Chapter 6 part 4  A Submissive Female of New York City

Chapter 6 part 4
 A Submissive Female of New York City

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—"

To be continued