broken, and
you no longer have any reason to hide that fact, you
will cum for me as you are slowly dipped in and out of
the freezing water tank. Remember, when you break, the
next tank will be a very slow trip through the freezing
water and we will see if I am right."
The slave was slowly shaking her head in disagreement
with what he had said as he lowered the bag over her
face, but she didn't look too sure of her answer. The
Owner tied the bag in place. "Start the clock," he
commanded and the boom lifted her high into the air. She
screamed as her feet went into the middle tank, even
though that was the bath water tank. She screamed again
as she came out of the tank, or at least she attempted
to. Her voice was cut off suddenly as she attempted to
inhale through the waterlogged fabric before being
plunged into the freezing tank. She began screaming
again as her feet hit the frigid water, and was still
screaming as her head went under the surface.
The four men manning the boom were working frantically
to keep to the thirty second schedule. They would drop
her into a tank and then immediately begin moving her
back up again. Her screaming finally seemed to be
coordinated with their movement. She would scream as she
came out of the tank and then thrash her head about as
she tried to get another lungful of air. Then, depending
on which tank she was dropped into next, she would
either scream all the way into the tank, or scream until
she recognized that it was the bath water tank. Her
screams were especially loud when she went directly from
the freezing water to the scalding water or from the
scalding water to the freezing water.
The clock read just under twenty minutes when she broke.
David was truly amazed she had lasted that long. "I
submit! I submit! I surrender! Please stop! Please stop!
Please stop!" she screamed as soon as she started to
come out of the water.
But the stage hands didn't stop. They moved her so that
she was over the tank of freezing water. Then they
slowly began to lower her into the tank. It took nearly
a minute for her head to reach the water and she was
screaming loudly up to the point where her mouth went
under water. They drew her back out of the water almost
as slowly, and again she was screaming all of the way
back to the top. Then they stopped. It was totally quiet
in the club except for the continued humming of Debra's
Sybian. The Owner said very quietly, "Wait for it. Wait
for it."
Suddenly a new scream split the silence. This one was
different. It was not a scream of terror. It was not a
scream of pain. Just as The Owner had predicted, Slave
X27 was screaming out in orgasm as she hung above the
tanks which had broken her. The audience drowned out her
screams and moans with thunderous applause. The stage
hands, still keeping the boom high in the air, rolled
the mechanism off stage with the slave still thrashing
in orgasm beneath the boom.
= = =
The lights on stage went down and the light on Deborah
came up. The Owner walked over and stood next to her.
Her head was thrown back and her eyes were held tightly
shut. Her body was shaking and quivering.
"Too soon," The Owner observed. "We will get back to her
in a little while, but first we are going to do a little
product evaluation. There have been many different
spanking machines throughout the course of human
invention. One Egyptian Pharaoh had one powered by a
water wheel that could beat a slave to death while he
and his guests feasted and watched. Even today there are
many different models on the market, but all of them
break down into two basic categories, the swinging arm
and the flail. And for each style, the implement that
actually strikes the skin can be either a paddle, a
cane, or a whip. So, in effect, there are only six
different machines. We have randomly selected six
members of tonight's audience to help us test these
different configurations to see which is most
effective."
He moved to the center of the stage and held his cupped
hand up along side his mouth as if he were shouting a
great distance. "Bring on the test subjects," he
bellowed, and six stage hands pushing six platforms came
hustling into the stage area.
On each of the platforms was a spanking stock. The naked
person on the platform was kneeling on a padded board
with their stomach lying on a higher padded platform.
There were straps holding their legs in place and a wide
leather strap across the small of their back holding
them down tightly against the bench. A slight gap
separated the raised area from a short stock which
captured their head and hands. The six test subjects
were lined up on stage so that they were facing the
audience.
Upright beams were attached on either side of the raised
padded platform and held an angled mirror high above the
trapped person so that the audience could clearly see
each test subject's ass. The audience could also see
what type of spanking machine was on each platform. For
the three on stage right, there were flails. The first
of these "spanking wheels" held a series of cord- like
whips. The second held multiple birch switches. The
third was a series of leather paddles.
For the three on stage left, there were swinging arm
machines. Again, the first was a whip, the second was a
cane, and the third was a paddle. One difference between
the two approaches was immediately obvious. The flailing
type spanking machines needed to use something very
flexible, like a whip, switch, or leather paddle, while
the swinging arms could use something solid, like a cane
or a heavy wooden paddle.
"Are we ready to begin?" asked The Owner.
"NO!" yelled one of the people in the stocks. She was a
woman in her late twenties with what appeared to be
naturally blond hair and very blue eyes. She also had
almost pure white skin that would definitely show every
mark of the flailing whips which were behind her. "I
didn't volunteer for this! You put something in my drink
and took me backstage while I was unconscious! I didn't
agree to be up here. I just came to watch the show."
"Didn't you read your invitation when you got it?" asked
The Owner sarcastically. "Didn't you read the back of
the ticket when you came in here? Both say very clearly
that audience members must be willing to participate in
the stage show if asked. You agreed in advance. Once we
start, you can scream all you want to, but if you aren't
quiet until then, we will gag you." He paused and looked
the scared blonde directly in the eyes, "And I assure
you, that it will be much, much more uncomfortable with
a ball gag in your mouth while your ass is being beaten
into hamburger."
The blonde's eyes remained wide open, as did her mouth,
but she said nothing more.
"Our test is very simple," explained The Owner. "We turn
on the machines and let them go until you submit
yourself to me as my eternal slave. When one of you
yells out your submission, all machines will stop until
I verify that you truly submit to me. Does everyone
understand that?"
All six heads nodded slightly, although it was obvious
all were afraid of what was going to happen to them.
"Since all of you will EVENTUALLY break and submit
yourselves to me, I think I need to give you a little
incentive to keep going. This is what is going to
happen. The first one to submit, gets fucked by a
Minotaur - or you can suck him off, your choice." He
turned to the audience, "See, I do care about my slaves
and give them some choices in what happens to them."
He turned back to the six now totally terrified product
testers. "The second one to submit will be fucked by or
will suck a Centaur. The third a Ram Satyr. The fourth a
Goat Satyr, better known as a Faunus. The fifth a
Telekhines. And the sixth..... ME!"
JoAnne leaned close to David and said, "The Telekhines
built the Devil's Bull."
Again he disregarded what she said as meaningless.
The owner turned back to the audience. "Begin the test,"
he shouted and all six spanking machines burst into
action.
"Who do you think will break first?" asked David.
"Are you asking which machine is worst, or which person
is weakest?" answered JoAnne. "The absolute worst is the
swinging arm cane. It hits in exactly the same place
each time and becomes overwhelmingly painful almost
immediately. Next would be the swinging arm paddle for
basically the same reason.
"The swinging arm whip and the flailing whips would be
next since they sting like mad. The flailing paddles can
be absolute torture if they are just the right distance
from your ass, but usually they don't get a good enough
pop to be more than mildly painful. The flailing canes
hurt, but are very erratic. They hit all over the place
and not with anywhere near the force of a solid cane."
"Sounds like you speak from experience," observed David.
"I have a lot of experience, but the person with the
most painful machine may not be the first to break. If I
had to bet, I would say the pasty-skinned blonde will
break first. She doesn't look like she is used to pain
and the flailing whips will be more than she can endure
for very long."
As if to prove her right, the blonde suddenly screamed
out, "I submit. I submit. Please make it stop! Please
make it stop!"
All of the machines stopped and The Owner walked over to
in front of the tearful blonde. "Do you submit yourself
to me as my eternal slave?"
"I submit. I submit." She answered.
"Suck or fuck?" he asked.
"What?"
"Should I release you so that you can suck the
Minotaur's cock or do I leave you where you are so it
can fuck you?"
She had to try several times before she could bring
herself to say anything.
Finally she said, "Release me. I will suck his cock."
One stage hand released her while two other stage hands
led in an extremely large and heavily muscled man in an
extremely strange costume. From about half-way up his
chest, his body seemed to morph into the head of a bull.
The rest of his body was huge, but more or less normal,
except that he had on strange boots on that made his
feet look like the cloven hooves of a bull. His
shoulders also looked like the front haunches of a huge
bull. Keeping in character, he snorted and bellowed when
he saw the pale young girl kneeling before him.
She looked at his monstrous face and equally monstrous
organ and hesitated, but The Owner said, "You have one
minute or I put you back in the stocks and run the
flailing whips until they have taken all skin and muscle
off your ass."
The blonde dropped to her knees and reached out to
stroke the Minotaur's sheath. It's penis emerged almost
immediately. It was exceptionally long, and it's head
was almost more than the blonde could get in her mouth.
As she licked the head, the man in the Minotaur costume
started to bellow and stamp around and two more stage
hands came out to hold him in place. Finally the blond
was kneeling in front of him with the tip of his penis
in her mouth. She was working frantically trying to get
him off while not being stomped on by his frantic
movements.
Suddenly he rushed forward as if he were pushing further
into a woman - or a cow from behind. He pushed the
hapless blonde beneath him across the front of the
stage, sliding her backwards on her knees, her mouth
still firmly clamped on his penis. Suddenly she gasped
and thick, white cum spurted from her mouth and nose.
She rolled onto the stage and rose to her feet coughing,
sputtering and gasping for breath.
"Take them both back to their pens," ordered The Owner.
"We will transport them later."
While the stage hands were taking the man in the
Minotaur costume and the pale young woman off stage,
Richard leaned over to JoAnne and said, "That costume
was phenomenal and the actor seemed almost like a real
bull . The owner of the club must have access to some
really first rate makeup artists... and actors."
JoAnne smiled - or was it a grimace - "Or maybe he just
has access to the real thing," she replied.
Her comment made no sense, and David was about to ask
what she meant when The Owner yelled out, "Resume."
The spanking machines again came to life. It was only a
few moments later that another of the bound women, this
time a brunette, screamed out her submission. JoAnne's
evaluation of the swinging arm cane seemed to be
accurate. After she verified her submission, she also
chose to suck rather than fuck. "At least I will survive
it," she said bitterly.
JoAnne leaned close to David and commented, "She really
doesn't understand yet."
David was going to ask her to explain what she meant,
but instead just shook his head slightly and returned
his attention to the brunette who was now kneeling
beneath a black horse-like being with a human torso in
place a horse's head.
Either she had done something like this before, or she
was a fast learner from watching the blonde and the
Minotaur, because she quickly brought the Centaur to
climax and managed to get her mouth off his massive
member before he filled her head to overflowing with his
spunk. As it was, her face and hair were covered in
white slime as she knelt in front of the elaborately
costumed man.
"To the pens," ordered The Owner. Then he called out
once again, "Resume."
The four remaining "testers" screamed and cried out, but
no one yelled their submission. After about ten minutes,
the dirty blonde in the flailing paddle machine
screamed, "No more! No more! I submit. I submit. Yes, I
will be your eternal slave."
"So," asked The Owner, "Do you want to fuck or suck the
companion of Pan?"
"I've screwed worse," she answered. "Let him at me."
One stage hand removed the machine from her platform
while two stage hands led another strangely costumed man
onto the stage and brought him around behind her. From
the waist down he was a goat or a ram, but from the
waist up, he was human, except that he had the huge
horns of a ram sprouting from his head. He definitely
knew what he was supposed to do. He placed his hands -
or was it his front hooves - against the upright beams
holding the mirror and hunched forward to mate with the
captive girl. She screamed as he entered her and
screamed again as he began thrusting. Evidently she had,
indeed, screwed worse, because after a few thrusts, she
was moaning and thrusting back against the Satyr's
movements. After a few minutes, whatever it was supposed
to be brayed loudly and stopped thrusting. She moaned,
"No. No. Don't stop yet. Not yet. I'm almost there."
The audience laughed and applauded as the stage hands
rolled her platform into the darkness.
"Resume"
The machines had barely started again when one of the
remaining two males yelled out, "I submit. I submit."
"Will you be my eternal slave?" asked The Owner, and the
man, dropping his head, said "Yes."
"Suck or fuck?"
In a voice almost too soft to hear, the man answered,
"Suck."
This time the stage hands did not release him from the
stocks, but instead brought another costumed man out on
stage in front of him. This one was much like the
previous Ram Satyr, but had a much kinder face and a
smaller body that more closely resembled a small goat.
His horns were also smaller and straight. They turned
the man's platform sideways so the audience could see
what was happening, and then lifted up the Faunus'
hooves so that they were on the man's back. His goat-
like prick was now in front of the man's face. It was
hard to say whether he was sucking that goat-like cock
or the Faunus was fucking his face, but in either case,
the goat prick soon spurted into the man's mouth and
across his face.
The man looked like he was going to throw up, but The
Owner smacked him loudly on the ass and said, "If you
throw up, you will lick it up and eat it."
The man was swallowing hard and trying to control
himself as he was rolled off stage.
"Two machines left," announced The Owner. "Will the
swinging arm whip break her first? Or will the swinging
arm paddle break him?"
It was almost twenty minutes before the crowd got their
answer. The middle-aged woman in the swinging arm whip
machine yelled out her submission.
"I've done zoo before," she said when she asked to be
fucked by the Telekhines rather than suck him.
This man was dressed in a costume that David had never
seen before. He had the head and body of a very large
dog and the hands of a seal with thick black flippers.
He placed his flippers on the woman's back and howled as
he entered her from behind. It was very much like
watching a dog mate. Dogs hump at a frenzied rate and
this man was imitating the speed of the fastest canine.
All the while the woman just lay there passively. She
obviously didn't enjoy what was happening, but as she
said, she had "done zoo before." Finally the Telekhines
gave a long howl and collapsed across the woman's back.
Stage hands immediately came on stage and began pushing
the platform off the stage."
After they had been wheeled away back stage, The Owner
addressed the remaining man. "There is no need for you
to continue. You will eventually break. Why don't you
just submit to me now?"
"Never," sneered the man.
"Then I will make you a deal," replied The Owner. "If
you can last twenty more minutes with the machine set to
maximum, I will let you go free. If not, I will accept
your submission and then fuck you here on the stage in
front of all of these people and again every night at my
place until next Halloween. It is your choice. Do you
wish to submit to me or do you wish to bet a year of
fucking against your possible freedom?"
"I will never submit. I'll take your bet," he snarled.
"Resume at maximum," yelled The Owner.
The man made it to seventeen minutes before he screamed
out, "I submit. I submit. I submit! Fuck me if you want.
I am your slave, forever."
The stage hands quickly removed the spanking machine as
The Owner positioned himself behind the man's bruised
and bloody ass.
"Your blood will do for lubrication," The Owner said
with a laugh, and then opened his pants to reveal one of
the largest penises David had ever seen. The man's
screams while he was being paddled were nothing compared
to his screams as The Owner thrust the full length of
his cock into his ass.
David said to JoAnne, "I don't understand it, he only
had to hold on for three more minutes. He had endured
almost an hour of that machine before that. Why would he
break when he was so close to freedom."
"You're right," replied JoAnne in the totally flat voice
she had used all evening. "You don't understand. There
is no freedom. Everything is already set in place." The
last platform was rolled off stage and the stage lights
began to dim. "Let's check on Slut Deborah, shall we?"
asked The Owner. The light over in her corner brightened
and everyone turned to see what was occurring. She was
covered in sweat and shaking in the saddle. Her cries,
though greatly muffled by the ball gag, were a series of
loud grunts that seemed to be timed with the thrusts of
her legs as she tried to lift herself off the machine.
The Owner removed the ball gag from her mouth and she
cried out, "No more. No more. It's too much. It's too
much. I can't stand it."
He put the ball gag back in place and asked, "Do you
submit to me?" She nodded yes. "If I let you off that
machine will you suck every cock in this club?" She
nodded yes. "Will you lap every pussy out there?" She
again vigorously nodded yes. "Will you let any man or
woman out there fuck you in any hole in your body?" She
was bouncing and crying as she nodded her head yes.
"Good," he said smiling broadly and slightly laughing.
"You will be the after show entertainment for the
audience. You just sit there and enjoy yourself for
another fifteen minutes or so. The last scene starts at
midnight."
He then went over to David's table and said quietly,
"It's time."
"What do you mean, 'It's time.'" asked JoAnne. Her voice
was now tense with emotion. Her face was white. Her eyes
were wide open and staring at David. "You said nothing
would happen to me unless you made it happen to me."
"I didn't lie to you," replied David.
Suddenly she knew. She knew that he had lied to her all
along. She knew that he had brought her here for exactly
this. She knew that he wanted to see her suffer. He
wanted to see her break.
"How could you?" she asked with pleading eyes as two
stage hands led her away.
"How could you?" she repeated as she was taken behind
the curtain.
The Owner then sat down at the table with David. "Before
this final scene plays out, I need to explain a couple
of things to you about this club. This is a very special
club because... well, because it doesn't always exist...
at least not so most people can see it. In fact it only
exists completely in your realm on this one day of the
year. And no, there is nothing really special about
Halloween as a day, but many mortals believe that there
is and that is all that is important. I think you have
some experience with that."
He paused, but when David didn't respond he continued.
"In any case, on this one night of the year, we can
invite outside guests into the club - mortals who are
not yet bound to me or to the club." He smiled a very
cold smile. "Some go home in the morning. Most stay. You
have been invited for a very special reason."
David asked, "What are you getting at?"
"Have you ever heard of Perillos, the metal worker?"
asked The Owner in response.
David sat silent.
"He was from before your time..., long before your
time..., but not mine. Anyway, he was a citizen of
Athens, Greece who made a fortune selling war machines
to the Emperor of Sicily. He was an amazing metal worker
- not as good as the Telekhines, but outstanding for a
human. He had an idea that he wanted to sell to the
Emperor for the perfect instrument of torture. It was a
brass bull specially constructed so that the howls of a
person being roasted inside of it would resonate and
sound like the bellowing of a bull. It would be a
horrible, but very entertaining death."
He looked directly at David. "The Sicilian Emperor
bought his design and built the brass bull. But do you
know who the very first person was to be roasted alive
inside that Sicilian Bull?"
"No," answered David. "And I don't know what this has to
do with me."
"It was Perillos, himself," answered The Owner.
David looked even more confused, so The Owner made it
clear for him. "JoAnne is your brass bull. You think
that you have betrayed her so that she will hang on that
spreader bar being whipped by you or The Whipmaster
until she breaks and submits herself into eternal
slavery to you. But you are wrong because JoAnne doesn't
really exist."
"What? That's not possible!" exclaimed David.
"Yes, it is possible. And if you must insist, yes, she
exists, and has for a long, long time..., but the truth
is, she is just the Sicilian Bull, or should I say the
Devil's Bull. JoAnne was the name of the demon who came
up with the idea of imprisoning a soul inside what is,
in effect, a mechanical body. She said it was her own
idea, but I knew that she actually stole the idea from
Perillos when she went to bring him to me. So, in honor
of him, after the Telekhines had constructed the Devil's
Bull, she was it's first occupant. That seemed fitting
at the time. She was in there for quite a while until
she found someone to replace her."
"There have been many different people inside the
Devil's Bull through the centuries. The person currently
inside JoAnne has spent many years looking for someone
to replace her... or him - I don't remember which it
used to be any more. In any case, they have been in
there for a long, long, time. The reason that it is so
difficult to get out of the Devil's Bull is that the
only way to escape my bull is to find someone else
willing to enter it - or should I say someone else
willing to try to use the Devil's Bull as it was
intended to be used - as an instrument of torture."
The Owner looked almost wistful. "JoAnne was really a
brilliant demon," he stated with a smile of satisfaction
and a nod of his head. "She made many improvements to
Perillos' idea. The beauty of the Devil's Bull is that
the person inside of it has a measure of control over
what happens to them as they roam the earth..., but not
total control. They can decide where they go, whom they
meet, what they do to earn a living. But the thing that
they can't control is seeking out pain.
The bull craves pain. And no matter what they do, the
bull will get the pain it needs. The bull finds the
pain, but it is the person inside the bull that feels
the pain. The bull craves humiliation and degradation,
but it is the person inside who feels the shame."
"It takes a very special person to recognize the Bull
for what it is and then desire to use it as an
instrument of torture. The hunt for that person can take
decades. There are not many people who deeply appreciate
torture and know how to properly inflict true pain. But
they do exist. You are proof of that."
He stared intently at David for a few moments of
silence, and then continued, "When the person inside the
bull finally finds someone who wants to use the bull to
inflict uncontrolled pain, degradation, and humiliation,
then escape is simple. All they have to do is get that
person to come to the club on Halloween night. At
midnight, they are released and the new person takes
their place. I like the arrangement, because after a
century or so in the bull, the released one makes a very
good and willing servant. They will do anything to keep
from going back into the Devil's Bull."
David was trying to understand what The Owner was
telling him, but he was having trouble thinking because
his indigestion was pressing hard against the base of
his chest. "In a few moments," continued The Owner,
"JoAnne will be brought out on stage just as you
requested. Her oiled, naked body will be suspended just
as you envisioned her with her wrists spread wide on a
spreader bar. Her ankles will be cuffed to their
spreader bar and that will be secured to the floor.
Tonight, she will be stretched especially tight, and
everyone will see her naked body vibrate from the
tension."
"Despite the tension stretching her, she will be free to
writhe and buck as the whips crack into her flesh on her
front and her back at the same time. She will be free to
scream and yell and beg for mercy. She will be free to
finally break and submit to her punisher as her eternal
Lord and Master. Everything will be exactly as you
imagined it to be except for two... minute details."
David was beginning to have trouble hearing The Owner
clearly. The pressure on his chest was becoming
unbearable. The Owner's words were becoming muffled and
faint, but that didn't stop The Owner from completing
what he had to say. "The first thing that will be
different is that it will not be you who is swinging the
whips. It will not even be The Whipmaster. It will be
me..., ... and I am the one who trained The Whipmaster
and taught him everything he knows."
"The second thing that will not be as you had imagined
is that it will be you hanging from the spreader bar.
The people in the club here tonight, and, after tonight,
all the people of the world will see JoAnne - the
Devil's Bull that encases you - but have no doubt, it
will be you. It will be you screaming for mercy. It will
be you asking why this is happening to you. It will be
you begging and pleading. And eventually, it will be you
submitting to me, your natural Lord and Master."
The pressure exploded in David's chest and things went
completely dark. Then suddenly everything was bright
once again. In fact, David was bathed in bright light as
spotlights shone down on him from all sides. The
pressure in his chest was now gone, replaced by a
pulling sensation caused by the spreader bar from which
he was hanging with his arms stretched wide apart. He
looked down at his breasts trying to comprehend what was
happening to him. Then the first strikes of the whips
crashed into his ass and pussy. Doctor Doctor knew deep
in the very pit of his soul what had happened, and
David, now JoAnne, screamed the first of many screams
that would bellow forth from the Devil's Bull.
= = =
The two detectives stood with the owner of the diner
taking his statement. "No, I don't know how he got in
here," the man said. "The front door to the party room
has been locked for years. I don't even have a key to it
anymore, but somehow he opened it."
A medical examiner walked up to the pair of detectives.
"His name is Doctor David Richardson. He's a shrink.
Nobody in his office has any idea why he was here. He
left work early day before yesterday complaining of
indigestion. It looks like maybe he had a massive heart
attack while he was driving by and got disoriented. He
pulled over to the curb and came in here for some
reason. From the looks of it, he just walked in, seated
himself at this table, and sat there quietly until he
died."
He paused and then asked, "Since there's no signs of
foul play, and no apparent crime committed other than
possible trespassing, why are two detectives checking
out what is very likely a death from natural causes?"
"Chief thinks something is hinky," answered one of the
detectives. "The Doc told his secretary he was going out
to a club downtown last night with a patient to help her
over her fears. Only problem is that there is no such
club and no such patient and his medical records clerk,
a Deborah Wilson, is also missing."
"Unless something else comes up," said the other
detective, "I think this one is going into the 'Weird-
Shit-That-Happens-at-Halloween' file."
All three laughed as they followed the ME's cart out the
door. "Yeah," said the ME. "We've got one of those files
too. Nobody in our office got the day off yesterday or
today, and probably won't tomorrow. Too much weird shit
happens on Halloween."
He laughed again as he and his assistant maneuvered the
Gurney into the back of his vehicle. "It's a damned big
file, too," he said. "Good thing Halloween only comes
once a year."
END
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
any way, shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any
of the scenarios in this story should seriously
consider seeking professional help.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 79