New York City Submissive Female - Chapter 5 free porn video

Then he began to speak, with a passion, even an eloquence, that they had never seen in a tech presentation. He had a spring in his step, a light in his eyes, something that had given him an infectious confidence. He posed questions. He subtly flirted with the women. He cracked jokes. It was a tour de force, the kind you expect to hear from PR, not IT. It was like opening a bottle of juice and finding the finest wine instead.

Those who had meetings with him were astounded. What had happened to so transform the shy, quiet man they knew?

There were a few oddities in the speech, of course. At one point he said, "We're going to hit that deadline. I'll hit her with everything I've got. This is going to be awesome," leaving his counterparts wondering what he was talking about.

***

"There is a Mrs. Susan Beresford to see you," said the downstairs receptionist on the phone.

Phil was still at the office at six, luxuriating in his triumph that afternoon. "Can you send her up? I'll meet her at the sixth-floor reception."

He had not thought of the outfit that Sue was wearing, the same highly provocative green miniskirt, the intoxicating perfume and slutty-looking makeup. Eyebrows rose as she walked down the corridors. Women were either amused or resentful. Men were universally staring.

Sue didn't look like a friend, or girlfriend. She looked like he had hired a prostitute and brazenly invited her to the office. At least she wasn't wearing the leash. She made no attempt to touch Phil, but gave coy smiles to all who stared.

Phil sat her down in a chair beside his. "Your legs are crossed," he said. "Uncross them."

Sitting down, the sheer power of her legs mocked any male in eyeshot. The clear view of her thong would be enough to stain his reputation for weeks.

"Pretend you're stupid," he told her. "Like you're a simple-minded bimbo who I won over with expensive gifts."

Many men were stopping by and saying hi to him and his "friend", even those that didn't know him, referring to him as "the web guy from San Jose". Sue flirted with them all, letting their eyes greedily take in her bulging chest and open skirt. They kissed her hand, even putting their arm around her shoulder. She gushed at how "smart" they were (they weren't) and gave them perfect vacuous looks, incongruous coming from someone clearly of milf age.

She continued her cock-teasing of Phil's colleagues as they made their way to the exit. It took them a surprisingly long time to leave.

Like many tech firms, Phil's colleagues were much more Asian than the typical American population, even by New York standards. Sue hadn't failed to notice.

"So many qualified Asians at your company. Mine is like that too. Almost all my developers are Asian."

"We try," said Phil.

"You Asians are smarter than us whites. You seem to have everything under control. We spend hours studying, drift off to the TV half the time, and get Bs and Cs. You just focus and whip out A after A."

"That's not true for all Asians. During the colonial era—"

"Every Asian I know. We whites are too stupid to read history books anyway. Why do you think I have such a fetish for you? Well, that and the exotic color."

Phil could not believe that Sue held to such crude racial stereotypes. And he knew she was intelligent, more so than he. You don't get to be a director at a Wall Street firm with a private office if you aren't strong in brainpower.

"You can't make generalizations on the basis of a few—"

"Stop thinking logically," she interrupted. "Use your emotions. Give in to your baser impulses."

How would that feel? He'd had plenty of arguments with people where they judged an entire ethnic group based on just one person's behavior. They thought based on emotion, not logic. He'd always held that in contempt.

"It would feel very weird to be on the giving end of racial insults for a change."

"I think you need that, master. I think you need a white slave. After all," she added, "how many Asian girls would behave like a whore? Like me?"

Phil thought of the disgust his relatives often expressed towards the loose dress and loose morals of Western women. Already he found himself starting to think her way.

"So you're a...you're a...."

"A stupid white whore," finished Sue proudly. Phil's cock leaped for joy at the taboo insult. He felt a surge of freedom race through him. It was illogical, unfair, and arbitrary. It was evil. But damn, did it feel good!

Was this the freedom white men had once had, then lost? The freedom to say whatever they wanted to believe, no matter how racist and sexist? For the first time Phil felt some sympathy for them. To have this freedom and to lose it...no wonder they railed against the so-called tyranny of political correctness. Well, two can play that game.

He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. "I'll...I'll do it," he said excitedly. "I'm going to say or do whatever pops into my head. No matter how awful. If you don't like it, safeword."

"I won't need to safeword," she scoffed. "Treat me like dirt. Don't ask permission."

"I want to sexually harass you. Pretend you haven't agreed to anything, but don't cry out or try to get any kind of help. Make only feeble attempts to fight back."

He put his hand on her tit. She closed her eyes tightly, as if in pain. He toyed with her breasts, enjoying the feel, but also enjoying humiliating her in public.

"Open your eyes, bitch," he said.

She looked at him, fear and trepidation in her eyes.

"Do you still want me to hurt you, slave?"

"Yes, master."

He lifted his hand close to her face, then quickly slapped her, right there on the street.

She looked stunned for a moment but rallied quickly. "I deserved that, master," she said proudly. She pointedly turned her head to the other side. She was literally turning the other cheek.

"You didn't deserve that. But I did," replied Phil, slapping her, harder this time, on the other cheek.

He saw her flinch, knew he was hurting her, but neither could he slap that sly grin off her face. Nor did he want to. Was this not yet another, deeper taboo? Couples spank each other, as traditional parents spank children, but slapping on the face is forbidden, an act done more to humiliate than to hurt.

A wild energy was flooding through Phil. He desired Sue in that moment more than any woman he'd ever known. But he just as desperately wanted to make her uncomfortable.

He resorted to something Sue had never agreed to do in person.

He spat in her face.

The white spot hit her in the eye, dripping down her cheek like a grim talisman. But the defilement only made her more beautiful. Sue's expression was radiant.

"How do you like being spit on, bitch?"

"I love it, my lord."

"Why?"

"I told you, master. I love being used and abused."

"Let's do it then." He put his hand in the street, signaling a cab.

"You're paying for this cab, cunt," he said loudly as they got in.

"Yes, dear."

The driver looked at them quizzically through the mirror, seeing the spit on Sue's cheek. She looked coolly back, making a kissing motion in his direction. They headed for the sex shop.

***

"This looks like something," said Sue, pointing at a paddle.

"Nope," said Phil. "Spanking is for kids. This is what I want." He pointed to a nylon whip. It was at least three feet long, a thick handle leading down to a fearsome-looking lash.

Sue looked scared. "This one?"

Phil was scanning through the instructions on the back of the package. "We don't have to get it if you don't want to," he said.

"Do you want it?"

"Yes."

"Then I want it," said Sue bravely. Phil grabbed her and planted a smackeroo on her lips right then and there. His hands started to maul her ass—

"Do you mind paying for your stuff first?" asked the salesman, annoyed.

***

1987 it was. Fall.

Maybe high school wouldn't be so bad after all, Phil thought. He had been determined to make as many friends as possible, going out of his way to talk to as many as he could.

It hadn't always gone well, more than once he just seemed to find himself on the outside of conversations, listening to others talk about TV shows he'd never watched, music he didn't like, or sports he wasn't interested in. But he persevered.

Today a teacher had assigned him to a small study group with Michelle and Tricia. That latter name excited him; she was a bright-faced blonde, a lovely angelic face that he often thought of late at night.

It didn't take long for the girls to start yakking among themselves, talking about any subject under the sun except, of course, the assignment they were supposed to be working on.

He tried to figure out a way to contribute. "My mom wants me to go to bed at ten," Tricia was complaining. "I mean, who the hell goes to bed at ten o'clock?"

"I do," said Phil tentatively.

Tricia stared at him as if he'd said something deeply offensive. "Well, who cares about you? You're ugly."

***

Phil didn't send Sue to his hotel, but the one across the street. The bar had only a light crowd. She sat by herself, looking nervous but extremely sexy.

Phil came in, boorish, loutish, and horny. He walked up to Sue like he owned her, leaned in, and kissed her hard on the lips.

She didn't kiss him back. Her body stiffened, her eyes shut.

"That's right, whore," he jeered. "Lie back and think of England, they used to say."

He grabbed at her breasts, squeezing them, pulling them. Her body did not belong to her, it belonged to him. His property. His cock rose in anticipation.

He put his hand up her skirt. What drove his passion hardest wasn't the softness of her skin, the sexiness of her body, nor the scent of her perfume, delightful as all three were. It was the emotion on her face, the helplessness, as if she was a real slave. Phil owned her, so only his feelings mattered. The sense of liberation that gave him was extraordinary.

It was belied by how wet her cunt was, a wetness totally at odds with the expression of fear and pain on her face. He fingered her, far from gently, pulling on her clit, rubbing it, invading her with his fingers. And, sure enough, her face began to soften.

"You have to cum right here in the bar," he ordered. "Quietly, bitch." His fingers began rubbing her clit and g-spot, catching them in a pincer motion.

Squeeze. Rub. Squeeze. He couldn't tell what was arousing her more, the motion of his fingers or the cruelties from his mouth. "I'm going to use you, bitch. I'm going to finger-fuck you here, then I'm going to take you home, I'm going to whip you, and then I'm going to rape you. Do you want that, you — you stupid white whore?"

"Yes, master. Yes," she said hotly, her body shaking. Sue's breath was coming in rapid puffs, her cheeks pink as paint. "I'm your slave. I love being your slave. I wish you could beat me and rape me all night long... oh...oh..." She knocked over the Diet Coke she'd been drinking, but managed to keep her head motion to a limited jerk.

Phil snapped the collar around her neck and attached the leash, then dragged her out to the street.

"Strip to your underwear."

Sue's eyes flitted around nervously, realizing she was about to expose herself like never before.

"What if I get arrested, master?"

"Underwear is not illegal, you stupid bitch."

Very slowly, frightfully, she took off her clothes. She had on red lingerie, a flimsy red bra and a tiny square-shaped thong, its back strap as thin as a pencil.

A crowd of onlookers was gathering. Thankfully, there were no children among them, but plenty of men and teen boys with lecherous grins and evil eyes. Several had whipped out cameras or camcorders.

"This girl is my slave," said Phil loudly. "Isn't she a whore?"

The crowd hooted in appreciation.

"Anyone want to cop a feel? Put your hands anywhere you want."

Phil could barely see Sue for a few minutes after that, so many were the hands squeezing her tits, yanking them, grabbing her ass. Phil had only said hands, but lips and tongue were at play as well, some gentle, some not. Sue didn't open her mouth, but tried to keep her lips pointed in the right direction. One laughing man licked her arm from elbow to shoulder.

Finally, Phil had enough. He used the leash to pull his slave away from the crowd, dragging her across the street. Men stamped their feet, whistled, and cheered.

The entire hotel lobby stopped and stared at this beautiful lingerie-clad woman walking in on a leash.

"Clean my shoes, slut."

Sue looked around wildly. Phil knew what she was thinking — this was private property, what if the hotel chucked them out? The risk only added to the thrill. He could only hope the largely male staff would enjoy the show too much to do so.

Not looking up, Sue took the baby wipes out of her purse, sank to her knees, and wiped the shoes clean.

"Stand up and put your hands behind your back."

He snapped the cuffs on her. "Now pay your respects."

Sue's cheeks were flaming, but she obeyed her master. He smirked at the onlookers as she kissed his shoelaces, crawled between his legs, pressed her lips against his rear, and ended up with her lips on his zipper.

He pulled her to her feet and dragged her to the elevator. Quite a few people followed, even a pair of couples who had been eating in the restaurant. The elevator was so full that Phil had to ask some to leave. Not a single other button was pressed than their floor.

When they exited, Phil decided to release her hands and force her to the carpet. He quite enjoyed the murmurs and shocked whispers as Sue gamely crawled to his room. On the way, he gave her a few kicks, hard enough to hear mutters of "oh my god" and "why does she let him do that?"

He had to let go of the leash to open the door. True to form, Sue rose to her feet.

"Did y'all enjoy the show?" she asked to general catcalls all around.

"How much does this cost?" a man asked. "Suck my cock!" shouted out another. "Do you make a lot of money?" asked a woman.

"Sorry, I'm not for sale," she replied sweetly. "But here's a taster." She stripped off her bra and panties and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor, soon to be snatched away. She stood there, saucy and arrogant in her nudity, then impulsively grabbed a man and kissed him. While he started to paw her tits and ass, she gave another man a come-hither look.

Before long, the men formed a line, one of the women joining in. Phil was stunned to see Sue neck shamelessly with them all, giving away her mouth, tits, cunt, and ass like candy to their eager hands and lips. Was there no limit to her depravity?

"Bye, now!" she called out when Phil yanked on the leash to pull her into the room. "Master, that was wonderful, wonderful!" she chortled, laughing on the floor.

Phil shut the door, removed his shoes, and took the long chain. He'd observed earlier that the one of the lights, above the desk, was attached to a large hook. By standing on the desk, he could reach just high enough to remove it and loop the long chain around the hook.

"Stand under the hook with your hands above your head, whore," he told her. She obeyed, and he used the short chains to bind both ankles and wrists together. Then he attached the long chain to her bound wrists.

Sue was now standing with her ankles bound together, and her wrists also bound together above her head. A chain effectively bound her to the ceiling.

"You can swing back and forth, but can't otherwise move, can you slut?"

"No, master."

Phil slapped her again. He felt the joy of the dark side course through him, the joy of sadism, of taking pleasure in another's pain. The smile that still had not faded from her lips drove him wild with desire.

He took out the whip, stretching out its long, fearsome lash, stroking it approvingly. "I wonder what it feels like?" he said. He saw the fear in Sue's eyes. The fear stroked his ego, made him feel powerful.

Phil slid the whip in front of her nose, letting her take in the smell of fresh nylon. He took the tip and touched it to her face, her back, seeing her gasp, wondering what pain lay in store.

"You know," he said idly, "I've never used a whip before. I might get it wrong."

This was true, but Phil didn't mention he'd spent time at the office researching this online.

Facing Sue, he stepped back a few paces, then launched the whip into the air. It hit the corner of the bed with a loud crack.

He saw the shadow of fear cross her face, and felt his cock respond.

"Turn around, cunt," he ordered.

Beautiful golden hair. A sensuous, curvy back, and a delectable round ass. Filthy thoughts occurred to Phil.

He brought the lash down on her back. She screamed.

Phil's blood ran cold. He hurried around to face her. "Are you all right?" he asked, worried.

True to form, she was as cool as a cucumber. "This is wonderful, master. You're doing great." He could scarcely believe his ears.

"Are you trying to reassure me?"

"If I have offended master, he is welcome to punish me," she said shrewdly. "Don't be scared if I scream and shout. If I don't use the safeword, assume you can keep doing whatever you want."

Phil kissed her, his cock digging into his stomach. Kissing a woman is different when she is chained up. Her body bends backward, with elastic force from the chain pushing her right back into your face. He looked into her glittering eyes and slapped her again, enjoying the sight of her flinching, before resuming his place at her back with the whip.

At first he kept interrupting himself to check on her, scared to see tears rolling down her face, but she kept urging him on. He had to push himself hard, resisting the urge to comfort or massage her. Soon he learned to enjoy her screams, to take a sadistic delight in her cries of pain. He whipped her back. He whipped her ass. The lash flew slowly, deliberately, giving her wails the time to set his blood on fire.

He groped her cunt. To his surprise, it was wet as sweat.

"Why are you turned on by pain, slut?"

"I'm turned on by humiliation, master."

"I'm finding... I'm finding myself turned on by cruelty. I'm like a monster, I'm enjoying hurting you."

"That's great, my lord."

"But I like to look in your eyes when I hurt you," he said, drawing closer to her. The websites he'd checked gave strict instructions on where a whip could safely go, and the list was short — basically just back and ass, and even that only from a safe distance.

He climbed on the table and unhooked her. She toppled to the ground, sore and battered. Phil circled around her, more aroused than ever at how helpless she was.

He removed the long chains. He had her kneel on the bed, legs folded under her. Her ankles could then be tied together with the short chains. He put her arms behind her back and joined her wrists the same way.

"Now you are even more helpless than yesterday. You can't rise. You can't move. You are totally at my mercy. And today," he gloated, "I can hurt you."

Sue was writhing in her chains, wiggling her body, as if trying to seduce him further. He took his cock and drew it over her face, leaving drops of precum. She hungered for his cock, straining to bend forward to kiss and lick it, but was too tightly bound to go further. The expression on her face was of purest bliss.

He clenched his fist and brought it to her face, pressing his knuckles into her lips. She kissed them, opening her mouth to lick them. He kept pressing his fists into, her cheeks, nose, even eyes. Still the same welcoming smile.

He kissed her gently. Then, without warning, he punched her in the stomach.

Sue cried out as much in surprise as in pain.

"How did you like that, whore?"

"I didn't expect it, my lord."

"But did you like it?"

Sue looked at the hungry, eager expression in Phil's face, the excitement, the rise of powerful emotions to the surface from where they had been buried for so long.

"Yes, master, I did."

From early childhood Phil had heard stories about the horrors of domestic violence. There had not been any in his own family, but the endless tales were all around him.

Fist on female flesh was a taboo so strong that even pornographers obeyed it. Whips and paddles can be freely found in porn, but not fist. A fist may be thrust into a girl's pussy or ass, but never anywhere else. Girls may have cocks jammed into their mouths, be violently fucked, even choked — but punching and kicking remains verboten.

Phil's greatest fantasies were the smashing of strictures, the rending of rules. It was Sue that he was hitting, but he felt no anger towards her. It was against every tract that told him that his desires were wrong, every lecture on TV he'd heard about what a pig he was, every bitter remembrance, every angry blog post, every one of the hundreds of sources of guilt and shame that he carried in his memory.

Phil was not trying this blindly. He'd practiced punching himself a few times that afternoon, just to get a feel for it. He beat Sue in the stomach, on the breasts, on the legs. Each cry of pain was music to his ears, music that left his heart pumping and his cock hard.

Sue was tied too tightly for him to punch her cunt, but he was able to maul it, thrusting his fingers in roughly. It was wet enough to take his fingers easily. He tried molesting her with one hand while he punched her with the other.

"You're crying."

"Yes, master," she sobbed, "but don't stop. Can you feel how wet I am?"

"You're crying and turned on at the same time?"

"Yes, my lord," she sniffed. "It hurts so much, but it feels so good."

There was a knock on the door.

"Go and answer it, whore," said Phil coolly. He unhooked the chains, but left them on. He dove under the bed covers, but he could easily see Sue from the mirror on the closet door.

"We had a complaint about screaming in this room..."

"Oh, sorry about that. That was me. We're, um, playing a game."

"Are you being sexually assaulted, ma'am?"

"No, no, nothing like that. It's just a game."

Phil would have given a good deal to see the expression on the man's face. He imagined what it would be like to look at Sue, naked, in chains, with tear stains and disheveled hair, yet with the same winning smile and calm voice she always had.

"Ma'am, I have to ask. Are you a prostitute?"

"As it happens, I'm not, but what I do in my private life is quite frankly none of your business," said Sue frostily. She shut the door without another word, then crumpled to the floor and crept like a dog towards Phil.

A feeling of power came over him, a power he had felt absent all his life. He went over and chained her ankles, then her wrists, leaving just enough room for her to keep crawling. He pulled her with the leash.

Her chains clinked.

Each clink was a vow of submission, a reminder that something wonderful had happened to him. Each clink excited him, aroused him, told him that Sue was his slave, his property, his to do with as he liked.

Phil circled her, drew back his foot and kicked her in the ass. She yelped, and as she fell to the ground her chains clinked again, thrilling him. He wanted to kick her again and again. No. He must humiliate her.

"Look at me, slave."

He was astonished to see a smile on her face. "If you liked that, kiss my foot, bitch. Kiss the foot that kicked you."

Sue didn't just kiss the one foot, she necked with it, as adoringly as if it was a long-lost lover. Then for good measure she did the other. Phil pulled it back. She tried in vain to crawl after it, but was hampered by the chains. Moving faster than she could, Phil aimed another kick, this time from the side.

Sue screamed. Her pain only made his pride puff, his cock jerk. He embraced the sadism, the cruelty. For so many years he had suppressed his emotions, tolerated the rudeness, the condescension, the smug superiority of others. Never yell. Never fight. Never resist. Turn the other cheek. Give him your coat too. Go with him two.

Phil toyed with Sue, yanking on her leash and dropping it like a yo-yo, slapping her face when she rose, then literally kicking her when she was down. He knew she was in pain. He knew she was suffering. But he was drunk, drunk with power, corrupt with absolute power, just as Lord Acton had warned.

"You can end this at any time, cunt."

"I don't want to end it—"

Phil silenced her with a kick to the stomach, hard enough to make her scream. He wondered if there were eavesdroppers outside listening, then wondered what difference that would make. Sue tried to crawl away, but the chains were too hard to move in. Phil kicked her as if dribbling a soccer ball, while she tried vainly to dodge his feet, shameless as an animal.

When he finally stopped, she looked up, giving him a wan smile. He spat in her face, but her smile flickered for only a second. She sidled up to him, rubbing up to him like a real dog, until he patted her head. She looked up at him coyly, then entirely without prompting, pulled his socks off with her teeth and kissed his feet fondly.

She's learning, he thought. She really thinks like a slave girl.

"Good dog," he said. "Now pay your respects, cunt."

Clink. Clink. The sound of the clink felt like release from prison. The chains clinked as she prostrated herself to kiss his feet. They clinked as she kissed his cock, and he marveled at the leash in his hand. He yanked her down again and half-dragged her under him. As he felt her lips brush his ass, he jerked it backwards, smacking her in the face.

He turned around to face her. She was masturbating. She's turned on, he thought, amazed. The more I humiliate her, the more aroused she gets. Despite all he had done to her, he could not break her, though it sure was fun trying.

What was her limit? Did she have one? He thought of abusing her more and more, surely there was some point when she would break, when arousal would turn to anger. He viciously slapped her in the face, but her fingers only dug deeper into her cunt.

He spat on her face again, hitting her in the other cheek. "Undress me, slave."

White drops flowed down both sides of her face now. Phil felt the mania flow through him again as she undressed him. Each article of clothing coming off him, the hunger he could see in Sue's eyes, the streams of spit flowing down her cheek without shame, the clinking of the chains, all overwhelmed him.

When he was naked, she looked longingly at his cock. "Please, master, can I suck it?"

He wanted to say yes, but he could not. "I'm saving it for the rape, you stupid whore."

Her eyes lit up at the word rape.

"Then," she begged, "can I have something else to drink?"

Phil stared at her in disbelief, then shoved her back down on all fours, practically dragging her to the bathroom.

"Pick up the dog bowl," he ordered. "With your teeth. Put it in the tub and kneel behind it."

Once in the tub he tightened the chains, leaving her on her knees, hands behind her back, virtually immobile.

He could see the mix of emotions in her eyes, the lust, the joy, but also the nervousness and fear.

"Close your eyes, bitch. Leave your mouth open."

She was actually trembling a little. He revelled in the power he had now; he had his fists, his feet, the whip if he so chose.

He leaned in close and spat on her, on her eyelids, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her lips. In between spits he glugged more water from the sink. He spat on her tits, left white strains in her hair.

He stared for a moment at that unbelievable sight. She was tied up, naked, and helpless, her face covered in spit, dripping with degradation.

"How do you feel now?"

"Dirty. Shameless. Like a whore."

"You are. You're a filthy white cunt."

Sue dimpled. "I feel like I'm in heaven, master—"

The flow of piss cut her off. Not as much as yesterday; he hadn't drank as much. But plenty to wash all the spit off her face. Enough to soak her entire body, hair and all. She gamely kept her mouth open, struggling to swallow as much as she could.

She opened her eyes and looked down at the bowl.

"Do you want to drink it, slut?"

"If it will please you."

His jerking cock gave its own answer. Sue couldn't lift the bowl, her hands were chained behind her back, so she bent low on the ground to drink the remaining piss.

Phil's emotions were surging out of control. He wanted to break right there, force his cock into her mouth and shoot cum down her throat, but he had promised to rape her. He stood back, heart throbbing, breath heaving, while she gulped down more and more piss, defiling herself with his filth.

Finally he undid the chains and pulled her to her feet. Once she had washed herself off and brushed her teeth, he grabbed her in a tight bear hug, squeezing her so tightly she yelped. His lips were hot on hers, probing greedily into that incredible mouth that had performed this miracle. "Oh, master," she murmured. He jammed his fingers into her cunt, using the sawing motion to rapidly drive her to another orgasm, the pounding of the shower only adding to the intensity of the moment.

She knelt behind him, and he felt her nose try to make its way up his ass — before she had washed it!

"Don't break the rules, you filthy whore," he said, donkey-punching her. But the attempt had the effect she'd hoped. A surge of energy drove through Phil. He was descending into the jungle, into re-primitivized man, a man who thinks only with the lusts of his flesh, who knows nothing than his desire to dominate, to overpower, to feed his own insatiable appetite.

He mouthed obscenities when she washed his ass. He practically shoved her out of the tub. He punched her when she dried him off. He chased her on her knees out of the bathroom, kicking her in the ass, the stomach, anywhere he could. He grabbed her by the leash and dragged her to face him.

"What are you?"

"I'm your slave, master."

He slapped her.

"Your slut."

Another slap.

"Your whore. Your cunt. Your bitch. Your property. Your toy."

He slapped her after each statement, then contemptuously spat on her, twice. Each spit made his cock thrust forward, desperate to have its share of the abuse. But nothing seemed to faze Sue. Nothing could break that look of bliss on her spit-soaked face.

He took a Sharpie he'd brought from the office. Uncapping it, he shoved it under her nose, letting her inhale the strong odor.

"I'm going to mark you, you stupid white cunt. Mark you as mine."

"Yes, my lord."

He scrawled obscenities on her skin, slapping her hands away from her cunt when they got in his way.

"Go look in the mirror, bitch. See what you've become."

She spent so much time at the mirror, admiring herself, that he had to order her back sharply.

"Do you have a camera, master?"

Phil had not thought to bring one.

"I have one, master."

It was a film camera, but the thought of some darkroom staffer seeing the shots made him feel even more prideful.

She had thirty-six shots on her film roll, and Phil took them all, using the mirror as a guide. Standing nude and haughty in her chains. Pointing with a sneer at the filthy words written on her. The spit dripping down her face. Kissing the whip. Holding a dog bone in her mouth. Bending over the dog bowl. Lying spread-eagled on the floor. Kneeling under him licking his balls. Close-ups of his cock in her mouth, her tongue up his asshole, her body bent over to kiss his feet, his fist pressed on her stomach, his hand appearing to slap her face, his foot on her ass, her cheek on the floor, his foot apparently stepping on her.

"I should have brought more film," she sighed. "We should have taken me drinking your piss."

At that memory, Phil tossed the camera on the suitcase. He let her stroke her clit a little while he slapped and spit on her, but the beast in him was out, would brook no opposition, no delay. He shoved her on the bed, pushing her brutally towards the wall. She spread her legs wide, and he chained her in the X shape.

Sue was helpless, horny, unable to move, her cunt dripping, her face also descended into primeval emotions. Hers was not a drive to possess but to be possessed, to be the fertile ground for the invader, the prize to be won. She wanted to be bullied, to be broken, to be rent asunder, to give herself away, again and again and again.

"Rape me, master," she begged. "Hurt me. Take me. Abuse me. Don't hold back. Please."

The time for sensitive foreplay and tenderness was past. Making love is about love. Fucking is about lust. Rape is about power. It is the powerless — or, perhaps more important, those who think they are powerless — who hunger for power, a power they feel has been denied all their lives. The bitter resentment of years of rejection and indifference had taken its toll on Phil, a lifetime of inadequacy, of guilt, of shame and rage and pain.

The cock has no muscle of its own. It is guided only by feelings. It was power that Phil felt as he plowed into Sue's defenseless body. It was power that he felt as he thrust into her with all the force he could muster. It was a power that she had freely given him, true, but that made it only the more delicious, the more sweet. He kept slapping her, spitting on her, punching her, crushing her under his large weight, using her.

Phil's thrusts were an act of ideology, even of religion. By raping Sue he was rejecting all he had been told, all he had once believed, about what was right and wrong about sexuality.

All Phil could sense were the waves of passion, waves of joy. He reached out for the one he tried to destroy, but she, she was writhing like it was the end of the world. His ears were ringing. Sue's screams, her cries of pain, her maniacal climaxes — all failed to register. Phil knew only the pulse racing through him, the pounding of his heart, the frenzied rush of his body.

He was taking her —

she was his, his fuck toy, his property —

beneath him, totally beneath him —

god, oh god, did this feel good —

yes —

yes —

cunt —

slut —

whore —

***

Phil's load was shot, his passion spent. He rolled off. As if waking from a dream, he remembered who he was, where he was.

"Sue! Sue! Are you all right? Oh god. Oh god. Sue?"

"I'm fine, master," she said in a weak voice.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm wonderful, master," she said, feebly, her breath heaving. "Thank you so much."

Quickly, he undid her chains.

"Hold me, master," she asked.

He took her in his arms and held her for a while. "I think you can stop calling me 'master' now."

Sue said nothing, but lay there, an exhausted but satisfied look on her face.

"This week has been one of the most wonderful I've had in a very long time," she said at last, "and tonight was the best of all."

"Being with you has been a dream come true for me, too. I've never felt so safe with a woman before."

She stroked his face. "I'm really going to miss you, Phil. I feel so liberated with you. So alive. Like I can finally be myself, be true to who I am."

"You need a real girlfriend. Someone younger. Someone who really loves you, in the way I can't."

"Nobody will—"

"Don't talk like that," said Sue sternly. "I know you have issues. Everyone has issues. But I also know that a mind capable of conceiving all this, a mind of such imagination and courage, is also a mind capable of working through his issues. You will find that special girl. I know you will. You deserve it."

She got up stiffly, and over his objections packed for him, lovingly putting the chains, leash, cuffs, and dog bone in his suitcase.

"Are you sure you don't want to keep any of that stuff?"

"I wish I could. I wish to God I could. But Keith would never go for it. I don't even know what I'm going to tell him about tonight. He's bound to figure it out eventually."

She sighed. "I hate all this lying, and sneaking around, and hiding. The best part about being with you is that I can say exactly what I really think, and you do the same with me."

She kissed him and looked longingly at his cock. "Whoever gets to suck that cock is a lucky girl indeed. Don't ever settle for anything less. I'll see you in the morning, honey." Her voice cracked. "I love you, baby. You know that, right? Only as a friend, but I do love you."

"I love you too, Sue."

***

"Hi, you're awake," said Sue into her phone.

"I'll be home in about half an hour."

"Yes."

"Stay up, I have something important we need to talk about."

"No, it has to be tonight."

"Okay."

"Bye."

***

"What was so important it couldn't wait?" asked Keith.

Sue looked at him proudly. "There is something I've done that you will not like. Something that was very wrong, but that I thoroughly enjoyed."

Keith looked crestfallen. "Are you...are you..."

"Yes, Keith. I've had an affair."

"So... all those late nights at the office... you were actually—"

"It was a guy I talk to online. He was visiting New York this week, and—"

"Why would you betray me like that?" asked Keith, his face twisted in pain and hurt. "What have I done? What makes this man better than me?"

"I never said he was better—"

"So why did you have an affair with him then?"

"He did things to me that I've always wanted," Sue said heatedly.

"Like what?"

Defiantly, Sue stripped off her clothes, ignoring Keith's sputtering. There, in the dark magic marker, lay the words Phil had written on her body. Bitch above her breasts. Cunt on her waistline. Whore on her stomach. Slut on her thigh. Toy on her other thigh. She turned around and on her ass were the words Male Property. It would have taken rubbing alcohol to get the ink stains out.

Normally, Keith would have been very aroused at seeing Sue nude, but he was too wounded and angry for that. "What on earth is this? Did he rape you?"

"No! I asked him to write these things on me."

"How... how could you possibly want that?"

"Do you want to know what else?" Sue bored on relentlessly. "He fucked me up the ass, Keith. I drank his cum. He chained me up. He walked me like a dog. He slapped me. He whipped me. He beat me. He spat on me—"

"What kind of sick pervert—"

"And he pissed on me, Keith. You know what else? I loved it. I loved being beaten. Spat on. Pissed on. I drank his piss. I gulped it down. I licked it off the toilet. I licked it off the floor."

Keith was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "What... what... why would you do that? What kind of animal is this guy—"

"A guy who listens, Keith. He didn't want to do it at first. But he did it because I asked him to. He listened. And do you know what? I had more orgasms with him in one week than I've had with you in the past year!"

Keith felt his mind spinning. Sue? His Sue? The woman who had shared his life and his dreams for nearly twenty years?

He thought of the trip to Rome they'd taken together, how she'd comforted him after his wallet had been pickpocketed. He thought of the time his mother had keeled over with a heart attack, how Sue was galvanized into action, how she had been the rock he had depended on. Many were the times they had made love peacefully together, and now—

"Is that just it for us, then?"

"Keith, please—"

"You've found your Lothario, and you're just going to throw me out?"

"No!"

"Have I been a bad husband? Did I fail to take out the garbage? Did I leave the toilet seat up too often?"

"No!" shouted Sue. "You're a wonderful husband! It's just that there were things I wanted, wanted so badly, and I couldn't—"

"That's what you care about? The sex? If I'm that bad at it, why are you even with me anymore?"

"Because, god dammit, because I'm in love with you!" Sue snarled, voice shaking with emotion.

Then she cracked, and shattered. Breaking into hysterical tears, she sank to the floor, pounding her fists on the carpet in impotent rage.

"I messed up, Keith," she sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you so much. I've always loved you. Always, always, always. I would rather die than lose you." She crawled to his feet and kissed them, tears soaking into his socks.

"I should have known better. Once a whore, always a whore."

Sue looked up in surprise. What she saw took her aback.

This man was not her Keith, not the man she had loved. There was cold and trembling fury on this man's face, a fury carved in stone, merciless, unyielding. His eyes were blazing, his lips curled into a snarl.

"Your dad warned me about you. He said you were a whore. I should have known it would come to this."

That word again. Whore. She had been thrilled with Phil called her that, it made her feel naughty and alive. But Keith made the word sound different, contemptible and despised.

"My dad warned you? What the—"

"Back in college, your dad called my dad. They asked me to keep an eye on you—"

"What do you mean, keep an eye on me—"

"He knew you were trouble. I could see what you were, spreading your legs for anyone, even blacks—"

"What did you say?" she screeched.

Why am I on my knees for this man?

Rising to her feet, she jabbed her finger into her husband's face. "What the fuck are you saying?"

"I thought I could save you!" Keith hissed back. "I believed so much that it was my duty to save you!"

"You—you were following me that night? Stalking me?"

"It wasn't that guy's fault what happened. You led him on. Dressing like a slut, sleeping around like a whore? What did you think that would happen? I rescued you from that life—"

Sue felt the rage rise in her, a dangerous rage, a volatile rage. She thought of the pain and brutality, of the rocks, of the torments, of the contempt.

"You. Fucking. Bastard."

"I'm the bastard? You just whored yourself out to another guy—"

"What I did with Phil was wrong. But what you did was ten times worse."

"What did I ever—"

"You don't love me. You never have."

"I've taken care of you, sheltered you—"

"You took me away from who I was. What I wanted. Who I wanted to be. You tried to make me into someone you wanted."

"I saved you from whoredom—"

"I've been with you for almost twenty years and you never saw me as a person, an adult, free to make her own choices—"

"I made you a respectable person—"

"You kept me a prisoner!" Sue snarled. "I did what you wanted. I lived by your values. You made me into someone I'm not."

"This is who you are! Who you should be!"

"And I'm telling you I'm through. I'm done being your own perfect prudish fantasy good wife. You don't own me."

"Oh really? What's that written on your butt then?"

"Something I chose to put there. Something put there as part of a game, by someone who really cares about me." Tears were in Sue's eyes now, whether tears of sadness or anger or pain she did not know.

"You'd rather whore yourself to that man and his filth than be with me?" shot back Keith. "How dare you, after all I've done for you—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Sue roared, her face mottled with anger, her eyes blazing like hot fire. Keith took a step back, eyes apprehensive.

"I'm warning you, I'll call the police on you and that bastard—"

"Go for it," Sue said contemptuously. "You'll just get fined for misusing 911."

She stared grimly at Keith, eyes like ice, naked and haughty. He stared back, and long did their eyes lock onto each other, a silent battle of wills that would brook no mediation, take no ambiguity, that would not cease until one will found mastery.

Finally, Keith broke the stare and turned away.

***

2001 it was. Fall.

The world's changed, Phil wrote. I can't believe I was just with you in New York a few months ago. And now the Towers are gone, just like that.

He had been terrified for Sue's safety that terrible morning, almost crazed with worry until Sue's email arrived, reassuring him she was safe. But the clouds of war were on the horizon too. Phil was troubled at the anger and hatred he saw festering in once-welcoming internet forums. Hard looks were sometimes cast at his brown face.

Will you still be on in 15 minutes? Sue asked.

Of course I am. All by myself here.

Where else would he be if not at his computer? He valued his friendship with Sue a great deal, but he was still, in the end of the game, alone. Outside his workplace, he had almost no human interaction.

The ghetto Phil lived in had no real walls and no true dimensions. The walls were the habits of neurosis and the dimensions were an illusion. But the ghetto existed all the same, and Phil did not know how to leave it.

He had tried going to various Silicon Valley social events, but he had only a vague idea how to turn that into deeper friendships. And there were few women there — the Bay Area was rated as one of the worst places in the country to be a single male.

But he had the memory of his time with Sue. He wondered how she was doing, whether she'd reconciled with her husband. Sometimes she was online quite a lot, even let him call her and do hair-raising phonesex calls. Other times she'd disappear for weeks at a time, and when he emailed said only she was really busy, though with what he did not know.

There came a knock at the door. Who that could be? Phil had no friends who might drop in, and he didn't remember ordering anything.

His jaw dropped when he saw who was there.

Sue looked happier than he'd ever seen her, happier than at the peaks of ecstasy. There was freedom in her face, her wide lips bursting into a glorious smile, her eyes alight with love and joy.

"I wanted to surprise you, Phil," she began, her voice cracking.

She was in underwear, that same underwear she'd worn on the street that last day in New York. Once again a pink dog collar and leash bestooned on her neck; the same sideways H-shaped chain linked her arms and legs.

Phil did not even stop to think; his arms were around her, and hers were around him, and their lips were pressing into each other, and his tears were mixing with hers, both of them were shaking like leaves—

"I love you, Phil. I know that now."

He could not get words out of his mouth, so great was the surge of passion running through his chest. He waited for the usual qualifier, but instead, she added, "And—and I'm here. For you. For as long as you want me."

Sue looked up at him, caressing his face, and offered him the leash.

A kaleidoscope of emotions went through Phil. "Does this mean that you—"

"I'll explain later, Phil. But right now, just do what your heart tells you."

Phil felt the strength returning to him, felt himself almost seem to rise taller. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he felt fully a man.

He took the leash in his hand, smiling slightly, and firmly led his slave into the apartment.

THE END

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