Gender: Male Age: Secret Location: N/A
|Introduction: A five part story of a young woman growing up in a BDSM family. In this final chapter the horrible truth comes out in a video.|
WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician Technician666@Gmail.Com.
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I stayed in my workroom until just before midnight, but I didn't get anything done. I was too distracted by the video from the barn. I kept checking to see that Missy was all right. I knew that she wasn't truly "all right," but I had to be sure that at least she wasn't destroying herself.
I walked back down to the barn in time to watch Missy as the clock struck twelve. She was covered in sweat and wailing continuously even before the chimes began. She yelped with each bing of the chime and screamed loudly with each of the twelve strikes of the clock. I shouldn't have let her talk me into allowing her to stay on the pendulum.
As soon as the clock finished striking twelve, I flipped the switch to shut down the pendulum. It normally takes a few moments to come to rest, but I slowed it with my hands so that it stopped in just a few swings. I removed the butterfly clips from Missy's nipples and she sucked in air between her teeth as the new pain hit her.
I released her hands from the wrist cuffs and she immediately began massaging her breasts to relieve the sting of restored circulation. I released the straps holding her thighs in the leg holders and removed the leg cuffs from her ankles. It had taken all my strength, with her helping, to raise her up so that she could impale herself on the dildos which stuck up from the pendulum's rail. I wasn't sure I could remove her in her current state.
I straddled the rail and stood close behind her. Grasping her by the waist, I lifted up and heard her moan as first the anal plug and then the pussy dildo came out of her. I pulled her back into my arms and lifted her over the rail. I was about to pick her up and carry her back up to the house when she said, "No, no, no, not yet."
She was almost dead weight in my arms. She turned her head to look at me and said, "Fuck me. Fuck me now. Lay me over this thing and fuck me in the ass. I need to complete this. Sharon has to know I completed this."
She squirmed away from my arms and pulled herself over the pendulum rail so that her hands and feet were on the ground with her ass held high by where her pubic bone rested on the rounded steel bar. Her body was glistening with sweat; her pussy was sopping wet from hours of stimulation and orgasm; and her asshole was open slightly from the prolonged penetration of the butt plug. I took a deep breath. If there was ever an "I'm going to hate myself in the morning" moment, this was it.
After so carefully restraining myself for so long, how could I take advantage of her now? She was a physical and emotional wreck.
But her body was reeking of pheromones... and her ass was gaping slightly above her dripping cunt... and she was pleading desperately, "Please! Please! Do it! Now! Fuck me in the ass!"
My mind said I shouldn't, but there are times when your body just acts on its own - especially when your prick is starting to do the thinking for you. Ignoring the warnings in my head, I dropped my pants and leaned against her. I slid easily in and she moaned, "Yes! Yes! Yes!"
I pumped into her for several minutes. She was writhing and moaning beneath me. Suddenly her ass clamped tight on my prick and I spurted. She arched her back and wrapped her legs around my thighs. Her upper body raised up above the level of the rail on which she rested. Every muscle in her body was flexed tight as she quivered and vibrated and wailed through a tremendous final orgasm. Then she relaxed completely and fell limp across the metal rail.
"Are you all right?" I asked. That question after sex was a first for me.
"Just take me up to the house and put me to bed," she answered in a horse whisper. "I will tell you everything in the morning."
I carried her to the house and tucked her into my bed. It wasn't that I was lusting after her body, I was worried and wanted her close until she was truly awake the next morning. I left the bed only to make one quick telephone call and once to reset the alarm to the front door. I think I finally fell asleep around four in the morning.
I woke suddenly with sunlight streaming in my eyes. The bed was empty except for me. I quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and an old shirt and almost ran downstairs, fearing the worst. Missy was standing in the kitchen in another of my old shirts. She was cooking steak and eggs.
"Heard you get out of bed," she said with a rather flat, emotionless voice. "Coffee's in your cup. This will be ready in just a moment."
There were a million things I wanted to ask her, but we ate in silence. After we were both finished and had sat for several minutes sipping our coffee, she said, "I guess its time," and got up and walked into the living room.
There was a leather covered wooden box on the coffee table about the size of the one on the shelf by the fireplace that held my antique Colt Peacemaker. The leather was a very light shade of tan and there was a large, emerald green dragon with bright yellow and orange flames coming from its mouth imprinted in some fashion on the leather on the top.
Missy slowly opened the case. The inside was trimmed out in black satin and held a single DVD style disk. "Put it in the machine," she said in a voice husky with emotion.
I did. The video started by itself. It began with a panorama of a desolate dessert area. There was nothing visible but sand, sand, and more sand. Then a nude young woman, perhaps four or five years older than Missy stepped into the picture. "Hello, my little naked slave girl," she said. There was a lopsided grin on her face.
"That's Sharon," Missy sobbed quietly.
The video panned away from Sharon to four heavily bearded men in Arab dessert clothing, and then moved in for a closeup of four large wooden stakes driven into the sand. Leather thongs were wound tightly around the stakes with two or three feet of leather lying on the ground.
Sharon walked into the middle of the stakes. "This isn't a challenge, Missy. There is no way you can top this anyway. Someday, your time might come to do something like this. It looks crazy, but there are reasons, and I want it that way."
A voice from off camera said something I couldn't quite hear and Sharon nodded her head. The four bearded men rushed back into the scene and grabbed her by the arms and legs. In one swift motion they lifted her up and laid her on her back on the ground with her arms and legs tied tightly by the leather thongs. Then they stepped away.
Another two men in Arab dessert dress, this time all in black with something black covering their faces stepped into the scene. They were each holding knives with very thin, long blades about six inches in length. They knelt at Sharon's feet and began cutting the skin from her legs. They were flaying her alive, peeling the skin from her body as she lay screaming on the ground.
The camera panned in close to show the knives sliding between the flesh and meat beneath, removing her skin in one continuous piece like the hide from a steer. When the camera pulled back out, there was a naked girl sitting on Sharon's face. Her pussy was muffling Sharon's screams.
"That's Chrissy," sobbed Missy softly.
Sharon bucked and writhed beneath Missy as the two Arabs moved slowly up her body removing all of the skin. When they finished with Sharon's legs and most of her abdomen in the front, they said something in Arabic and Missy rose and stepped out of the picture.
It didn't take long after that. A few moments later there was nothing but a quivering mass of muscle lying on the ground. One of the men held up Sharon's hide to the camera. The other removed the leather thongs that held her to the stakes.
A young man and an older woman walked up to what was left of Sharon. Both were wearing masks covering their faces, but nothing else - unless you count the strap-on dildo the woman was wearing. The young man lifted Sharon into an upright position. She was still alive because her eyes were rolling and she was quivering and wailing.
He bent her over slightly toward him and the woman pushed the strap-on into her ass. The woman then held her up and the young man forced himself in from the front. It was a horrible, grotesque scene, but I couldn't take my eyes off it.
Finally, Sharon gave a long, loud wail that for some reason reminded me of what I had heard as Missy rode the pendulum through midnight, and then she fell totally limp.
The next scene was of Sharon's defiled body lying on a tall funeral pyre. Timbers the size of 4X4's had been stacked up crossways to form a coffin-sized box about six feet high. Four timbers stacked the long way at the top formed a shelf on which the body lay. There were smaller pieces of wood and other material piled in the center of the box. An arm belonging to someone outside the image boundary poured something over the body and the wood. A moment later a torch was touched to the base of the box.
Everything erupted in flame. The video at this point must have been time-lapse edited because in just a few moments there was nothing on the ground but a pile of ash. It ended with the four men raking sand over the ashes so that there was nothing left to see but the barren landscape.
"She trusted them." Missy yelled. "I don't care if she wanted it, they should have protected her. That was her mother and her sister and her brother. How can I trust them knowing that they did this to her!?"
"Any chance the video is faked?" I asked.
Missy held up the leather box. "This tattoo," she said putting her fingers on the green dragon, "was on her left shoulder." Stroking the leather of the box with her hand she added, "This is her skin. The video is not a fake."
There is very little one can say in a time like that, but for once I think my instincts had been right. "Missy," I said. "There is someone who wants to talk to you."
I gave a short whistle and Chrissy walked down from upstairs.
"You!" Missy screamed. "I don't want to hear from you. You did this! You betrayed her!"
"It wasn't supposed to happen this way," began Chrissy. "I was supposed to bring the box to you and explain everything before you saw it. Darren, however, reported everything - except his involvement - to the military police and Mom and I were arrested."
Chrissy came and stood in front of Missy. "We got word to our Arab friends to get the video out of the country and back here, but with the language barrier and having to go though intermediaries they misunderstood where it was supposed to be shipped. It should have gone to Mom's office, but they sent it directly to you instead because they knew that it was intended eventually for you."
Missy sat in stony silence.
"How did you get out of custody?" I asked - mainly to give Missy a chance to digest what she had just heard.
"A lack of evidence and an abundance of money will work wonders in any country," replied Chrissy with a wry smile. "But by the time we got back, Missy already had the video and had disappeared. When you called Mom last night and reported what was going on, I knew I had to come and explain."
"Explain what!?" Missy screamed, "You killed her. You sat on her face while they skinned her alive and then your mom and Darren fucked her while she died. How do you explain that!?"
"It's what she wanted, Missy. It was exactly what she wanted. She was very explicit about exactly how everything was to happen, even to the funeral pyre and the ashes buried beneath the sand."
Missy broke down in heavy sobs.
Chrissy sat down next to her and put her hands on her shoulders. "Sharon was dying, Missy. She had a rare form of cancer that invades the brain and spinal column with thousands of very tiny tumors. There is no way to treat it. It is excruciatingly painful and drugs won't help. But the worst part is that it takes away your mind long before your body dies a very slow, very painful death."
"Sharon decided that if fate had given her a painful death, she was going out on her terms. She researched the most painful ways to die and decided upon the ancient torture of being skinned alive. She said that she would either experience the greatest orgasm in history or would finally experience pain as pain."
"There are very few places in the world where you can even find someone who knows how to do it, but there are a couple of nomadic tribes in Northern Africa that still have executioners skilled in the old ways. So we made some arrangements and traveled to a remote location in the middle of their territory. They were very good at their craft. Sharon got everything that she wanted."
Chrissy swallowed hard several times and then took a deep breath and continued. "She died saying, 'Yes, yes,' so I guess she got her wish for the history books. From the very beginning, she wanted you to know what she did and why. That's why she had us make the video. I'm sorry this worked out this way and caused you so much pain when you saw it."
"That wasn't the problem," said Missy softly. Chrissy opened her mouth as if to say something, but instead remained silent.
For several minutes, Missy stared at Chrissy with what could only be described as a look of terror in her eyes. "I didn't feel pain when I saw it. I know I should have. I should have, but I didn't. As I watched that video, I creamed myself. I got off on it! I imagined it was me tied to the stakes in the sand."
Missy shook with sobs as she blubbered, "And I knew that you wouldn't stop me."
Suddenly Missy's remarks about not wanting to die but to just find pleasure in her pain made sense. She knew that her addiction had no bounds. Without a Master she could trust to control her, she would eventually be in Sharon's place."
"Don't worry, Missy." Chrissy said in a very soothing voice. "If the time should ever come where you are in the same situation as Sharon, we will look up our Arab friends. Until then I will protect you and control you. I will give you pain when you need it and pleasure when you deserve it and you will serve me and give me pleasure in return. Next summer at camp we will even make it official with a collaring ceremony. Remember, in the Curie Clan, gender is irrelevant, so we will be fully accepted as bonded Mistress and slave. If you want, we can even make it legal and go to one of the states that allow same gender marriages."
Missy was crying even more heavily now. Her face was buried on Chrissy's shoulder. Chrissy was also weeping softly. I walked silently into the kitchen to leave them alone together.
It was nearly an hour later when Chrissy came into the kitchen. "Missy is upstairs packing. I will take her home with me. I think she will be OK now. Thank you for coming to her rescue in her time of need. I am sure that Mom will be appropriately appreciative sometime in the near future."
"Tell her thanks for me in advance." I replied, and Chrissy pulled something out of her purse and handed it to me. It was a pre-paid burner phone. "Tell her yourself. Mom will be calling in a little while. She has some special equipment that she would like to order."
About then Missy came down from upstairs with her bags. She came over to me and kissed me lightly on the cheek. "You gave me what I needed and helped me not go insane. I don't know how you found Chrissy and got her here, but you saved my sanity... and my life. Thank you."
Another peck on the cheek and she and Chrissy walked out the door. As I stood out front watching them drive away, the cell phone in my pocket began to ring.
There was a number 3 painted on the phone. Margaret Curie, head of the Curie Clan, always sent you the phone when she wanted to talk business with you, and the number on the phone told you what protocol to use when you answered it. In protocol number 3, "Hello Margaret" meant I was alone and could talk. "Hello Madam" meant people were with me and I could not respond. "Hi Sweetie, glad you called" meant that something was seriously screwed up and she should hang up, destroy the phone on her end, and send help if she could.
It was refreshing to deal with someone even more paranoid that I was, but then she was in charge of keeping the secrets of the entire Curie Clan. And there were a lot of secrets to be kept. Very few people outside the clan even knew that the clan existed.
"Hello Margaret," I answered. She responded with a simple "Hello."
The phones themselves had been modified to encrypt our voices, so once she knew I had the phone and could talk, both of us could be comfortable using names. "Everything seems to have worked out OK with Missy. When I called you last night to see if you could get me in contact with one of the Curie Clan, I was surprised to find out that Chrissy was your daughter. From everything that Missy has said about her, she must be a lot like you."
"That's good to know," she answered, "but that isn't why I called you. I called you because I have a very difficult situation that I have to resolve. I assume that Chrissy mentioned that Darren tried an old fashioned coup d'etat and tried to take over the Clan by having Chrissy and me arrested in some remote back-woods country."
There was a silence before she continued, "I have always worried about Darren, but I never thought he would try something like this."
I could hear her sigh deeply. "But he did, and he must suffer the consequences. 'The Master of the Masters is the Clan,' and the clan has spoken. I think he realized that I would never allow him to succeed me and thought he could seize the throne, so to speak."
She signed again, "Even if he had managed to make me disappear, the council of Masters would never have agreed to him as head of the family. It was all for nothing."
There was a longer silence before she continued. "I let the council decide his fate. He will be banished to a life of slavery in... well you don't need to know that, but let us say that you may have seen some of the landscape in the video Missy showed you. The Sheik agreed to take him as a eunuch slave." She laughed slightly before adding, "but he insisted on a 'modern eunuch with an artificial cunt', as he called it. The Sheik has some very strange tastes."
She laughed again. This time a very cold laugh. "I'm not sure I really like - or trust - the Sheik. But in any case, the surgery has already taken place. The eunuch slave has a serviceable vagina given him by one of the best plastic surgeons available. The doctor wanted to do what he called 'a proper job,' but I instructed him not to relocate the glans or form it into a clit. Those nerves have been severed forever. The eunuch slave will get no joy from serving the Sheik. I even insisted that the prostate be totally removed so there will be no pleasure in anal intercourse - at least not for him. His nipples still have feeling, but I don't think he will enjoy what the Sheik will do to them."
"So what do you need of me?" I asked.
"Banishment to that kind of slavery in a remote country - however humiliating and painful - is rather private. It is punishment without deterrent. The eunuch slave needs to be publicly punished so that all the Clan knows absolutely that the Clan is the Master of the Masters and no one can go against the Clan - not even me or a member of my family. You can leave the Clan. That is allowed. But you can never go against the Clan."
"What do you have in mind."
"I want a machine - an impressive machine," she began, "to be built at our campground before next summer. I want the eunuch slave punished on that machine in such a way that no Master would ever want to be punished. I want it to be so public that everyone in camp will know what is happening from the time they arrive until the moment they leave. And I want that machine to be able to stand from now on at the campground as a reminder to those who would forget that even the highest Master has an ultimate Master."
There was silence for a moment, and then she asked, "Do you think you could build me such a machine?"
I chuckled softly and then asked in response, "Have you ever considered setting up a clock tower at the camp?"
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END OF STORY
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