Big Fan of Your Work Pt. 04

Note: As before, the subject depicted is a fictional creation and claims no relationship to any living person or persons. No character's thoughts or actions should not be taken as any kind of commentary on or depiction of any actual person or persons.

As many note with these sorts of stories, this is all well and good for fantasy and stories but the real world demands consent and respect.

This is a series, it would be best to read the parts in order to fully appreciate things. That said, what we have is a young lady who didn't quite realize what might happen if she went and tracked down the reclusive producer of the finest, most indulgent BDSM pornography the world has ever known.

He took her arrival in stride and soon found himself with the very sort of scenario his porn work had played at, and he is taking full advantage. She found ways to give a bit of that energy back, to take some ground (and some orgasms) where she can, but she's still playing defense and he's still a sadist.

10 days have passed. At the moment she appears to be a horny, broken thing. He has moved her from sleeping on the floor of the barn to sleeping in a cage installed where the tub in his bathroom should be.

Life in the house did turn out to be different than life in the barn. Out there she had felt mainly like a toy, something he took off the shelf, played with for a while, then put back. And she had managed a toy's rebellion, taking orgasms where she could get them, selfish little moments of pleasure.

But now she was in the house. Her first day in the house was pretty close to that of a literal pet. He took her out of the bathroom cage and taped her wrists to her shoulders, her ankles to her thighs.

He arranged her hair into two rough pony tails and then clipped a leash to her collar and tried to get her to follow him down to the kitchen. She had trouble walking on unpadded knees and elbows and after even kicking her lightly in the cunt didn't fix the problem he sighed loudly and lifted her up, carrying her down and depositing her next to his chair in the kitchen.

He had breakfast and periodically flicked bits of it onto the floor for her to eat. She did so, too hungry and in no position to genuinely object to the dirt.

When breakfast was over he poured himself a second cup of tea and angled his chair away from the table, unbuttoning his pants and pulling his cock out. She looked up at it from the floor and knew instantly what he wanted and, knowing she had to maintain her broken and horny condition, rose up on her knees and took his cock into her mouth.

She gave what she thought was an honest effort for a few minutes, noting to herself that the smell was just past an erotic musk, just a touch into disgusting. Eventually he grunted and pushed her off, leaving her sprawling on the floor.

He left the room and was gone just long enough for her to seriously weigh how far down the driveway she could get on her knees and elbows. Then he was back, ring gag in hand. He fastened it into place and sat back down in the chair, bending down to scoop her up and return her to her previous task.

She stuck her tongue out over the bottom of the ring and let him go to town. He obliged, taking her ponytails as the handles they were intended to be and working her head back and forth, feeling the back of her throat, listening as her air was cut off.

"Fuck that's good," he said. "You give better head with a ring gag than most girls can without.". Mouth occupied, she said nothing. He was struck by the moment and what he had recently seen in her eyes, so he continued.

"Maybe that's not news to you. I wonder if the 33 men who got here before me really appreciated what they had." Here he paused, driving her head down, letting the very back of her throat do what it would, letting her squirming and struggling excite him even further.

"I know what I have. I wonder, though, if you appreciate what's happening here." Another pause, another deep stroke. "Do you know what it is, when a world class cocksucker falls into the lap of someone who really knows how to full advantage?"

She found herself appreciating that he was just rambling, and not interrogating her. Her mind briefly, very briefly, flashed back to the platform that had featured in "Tension." Only now instead of Holes 7 it was her, the noose getting a little tighter as she struggled with his questions. She cursed herself for the fantasy bubbling up on her.

"It's destiny, Lauren. I'm proud of you, did you know that? I see you sliding into acceptance, into taking your place here. You were always meant to be here, I hope you can see that. Things could get very interesting for you if you can start to see that."

Her heart started to race. Was this a sales pitch? I am a world-class cocksucker, though, she thought to herself. But she had no time to laugh to herself as he pushed her down onto the floor, shoved the kitchen table and chair out of the way, rolled her onto her back and mounted her face.

Her heart and thoughts continued to race as he pumped away. That had been his pitch, she realized. He had mentioned her eyes.

The dead-eyed looks she had thrown his way had worked, and he was telling her that it could mean that something shifts between them. She dismissed thoughts that maybe the collar would come off, and tried to rest her emotions on having achieved some sort of change in status. Maybe I'll find something to work with, she thought. I'm closer now. I have to be.

She smelled his cum more than tasted it as he plunged deep and came down the back of her throat. He rolled off her and slumped, leaning against the kitchen chair.

"Are you listening to me, Holes? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She knew what he was looking for, and she knew that providing it would seal things, secure whatever it was she had managed to accomplish.

Luckily for her, the syllables she needed weren't the type to get lost in a ring gag. She tried to swallow what had built up in her mouth but couldn't, so she tilted her head and let what she could flow out.

"Yesh zir," she finally managed. Flat, affectless, dead. "Yesh. Zir."

"Good girl," he said, standing up. He wandered into the living room, leaving her there on the kitchen floor. She heard him settle into the couch and tap away at his computer.

She took a moment, but only one. There was nothing to process, no need to put herself back together. What she needed was a bump that reinforced what had just happened.

She summoned everything she had and rolled onto her knees. Then, using the kitchen chair to lower herself slowly, she managed to get on on three limbs, the two knees and an elbow. She took the remaining limb off the chair and slowly lowered it, trying to keep her balance the whole way.

If I'm a pet, she thought, then I'm a pet. And with that thought she set off for the living room, gritting her teeth as her unpadded knees and elbows came in repeated contact with the ground, but trying to keep the pain and effort from her face.

He did not look up as she entered the room. Not knowing what else to do, she made her way over to where he sat on the couch and plopped down at his feet. She spent the rest of the morning there, able to see the main screen of his computer setup, which he was working with wireless keyboard and trackpad.

He was, of course, reviewing his own work. This hadn't been a substantial habit in many years but her entry into his life had his brain fired up again, and he had been spending time going over old work both knowing she had seen it and in order to further push his vision for what he might do with her.

From her vantage point on the floor she watched him flick through photo after photo; girls in cute outfits gradually (or rapidly) disrobed, their mouths stuffed with sponges or rags and then covered in tape, their tits tied in tight bundles, their legs spread wide, their cunts violated by dildos in the early years and then, eventually, his cock. Or left to shovel on the ranch, digging a hole and then filling it in as heavy iron shackles dragged their limbs down. Or humiliated, made to confess how desperately they needed to be treated like pieces of meat, like Holes.

There was still a part of her that wanted to be every single girl in every single photo.

It hurt, still wanting it when it had been forced on her. The majority of her was furious, to be sure. Resentful. Irate. But another part of her was more accepting of the fact that the situation was what it was and she had fantasized about all of this, at great length.

Holes 121 flashed on the screen. She thought about what he had said to her. "You don't need anything as much as you need to be treated like this, huh?" The question had come just before his hard cock penetrated the ass he had been decorating with deep purple can stripes. He had made Holes 121 answer. "I need is to be beaten, fucked, and used. I need it."

After a little while viewing his work with her at his feet began to get him worked up, and he cut loose the tape holding her limbs in place and took out the ring gag. He gave her a few minutes to recover some feeling in her limbs and to stretch her jaw and then he attached a leash to her collar and led her, stumbling, out to the barn.

He stopped by a gear locker near the entrance and emerged with what he fondly called his "Amish fucking machine," a segmented spreader bar that used the back-and-forth motion of the swinging legs to drive a series of gears that pumped a mounted dildo in and out. A leather belt that ran around the waist and connected to the upward shaft kept the whole thing from falling out.

He mounted it to her, or her to the machine, either way, and then continued leading her around the barn. What he wanted to use next was in the same locker the AFM had been in, but he was entertaining himself by not remembering that.

The effect was lost on her, however, as she was somewhere else, mentally, terrified that the earlier shift had been a mirage and she was going to be left in the barn for the night.

He completed his loop of the barn, noticing her lack of reaction as he did so. Maybe I should be more careful when playing with my toy, he thought, and in thinking so decided to change up what he had planned.

Though he did not think he needed to, he cuffed her hands behind her back and took her to one of the stages where he hooked it up high, out of her reach. The piece that he wanted hadn't been used in many, many years.

As a result it took him some time to move this piece and that piece out of the way, to peek under this cloth or that, until he found what he wanted and was able to get it out onto the stage. Eventually he had it, though, and he dropped it onto the stage with a thud.

Then there were more set pieces that needed to be taken from behind other clunky things, positioned and fastened into place, and finally some of it was wiped down with a rag.

Her thoughts were still running in circles trying not to panic about being in the barn again, so it took her a moment to process what was happening in front of her eyes.

It was the platform. The one bar prison, the mounted vibrator, the wire rope noose hanging from above. The one from "Tension." The one she had masturbated thinking about when she was in the pit. Had that been Night 2? Night 3? She wasn't sure. It didn't matter.

He unfastened her legs from the AFM and pulled the dildo out of her, tossing it to the side. He led her onto the stage and quickly had her feet in the shackles, then raising the one bar prison's dildo he slid that into her stretched and now soaking cunt. Handcuffs around her wrists made sure she couldn't adjust anything on her own.

How close the vibrator was to the model and how tight the noose was could both be independently adjusted, all the better to dial in the experience.

He reminded himself that he was playing, not punishing, and he took a moment to move the vibrator closer to her. He wanted this to be stressful but not the impossible challenge it had been in the original film it had appeared in.

He paused to wonder how long it had been. That had been Holes 7, he was positive about that, so it had been... decades. Too long.

Holes 7 had been a legendary model, had done shoot after shoot after shoot with him, brought him other girls. She had been perfect until one day she had a boyfriend, and then something he wanted to do was a "hard limit," and then she was safewording in the middle of a scene, and then it was all over.

That was what made his current situation so perfect. This one couldn't tap out and would be with him as long as he wanted. All the more reason to make this a bit of play. There would be time later for things more difficult, more intense.

He tensioned the noose and then stepped back, watching her swallow hard against it, watching her shift slightly on the dildo, pick up one foot and then the other, settle into the position. And then he turned on the vibrator.

She was having trouble managing herself. She had loved this scene, she had gotten off to it countless times, including a week ago. And now it was here.

Her fear over being returned to the barn receded as she tried to tune in to the sensations, the experience. The shackles on her ankles were heavy, the wire rope stiff and pulling ever-upward.

The one bar prison had some tilt to it and the vibrator looked just close enough to get to and she wondered if she could take it long enough to climax, or if she, like Holes 7 had, would wear herself out and end up fucking herself to exhaustion.

She looked up at him. She was just looking around out of uncertainty about whether or not she should try for the vibrator, but she realized when he nodded at her that he thought she was asking permission. That "yes sir" had gone a long way, she realized.

She pushed forward and found that she could get in contact with the vibrator without an unbearably excessive amount of pressure on her neck. It was there, her breathing was constrained, but she could breathe.

It won't take long, she thought, and she was correct. A few short minutes later, lightly drunk on reduced oxygen and deeply overwhelmed by the whole experience, she came very, very, very hard.

He watched her do it and worried briefly about her collapsing, but knew that the noose would catch her and prevent any injury, but would she choke? He took some tension off the noose and decided to risk grabbing some gear for dinner.

Halfway across the barn he heard her start moaning again, and he laughed to himself that she was going back for more. It also gave him an idea, and when the moaning escalated to screaming he hurried to find the piece of gear he was now looking for.

There was some chance it wouldn't fit, and so he had to weigh some chance of not looking like he was masterful and in control vs what he'd get out of it.

She was catching her breath from a second massive orgasm when he emerged out of the barn's gloom. He had a small box with god knows what it in under one arm, but it was what was in his other hand that gave her a knot at the pit of her stomach.

It was a heavy iron chastity belt. It had been on plenty of Holes, too many to specifically remember.

There was an inch-wide iron belt that went around the waist, at the front of which were two short chains. They suspended a curved iron triangle that had a narrow slit down the middle. At the bottom of the triangle two more chains trailed back up to the belt, sitting under the ass cheeks, leaving things free and open back there.

She looked at it and wondered if she would be able to bring herself to orgasm by fingering her ass. She did not think so, and her first thought was that she had just lost the orgasm game she had been playing. Maybe not lost, came her second thought. Postponed, maybe.

Being as it could be adjusted based on how you fit the pieces together, the belt went snug around her waist. The front chain was clearly short, leaving the triangle poking her rather than laying against her body, and he walked away to clip and replace the chain. She stayed put, more so due to the one bar prison than any choice on her part.

He had to take the dildo out to properly adjust the rear chains, but her hands were still cuffed and he took the tension on the noose back up one click just to keep things in order. With the shackles she couldn't lift her feet, but standing on her toes left her breathing well enough.

After an adjustment to the rear chains things were ready, and he applied the belt and closed the necessary padlocks. He licked his finger and rubbed it in circles on the point of the steel plate where he clit would be, smiling at her. She squirmed slightly; her brain was processing some level of phantom signal and it was a strange, strange feeling.

He took her off the platform and brought her inside after that, stashing her back in the bathroom cage in order to catch an early afternoon nap, then leaving her there while he went downstairs and prepared both a meal and her confinement.

Dinner was like nothing she had ever experienced. He came and released her from the bathroom floor, leading her again on a leash down to the kitchen. He sat her in an ornate wooden dining chair, lashing her legs to the front of the chair and her arm to the arm rests with a dozen leather belts.

He pinned down not so much as her leg or arm as her ankle, calf, lower thigh, upper thigh, on and on. Her chest, her neck. There was no room to even squirm.

Following that he drew a latex blindfold over her eyes, the tightness of it forcing her to close her eyes under it. A pair of noise-cancelling muff headphones were placed over her ears.

She sat in blind silence while he finished dinner, a dish of pasta with butter and cheese with roasted carrots.

She was startled the first time he poked her in the lips with a forkful of carrot, but lashed to the chair as she was she couldn't jump. She quickly put together what was happening and gratefully opened her mouth to accept the food. Things continued like this; he had made enough for both of them and he punctuated the food with sips of wine through a straw.

He left her in the chair after dinner, passing the time reviewing more of his work and dreaming up things he might do to her. It had been an intense stretch with her and he found himself nodding off early, so he figured he might as well move on to what he had cooked up for bedtime.

His bed was a plain affair, just a mattress between an iron headboard and footboard made of framed vertical rails. Infinite anchoring points, that had been the idea. There was a ring in the center of the headboard and footboard, again just to keep the possibilities open.

He led her upstairs and secured her collar to the center ring on the footboard with a length of chain, padlocked at both ends. He went to the bathroom to get ready for bed, chuckling to himself that if she decided to run she would have to drag the entire bed frame with her.

He emerged from the bathroom wearing only a t-shirt, his bottom half bare. He placed a bucket at the foot of the bed. It was the same one that had been in the barn and she tried not to shudder. He set an alarm on his phone, careful to keep its face away from her.

"Let's have a little fun tonight," he said to her as he handed her a thin blanket. "What do you say?"

She looked at him and said nothing.

"There's an alarm that's going to wake me in the morning. If I wake up and my cock is not in your mouth, there will be severe consequences. How you handle that is up to you."

Fuck, she thought. This was devious. She didn't know when the alarm would go off, and she had no access to a clock.

The room had paper over the windows so the rising sun would provide some level of illumination, but what if he had set the alarm before sunrise?

He paid little attention to her mental gymnastics and climbed into bed, loosely laying a light blanket over himself. She'd have to crawl under it to succeed in her task.

How fucking long am I supposed to have this fucking cock in my mouth? she thought. Won't that wake him up, in and of itself?

He turned out the bedside lamp and she stood there in the dark, continuing to puzzle over the challenge. It felt like a trap.

Fuck him, she thought, and then meditated on the fact that she had not thought that exact phrase in several days. Fuck this.

She drew the thin blanket around herself and settled onto the floor at the foot of the bed. She wasn't going to sleep between his legs, and she realized as she settled in she wasn't going to go post up on his dick in the middle of the night.

Maybe he'd torture her nipples as punishment and she could steal an orgasm in her chastized state. Whatever it was he wanted to throw at her, she would handle it. Fuck him, and fuck his fun, she thought.

He was lightly disappointed but not surprised when his alarm went off. It didn't seem like an easy task to complete, but he would have enjoyed knowing her neck was stiff from lying between his legs, desperate to avoid punishment.

The punishment. He thought of the whiny men he had heard through the years, trying to figure out how to dominate their girlfriends, men not up to the task. Weak men. Men whose imaginations ended at a spanking, if that.

That was not his problem. His problem was one of excess, there were countless ways to punish her and he wanted to run through them all. It does have to be one at a time, he thought to himself.

But what to do today? Obviously the punishment should fit the crime, and it should hurt. He knew just what to do, and after retiring to the bathroom to freshen up he re-attached the leash to her collar and led her down the stairs, out of the house and to the barn. Best to get this done before breakfast.

He said nothing as they went. No histrionics about how she had failed at her task, nothing like that. He wasn't even mad. She had gotten to him here and there, but his intention was to stay even, professional.

What he had in mind required a bit of setup, so once again her hands were secured and the leash placed on a high hook. The gear was gathered and arranged in place, and then he led her to the stage.

He liked that she was deeply familiar with his work, it meant he didn't have to explain what he was doing. She just went along, like a lamb down the chute.

He had mounted a dildo/pole combination to the stage's center post. It took an elongated T shape, one end of the top crossbar mounted directly to the center post. The open side of the T featured a dildo, well sized to slide down most throats, and the downward leg of the T had a series of rings to which you could attach various things. He had nipple clamps in mind.

He arranged her so that the dildo was in her mouth, just past her teeth. He clamped a clover clip onto each nipple, relishing her wince as they went on. And then he used thin cord to run a line from each clamp to the ring, a hitch in each that he quickly adjusted to just hold the clamps at tension.

Then he took slack out of the line. The clamps pulled on her nipples, hard, and the look in her eyes made it clear she understood how to ease the tension. She shuffled forward, taking the dildo deeper into her mouth.

He smiled at her and took a little more slack out of the lines. She blinked a few times and moaned softly, then eased herself forward, gagging on the dildo. She tried to throat it, with some success, but eventually she needed to back off and breathe, a breath that turned into a deep grunt when the clamps asserted themselves.

He took a step back and watched her try to work out a perfect position, but there wasn't one. There was only one problem or the other, and judging by her initial efforts she seemed to prefer something deep in her throat. Slut, he thought.

He was hungry and wanted his cup of tea so he ran a quick ankle chain between her feet and screwed it to the floor. Just a little extra security. Then he headed back to the house.

She had to admit it was a classic piece of work. There had been a thousand bondage pornographers, and there were men who whipped women within a millimeter of their tolerance.

No one had done predicaments like him, no one had ever put the models in the terrible spot of their desires having landed them in such a precarious position.

She was also meditating on her desires. Her desires were why she was here, she knew. But she was managing. Maybe even a touch more than managing. Once she heard the barn door close she relaxed off the dildo, letting the clamps pull on her nipples.

Nipple torture had always been enjoyable, and she was now thinking about how she was unable to touch herself, to masturbate. Maybe if I crank on my nipples I can get off, she thought.

Back in the kitchen he sipped a cup of tea and wondered if he had to worry about her choking. The nipple clamps could be ripped off, if it really came to it. She would fall backwards. He had a second cup.

In the barn, she let out a scream around the dildo and stamped her shackled feet. Trying to torture her own nipples did in fact have erotic signals bouncing around her brain, but it felt like there was nowhere for them to land.

Or the places where the signals usually landed weren't expecting that kind of signal to come in, and had prepared entirely the wrong meal to welcome them. However she tried to make sense of it, it wasn't working and her nipples were getting very sore.

She screamed again and admitted defeat, burying the dildo back in her throat.

He returned some time later, whistling at the pile of throat slime and drool that lay at her feet. he pondered making her clean it up with her tongue, but she was stuck in a solid position and he intended to take advantage.

He held a signal whip singletail in his hand, a very treasured whip. It was braided kangaroo hide, one he had gone to great foreign bureaucratic lengths to shoot and skin himself. The hide was perfect for a tight, densely woven whip that was nonetheless very light and fast.

He put the whip down out of her sight and approached her, unlocking her cuffed hands and moving them in front of her body. He re-cuffed them, looping one cuff through a ring below where the nipple clamps were attached so that she couldn't pull them back or mess with the clamps.

He picked up the whip and returned to a few extra paces behind her, then let the whip sing through its arc, out, wrapping around his denim-clad arm, back out, around the other side.

He loved the consistency of this one. It had a rhythm and once you settled into your groove all you had to do was move it up and down, or not. There was no tap-tap-tap-slam peak and valley of a caning, just a constant droning of mounting pain.

She flinched as he stepped forward and the whip first met her back, but he saw her wiggle her shoulders and settle in. They were both in a groove now, and he watched as the dark stripes accumulated, moving down her back, her ass, and crouching to stripe her thighs.

She was generally quieter than most of the women he had known, but this whip was special and it was too much, even for her. She sang the same song of pain and suffering he had heard a thousand times before, and he loved it even more this time.

He was embarrassed when the rhythm was broken as he struggled to get out of the crouch. Too goddamn old, he thought, and quickly tried to get back on track.

She took notice of the pause, correctly assumed why it had happened, and would have laughed at him had she not been so busy trying to regulate her breathing and endure what was happening. She had stumbled on a memory from a meditation workshop she had wandered into during a semester at city college.

The instructor was discussing feelings as textures, or associated imagery. Happiness was shiny, he was saying, and boredom had grain. She was trying to find the texture associated with the sharp, screaming pain that was visited on her back every second and a half. It was... unclear.

He stopped when he figured he couldn't go any further without drawing blood. He had more in mind and didn't want to get carried away on any one part. If she had tried the task and failed he might have stopped here, but she had made a different choice.

He set off in search of a particular piece of gear. He located it but the batteries were long since dead and he wasn't sure it worked at all, so he double-checked that she would be secure and, for whatever reason, took the nipple clamps off.

He wanted her to suffer, but he also wanted to see her face as they came off and the blood rushed back in, and he didn't want to wait. It wasn't a disappointment, her mouth opened wide around the dildo and she let out a new and different scream.

Back in the house he got the electronics tools that were close at hand after the work on the collars. Fresh batteries were required and some contacts needed cleaning, but the piece worked like it had whenever he had last used it.

He returned to the barn and gathered what he would need, then visited her on the stage. He thought about offering to end it here if she would suck his dick like she should have that morning, but he wanted to see if she would make the offer herself.

She hadn't tried to bargain with him yet, not since the initial test of the shock collar, and even that she had abandoned almost immediately. Maybe she wasn't a bargainer. In his experience most people were, if you set things up correctly.

He blindfolded her before leading her back into the house. She was so deeply familiar with his work that he felt like he had to protect the reveal of his next move, even though she might still figure out where they were headed at the first turn.

He bent her over the arm of the couch and squeezed some lube over her asshole, working it in with one and then two fingers. What was going in wasn't much larger than a thumb. He watched her reaction carefully.

She gave a small wince when her asshole was penetrated but if she was aware that it was an electrical device she gave no indication; more than one girl had assumed the wires that trailed out of their ass meant it vibrated.

The trailing wires connected to a small box that was capable of giving a variable shock. Nothing strong, but from the inside like that it didn't need to be strong to hurt. Also connected to the box was a small microphone, the head of which was the size of a nickel.

It had both a spring and a magnetic mount and he debated clipping it to the front or the rear of the chastity belt. Front would make what was coming worse but he wanted her to have a long run with it, so he clipped it behind her.

Fetching the chair she had sat in for dinner from the kitchen, he sat her down and belted her into place again. He dragged the chair to the center of the couch, immediately opposite the main monitor of his editing station. He removed the blindfold with a minor flourish.

They stared at each other for a moment, her blinking in the light, him taking it in and relishing the moment.

"Hello," he said, in a bizarrely high pitched voice. There was the briefest of moments where the microphone had to pick up the sound, send the signal, the signal had to be judged for strength and the box had to put out a correspondingly strong shock.

She screamed. He concluded that she had not known what was back there, either wasn't as familiar with the times he had used it or the blindfold had been enough. There was another brief moment for the equipment to process her scream, and then there was another shock, longer and stronger than the first.

"Careful," he said, this time in his normal tone. No shock occurred. "Get it yet?" he asked in the earlier high-pitched voice.

She did get it, because when the next shock hit she emitted only a small squeak, all of her muscles tensing and her breathing coming in rapid sobs. The squeak earned her only a very modest shock and she was now looking him dead in the eyes and nodding rapidly, trying to assure him she understood.

He moved behind her, sitting on the couch. He didn't have a great view of her from here, but he could move once he set things up. Taking his keyboard he woke his system up and navigated to the section of his server that held the finished films.

"I want to make this fair," he said, holding down an arrow key to rapidly cycle through the files. "It's keyed to higher frequencies, so if I pick one with a lot of screaming it's going to get pretty rough for you, but if there's a lot of plot or roleplay or something you might get off easy."

He laughed to himself. Nobody got off easy around here.

"So I'm going to choose randomly," he continued. "But I know you love my work and I thought this would be a fun way for us to enjoy some of it together."

She said nothing. He respected this about her, although it frustrated some of his more talkative instincts. She was tough, and still wasn't going to beg, or plead, and still wasn't bargaining.

She recognized that he was in control, however she felt about it, and that thrilled him. They all understood it eventually, even the ones who thought their uh-uh-uh safe sound would make it out through the gag.

He took his finger off the arrow and hit enter, averting his eyes from the screen so he would be as surprised as she was. It gave him a moment to think. The whole safe sound and gag thing had given rise to the designated advocate when certain women he had on staff had grown uncomfortable.

The fucking designated advocate. Maybe it would have gone better if they changed her out sooner, but once they got the lay of the land they started seeing bullshit everywhere. Oh, the model blinked at me a certain way. Stop the shoot. Fuck.

His logo and the legal disclaimer cleared the screen and the image faded in. He smiled. It was one of the first shoots he had done with Holes 9, a model he had treasured while he had her.

Holes 9 had emailed him on her 19th birthday, spilling out a long list of fantasies and begging him to indulge her, demonstrating a bit of her ignorance. Innocent? Did it matter? She asked if she had to pay, showing off a bit more ignorance.

This shoot was also perfect for what he was doing now. It was heavy on action, no role play, no plot, but it being an early shoot with a young and inexperienced model he had taken his time during the shoot, building slowly with some bondage, a little light impact play, slowly turning up the heat on the stove.

Eventually Holes 9 was locked in a steel structure, her tongue clamped and pulled this way, her nipples clamped and pulled that way. He had been trying to display an image that had only existed in 19th century fetish art.

After he had her all trussed up in the classic pose he took his time with a bit of wax play, highlighting her clamped and trussed tits, and then he ramped up the impact play, caning her ass, the soles of her feet, and taking a flat leather slapper to her pussy.

So his current Holes was in for a long buildup, a slow building of tension as she watched this young girl fall into it, and then there would be screams. Many, many screams.

He realized that current Holes might not be able to control her own screams given what was coming, so about halfway through he got up and gave her the classic rag-and-tape gag, knowing it would eat most of her own screams and prevent things from cycling. Again, he wanted to be careful with his toy.

There were two more movies after that one. Dinner that night was canned soup, and he allowed her to sit and eat without restraint. She was quiet and stared into the soup for the extent of the meal, and he decided against trying something fun overnight. She probably needed some sleep.

She was still set up at the foot of his bed overnight, but he gave her a better blanket and a pillow. He kept himself awake for a stretch and after a while snuck out of bed to take a peek, and she seemed to be sleeping soundly. He fell asleep thinking about the next day's fun.

The next day started with tea and oatmeal for both of them, and this time he did throw some apples and honey into hers. Following that it occurred to him that he hadn't exercised her in a few days, so he decided to make that a bit more fun for him and he went looking for a particular piece, a long iron bar with thick U-shaped loops that slid on at either end for her hands and one in the center for her neck. He could truss her up and hook the four wheeler to the chastity belt and take her for a few miles.

He had her stand outside with her hands up and out, cactus style. He squinted in the bright sunlight, silently cursed having forgotten sunglasses and wondering if he could get them before hooking her up. He'd have a moment when she was attached to the four-wheeler, he thought.

He balanced the rod across her shoulders and moved the right loop off and then on again once her wrist was enclosed. He turned to secure the left hand when she suddenly fell away from him.

She fell, turning as she went, and she was able to rotate her right hand and grasp the bar in her fist. She swung it in a wide circle, coming around to slam it into his left arm.

There was an audible crack and his hand fell limp. The remote for the shock collar slid over his wrist and fell to the ground. He stooped to pick it up with his right hand and as he did the bar came around in another wide circle and glanced off of his temple.

A gash opened up across the front side of his head and he fell hard into the dirt. She slid her right hand out of the loop and ran.

She made it past the front of the barn. She made it past the house. She heard him grunt in anger and pain as she started up the driveway but she knew there was no point in looking.

She was a horror movie devotee, and she had screamed "THEY'RE ALWAYS GAINING ON YOU" at more women than she could count.

Just as she reached the end of the driveway and turned onto the dirt road that led back to the main road, her collar came to life and her neck once again felt like it was being pierced by a hot poker.

She went down, hard, breaking her fall with her hands but flipping ass over tea kettle as she did so, then continuing to roll due to the road's downhill orientation, finally coming to a rest sprawled on all fours.

She scrambled, desperately, but she hadn't seen him behind her as she tumbled and she realized if he wasn't up and chasing she had to be near the end of the remote's range. Did I hit him hard enough? she thought. I should have caved his fucking skull in.

They're always gaining on you, she reminded herself, and resolved to just keep moving. She scrambled back to her feet and continued running.

She did not stop running for several miles. No more shocks came, and no cars came down the hill after her. She fell, repeatedly, and her hands and feet were bleeding, but she did not stop.

One car did come up the hill, and in a panic she dove into a ditch and crawled beneath a bush. Lying there she realized there was no way he would be coming uphill at her and she had her first audible laugh in almost two weeks.

She lay there and tried to catch her breath. There was more laughter, and some tears. She pulled at the locks and the bolts holding the chastity belt together, as if they might be magic, and would simply crumble now that she was no longer held in the wizard's tower.

Bits of the ordeal flashed through her head. She wondered what would happen next, and her imagination poured through the possibilities. She'd have to convince the first person, or several people, that she wasn't crazy. The belt would help with that, the collar.

There would be officials, law enforcement. The FBI? There would be media. She could go back to her family's place, what had happened would surely put everything that had gone on between them in the background.

There would be a podcast, she realized. Probably several. Documentaries. How will I feel if this makes me rich? she thought, embarrassed but intrigued.

There was a pretty good chance he'd be long gone or dead by the time she got to town and got a sheriff or whoever got up there to check on things. Maybe they would send a SWAT team and they could blow his fucking brains out.

And then her imagination went down a very specific road. The normal things were there, the police, the media, the fuss. And then she saw a lawsuit, a big one, and a judgement in her favor, easy if he was dead, slightly less easy but still very possible if he wasn't.

Maybe he had money, from his career, from wherever. But he definitely had the ranch, a big old piece of property. She could take it from him. She could take it from whatever unlucky son of bitch was related to him, if he was dead. It could be hers.

Maybe after all that attention, she thought, maybe someday somebody finds their way up here. Some young guy. Maybe I could show him how it was. In the pit, the barn, the house. Maybe I could show him what it was like.