Charisma and Tiffany Part 3
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Charisma And Tiffany, Part 4 free porn video
Charisma and Tiffany, Part 4
By Cal Y. Pygia
While bathing her in the shower stall, before pissing on her and making
her drink the warm, golden beverage she'd poured from her bladder,
Charisma had planned to fuck Tiffany in the ass with the aluminum Little
League baseball bat she'd brought into the shower stall with her for
that very purpose. The bat would have opened the shemale's asshole even
more than Charisma had when she'd fist-fucked Tiffany, inserting not
only her fingers and fist, but also her wrist and half her forearm
inside the shemale's rectum. Tiffany's anus had gaped until it was about
the same in circumference as that of a small grapefruit. The sight had
been, for the cruel and sadistic Charisma, sweet and exciting. However,
thanks to the magic that had resulted from Tiffany's having inserted the
enchanted, phallus-shaped butt plug that Charisma had given her, the
shemale's asshole had returned to its normal tight, small size within a
minute or so of the sorceress' withdrawal of her arm from within
Tiffany's smooth-walled rectum.
Since the shower, a week ago, Charisma had lost interest in ravaging
Tiffany's ass with the bat. In fact, as it always seemed to happen with
Charisma's paramours, she was fast losing interest in Tiffany as well.
Over the years, Charisma had had many lovers--male, female, and shemale
alike. At first, each had seemed to be her perfect soul mate, the one
and only person for her, the beloved upon whom the sun rose and set.
Unfortunately, each had, over time, also lost his or her appeal, and
Charisma had broken off her relationships with them and started her
search anew.
With Tiffany, she thought she'd finally found the perfect lover, but, it
seemed, once more, Charisma was destined to be disappointed. It was true
that Tiffany was the most gorgeous shemale Charisma had ever seen. Her
loveliness exceeded that of most genetic girls, and her having a cock
and pair of balls instead of a cunt was an added attraction; the
incongruity of a person with such a beautiful face and an obviously
feminine shape having male genitals despite her firm, high breasts, her
round, womanly ass, and her long, tapering legs was somehow thrilling,
no matter how many times Charisma had observed these contrasting,
contradictory features.
Tiffany's personality had also been a turn-on for Charisma: whereas
Charisma was jaded, Tiffany enjoyed new experiences; whereas Charisma
was cynical, Tiffany was sweet and trusting. Charisma was urbane, but
Tiffany was na?ve. Although Charisma was cruel, Tiffany was kind. If
Charisma tended to be dominant and aggressive, Tiffany was submissive
and docile. Charisma was a taker, but Tiffany was a giver. It had been
tremendous fun tormenting Tiffany emotionally, sexually, and physically
these past months, but, finally, the bloom was off the rose, and it
simply wasn't much fun, anymore, to use and abuse the lovely shemale.
Tiffany, for her part, had long ago begun to hate the cruel, oppressive
Charisma. Their relationship had started out as one of equals--or so the
na?ve Tiffany had supposed--but it had soon become one of mistress and
slave, and the affection and tenderness that Charisma had initially
displayed toward Tiffany had been replaced with aggression and the
administering of pain. When Charisma had fist-fucked her, working half
her forearm into Tiffany's rectum, the shemale had understood what she'd
suspected for several weeks--Charisma did not love her; the abusive
bitch had just been using her to satisfy her own sadistic and depraved
impulses. When Charisma had sought to shove that aluminum baseball bat
up her ass a week ago, Tiffany had decided she wanted nothing more to do
with the crazy bitch. Since then, she'd avoided Charisma--although doing
so had not been, by any means, easy to do.
For some reason, despite the mistreatment to which Charisma subjected
her, making her go without clothes in front of the household servants,
spanking her for little or no reason, making her drink her piss, and
otherwise routinely humiliating and abusing her, Tiffany still could not
stop thinking of her cruel, hated mistress. Whenever they were apart,
Tiffany thought of nothing but Charisma, and her thoughts, though tinged
with hatred, were still tender. She still wanted to be with Charisma,
emotionally, physically, and sexually, despite her awareness that the
sorceress didn't not love her and was merely using her to satisfy the
impulses that resulted from her wanton cruelty. For a week now, ever
since the fiasco in the shower stall, Tiffany had resisted innumerable
urges to seek out her mistress' company and to indulge herself with the
sorceress, doing whatever Charisma commanded of her. Finally, she could
do so no longer. She must go to Charisma, regardless of the pain and
suffering that might result. She needed to see her again, or she'd go
insane with unsatisfied longing.
She went first to the sorceress' bedroom, but Charisma was not there.
However, Brenda, the upstairs maid was present, dusting and cleaning.
Despite the fact that Brenda, like the other servants, had seen Tiffany
naked many times since Charisma had forbidden Tiffany to wear clothes
around the house--or anywhere else--the shemale felt mortified to be
seen this way, with her tits, cock, balls, and ass on display like so
much meat in a butcher's shop window. Brenda's eyes swept over her body,
a smug smile on her face as she studied the shemale's nakedness. Without
having to say the word, the maid's expression clearly communicated the
disdain in which she held Tiffany, the "slut."
"Have you seen Charisma?" Tiffany asked.
Brenda stared at Tiffany's breasts and genitals for another long,
moment, her contempt clearly displayed on her sneering lips, in her
sparkling eyes, and by her arched brow. "No," she replied shortly, as if
a single word of response was all that the likes of Tiffany deserved,
even from a servant.
Tiffany nodded. "Thank you."
Brenda said nothing, merely continuing to stare in her haughty manner.
Tiffany left hurriedly, wanting to be away from the maid's scornful
gaze. She went downstairs, to the library. Charisma was not in this
room, either--but the butler was. He gave her the same haughty look as
Brenda had and replied in the same curt, condescending manner as the
upstairs maid had used, advising her that no, he hadn't seen Charisma
this morning. "Perhaps, she is dressing," he added, eyeing Tiffany's
nudity in such a way as to suggest that she ought to have the same
decency as the mistress of the manor and put some clothes on, too.
Tiffany moved on. She tried the ballroom, the kitchen, the dining room,
the billiard parlor, several sitting rooms, the art gallery, the indoor
swimming pool, and the conservatory. She found her in this last room,
working with one of her bonsai trees. The art of dwarfing trees was
Charisma's only passion besides sorcery and, of course, sadism.
Charisma looked up from her work. "I don't recall having sent for you,"
she declared.
The coldness in Charisma's words made Tiffany shiver. "You didn't," she
agreed, her own voice sounding timid.
"Then why are you here, wasting my time?"
A tear rose in Tiffany's eye. How could she ever have thought she'd
loved such a cruel and tyrannical bitch? At one time, she'd feared that
Charisma could use her magic powers to read her mind, but Tiffany no
longer cared whether the sorceress could do so. It didn't matter.
Charisma would be certain to punish her, anyway; whether she thought ill
of her or not made no difference, because she punished her not because
of Tiffany's behavior but because of who Charisma was herself. "I can't
stop thinking of you," the shemale confessed.
Charisma gave her a smile, but it wasn't a friendly one. Like the maid
and the butler, the sorceress looked arrogant and scornful of Tiffany's
nude presence. "There are five bonsai styles," she said, as if lecturing
a naughty child. "The formal upright requires perfect growing
conditions. It must have a straight trunk that tapers gradually from top
to bottom, and the branches must be symmetrically spaced. Larches,
junipers, pines and spruces are suitable for such a style."
Charisma ended her lecture, and Tiffany wondered whether the sorceress
expected a reply. Uncertain as to what to say, she said, "I see."
"You see nothing," Charisma said, snorting at the very notion that such
a one as Tiffany might understand anything of the fine art of bonsai.
"An art such as mine requires a sophistication beyond your years--or,
for that matter, your cognitive capabilities."
Tiffany's eyes filled with tears, and she bit her lip.
"If I were a bonsai," Charisma said, more to herself than to her
visitor, "I would be a formal upright." She gazed at the nude shemale.
"You, on the other hand, would be nothing more than a slanting bonsai."
She paused, studying the beautiful shemale. "Do you know what that is?"
she asked. Before Tiffany could respond, Charisma answered her own
question. "Of course, you don't. Well, then, I shall tell you. With the
slanting bonsai, the trunk may curve or remain straight, but the tree
itself must angle to the right or the left. This style is simple and
results from many methods. When the tree is young, it can be trained to
angle by wiring its trunk in the desired direction of growth. The tree
can also be forced to grow in a slanted style by putting the pot in
which it grows on a slant and causing the tree to grow abnormally."
Charisma paused. "I used both methods on you, to twist and warp your
emotional, physical, and sexual development. Now, my work with you is
almost finished."
Charisma's cavalier comparison of Tiffany to a stunted tree that had
been purposely made to grow in a bizarre, twisted fashion enraged the
shemale. Despite her fear of the sorceress, Tiffany snapped, "I am not a
fucking tree!"
Charisma smiled. "Don't be offended by my little analogy. After all, in
working with a bonsai--or a person--one must always remember that one is
working with a living thing. One must study its natural characteristics
carefully to discern a style that suits its individual nature. In your
case, it was obvious to me, from the outset, that the slanting style is
best suited to your nature; even so, I have had pleasure--immense
pleasure--in interpreting--and shaping--your development in many ways."
"I am not a fucking tree!" Tiffany repeated.
Charisma put aside the shears with which she was attending the miniature
tree on the conservatory's work bench and stepped close to her visitor.
"True," she agreed, "you are not a tree." Her hands cupped Tiffany's
exquisite breasts, slid over her sides and hips, clutched her buttocks,
and trailed down her silken thighs. "You are a human bonsai, like all my
previous lovers. I shaped your breasts, did I not?"
Tiffany wanted to deny Charisma's statement, but she could not, for the
magic brassiere that the sorceress had designed had enlarged Tiffany's
breasts, separating and lifting them.
"I also shaped your belly, your waist, and your hips," Charisma
declared.
Again, Tiffany was unable to challenge the sorceress' assertion, because
the enchanted corset that Charisma had given her had accomplished just
these magical transformations, flattening her tummy, narrowing her
waist, and firming her hips.
"I even made your feet smaller," Charisma added.
Indeed, she had, giving Tiffany the enchanted high-heeled shoes that had
caused her feet to shrink from size eight to size four.
"I have shaped you in many other ways, too, emotionally and sexually as
well as physically. I have transformed you into quite an interesting, if
rather bizarre, specimen."
"Bitch," Tiffany said, spitting the word from her mouth as if it were
poison. She was no longer frightened of the sorceress. Charisma had
molded her body and twisted her mind. What worse thing could she do to
her? Nothing.
"I also gave you the locket that makes you long for my company whenever
we are separate."
Tiffany's hand seized the fine gold chain about her throat and tore it
loose, casting it upon the floor. "Thanks for telling me. Now, I'm rid
of you."
Charisma smiled at Tiffany's naivet?. How could she be so simple after
all she'd put her through? "Have your breasts gotten smaller since you
stopped wearing the brassiere? Have your stomach and waist and hips
widened or loosened since you put away the corset? Have your feet
resumed their previous size since you discarded the shoes?"
No, Tiffany thought. Her breasts were as large as ever. Her tummy was
still flat, her waist still narrow, and her hips still as shapely as
before she'd stopped wearing the enchanted corset that Charisma had
given her. Likewise, her feet remained size five, despite her having
thrown away the magic shoes that had transformed them.
"The effects never end, once they have been established. They're
permanent."
Tears spilled from Tiffany's eyes. "I'll always crave your company?"
"Always."
A sob escaped the shemale's lips as her tears flowed down her wet,
shining cheeks.
"Only I can end the effects of the spells."
Tiffany looked at the sorceress through her veil of tears, hope rising
in her heart. "Would you?" she pleaded.
"I might," Charisma said.
Tiffany smiled through her tears. "Thank you!" she cried. "Thank you!"
"After I give you something to remember me by."
Another present? Tiffany asked herself. What pain and suffering did the
sadistic bitch have in mind for her now? "No," she said. "That's quite
all right."
"Oh, but I insist."
Tiffany's heart beat fast. She found that she was still afraid of the
cruel, abusive sorceress--indeed, she was terrified of her. "You aren't
going to shove that baseball bat up my ass?" she blurted.
Charisma smiled at the shemale's obvious anxiety. "No."
Tiffany looked relieved.
"I have something else in mind for you," Charisma said, her voice as
small as the calm before a storm, "something that will leave a much
longer and more emphatic impression on you than would your having been
ravished anally by an aluminum bat."
Tiffany gulped.
"Come with me," Charisma ordered. She strolled from the conservatory,
the naked Tiffany following her lead.
The sorceress led the shemale to a basement room that Tiffany had never
seen before. Now that she did see it, Tiffany wished she'd never had.
The ceiling, walls, and floor were all stone. The chamber was without
windows except for a long, narrow slit in each wall, a foot below the
ceiling. The windows, if these apertures could be called such, were so
narrow that no one could hope to scramble through one even if he or she
was able, somehow, to gain access to it. Nevertheless, the windows were
barred. Set in the sides of two facing walls were chains from which were
suspended iron manacles. There were two pairs of these shackles, the
lower set for the ankles, and the higher one for the wrists. Charisma
secured the fetters at once, making Tiffany a prisoner now, instead of a
guest.
"What do you plan to do to me?" Tiffany asked, her voice tremulous.
"Silence!"
Tiffany had, earlier, for the first time since she'd met Charisma,
months ago, supposed herself immune, at last, from her fear of the
sorceress. Now, locked in chains and iron cuffs, at her captor's mercy,
she knew she'd been wrong. Tiffany was terrified of her cruel mistress.
She had no doubt that Charisma would do anything to satisfy whatever
brutal impulses drove her. To appease her vile whims, she would think
nothing of anally ravaging her captive with the aluminum baseball bat
she kept on hand for that purpose, of making Tiffany swallow a
monstrous, three-foot-long cock that Charisma made appear magically in
place of her own cunt, or of strangling the shemale with a garrote held
in her own sadistic hands.
Instead, the butler appeared. He looked ridiculous, dressed in a tuxedo
and carrying a rattan cane upon a red velvet pillow atop a silver tray,
in the all-stone torture chamber. His calm, dignified appearance, his
formal attire, and his august demeanor made the unlikely setting
laughable, but Tiffany did not laugh. She groaned, sagging against the
heavy chains. Seeing the wicker cane, she knew what Charisma had in mind
for her, and she dreaded what was about to happen to her. She didn't
know she'd begun to weep until she felt her tears, warm and wet, stream
down her face. She whimpered, wanting to beg and plead to be spared the
extreme punishment that Charisma had decided to inflict upon her bare,
defenseless flesh, but she did not, knowing that any request for mercy
would earn her only greater, and more prolonged, torment.
Charisma took the cane from the velvet pillow on the silver tray. "Thank
you, James," she said to the butler. "That will be all."
"Yes, Madam." The servant left the chamber as quietly as he had entered,
leaving Tiffany alone with the sorceress.
"If I were you," Charisma advised, "I would face the wall, bend forward
as far as possible at the waist, and try not to move. This cane will cut
you, wherever it lands, and if you dance, it is likely to fall upon your
cock or balls rather than your back, ass, or thighs. In that unfortunate
event, it would probably cause irreparable damage. You might well be
castrated."
Now, despite her better judgment, Tiffany did beg for mercy. "Please
don't so this to me," she pleaded. "Let me go. Please. Please. Please--"
A sharp, stinging lash fell across Tiffany's buttocks, and, howling, she
leaped forward, into the wall, stunning herself in her desperate, but
vain, effort to escape the instrument that had just inflicted such
extreme pain.
"Shut your fucking mouth," Charisma said, her tone still calm, still
quiet, but full of menace, nevertheless.
Tiffany squeezed her eyes shut, bit her lip, and shuddered from the
effort of repressing the need to cry out against the burning pain that
continued to flash through her bottom. No doubt, she thought, an angry
red welt was already rising along the line of impact that the cane had
made upon her ass cheeks.
Tiffany cringed as she heard the cane whoosh through the air. A moment
later, the cruel instrument cut a red furrow in the flesh of her
buttocks, and she lunged forward in her chains as an intense agony
surged through her loins. Shrieking, she collapsed, the chains keeping
her from falling, and hung in the tight, iron grip of her fetters, her
eyes wide, her mouth gaping, and tears coursing down her face.
Charisma raised the cane again, delivering six more lashes. The cane
fell hard and fast and, one above another, as many parallel lines
appeared on Tiffany's ass cheeks. The shemale lurched in her restraint,
wailing her misery. A dreadful, unquenchable agony burned through her
bottom. She could feel blood trickling from her lacerated buttocks. She
sobbed loudly, unable to repress the need to voice the agony within.
Tears ran thick and fast down her contorted countenance.
After a moment, another flurry of lashes rained against Tiffany's
outthrust bottom, and she squealed and shrieked, pain blossoming within
her bleeding buttocks. With each stroke of the cane, every new blow
aggravated the pain that had ensued from the previous lashes, so that
the fiery pain was multiplied six, seven, eight, nine, or ten times.
More strokes followed, faster and harder than before, and Tiffany
screamed, straining against the fetters that bound her, her face twisted
in agony.
Charisma grinned at the sight of Tiffany's red and purple ass as she
crossed the rising welts and spreading bruises with new marks of the
lashing cane, and Tiffany leaped and squealed in her chains. Again and
again, the cane cut the air--and the flesh of the shemale's sleek ass
cheeks--and still more strokes slashed Tiffany's squirming bottom. In
all, Charisma wasn't sure how many strokes she'd delivered; she'd lost
count somewhere after the thirtieth lash. The shemale's ass was a sight,
though! Pretty as a flower, Tiffany's bottom was black and blue--all
over pink, and red wherever it was not purple. Bruises decorated
Tiffany's silken cheeks, and numerous welts stood in thick, ragged
lines. In places, the flesh had been flayed entirely from the shemale's
buttocks, and blood ran down the sleek mounds. Tiffany's ass was, to say
the least, a bloody mess.
The sorceress set aside the bamboo cane. She released her captive from
her chains, and Tiffany fell to her knees, a dead weight, before
sprawling upon the cold, stone floor. The shemale sobbed repeatedly, her
face as awash in sweat and tears as her buttocks were awash in blood.
Her breath came and went in tremendous heaves, and her heart hammered
inside her chest. Her balled fists rubbed hard against the stone floor,
as if she were trying to get a hold on something, but, of course, there
was nothing of which to get a hold--not even herself. Tiffany rolled--or
flopped--onto her side, assuming the fetal position, and her legs
pumped, as if she were pedaling a bicycle. Her face was a mask of pure
anguish.
The pain that burned within her buttocks must be a raging fire, Charisma
thought, smiling. "I am finished with you," Charisma announced. "I leave
you with two things: a last present and a final thought."
Even through the pain that flooded her mind and body, Tiffany knew that
she wanted no more presents from the bitch who had just caned her to
within an inch of her life, but she said nothing, waiting to hear, as
she must, whatever new torture the cruel bitch had devised for her.
She felt Charisma slip a ring onto one of her fingers. She wanted to
resist, to pull her hand away, to make a fist, but she was too wrung out
by the agony that continued, even now, to explode, deeper and deeper,
inside her, and from the exhaustion that had ensued the flogging she'd
endured. She couldn't resist. She couldn't fight. She couldn't do
anything but lie here, naked, on this hard, cold stone floor, struggling
to breathe and to think.
"The ring will make you forget me and all that has happened between us,"
Charisma said.
"Thank you," the shemale managed to whisper between moans as she writhed
upon the floor.
"Don't bother to think me," Charisma told her. "I am doing this for me,
not you. As I said, I am finished with you. I don't want you to remember
me or anything about us. I don't want you to call me, ever again, or
show up at my door. When you are able, leave here, and never come back."
Tiffany nodded her understanding, her agreement.
"Look at me," Charisma ordered.
The shemale opened her eyes. They were the same lovely blue as they'd
been the first time that Charisma had seen them, but they were filled
with tears, now, and pain, and hatred. Gone was the charming, guileless,
na?ve, innocent, and gregarious love of life; it had been replaced with
a cynical, knowing, culpable, hostile disdain for herself and others
that marked her as a creature who had been twisted and warped.
Outwardly, Tiffany was still a gorgeous shemale, but, inwardly, where it
mattered, she was a bizarre, hideous, and deformed character suited more
for the habitation of hell than for the society of men and women.
Charisma smiled as she gazed into the mirrors of Tiffany's ruined soul.
She had done her work well, the sorceress complimented herself. "You
said that you are not a fucking tree," Charisma reminded Tiffany, "but
you are; you are a human bonsai, dwarfed and twisted inside, by me. You
even tried to shape and train yourself to be other than you were born.
You came into this world with male genitals, but you wanted to be a
woman--or, at least, a ?chick with a dick'--so you took hormones and
underwent surgical operations and learned how to dress and behave like a
woman and how to apply makeup and shave your legs and think and feel the
way a woman thinks and feels. You tried to become something else, and
you succeeded, beyond your wildest dreams. You are a gorgeous shemale,
far more beautiful than most genetic females. When I saw you, I knew I
had to have you. I knew I had to nurture and guide and train you. I knew
I had to change you--and so I have."
Charisma smiled at the tear that wandered from the corner of the
shemale's eye. "Yes," the sorceress repeated, "you are a bonsai, after
all. I have twisted and shaped you, as much emotionally and sexually as
physically. I've increased your breast size, flattened your tummy,
narrowed your waist, shaped your hips, and shrunk your feet, but I have
also altered the way you think and feel and love. I have changed who and
what you are, and, now, I leave you with a final thought to consider as
you grow older and you become, more and more, the person I intend for
you to be." She paused. Tiffany had closed her eyes again. "Look at me,"
Charisma directed.
Tiffany's eyes opened, spilling new tears.
Seeing Tiffany cry moistened Charisma's cunt, and her clit throbbed as
it began to stiffen and swell. The sorceress smiled. "Here is the
thought I leave for you to meditate upon all the rest of your days: ?As
the twig is bent,'" she said, "so grows the tree.'"
Tiffany closed her eyes again, and sobbed.
Rising, Charisma departed, leaving the heavy iron door wide open on its
hinges. In a few days, Tiffany would have recovered from the caning
she'd suffered at her mistress' hands, although she'd never heal from
the deeper, more serious wounds that Charisma had done to her mind and
heart and soul. Then, Tiffany would be ready to leave. When she
scrambled to her feet and staggered toward the dungeon's exit, Charisma
wanted nothing to stand in Tiffany's way, just as she never wanted to
see the shemale again.
After all, Charisma was finished with her, although poor Tiffany would
no doubt learn, soon enough, that the end of her torment and suffering
was really just the beginning.
The End
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