jade is a lovely and innocent young schoolgirl about to graduate,
miserable at home, with no idea of what her future holds or what she
wants to do with it. meek, hesitant, easily influenced, she is ripe for
the lewd and dangerous attentions of a man old enough to be her father,
a man who roughly takes her, kneels her, and uses her as he feels
lovely young women should be used. dazed, confused, yet darkly excited,
she is subjected to more and more intense sexual abuse and punishments,
beaten, exposed, given to other men, and finally put through a terrible
week of abuse designed to completely subjugate her and make her into an
obedient sexual slave, a toy for his pleasure.



the attic was hot and dark, smelling of dust and bare wood. spiders
moved quietly along their webs high overhead among the old beams
between the sharply angled ceilings. the floor was littered with old
furniture and boxes of old clothes, holiday souvenirs, childrens
mementoes, and christmas decorations. moonlight cast darker shadows
across the floor, what there was of it which made its way through the
dirty window and past my body.

he had put me in the window, he said, to give me something to look at.
it was a joke, a sadistic joke, really. the only thing i could see was
the small, dark, empty street and the brick wall of the little theatre
directly across from me. and i had stopped looking hours earlier, too
tired to keep my eyes open and focussed.

youd think it would be impossible to sleep given my condition, given
the discomfort, not to say actual pain i felt throughout my body. but
exhaustion will win out eventually, and i had never felt quite so
exhausted, quite so desperately in need of sleep. my eyelids had never
felt so immensely heavy. they kept closing, my mind drifting into
welcoming fuzz. but inevitably, i would jerk awake with a gasp, my
stomach lurching sickly as i lost my balance.

the ropes helped keep my balance, there on the balls of my feet, there
before the window. they were soft ropes which he had carefully looped
about my wrists a half dozen times. each loop was laid precisely
alongside the previous, binding my wrists tightly and helplessly
together above my head, the remainder of the rope disappearing into the
darkness above me, cast across one of the beams and tied off somewhere
behind me.

the ropes were a comforting presence around my wrists. they did not dig
into my skin unpleasantly, but simply gripped me firmly and with the
absolute promise i could not escape them. the only pain they caused me
was when i nodded off briefly and lost my balance. then my legs would
drop out from under me a little, or i would sway to one side, and the
ropes would dig in hard as my weight came down on my slim wrists.

as to why i felt bondage to be comforting, i will leave that to one
more gifted in psychology than i. i had always been intrigued by any
form of bondage or restraint, always had fantasies of myself as a
helpless, tormented prisoner. later, of course, those fantasies had
turned sexual, and become helplessly seductive to me in my innocence.

certainly there was little else comforting at the moment. my body was
drained, weary, my arms cold and numb, my legs and back aching from
being too straight, too unmoving, for too long. i desperately wanted to
sit down, to stretch, to bend. yet i must hold my position on the balls
of my feet, my ankles bound as tightly and firmly together below as my
wrists were above.

i was nude.

nudity and sexuality had always been linked in my mind. perhaps that
was because my parents had been so adamantly opposed to both, and
roundly condemned even the hint of a trace of my interest in either. my
dresses and underwear had always been very modest, and i was encouraged
to take my baths as quickly as possible, with my mother always nearby
listening through the door for anything untoward. any extended silence
would draw a query. jade? are you all right in there?

my parents were very religious people, god fearing catholics of the
school of thought which said the female body was the devils creation,
designed to lure men and women to hell and damnation. to them, god was
a suspicious, all knowing entity eagerly awaiting the first sign of sin
in his creations so he could rain hellfire upon them. even as a young
girl i had questioned the likelihood that a being so powerful would
focus so much outrage on a young girl who looked at her private parts
for too long a period of time.

as a young woman i had scornfully rejected their god and their
religious and moral teachings, but perhaps, inside me, that certainty
of damnation still remained. perhaps it was that which made me glory in
the punishment i was given for daring to defy the inhibitions they had
instilled within me.

nude, before the window, i tried to keep my eyes open, and breathed
very softly, very shallowly. my body groaned wearily, my thighs and
feet aching with pain, my ankles trembling weakly as i looked up into
the sky and hoped for some sign of approaching dawn.

and yet weariness and pain were not the sole sensations moving through
my body. i was aroused, deeply aroused. i could feel the wetness
between my legs, could feel how sensitive and swollen the lips of my
sex were, could feel the small, tingling hunger of my rigid nipples.

sick. that was what i was, and i freely admitted it to myself.

my shoulder length raven hair, hair which glistened like spun silk in
the sunlight was now tangled and moist and filthy, matted against my
forehead and my right cheek. the heat, tiredness, and humidity were
making me queasy. my body was covered in a sheen of sweat. an
occasional droplet would trickle slowly down my forehead and along the
bridge of my nose, or down along the sides of my ribs, or over the
rounded curve of my bottom.

the small silver rings impaling my nipples glistened, for over the
hours sweat had trickled down my breasts and collected there against
them. i could feel the other ring, as well, driven clean through the
hood of my clitoris, resting there atop my sensitive button so that by
moving my thighs a little i could send a soft shudder of hot pleasure
through my aching body.

there was no pubic hair to collect the moisture there. i had been
delighted when james had first shaved it off, for the folds of my sex
had looked dirty, dark, and ugly, in tune with what my parents had long
taught me. yet bare, my sex looked clean, pink, and pure, a fitting
receptacle for something long, thick and rounded.

sometimes i called him uncle james, but that was one of his jokes. we
were not in any way related. he merely introduced me to strangers as
his niece. he would wink as he said it, and they would understand and
wink back. if they were men they would congratulate him and look
knowingly and approvingly at me as his trophy, his conquest. women
would frown
suspiciously and shake their heads at the foibles of youth and the
immaturity of men.

for james was forty seven years old and i was just eighteen.
you will wonder at this, not at what he sees in me but the reverse.

sometimes i wonder myself. yet i have always considered myself much
more mature than others my age, and i had long tired at the fumbling of
boys my own age, at their immaturity and stupidity, at their grossness,
and their fixation on sports and odd body sounds. jack was so much more
sophisticated, so much more refined. and what he did to my body was so
far removed from the fumblings of boys that i had been lost the moment
i had felt his fingers between my legs.

and though he was old enough to be my father he was a handsome man with
a strong, squared face, blue eyes which showed a world of experience,
and the body of an athlete. he had a barrel chest, and was more than a
head taller than me. his arms were thicker than my legs, and i felt
absolutely overawed, humble and meek and helplessly female in his
presence.

there was no question of refusing james, of resisting him, of fighting
him. he was just so - so male, so masculine, so powerful in both mind
and body, that it melted something inside me. i took in a slow breath,
feeling indeed, as if i was melting in the heat of the small, quiet
attic.

light appeared on the street below, and then a small car passed before
the window and was gone. i pulled my head back against my arms and
stared at the sky above the roof of the theatre, wondering how much
longer i would be forced to stand there. not that things couldnt have
been worse. i had not always been standing. i had been hanging there
for the first few hours.

he had used padded leather restraints then, but still they had squeezed
painfully against my flesh, leaving bruises i was sure would show for
days. i had been fresh faced and alert, aroused and excited when he had
first pulled me off my toes and i had felt the air beneath me. hanging
by my wrists had always been an erotic, exotic fantasy for me, and a
crackle of sexual electricity had gripped me for the first few minutes
as i hung freely, swaying slowly.

but i had begun to sweat almost at once. my fantasies had not spoken to
how exhausting it was to hang from ones wrists, how draining. james had
watched me, standing quietly, for the most part, letting me enjoy my
fantasy while he enjoyed the sight of me.

and then his voice had spoken, quietly, a low, almost hypnotic sound in
the dim attic. it was not possible, he had told me, for a girl to hang
freely from her wrists. for she would be unable to breath. i was not
big on anatomy, and did not understand what my oesophagus was, much
less how my rig cage would prevent it from functioning, but he proved
correct. it was necessary for me to use the muscles of my arms to pull
myself up slightly every time i drew breath.

while i was quite fit, even athletic. i did not have the power and
strength and muscles james had. even if i did, he informed me, i would
soon find my own weight exhausta little more, in no hurry to go home
and read in my room. only a couple of teams were still there, both of
young men, when i noticed his absence, and, shrugging, picked up my
towel and padded down the long length of the pool to the rear, where
the locker rooms and showers were. the last of the girls was just
leaving when i arrived. i towelled off my hair, then opened my locker
and pulled out my gym bag.

it was quiet in the locker room, damp and cool, with only the rows of
yellow lockers and a few long benches for company. in one corner sat a
linen sack for wet towels. next to it was a low steel car lower body
felt like so much dead weight dragging me down.

my chest walls began to ache, as though the tendons and nerves and
cartilage were being stretched and strained up by the pull of my arms.

i slowly drew my legs up, moaning a little with the effort. they seemed
so - so heavy. i drew my heels up against my buttocks, then let them
drop. i swung more violently for a bit, then steadied myself. i opened
my legs with difficulty, spreading my feet apart in mid-air, then
closing them again and grinding my thighs together.

i couldnt bring myself off. i was in a state of very high arousal, but
i needed more stimulation, and there was none to be had. i stared out
the window, then, as my body slowly twisted on the end of the chain, at
the darkening room.

i began to sweat more heavily, and it became harder to breath. my
breathing became more ragged, raspy, and my arms grew numb. i wondered
how long he would keep me here. when he would come and let me down and
- and play with me.

use me.

rape me.

i always shuddered at the word, not in fear, but in excitement.
our first introduction had not been far from rape, though i deserved
it. oh yes, i had.

it had been at the pool. i was on the schools senior swim team, more
to get out of the house and away from my parents than out of any great
love of swimming. even at eighteen i was not permitted out after dark
except under rigid conditions.nbsp. the pool was crowded for practice,
with a half dozen teams diving, swimming, and splashing in the blue
water, and taking instructions alongside. i noticed him at once, this
large, unsmiling man with the huge arms and shoulders and dark eyes
watching me. i was flattered and aroused, for he was handsome and
strong, a man, not a boy.

and i played up to him with what i thought of as discretion. i never
looked at him, never made eye contact, pretended not to notice him at
all. but if i must bend forward before diving into the water i would do
so when he was behind me. and when i stretched back to ring the water
from my hair it was with him nearby, in front of me, watching. i felt
those dark eyes on me and flushed reasts bulged against the thin fabric
in a deliciously satisfying way.

i had always liked my breasts, always, since they had grown, been
delighted in slowly running my hands up my body and over their smooth,
rounded surfaces. my nipples had never failed to become erect at the
touch of my hands, and the heat of my breasts would almost immediately
sweep down between my legs and make me breathless.

and when i came out of the pool, the cold water dripping off my body,
my nipples were hard dots pressed against the thin, smooth suit, and i
knew the men could see, were watching. it embarrassed me, but aroused
me as well, and i would reach up and back to my hair to ring the water
out, arching my back as i did so, feeling my pussy throb as i felt
their attention on my lithe body. james was a coach, not of my team,
but of a team of boys. well, young men, now.

the pool was crowded for practice, with a half dozen teams diving,
swimming, and splashing in the blue water, and taking instructions
alongside. i noticed him at once, this large, unsmiling man with the
huge arms and shoulders and dark eyes watching me. i was flattered and
aroused, for he was handsome and strong, a man, not a boy.

and i played up to him with what i thought of as discretion. i never
looked at him, never made eye contact, pretended not to notice him at
all. but if i must bend forward before diving into the water i would do
so when he was behind me. and when i stretched back to ring the water
from my hair it was with him nearby, in front of me, watching. i felt
those dark eyes on me and flushed excitedly, but never looked at him,
turning away.

my coach called it a day, and most of the girls left to shower and go
home. i stayed after a bit, swimming a little more, in no hurry to go
home and read in my room.

only a couple of teams were still there, both of young men, when i
noticed his absence, and, shrugging, picked up my towel and padded down
the long length of the pool to the rear, where the locker rooms and
showers were. the last of the girls was just leaving when i arrived. i
towelled off my hair, then opened my locker and pulled out my gym bag.

it was quiet in the locker room, damp and cool, with only the rows of
yellow lockers and a few long benches for company. in one corner sat a
linen sack for wet towels. next to it was a low steel cart where dry
ones sat. i tossed my towel into the sack and reached for the shelf,
then gasped, startled by a sudden movement to one side.

it was him, and i stared, speechless, as he moved forward against me. i
backed hurriedly against the cold, gray concrete wall and he loomed
over me.

whats your name, little slut? he asked.

i stared, appalled, frightened, and yet, oddly, excited.

my arms were crossed unconsciously before me, and he reached for my
wrists, lifting them easily away and pressing them up and back against
the wall above my head. he held them there with one massive hand, then
cupped my chin with the other.

your name, slut? he asked coldly.

j-jade, i stuttered.

it suits you, he said.

his hand dropped down onto my chest, skimming over and then off my
breast before i could protest, and then it was between my legs, two fat
fingers pressed in against the crotch of the swimsuit, rubbing slowly
up and down against my sex as his dark eyes bored into my wide, shocked
green ones.

i can recognize a slut when i see one, he said in almost a whisper.

i wanted to say that i wasnt, that i was a virgin, in fact. i felt
outrage at his words, but also a strange, dark excitement. i was oddly
flattered, yes flattered that anyone would think me daring enough, wild
enough, mature enough to be a slut. i was too pathetic to be a slut. i
was a good little girl who obeyed her parents because she had no money
and no job and knew they would throw her out into the streets if she
disobeyed.

he was a rough man, but his fingers were not rough. they were -
talented. i gasped helplessly as they moved against my sex through the
thin suit, panting weakly, staring up at him as i felt the thrumming,
throbbing, aching heat rousing between my legs.

neither of us spoke. i wanted to demand he stop. it was necessary that
i do so, morally necessary. but i was dreadfully afraid, i think, that
if i did he would obey.

he let go of my wrists, and abruptly gripped the straps of my suit,
yanking them down over my shoulders, baring my breasts. i squealed in
shock, my arms immediately rising to cover my breasts, but he slapped
them away and forced his hands over my breasts.

my breasts were damp and puffy with the cold chill of the pool. his
hands were dry and hot against my flesh. he cupped them, squeezed them
upwards in the palms of his hands, his fingers circling in, pressing
into the edges of the soft flesh. he bent and took one stiff nipple
into his mouth. i felt his teeth against my breast, his lips, his
tongue, and i gurgled in wonder at the shock of the sensation this
caused.

his teeth bit gently into my breast as he sucked and licked, and then
he pulled back, letting his teeth come closer and closer together until
he caught at the nipple and pinched it between them. i winced and
moaned a complaint, and he straightened, looking down at me. he backed
away, yanking me with him, dropping onto one of the benches.

he forced me over his lap and yanked the swimsuit down over my hips and
then off. with quick hands he adjusted me across his lap and pinned my
wrists together behind my back. then his hand slipped between my cold
thighs and i felt him cup my sex, squeezing gently, fingers stroking
along its length.

my face was flushed with embarrassment and shock. my mind was spinning
with the wild contrary emotions racing through it. i was frightened of
him, ashamed of him seeing me naked, outraged at his rough treatment.
and yet i was desperately aroused, as well, wildly thrilled and
wondering what he would do next.

when his hand cracked down across my bare bottom i yelped in pain. it
hurt, but at the same time i felt somehow that it was natural and right
for him to spank me. i knew i had taunted him with my body, and knew
that he must know as well. and so he was punishing me, which was only
what i deserved. yet to be stripped naked by a strange man and spanked
was still wildly exciting, and i made no real effort to escape as his
big hand began to slap repeatedly down on my wriggling bottom.

the heavy steel door and thick stone walls kept the noise in as flesh
met flesh. and as the pain grew and my bottom grew hotter i began to
reconsider. even in the midst of the greatest sense of arousal i had
ever felt i began to squirm and twist, trying to ease the pain he was
raising in my bottom.

i began to feel as though he was treating me like a little girl, with
no intention of doing more than spanking me. and how humiliating that
would be, with my naked body there before him, helpless and exposed. i
was an adult but resented being so long treated as a child, and feared
he was doing the same, despite his earlier molestation.

and then his spanking halted, and i felt his big hand stroke slowly
along my thighs, up and down, then in between. his fingers pressed
against my sex, and i felt him spreading my lips aside. i grunted as a
single finger pushed into me, squirming up into my body. i was a
virgin, yet moist and ready inside as his finger prodded at my hymen.

slut, he said, as if the evidence to the contrary was not pressed
against his finger.

he rolled me off him and onto the floor, following me down. his big
hands gripped my hips, slid beneath my belly, and yanked me up onto my
hands and knees. dazed, i tried to rise higher only to have his hand
grip the back of my neck and force me down once more.

he jerked my legs apart, and slapped my bottom sharply.

lift your ass higher, bitch.

crude and ugly, and i shuddered at the words, but obeyed, whimpering in
anxious anticipation as i felt his fingers probing at my sex again. my
eyes were enormous as i stared down the length of the locker room,
realizing he intended to rape me. shock and excitement warred within
me, and i moaned as i felt his cock pressing against me.

i turned, needing to see it, yet he gripped my hair and roughly yanked
my head back, forcing it downwards so that my upper body collapsed to
my elbows, my face almost against the stone.

keep your ass high! he snapped, slapping my bottom again.

i jerked my hips higher, and groaned as i felt his thickness forcing
the lips of my sex apart, felt myself straining as he pushed forward.
it stung a little, but the pain was almost unnoticeable alongside the
tremendous heat and shock flaring within my mind and body.

despite my parents i had fingered myself many times, had even inserted
my fingers inside my sex hole. but the touch of my own fingers had
never been like the touch of his, and the feel of his cock, so soft and
warm, yet so rigid and firm, sliding into my body, was unlike anything
i had ever felt or imagined.

this is the way a slut like you should be taken her first time, he
said, his voice a soft growl behind me.

he still held my hair in his fist, keeping me in place as he drove
himself into me. i could only kneel weakly and let him do as he wished,
let myself be mounted by this bull of a man, taken, used, raped against
my will.

i let out a soft cry of pain as he ripped through my hymen, but the
pain was only a slight thing, a small sting, not much worse than the
slaps of his hand across my still red, stinging bottom.

slut, he said again. this is what you were made for.

he jammed my face down harder, down against the cold stone, my arms
collapsing beneath me as i gasped in pain. then he thrust sharply
forward and i cried out in shock as i felt his thick, warm manhood
thrusting through the soft, moist folds of my body, driving deep into
my belly with a single stroke.

oh! i said, again and again, eyes and mouth wide.

slut, he replied.

it was so deep! i had not imagined, somehow, that it would go so far
inside me, that i would be able to feel it moving so deep within my
body. and it hurt, if only a little, throbbing within my unused sheath
as he forced the last inch inside my body.

he began to stroke, slowly and carefully, rolling his hips, shifting
direction, grinding his hairy belly against my upraised bottom each
time he buried himself within my sex. he slapped my bottom, then
reached down and rubbed at my swollen clitoris.

my jaw went slack against the floor, and i stared at the underside of
the bench, gasping.

his hand moved up and down my still slick, moist body, then beneath to
roughly knead and squeeze my chilled breasts. all the while his cock
was slicing through my pussy lips, pumping within my lower belly, in
and out and in and out without pause. fucking me.

those words echoed in my mind. fucking me.

he began to stroke harder, faster, his hips hitting my bottom with some
force now, so that my body jerked to the hard blows. his one hand
continued to roam over me as the other held steady, fist in my hair,
forcing my face down against the floor. whenever my bottom sagged a
little he would slap me hard, and i would jerk my hips up once again.

it seemed to last forever, though it was probably only a few minutes. i
felt my body swelling, filling with wild energy and heat. i began to
tremble as i shook to the heavy pounding of his hips, my breath coming
in short, desperate gasps and pants. the sizzling pressure between my
legs flared out, spreading through my body. i was desperately hot,
desperately roused, and each hard thrust of his cock sent a wave of
delicious sensory pleasure rolling over my body.

he picked up the pace, thrusting violently now, his hips pounding
against my bottom so that my body shook. one of his hands slipped down
my belly and a long finger pressed against my clitoris, rubbing it back
against his stroking cock.

i came. i had masturbated to orgasms a few rare, daring times, but
nothing like this. the climax was overwhelming in its power and depth.
it shook me like a rag doll and i my mind was tossed like a cork in a
high sea. i heard myself crying out again and again, my voice a ragged,
dazed, breathless warble as my backside was pummelled by his heavy
hips.

the orgasm peaked. i was breathless, dazed, shocked, staring at nothing
as i clung to the last of it, my body still shaking violently as his
hips slapped against me. and then he halted, filling me to overflowing,
groaning himself as he held himself deep within my body. i felt his
stiff cock begin to soften, and another shock battered me as i realized
he had come inside me.

he released my hair, released my body so that i sagged down and fell
onto my side. he jerked his swimsuit back up and turned away.

slut, he said before going.

was it rape? i could have made a case for it. i was a shy young girl
and he had forced me, forced himself on me, used me roughly. but it
hadnt really been rape. not really. i hadnt resisted. i had been too
excited. i had wanted it. i was a slut, even though i had been a
virgin. i had teased him with my body, and he had given me just what i
deserved. punishment, and a good hard fucking.

of course, the punishment was almost a joke, a mere spanking. id
hardly call it punishment now, not after what id been through, even
what id been through so far this night.

for he had left me there for hours before returning. and when he had
seen how exhausted and drained i was, hanging there by the wrists,
gasping for breath, sweat pattering on the floor below, he had smiled
and sat down to watch.

and wait. he had sat in the lengthening shadows, letting me have that
slight fear, that minute thought that perhaps he would leave me to die
in helpless erotic bondage. and indeed, he made no move to assist me as
exhaustion set deepened, as my trembling body found it more and more
difficult to draw breath, and i began to lose consciousness.

it was only then that he moved, but not to lower me. instead he moved
behind where i hung limply, chin on my chest. i heard a thin hissing
sound, and a moment later felt stinging blows across the centre of my
back.

i cried out dazedly, head jerking up and back, my body swaying much
more violently as heat and pain flared across my back. i stared dizzily
about, and then cried out at another blow, another half dozen slashing
pains cutting into my back.

my ankles were still bound, and my legs twisted and jerked, my body
shaking, my head twisting from side to side, eyes wide. i saw his arm
draw back and cried out as the flog cut across my back, another tearing
pain - pains really, for he was using a flog with thin braided strips
of leather. the strips spread out as he swung the flog, spread out to
snap across my back and sting like a crackle of firecrackers.

n-no! i had cried.

another blow, like claws across my lower back, and i screamed weakly,
twisting, turning now, dancing in mid-air beneath the hook which
suspended me. i stared at him through the sweat dripping from my
forehead, for just a minute, saw the arm drawn back and sweeping
forward, and screamed before the thongs cut across my breasts.

then again.

it stung. stung terribly. little darts of fire rippled across my
sensitive breasts as my body swung violently, my legs twisting, my
torso spinning.

the flog cut across my bottom, sending my hips lurching forward, my
legs rocking. it slashed across my belly, then across my back, and then
once more across my breasts.

tears filled my eyes, and i begged him, beseeched him in a dazed,
slurring voice to stop. but he said nothing. his arm rose and fell, and
the flog slashed across my back and belly, my breasts and hips and
bottom again and again and again, until the full surface of my skin was
a raw throbbing sore from shoulders to thighs, until my cries grew
weak.

i was on fire. everywhere. i gasped and moaned and twisted as the flog
bit into my aching skin, my eyes rolling as i twisted and spun.
and only when my cries had dimmed and my response to each fresh blow
softened to almost nothing, only then did he lower me to the floor, the
chain cranking downwards until my moist feet were pressed into the
dusty floor.

they collapsed below me, and he slowly lowered me to my knees, and then
let me sag lower until i lay fully on the floor, my sweating breasts
pillowed beneath me against the rough floorboards as i groaned in pain
and exhaustion.

he had silently removed the heavily padded restraints from my wrists,
massaged them, and then began to loop the soft rope gently around them,
binding them together once more. strength returned to me as he worked
and i groaned weakly as i raised my head from the floor and watched him
working on my wrists.

i - it hurts, i said in belated, unthinking complaint.

his big hand slapped my face, rocking my head back violently. i saw
stars and my chin dropped against my shoulder as he finished with my
wrists.

he rolled me fully onto my belly and roughly spread my legs, throwing
them aside. i felt pressure at my anus and groaned as the slippery,
rounded head of one of his sex toys was forced into me. it was wide,
but not deep, and then my opening closed behind it, or at least, around
a much more narrow part of it, and i realized it was a butt plug.
then he moved away, pulling on the rope. it began to dig into my wrists
more and more painfully, slowly lifting my upper torso from the floor.

i groaned and whined at the pain, my legs and knees working feebly to
support and raise myself. i managed to do to, staring across the
shadowy room at him as he pulled the rope slowly higher. i felt the
pressure growing and rose unsteadily to my feet, swaying a little.

the rope pulled higher still, and tightened and i moaned as i rose to
the balls of my feet, thinking he was going to hang me once more, and
wondering why he had let me down only for this.

but he halted, leaving me on the balls of my feet, then using the same
soft rope to lay six neat loops around my ankles, binding them
together.

he picked up a camera then, and snapped pictures. he had probably taken
pictures of me before, while i hung from my wrists, but i had not
really noticed, for they had been taken when i was most dazed, barely
conscious. and then he had left. goodnight, slut, he had said.

he called me that often, as if it were my name. often he referred to me
as his slut. it both shamed and aroused me, especially when he did it
in public. he had called me slut the first time he had met me, before
he even knew my name, before i knew his. and he had never stopped.