Captive of Sadistic Mistress
He barely looks like a person. Some women would say he is not. Men are animals. No more.
He is an animal in a cage. Legs and arms chained to the walls. Doubly confined.
Why is he a prisoner? Helpless, confined; terror ties his muscles in a knot. Acids flood his stomach.
He does not yell. His captor will arrive when he wishes. He? His last memory is of talking to a gentle, pretty girl. He might be her prisoner.
He begged God to save him. He prayed. An atheist, he expected no answer. He offered a deal: he would believe in God if he were set free.
He could only wait for – the serial killer? – or whatever to feel like visiting his captive.
Chains distort his body. He cannot find comfort or rest. Tears threaten to flow. Even that relief is denied him.
At last, a hinge creaks. Door opens. He sees the pretty girl.
She does not look crazy or malignant. But she took him prisoner. Her intention cannot be friendly. Is he her dinner?
Slim body, yellow hair, amiable smile – she should be giving yoga lessons.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to sell you. You told me that you wished for a career outside programming. Being a woman’s slave will be very different.”
“Slave? … “
She laughed. Girlish good cheer.
It must be a prank.
“Where’s the camera?”
“This is a TV show, isn’t it?”
Her smile faded. “You need a lesson.”
She pulled a cane from an umbrella stand. Quick, cutting strokes stung his stomach, chest and legs.
“Stop it. Stop it.”
She beat more swiftly, fiercely.
“Please! I’m sorry! Please don’t hurt me!”
She dropped the cane.
“This isn’t a TV show or game. Or joke.”
“Cry baby. Of course, your new owner may enjoy your tears.”
“I’m going to sell you. Pay attention.
“Your old life ended. Now you are a slave. I will train you, then sell you.”
“You need to learn to stop asking questions. I’ll auction you. You will go to the woman who places the highest bid.”
“If you pay attention and learn how to be a good slave.
“Otherwise, I’ll sell you to man. He’s the most brutal sadist I’ve ever met. I never ask what happens to the men he buys.”
She beat him again. When he asked why, she only said, “Why not?”
For a man, he was not too stupid. She had him scared. He learned protocol. Began to see himself as a thing.
She told him he would be a utility. Existing only to ease a woman’s life.
His Mistress Owner would torment him. Probably not kill him. His death would be wasteful.
He progressed well. He begged her to hurt him. Rolled over on his back and pleaded to lick the filth from the soles of her shoes.
The Domme often kicked him. He thanked her and begged for more.
A famously cruel woman bought him.
The slaver had no idea what happened to him. Men do not matter. Born to serve. Born to suffer. Then forgotten.