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View Full Version : new user, story for comment: Shine [segment 1]



thudstacker
11-06-2011, 07:16 AM
Shine

Diana is standing in her bedroom. She is inspecting her body in the full-length mirror that hides her closet. She is wearing all black: tight corset and bustier, tiny silk panties, thigh-high leather boots, elbow-length gloves.

She is petite, lean, and pale. Her straight red hair shimmers in one spot as she turns her head. She turns it again, watching the spot move across her hair until it disappears in her bangs.

“Shine,” she says.

She looks into her own eyes. They are rimmed in black mascara. Her dark lashes reach out as if to claw the air. They stand out against her freckles and strawberry hair.

She takes hold of the key dangling from a silver chain around her bare neck. “I need to shine,” she says. “Please let me shine.”

Diana spreads her legs wide, placing her hands on her hips. The leather creaks as it stretches around her taut muscles. She smiles.

The phone rings. She walks across the room to the bed stand, still watching herself in the mirror. She picks up the receiver.

“Yes,” she states.

“Long time, no see,” says a deep voice. It is Mars, her boyfriend. “It’s time.”

“Is she locked in?” asks Diana.

“Yes,” Mars replies. “She’s getting nervous.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

Diana replaces the receiver and walks into the bathroom. She kneels and vomits in the toilet. She wipes her forehead with a wet cloth.

She collects a black leather purse from the bed and covers herself in a long, black leather overcoat that she takes from a coat stand near the front door. She glances at the newspaper open on her couch before opening the door.

The newspaper has a story about a serial killer on the loose in the city. Two weeks ago, it says, a chiropractor was found dead in his office; he had been stabbed in the chest six times. Six days later, a history teacher was found dead in his bedroom; he had been strangled with a lamp cord.

The story tells of three links between the deaths. First, both victims’ faces and chests had been found covered with semen. Second, notes had been found on both. The doctor’s note had said, “Dear Dr. Johnson: Gotcha.” The teacher’s note had said, “Dear Mr. Ellers: Gotcha.” In both cases, the victims had no legal names or aliases matching the names in the notes.

The third link reported by the story is the rumor that both victims have been suspected of engaging in sadomasochism and other kinky sex-related activities. No signs of bondage or struggle had been found in either case.
Diana locks the door on her way out.

* * * * *

Peter is sitting in a confessional booth. The priest is asking him a question.

“Is it sexual?”

Peter clears his throat. “Sort of,” he says. His head is tilted downward, toward his lap. “Yes, I would have to say it is.”

“Is it something you do alone?” asks the priest.

“No, I can’t,” says Peter. “I would need to have someone else be part of it.”

The priest takes a deep breath, then exhales. “Peter, are we talking about sexual intercourse? I cannot condone sex before marriage—”

“No, that’s not it!” Peter barks.

“Please, your voice!”

“Sorry, sorry,” whispers Peter. “It’s just—I’m frustrated, Father. I…”

“Yes, go on, Peter. We all have tempers. I’m still listening.”

“I want it to be okay. I want it not to be a sin. I want…I want God to smile on it, the way I feel inside before the guilt comes.” His voice cracks.

“Peter, my child,” says the priest, “be at peace. God is here, Peter, he is watching. He smiles on us as we confess, as we accept the light of his love. Peter, do you confess your sin?”

Peter squirms. “I…I guess so, yes.”

“Good.”

“But why is it a sin, Father? That’s what I want to know.”

The priest laughs gently, fatherly. “Well, Peter,” he says, “I can’t answer that until you tell me what exactly it is.”

Peter growls. He rises, pushing out of the flimsy booth without a word.

The priest sighs several times. “Forgive him, Lord,” he says. “Please forgive him.”
He knows he was a lot like Peter in his own youth. He sits in the booth a long time before leaving.

* * * * *
A young woman is sitting on a tall wooden stool. She is wearing only a beige brassiere and green cotton briefs with a scalloped white waistband. She is looking at her stomach, watching the half-inch elastic strip flip down and back up as she pushes her belly in and out. She looks up, straightening the strap over her left shoulder. She shivers; goose bumps cover her entire body. Her nipples try to rise beneath the functional thickness of her bra, her breathing is fast, and her feet are cold and clammy.
She has been here before. This time is different. She has consented to go further than she ever dared before, and is unsure she will like it when she arrives.

The stool is the only piece of furniture in a small caged room that holds her. Thin iron bars are spaced six inches apart around her, forming a box ten feet to a side and eight feet high. The wall of this cage that she currently faces is a door that swings outward when unlocked and opened. It is closed. A metal bucket rests near the door, outside the bars.

She looks over her shoulder. Beyond the cage, the bare cement floor stretches nearly thirty feet in each direction, and ten feet up. Fluorescent lights nearly eight feet long hang in four parallel lines overhead.

Behind her, five cement steps lead up to a doorway at the top of the wall. She looks that way as the door opens.

Diana enters the room, slowly descending the steps, lingering as each black heel rasps against the cement. She fixes the girl with a stare as she approaches the cage. Her hips sway as she saunters slowly, slowly, her green eyes mesmerizing the woman in the cage.

The woman tips off the stool. “Oh, thank god, Diana, I thought—”

“Shut up, girl!” snaps Diana. “You seem to have forgotten your place.”

The girl returns to the stool. “Oh…I’m sorry…Mistress?”

Diana leans against the bars. “Do you consider the moon your peer, you worthless little bitch?”

The girl gasps. “No, Mistress…uh, Goddess! Goddess Diana, I’m sorry I forgot—”

“Get off that stool, worm! I am the moon, your Goddess, and you worship me from the earth.”

Diana unlocks the door with the key around her neck as the girl falls to the ground. She steps over the girl, one foot to either side of her head. The girl’s prone position exaggerates her breathing. The rise and fall of her chest moves her entire body.

“You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you, slut?” coos Diana. She turns and rests one heel on the girl’s back, slipping it under her bra.

“No, Goddess, I promise—”

The girl squeals as Diana twists the heel into her back, pulling up the already tight band several inches, squeezing her chest and pressing deep into her skin. “You learn nothing, I see, slut,” says Diana. “Do you mean to tell your Goddess that she is wrong? That she errs?”

“No, Goddess,” breathes the girl. “You are the Goddess, you are always right.”

“That’s right, my subject.” She removes her heel from the girl’s back, leaving a deep red mark. “My pet.” She slides it down the girl’s spine and slips it under the elastic waistband. “You’ve been bad, haven’t you, slut?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

She slides the heel further inside the girl’s underwear, until it comes to rest just outside her anus. “Put your fat ass in the air, slut,” says Diana. As the girl obeys, Diana slips the heel just inside the widening anus. “Confess your sins, girl.”

“I’ve…I’ve sometimes had a thought that…that…”

Diana pushes the heel in quickly, about half an inch, causing the girl to cry out. Then she slowly draws it back out. The girl moans.

“Confess!” yells Diana, twisting her heel. “Or do I have to call my enforcer?”

“No!” cries the girl, arching her back and trying to rise.

“Down, worm!” Diana plunges the heel into her anus, driving the girl back to the cold floor. “Lick the floor, now!”

The girl pauses. Diana leans down, squatting, which pushes her heel even further in. The leather creaks as her legs bend wide. She whispers. “I thought you were serious about worshipping me, you little bitch.”

“I am, Goddess! I promise!”

“Then lick the fucking floor in my honor. Now.”

Diana withdraws her heel from the girl’s ass as the girl starts licking the cement floor. She stretches the waistband up as high as it will go before she pulls the heel away. The band snaps back hard onto the girl’s skin. The faint sounds of her tentative licking continue, slow but steady.

Diana picks up the bucket and closes the cage door on both of them. It locks as it closes; each side has a keyhole. She sets the bucket by the girl’s head.

“That’s enough, my dear,” she says sweetly, touching the girl’s brown hair with one hand. “I have just one more request, and it’s an easy one. I know you’ll make me very happy.”

The girl keeps licking the floor for a few seconds. She finally raises her head, smiling. “Thank you, Goddess,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

“That’s alright, dear,” Diana croons. “I want you to bask in the light of my godly face, dear. Do you want that?” She bends low, kissing the girl’s forehead and caressing her back and shoulders. “Do you want that?”

“Oh, yes, Goddess, yes,” the girl moans. She is beaming. “I love you, Goddess.” She repeats this for a minute as Diana caresses her and kisses her and holds her. She asks Diana then, “What can I do for you Goddess? What is the last request, my dearest Goddess?”

“I want to see you piss in the bucket.”

The girl’s smile fades, wrinkles creasing her brow. “But Goddess…I…you said…I will try, but…”

Diana’s smile is wide and warm, understanding. “Oh, you silly girl. I know I told you to be sure you peed all you could before our little visit, but I was just teasing. I am your Goddess after all, and you do know when I’m teasing, don’t you?”
The girl’s eyes widen, her mouth opens. She cannot speak. Diana’s face twists. She slaps the girl. “You ignorant little bitch! You worm! You lowly slut! Piss in the bucket, now!”

The girl stands over the bucket, starting to drop her panties. Diana slaps her again, harder. “Did I tell you to pull those down, bitch? Pull them back up and piss in the bucket!”

The girl is crying now. She crouches down but cannot produce any urine. Tears are streaming down her face. “I’m sorry, Goddess. Please forgive me, please.”

Diana steps toward the girl. “You leave me only one choice, slut,” she says, slapping the girl a third time. She turns toward the door. “Mars!”

“No!” wails the girl. “No, please! I promise! I can piss in the bucket, please, Goddess, please!”

The door opens, revealing Mars. Mars is tall, muscular, furry. His hair his black. He wears only black leather pants, boots, and gloves. He has a red Mars tattoo on his chest, the symbol for male. He comes down the stairs.

The girl is still wailing. Diana slaps her again; she quiets.

“Mars,” says Diana. “The girl will not behave. She needs to be punished.”

Mars walks over to the cage. He reaches in through the bar with a meaty arm. “Come here, girl.”

The girl is white-faced and shaking. She sits on the stool holding the bucket. “Please Goddess, forgive me, please…”

“No, slut,” says Diana coldly, “you must be punished.”

Mars reaches into his pants and pulls out a piece of paper. “Come here, girl,” he rumbles.

Diana pushes the girl off of the stool toward Mars. Mars catches her and pulls her against the cage. She squirms, then stiffens as she feels his incredible strength. He breathes in her ear. “Do you read the newspaper, bitch?”

“Y-yes,” she stammers.

“Have you read about the killer?”

“Yes.” She is whispering now, hardly able to speak.

“Have you read what he does to people?”

The girl is shaking violently. “Y-yes.”

“Good,” says Mars. He unfolds the paper in front of her. It says, “Dear Elsie: Gotcha!”
She screams, trying to bolt away. He grabs her, laughing. “Your turn, Elsie.” He puts his hands around her neck and begins to squeeze.

She is frantic. She is trying to speak. She is looking at Diana, who is concentrating on her lips. The girl manages to squeak out two words.
“time…out…”

Mars continues to squeeze. “Time out!” comes the faint cry. The girl’s face is red. Her eyes are impossibly wide.

“Stop, Mars!” Diana says, grabbing his hands. “Time out!” She yells. She cannot pry his hands loose. “Stop!”

The girl’s eyes are starting to roll upward, her face to turn blue. Mars is speaking to her. “Next time you will obey the Goddess, little slut!”

Diana points a finger at his face and barks at him. “Mars! Back off! Now!”
His grip loosens. He falls back, hands dangling at his side. The girl falls into Diana’s arms. Diana is still glaring at Mars.

“That’s enough,” she says. Mars shakes his head, turns, and exits the room unsteadily.
The girl is sobbing, Diana stroking her hair and back. She whispers to the girl, “under my spell.”

The girl wilts, instantly relaxed to the bone. Diana whispers in her ear. “Release.” The girl pisses without hesitation, the stream soaking her crotch and running down the stool and her legs. Gazing at the door where Mars has left, Diana gently strokes her hair and shoulders and arms for a few minutes.

Diana whispers again. “Waking up now, dear, totally free of my spell, totally forgiven, and holy in the eyes of the moon, your Goddess.” And snaps her fingers, crack! in the girl’s face.

The girl opens her eyes, her muscles stirring. She collects herself gradually from the hypnotic state. She stands up, wiping her face. “I need to go now, Diana,” she says. Her voice is tight, and she avoids eye contact with her Goddess.

“Of course.” Diana unlocks the cage door and holds it open. “You’ll get a refund in the mail. I’m so sorry it worked out this way.”

After the girl leaves, Diana sits on the floor, leaning against the bars. She closes her eyes. She stays here for many minutes, breathing deeply, trying to calm down.

She eventually rises and, sighing, walks through the door.

* * * *
Upstairs in the bedroom, Mars is lying down on his back. Diana sits on the bed next to him.

“You went way off course,” she says quietly.

“Just a little extra scare,” he replies. His voice is deep, his eyes cold and dark.

“You’re out of control.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says.

She studies him a minute. She swallows a lump in her throat several times, but when she finally speaks, her voice is clean and precise, rich with feminine authority.

“The Moon is bigger than Mars.”

His eyes flutter for a moment even as he says drowsily, “you’re pushing it, Moon.” They close a moment later. He seems to fall asleep.

She swallows hard again and begins to stroke his leg. “The Moon is bigger than Mars.”

She repeats this phrase over and over and massages him tenderly, strongly, every part of his body, through the next hour. By this time, she has stripped him down to a pair of black bikini briefs, under which his penis bulges.

“Harder and harder,” she whispers, “harder for me, obey me completely.”

She strokes his erection through the black material. “You have gone over the edge, slave, and must obey all my words, all my words. Do you understand?”

There is no reaction to this..

“Tell me you understand.”

There is, again, no reaction.

“Release.” A stream of urine shoots out of the briefs stretched tight over the head of his hard penis. It covers his belly and neck, flowing onto the sheet.

“Good, slave.” She spends the next hour crooning in his ear suggestions and instructions for how to behave in the future, how to treat his next submissive, how exactly to deal with his anger and rage without her there to check it, how there can be absolutely no deviation from the path she is describing. She reinforces this over and over, setting it all to a trigger phrase: be a good boy. She knows that this programming conflicts with his deepest nature, but she has no choice, and she knows that deep down he most likely wants to accept it.

Over and over, her slippery, sweet voice leading him deeper and deeper, dropping the suggestions into his ears over and over, over and over.

She leaves him in his wetness, deep in hypnotic slumber.

She also leaves him a note.

“Need more light, not coming back—Diana.”

-----to be continued

niteowluk2003
11-06-2011, 07:25 AM
Good effort for a first time story, well worth continuing although not my taste in subject I am sure enough people will read it to make it worthwhile doing a follow up.

thudstacker
11-06-2011, 03:44 PM
The detective slurps his coffee while the team gathers around him in the police department.

He is about to tell them about the magic fact of this case, the one that something only the real killer will know, apart from the police. Not the press, not the public. Keeping this fact secret can help them determine a fraud from a real serious tip.

They will be prepared to keep the secret very well. When they hear what it is, they will all be convinced that only the real killer would know this fact.

* * * * *

Mars is in his kitchen. On the table is a newspaper. He looks at it, then looks away.

He gets a pair of scissors from the drawer and returns to the table. His hands are shaking. He clips an article out of the paper. It is the article about the serial killer.

“It’s what they want,” he mutters. “They all want this. All of them.”

He takes the clipping into his bedroom. There is a cork bulletin board on the wall by the door. He pins the clipping to the board.

“They’ve always wanted this.”

He goes into the bathroom and retches over the toilet.

“I’m just giving them what they want.”

* * * * *

Peter is sitting in a small hotel room, on the edge of a queen size bed. He has been waiting for forty minutes.

He jumps when the phone rings. It only rings once.

He kisses the silver cross that hangs on a chain around his neck. He rises, straightens his white shirt and jeans, and runs a shaking hand through his thinning hair.

He opens the door of the adjacent room and walks through.

This room is dark, only a few lines of light where the city’s street lamps glow outside the blinded window. In the corner, barely visible in a deep chair, sits Diana. She is dressed all in black, in her dominatrix uniform.

She sits calmly with her hands on the armrests. Her legs are crossed, the tiny shine on one boot catching Peter’s eye. She twitches the boot.

“Sit down, Peter,” she says. Her voice is smooth, sexy, low. He sits. In the silence, he folds his hands over and over.

“Relax,” she says. “My name is Diana, but you may call me Goddess.” She waits a moment, but he says nothing. “Go ahead and call me Goddess.”

“Uh…yes, Goddess,” he says.

She sees the white of his teeth as he smiles. “This is embarrassing for you, isn’t it Peter?”

“Yes, it is. Goddess.”

“Very good, Peter,” she says. “Your application struck me as very…potent. Very light, very pure.”

Peter laughs. “Really? Why does it make me feel so guilty, then?” After a pause, he remembers to say “Goddess.”

“Your guilt is a product of fear. You are afraid to break the rules others set for you, rules that deny the impulses we all feel within us, in one form or another.” She studies the white shirt, white teeth that seem to glow in the dark room. “You like light don’t you, Peter?”

“Yes, Goddess,” he says. “I like to think that God is watching me, approving of what my heart is telling me to do. That his eyes are beams of light touching whatever they see.”

Diana shifts in her chair. “Peter, if we are to have a relationship, it will be important for you to remember that I am a Goddess. Your he-god may exist, but I am the only one who can show you the light that is within you. Do you understand this?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Good. Look at the shiny spot on my boot, Peter. Concentrate on it as you listen to my voice. Show me how well you concentrate on my words.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Did you understand my description of safe, sane, and consensual?”

“Yes, Goddess.” He swallows hard. “I’m counting on that, actually.”

“If you pass the test tonight, I will take you down paths you have both feared and desired. I can tell from your application what you think you want, and also what you really want. I will lead you past the former and into the latter. At all times, you will worship me and hold me in the highest esteem. I am a Goddess, and you cannot touch me, cannot control me, cannot resist me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Goddess.” Peter feels sweat trickle down his temple. He wipes it with a handkerchief he pulls from his shirt pocket. He is concentrating on the tip of her boot.

“Good. You are such a Gentleman, Peter. I like that. Did you expect that such a dark, secret Goddess as myself would appreciate a gentleman?”

He laughs quickly. “No, Goddess, I didn’t. But I’m glad.”

“I do appreciate a gentleman, Peter. There is too much darkness in my profession. My reputation attracts the darkest types. I’m tired of that. I chose you from dozens of applicants because you are so light. You have light inside that I want to release. I want to see you shine. It will fill my heart with joy, Peter, to see you shine. My heart is very sexual, very mental, it is all of me.”

Her voice is seductive, hypnotic as it rises and falls smoothly, precisely, beautifully. Peter responds to the inflections as though the movement itself command him to go deeper. His eyes flicker and strain as he focuses on her gently swinging boot.

“That is how you can affect me, Peter, your new Goddess. By pleasing me, by releasing all control of yourself to me, so that I may shine your light for my pleasure. The only way you may touch me is through your absolute obedience. Do you understand?”

Peter is breathing heavily now. “Yes, Goddess, I understand.”

“Good. Tonight will be free of charge, regardless of how well you do. From this point on, if you refuse any question or command of mine, regardless of what it is, you fail the test. If I grow bored, if I change my mind and command you to jump out the window, you will either do so and pass the test or refuse and fail the test. I will not justify my commands to you, nor will you question my godly logic. Your obedience to me is a privilege, not a right. Do you understand, Peter?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Stand up.” He does.

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Take off your shoes and socks.” He does.

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Take off your shirt.” He does.

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Take off your jeans.” He pauses, then obeys.

“Yes, Goddess.”

“I can see your erection,” says Diana, playing with volume and rhythm as she speaks, adjusting constantly as Peter’s head sways, sometimes reversing the stressed and unstressed syllables .“It pleases me. I like your bright white underwear, too, such a gentleman standing before me, obedient, hard, hot, your cock reaching for me through the whiteness of your clean bright jockey shorts. Such a gentleman. Do you like this new role of yours, Peter?”

“Yes, Goddess.” His breathing is fast and labored now. He speaks in gasps. “Yes, Goddess.”

“Very, good, Peter. You will notice my voice growing softer. It pleases me to speak softly, so that the effort I would use to speak loudly is replaced by the effort you will use to listen more attentively. You will need to strain to hear my voice, which you are doing even now. As you strain to hear it, I want you to notice that your cock strains with you, growing harder and harder, harder and harder, longer, stiffer, painfully stiff.”

He leans forward, listening, and the bulge in his briefs grows larger, actually pulling the waistband away from his taut stomach.

“Yes, Goddess,” he groans. He is watching the boot intently as she swings it in slow, easy circles. He fights hard to keep his eyes open.

Her voice falls to a whisper. “My, how you love to say that, don’t you, Peter?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Each time you say it, notice your cock growing larger and harder, reaching out for me, for my divine presence. It is wiser than you are, Peter.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Each time you say ‘yes Goddess,’ your cock grows larger and harder and longer, reaching infinitely far for the moon that is so far away, for your Goddess.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

His cock is indeed continuing to press outward ever further, and it is throbbing, pulsating up and down within his tightened briefs.

“Yes, Goddess.” He is moaning.

“Good, Peter.”

“Yes, Goddess.” His moaning intensifies, building through a long, hard exhalation.

“Put your clothes on, Peter.”

He freezes. Dismay shows on his face. After a moment, he begins to dress, slowly returning to regular consciousness. She watches him, watches his mood deflate to one of timid embarrassment.

“You’re such a gentleman, Peter,” she says. “So full of light.”

She stiffens her leg and points her booted toe at him. She smiles for the first time.

“You pass the test.”

* * * * *

Peter is in the confessional booth again.

“Can a person whose nature is basically sinful be cured of it, Father?”

The priest replies with a quaver in his voice. “A spirit may be expelled. Perversions may be examined for what they try to accomplish, and sometimes a more suitable substitute may be found. In the end, it’s love we’re all after.”

Peter laughs. “But what about the thing that is so essential, so pure a pleasure, that it could never be removed from a person without leaving that person just a shell?”

The priest is silent. His fingers drift to a pocket in his robes, where he has a crumpled clipping from a newspaper. It is a story about a serial killer in the city.

“Father? Are you still there?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” the priest says quietly.

“Well, don’t you think that sins may be relative?”

“What do you mean, Peter, for God’s sake?” His voice rises. “Relative to what? To God’s will?”

“Relative to each other, of course,” replies Peter. His voice is cheery, full of energy. “Say we both go out and do the same thing tonight. You might call it a sin, yet I might call it…divine.” He laughs again for a few seconds. “Touched by God, Father.”

The priest’s hands are sweating, soaking the paper he clutches in his pale, old fingers. “Peter, please. Listen to me. What are you talking about? You must tell me.”

“No, Father, I won’t,” Peter snaps. “You aren’t helping me. This has never helped me. This god-damned, we’re-not-animals, self-denial bullshit—”

“Peter, please—”

“Goodbye, Father. I have something to do tonight, something you could never do for me. Something holy. Don’t you?” He springs out of the little door, leaving the priest huffing in the booth alone.

The priest wads the article in a little inky heap and tosses it on the floor of the confessional.

“Please, God,” he prays, “show me strength. Transform my anger into wisdom. Show me that my old ways were wrong, that peace is truly the answer. Show me how to get through to him.”

He broods in the dark little booth waiting for an answer. He is in the booth for hours.

When he finally comes out, his demeanor has changed. Like when he used to be a boxer, before he was saved. When he was strong and dangerous, and did not put up with punks like some meek little lamb.

“Watch out, boy,” he snarls. “God grows tired of sin unfeared and unpunished. Your clock is ticking.”

* * * * *

Diana is standing in her bedroom, inspecting herself before the mirror that hides her closet. She is wearing plain white cotton panties and a white bra. White ankle-length socks cover her dainty feet.

She pulls a plain white half-slip over her hips, one with a small slit up each side. The slip shimmers in the light; she rubs it slowly over her panties and skin.

All of these garments are new, fresh, bright white. She pulls a pair of thin, lace gloves from her white purse.

“Shine,” she says.

She puts on the bright white gloves, slowly pulling them to the elbow.

“Now I can shine.”

She leans closer and inspects her face. She has no make-up. Her delicate, pale skin is also fresh and clean. Her eyes are bright. She is smiling, and she feels her own radiance from the mirror.

She fingers the little pink flower sewn between the cups of her bra. A frown passes over her face.

She goes to the phone and dials. Mars answers on the third ring.

“Mars, it’s Diana,” she says.

“Are you coming back?” he rumbles.

“No. You don’t need me anymore.”

“Why did you call?”

“You have a session tonight, don’t you?”

“Saturday night. Same as always. Why?” He is getting angry.

“I just wanted to tell you something before your next session. Your first session in a long time—well, you know—without me there.”

“So go ahead and tell me.”

She clears her throat. “Be a good boy, Mars,” she says with force. “Be a good boy for me.”

There is only silence. “Mars? Are you there?”

Mars hangs up.

“Please be a good boy for me, Mars,” she says. “How can I shine if you won’t be a good boy?”

Diana’s hand lingers on the phone for a long time, her face blank, her mind wandering far away as the clock ticks steadily before her.

* * * * *

The detective sits at his desk scratching his head. He has just received an anonymous tip regarding the identity of someone who might be the serial killer.

The girl leaving the tip had sounded scared, but embarrassed. She had told him that the killer is a sadomasochist and that she was on her way to see him for a scheduled session tonight. She was supposed to be seeing a man and woman who were highly sought after for excellent S&M sessions, but the woman had dropped out because of the man’s increasing lack of control.

The girl had been reassured by friends that the couple often played such tricks to heighten tension, to maximize the fear that their clients craved. She had brought up her concern with the man this morning, but he had threatened to kill her if she did not show up on time, or even if she contacted the police.

She had thought his threat very convincing, but was persuaded by her friends that it was all part of the act. She was not willing to leave any information about the woman or about herself, but did leave the general location of the man’s home, where she was headed. She had spoken very fast through the whole conversation and had abruptly hung up.

The detective is frowning, these facts running through his head. The name the girl had provided has turned up a brute with a significant record of rape, battery, and attempted murder. The man has been wanted by police for years in New York city, on the other side of the country. He had never been suspected to be living in Los Angeles.

The detective has no way of reaching the girl except to send a squad car to the address of the killer, which he does. The session will begin in less than half an hour.

The detective scratches his head and crushes his cheap styrofoam cup.

continued...

thudstacker
11-06-2011, 03:46 PM
Mars is in his basement looking at the iron cage under the fluorescent lamps. Within the cage, upon the tall stool, is a young woman. She wears only purple satin panties and a matching push-up bra. She is shivering, covered by goose bumps.

Her hands rest on her thighs. She is looking at Mars. Mars is looking at her.

Mars is holding a baseball bat and a crow bar. He walks toward her. He is naked except for a black leather mask.

She stands up and holds herself, wrapping her arms across her chest and belly. She backs up a step as he approaches the door, which is closed and locked.

“What should I call you?” she asks in a mouse’s voice. “M-m-master?”

“Shut up,” he says. He drops the bat outside the door.

“You said you would stay outside—”

“Shut up.” He puts the crow bar between the lock plate and the nearest bar and begins prying. His penis, short and thick, begins to elongate.

“Oh, my god,” she gasps. She backs away from the door, into the corner of the cage. She grips the bars to either side of her, knuckles white. “I’m scared, master.” Her face is frightened; her voice is excited. “Please don’t come in after me.”

Mars works at the door for a minute before getting it to pop open. It swings outward. He drops the crow bar. He picks up the bat and the bucket lying just outside the cage door.

Her eyes widen as he steps across the threshold. He puts the bucket down and slides it toward her. “Look inside.”

“This isn’t going the way we agreed to—”

“Look inside.”

While her hand snakes forwards and finds the note inside, she looks at him, his dark eyes, his hardening cock. He raises the bat with both hands high above his head. His biceps flex as he grips the bat.

“Read it,” he orders.

She reads it. “Dear Angel: Gotcha.”

A new look spreads across her face. It is a look of utter blankness.

She looks at him. “Time out,” she says softly.

“Kneel.”

She kneels. “Please, master, time out.”

Mars is looking down at her. A drop of moisture slips out the tip of his hard penis. His arms are bulging as he grips the bat.

She hears a banging on the front door, far away. A bullhorn voice bellows some words. “Come out” and “no gets hurt” are among them. Mars is starting to groan, his cock stiff in front of him. It is throbbing, dancing.

Her face drains to white. She starts to fall over. He catches her by the hair and yanks her up.

“You don’t get off that easy,” he snarls. “This is what you wanted, this is what you get.”

He throws her against the bars as three police officers burst through the basement door, guns drawn. Mars ejaculates, spraying her with wads of semen while he lands a pair of vicious two-handed blows, one in her ribs and one on her head, dropping her to the floor before the three officers shoot him down bellowing.

* * * * *

Peter is standing in his bedroom. A hundred white candles burn softly around the room. He is wearing only tight white briefs, low-cut and stretched fully around his huge erection. His eyes are calm, glazed, and his breathing deep and steady.

Diana is sitting in a chair in the corner. She is also wearing clean, white underwear, classic bikini briefs, shining brightly in the candlelight and perfectly shaped around her hips and thighs. Her smile is wide, her eyes flashing.

“Are you ready, Peter?” she asks. Her voice is sweet, tender.

“Yes, Goddess.”

“You must trust me, Peter, know that you are safe here and obey me completely.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“You’re shining, Peter. Tonight, I will show you the light of heaven.”

* * * * *

The girl in the cage is still alive. She is heavily bandaged, unconscious on a stretcher. Paramedics pick up the stretcher.

Inside the cage, Mars lies dead, a dozen bullet holes scattered around his hairy, bloody body.

Upstairs, the detective scratches his head. He is looking at the bedroom bulletin board, the clipping tacked there. He calls over his shoulder, “you’re sure you saw that?”

“Yes, sir, all three of us.” It is one of the three officers who broke into the basement. “What are you thinking?”

The detective sighs. “Well, as always, there’s good news and bad,” he says.

“You might get in trouble for shooting into that cage with her still there, and I’ll damn sure get in trouble for sending you in without a warrant, but we saved that girl’s life, that’s for sure. You can be proud of that. It’s not everyday you get to do that.”

“Damn straight,” says the cop. “So what’s the bad news?” asks the officer.

“Well, you saw what you saw, didn’t you, bonehead?” snaps the detective. “Haven’t you been paying attention? Obviously, this mistreated, antisocial, paper-reading, wannabe-famous, son of a bitch is a copycat.

“Our serial killer is still out there.”

* * * * *

The priest is walking through crowded streets. He is muttering to himself, his seething red face scaring the people who pass by.

“Cocky little bastard. You’re part of my flock! When I say heel, you heel! For your own good, don’t you understand?”

He storms past stores, hotels, houses, and comes to the neighborhood where Peter lives.

“I know you’re here somewhere,” he says, looking around. “You think you can walk out on me?”

He sees the street sign he is looking for and starts toward it.

“We’re gonna talk, and that’s all there is to it!”

* * * * *

Diana is sitting in the chair, leaning forward. Her purse is in her lap. Her nipples are stiff, pushing out through thin fabric.

“You will not come until I command it, Peter.”

Diana is whispering. Her voice is barely audible over his quick breathing.

“Yes, Goddess.” He hunches over slightly. His cock is pushed out impossibly far, painfully restricted by his tight underwear.

“You are such a gentleman, Peter, so obedient. You are deeply hypnotized, Peter, so deeply hypnotized by my voice, by my eyes. Keep looking deep into my eyes. Such a gentleman you are. Your eyes are growing heavy, Peter, you are such a gentleman to obey so easily. So heavy.”

“Yes, Goddess.” His eyes begin to close.

“Keep your eyes open, Peter. Your eyes are so heavy, you keep them open to show me your obedience.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“You cannot keep them open, you are not allowed to close them.”

“Yes, Goddess.” His eyes are fighting a wild battle, flickering open and closed. His head begins to loll forward, then flop back, then forward again.

“In a moment I will uncross my legs and pull up my slip. You will hear this, and will know it is happening. You will not be able to see my white panties, but they will be exposed to you, and exposed to your straining cock.”

“Yes, Goddess,” he moans loudly.

“When you hear me uncross my legs, your eyes will close completely, and you will have permission and will be commanded to close your eyes. Your head will fall forward. Your arms will hang like lead weights by your side. You will be so deeply hypnotized that all of my words, which you will hear clearly to the exclusion of all sounds, to the exclusion of all sounds, all of my words will slip into your underwear and stroke your cock like a greased glove. But you will not come.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

She uncrosses her legs, spreading them, and slides forward slowly in the chair. Her slip rides up her thighs with a drawn-out swishhh.

“Yes, Goddess!” Peter gasps. His head falls forward, eyes shut tightly. His penis is incredibly large beneath the briefs, a spot of moisture marking the spot where his engorged head struggles against the fabric. He moans loudly with each breath. He sways wildly on his feet, head rocking in all directions, cock quivering inside his underwear.

“You are such a gentleman, Peter. You are doing so well for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

She swallows a lump in her throat. “Peter?”

“Yes, Goddess?”

“Do you love me?”

“Oh, yes, Goddess! I do! I love you!”

“Very good, Peter,” she says. “That answer pleases me.”

The appearance of a radiant smile releases rapturous joy, which spreads over her entire face.

“Now, Peter,” she says, “I am going to make you shine.”

* * * * *

The priest rounds the corner onto Peter’s street.

“I know you’re around here, somewhere, you proud little sinner,” he mumbles. His eyes are wild. He sees Peter’s car two blocks away and pumps his fist toward it.

“Got you now, little pervert!”

He rushes toward the car, toward Peter’s apartment.

* * * * *

“Peter,” Diana whispers, “you can smell my pussy now, can’t you?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

He is standing, entranced, eyes closed, in the candle-lit room. His cock is nearly bursting out of his briefs.

She is standing a few feet away from him, one hand massaging her crotch. Her slip is folded in half, lain over the purse on the chair.

“It is the warmth of the moon, your Goddess, excited to see you so close to the light.” Her voice is so faint, so hard to hear. Peter and his cock are straining so hard to hear.

“Yes, Goddess.”

“You can never touch this pussy, not with any part of you, but if you obey me in all things, in all things, the moonlight will touch you, and then the light of heaven.”

“Yes, Goddess.” He is beaming.

“You have a secret sexual fantasy, don’t you, Peter?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Something more than you put in your email?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Can it involve anyone?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Even other men?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“And pain.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“And semen.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Now that I am your Goddess, you need to change that fantasy, Peter. The light of heaven only shines on those who harm none. By my command, you are forbidden to cause pain.”

He pauses for many seconds, swaying and bobbing and moaning. She studies him, swallowing hard several times.

“Yes, Goddess.”

“But that is where your heart has lead you, hasn’t it Peter? To enjoy someone else’s pain?”

“Yes, Goddess,” he whispers. He is sweating.

“So you will need to trust me, to trust me fully, beyond words and promises. Only I can show you the light of heaven without you causing pain. Are you ready to see the entrance to heaven, Peter? Right now, tonight?”

“Oh, yes, Goddess!” he gasps. His cock thrusts outward, propelled by his hips. His body tenses up, his face squeezed in agony.

“You cannot come until I command it, Peter,” she whispers.

“Yes, Goddess.” He is groaning now through clenched teeth.

“Such a gentleman, Peter,” she whispers. She is speaking so lightly that she cannot even hear her own words above his moaning. “Walk forward, Peter,” she breathes.

“Yes, Goddess.” He shambles forward, arms and head hanging down, cock bouncing with each clumsy step, groaning and grimacing, eyes squeezed shut. She steps back as he advances, leading them to the bed.

“Stop,” she hisses.

He stops. “Yes, Goddess.”

“You are docile and harmless, Peter. Permanently. You will never lift a finger against me or anyone else, even in self-defense. You will accept my abuse as part of your training, and you know that my actions are above your judgment. This is a command that I am giving to your soul. Repeat it now, Peter, and accept it in your heart and soul.”

“Yes, Goddess. I am harmless and docile, permanently.”

“Good, Peter,” she says. “You’re such a gentleman. Now turn ninety degrees to your right.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

She steps in front of him and pushes him backward onto the bed. He falls and lies motionless, his cock standing up stiff beneath his underwear.

“Now I’m going to tell you to be a gentleman,” she whispers. “When I do, every muscle in your body will relax, except your cock, which will remain stiff in my honor. All other muscles will relax. Your bladder will completely relax, your piss coming out in a strong gush, representing your resistance, your will power. It will stream out of your body and you will be completely helpless for me, absolutely my slave. But you will still not be allowed to come. You may have an orgasm, Peter, but you may not ejaculate, not at all.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

She reaches out and pulls his underwear down, his rigid cock springing up as she does so. She holds it in her white glove, grinding it like a joystick in slow circles. He shouts randomly, a wordless tormented ecstasy.

“Now, Peter,” she whispers, aiming his cock towards his head, “be a gentleman.”

“Yes, Goddess!” he screams as a strong, yellow jet shoots out. Diana directs the acrid stream to his face through a low trajectory. It splatters on his neck and mouth and eyes as he writhes.

A minute later, the stream has ended. His cock, still partially stiff, rests on his stomach. The rest of his body is flaccid, his breathing easy and steady.

She whispers again. “Peter, can you hear me?”

His penis hardens. “Yes, Goddess.”

“Good. Anytime you hear me tell you to be a gentleman, you will return to this state. Anytime. You may be on the phone or in your car or on a tightrope, but when I tell you to be a gentleman, you will feel all your willpower flow out in your piss, and your entire body will relax, but your cock will stiffen immediately and completely, and you will not have permission to come.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“This is the entrance to heaven, Peter. From here you may climb toward the light. But only with my help will you ever touch the light. Do you want to climb toward the light?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Good, Peter. It is time.”

* * * * *

The priest hustles into Peter’s apartment building, where he has visited before. He is cursing, his face red, as he strides into the lobby.

“I’m not afraid of you!” he growls. Other people in the lobby grow silent; he does not seem to know that they are there. He is tall, lean, bearded. He does not look kind.

“You think I’m not a man? You think because I have this collar that I’m not a man? You think because you want to get all kinky and weird that makes you more of a man? Well, I am a man, and we’re gonna talk, man to man!”

He pushes the button, remembering that Peter lives on the top floor.

“Eight-twelve,” he says. “We’re going to have a little man-to-man in eight-twelve.”

He pounds the button over and over, over and over. By the time the elevator door opens for him, he is alone in the lobby.

“It’s time to whip your pervert ass into shape, little man Peter.”

continued...

thudstacker
11-06-2011, 03:50 PM
Diana is straddling the arm of the chair, grinding her crotch against it. Her panties are wet, her chest and back shining with sweat.

Peter lies on the bed near the chair. His underwear is down around his thighs; she pulls it completely off.

“Peter,” she whispers between light gasps. “When you feel me pinch you…the limb that I pinch will grow stiff…like your cock. It will do this in just a few seconds…and will remain stiff until…I command you to relax. Your entire body will be my…play cock, my dildo. You will be completely rigid, like steel. Your rigidity reflects your devotion to me…your submission to me.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

She pinches his left arm. In a moment, it is hard, the fingers splayed out wide, rising from the bed at a small angle. She pinches his right arm, left thigh, right thigh, and neck, with identical results. He has become as stiff as a wooden plank.

“Open your mouth, Peter. Mouth open, eyes shut tight.”

He does so, gargling two unintelligible words.

She grabs his heels and lifts his straight body a few inches as if he were a two-by-four. She drags him halfway off the bed and then puts his heels on the chair. She stands on his unsupported stomach; his rigid body does not bend. She steps down and swings his head to the floor, his feet still on the chair.

His mouth is open, his eyes shut tight. His cock is so hard that it extends parallel to his stomach, not touching at any point. It is quivering, his passion struggling to burst out through his skin.

[Change command to more obscure “taste the light of heaven, as you have always wanted to do”? If he wanted pain in email, he must have wanted this, too…]

“When I tell you to come, Peter,” she says, “you will ejaculate every drop of semen in your body. It is the light, Peter, the light of heaven, but only if you taste the light of heaven, as you have always wanted to do. Your mouth open, your eyes closed, taste the light of heaven. You are at the gates of heaven. This is not a sin, Peter; it is your deepest desire, and the path to heaven. You can only see it with your eyes closed and mouth open. Do you understand, Peter?”

Again, his open mouth can only form gargled versions of his words:

“Yes, Goddess.”

* * * * *

The priest is in the slow-rising elevator. He is yelling, pounding his fist against his palm.

“There’s too much goddamn sin in this world, and I’m gonna stop it, right here, right now! No kinky, cocky little man is going to sin right under my goddamn nose! Not on my watch!”

The elevator is just now passing the sixth floor.

* * * * *

Diana slips one leg over Peter’s stiff thighs. Her right hand caresses the silky slip on the chair, while her left rubs her breasts in slow circles. She sits down on his legs, grinding into him. Her eyelids flicker. Her head sways slightly, side to side, no more than an inch, side to side, way back, slowly forward, side to side.

Her gloved fingers are clenching, spasming, as she nears orgasm. The slip slides out of her fingers, off the purse, onto the floor. She grabs for the purse that was beneath it, her eyes closed, her head swinging wider and wider with each breath. She is shining in the candlelight.

She begins to climax, bearing down savagely on his rock-hard legs. She is moaning loudly. “We’re so close, Peter,” she says, her hair flying as her head rocks wildly. “So close.”

She does not see his eyes open wide.

She puts the purse to her chest and buries her tits beneath it, her gloves sliding madly over its leathery surface as she begins to come. Her moan becomes a yell.

“Come now, Peter!” she cries. “Come for your Goddess!”

Peter’s shaking cock explodes. He sees it firing hot white liquid all over his face and chest. He yells, screams, his mouth gaping wider and wider, collecting random splashes of his semen. He looks at her.

“Yes, Peter, that’s so good!” she wails, her eyes still squeezed shut. “Do you see the light?”

Gobs of semen cover Peter’s stinging eyes. Everything he sees is white. His body is totally rigid, but his eyes bore into her.

He sees her grinding her pussy against his tense body.

He sees her thrashing, shining form, glowing intensely in the grip of orgasm.

His mouth closes, tasting semen. He feels his cock relaxing.

He sees her look down at him, her ecstasy fading away.

He sees her bring the stiletto out of her purse.

He feels the sharp blade cut a deep gash in his throat, the warm blood spurting out.

He sees her bend over, the joy returning to her face.

His cock stiffens one last time as he hears her whisper, “you were never worthy of me, Freddie.”

He sees her throw on a white overcoat, drop a note on the chair, and quickly collect her slip and purse and sandals.

He hears her close his front door on her way out.

* * * * *

The elevator stops on the eighth floor. The priest rushes out, nearly colliding with a woman who rushes in just before the doors close.

“It’s time to figure out what’s going on around here,” he barks. He storms down the hall to Peter’s door. He pounds on it and rings the doorbell.

A minute later, the priest enters and finds Peter gasping and pale on the blood-soaked carpet. A look of terror haunts the young man’s face.

The note says, “Dear Freddie: Gotcha.” It makes no sense.

Holding Peter in his hands, the priest blesses the errant man and prays for God to take his soul to heaven. He prays for forgiveness that he himself took so long to act, that he let Peter stray for so long on such a vile pathway.

Peter finally dies in the weeping father’s bloody hands, his face and chest covered in semen.

His eyes are wide open.

* * * * *

Some days later, the moon is full. The police get many more calls than usual this night, as always. People call about their growing fur and frightening incisors. Many people do strange things on such nights. The police patiently take the calls.

The police also receive calls this night from many would-be serial killers. Their voices are creepy. They confess their crimes proudly, and relate the details of the three murders fairly well. Some callers even extrapolate a bit beyond what is in the papers.

But they do not convince the police that they are for real; not one relates the magic fact that the semen always belongs to the victim.

The detective scratches his head and has another cup of coffee.

* * * * *

Diana stands in a large, barren room wearing bright white panties and a bright white bra. Moonlight floods the large bay windows before her. She runs a finger over a silky, shimmering bra strap, down over the smooth, thin fabric of the unpadded cup, over her stiffening nipple beneath. She is glowing in the moonlight.

She is free of Mars, free of those who know her well, free to expand her mission. She believes he makes a likely suspect, for a time. Enough time, at least, to be a distraction.

She looks at the floor. It is a parquet hardwood floor. Circular water stains interrupt the pattern in many places, forming a random collection of foot-wide spots near the windows where she stands.

She looks at the moon. In it, she sees the face of the priest who almost knocked her down in the hallway some days ago, outside the elevator in Freddie’s apartment. The old priest with the beard. That bastard.

A cloud passes the moon. It transforms the face of the priest into one from long ago, the face of Father Albright. Father Albright, who also had a beard. Father Albright was such a bastard. He had made her recite verses in the classroom after school when the other kids were playing in the creek.

She recalls hating Father Albright with a passion, perhaps more than she hated the rest.

She hears a familiar voice. “Get him,” says the moon. “Get that bastard.”

“Yes, Goddess,” Diana murmurs.

She falls to her knees. Urine soaks her panties. It streams down her legs, pooling on the floor around her knees. Her eyes flutter and close tightly. Her head falls to her chest. Her arms hang heavily at her side.

“Yes, Goddess.”

-The End-

Author comment: Any feedback on the BDSM 'scene' and its lingo and ways that I'm likely not getting right, in particular, would be appreciated, as well as other aspects (police procedural, writing in general, etc.). Thanks a bunch.

Go4it
11-07-2011, 12:22 AM
Thanks for the addition. To be honest, I didn't read it for 2 reasons --- 1. I'm not into that and 2. I like my stories a little shorter. But that said, I still appreciate your providing some stories.