Sweat dripped down her arms and lips as she hung there, blindfolded, hands cuffed to a cable in the center of the room like a meathook hangs an innocent calf. I paced around her, gazing at my captive prey, ready to pounce.
Making sure the sleazebags and gropers stayed away, I did the best I could to intimidate them with all 5'8" of me, but I refused to let them distract me from my conquest. I kept her guessing, a brush of the hand here, a whisper in the ear there, never letting her know where I would land next, or with what weapon.
I wanted her scared.
I wanted her waiting in anticipation, not knowing what was coming, and too confused to guess.
The ice dripping down from inside her bra, and the heat from her flogged back sent her sensations for a tailspin, and after two hours of pleasure and pain radiating through every muscle, bone, and nerve ending in her body she couldn't take any more. Her body buckled under the pressure, going limp, and falling out of the cuffs.
I guided her to the floor, slipping a pillow under her sore ass for safe measure, and as she sipped her water and looked up into my eyes, she said, "My God, I've never come so many times in my life."
That was the night I met Lasher, that was the night I knew what I had become, and I loved it.
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