These are the tags I have for these two chapters on my blog (http://dangerous-duality.net/dark/):
"Josephine's Addiction, femdom, torture, snuff, horror, erotic"
Gets down with the strangeness starting at chapter 2.
Volatile contents within. :)
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Josephine has an addiction, and unfortunately, its not to chocolate.
Chapter 1
$600.
In her trembling hands, she held an entire week of her life: crisp $50 bills that represented a painstaking week of overtime. $600 dollars could buy her a lot of things. Three hundred cheeseburgers, two hundred milkshakes to go with them, and a wheel-barrel full of apple pies for desert. A Playstation3 game console and — maybe — a game to go with it. With $600, she could feed a starving African village for almost a month.
So why was she going to spend it in a place like this?
The sun was setting on a newly developed suburb just outside of Las Vegas, where Josephine stood at the door-step of a stylish two story art deco house fingering her money. The cold winter wind bit at her exposed hands, turning them a pale shade of white. She was too preoccupied to notice them becoming purple at the edges. This was her third visit to 489 Westwood Lane, but she was so nervous it could have been her first all over again. The door swung open just as she reached out to ring the doorbell again.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting. I was… in the shower when you drove up.”
The brunette who answered the door was dressed in comfortable plaid pajamas, two sizes two small: they clung to every inch of her voluptuous body and accentuated curves that Josephine had a hard time looking away from. When the wind blew again, Josephine could smell the intoxicating white wine on the brunette’s breath.
All that mattered to Josephine was that she is his sister.
“That’s… OK. Am I early?” she asked tentatively, thrusting a handful of bills at the brunette — Adrianna, she remembered.
“Paying in advance…?”
“N-no. This is all for tonight. Is that OK?”
Adrianna seemed to sober up immediately; she straightened her back, and her curvaceous breasts were suddenly thrust in Josephine’s face. They were perfectly rounded; much more perky than her own. Thankfully, the bitter wind had already turned Josephine’s cheeks rosy red.
“Four hours…?” asked Adrianna with mild confusion, until her smoldering brown eyes lit up with realization, a fire in her body stocked with anticipation. She drank up the wicked smile that was playing on the corner of her lips and hastily added, “I’m sure we can accommodate you. I’ll make sure everything lasts that long. Do you think you’ll need any… help? Four hours is a long time.”
Josephine shivered as the wind blew again. Adrianna, more attentive to her customer’s needs now that money had changed hands, immediately invited her in out of the cold. The door locked behind them with a definitive klak of a dead-bolt sliding into place.
***
The basement of 489 Westwood Lane was a yawning monster of recently laid brick and mortar. The renovations were less than a year old, but the brick was painted to give the whole basement a rustic, 1800s feel. Every time she came down here, Josephine was taken back by just how big it was, when she compared it to the rest of the house. She could tell at a glance that extensive work had gone into refitting the basement into a dungeon.
It wasn’t like the rented-out apartments or half-filled warehouses she saw in the pornographic videos she bought online (when she finally worked up the courage to watch them).
This was a real dungeon, the kind she read about in history books, and just being in it gave her shivers. An iron maiden — a metal coffin bristling with long gleaming needles — was in the corner. Chains were bolted to the walls every few feet: the collars and manacles attached to them had tiny, painful needles lining the cool steel rings. A scalpels and an assortment of other sinister, sharp ‘toys’ hung from a wall-mounted rack. She knew from experience that none of them were dull: they were all honed to draw blood even with the slightest of pressure.
A thick leather bull-whip hanging from the far wall caught her eye; all at once, her stomach twisted itself into knots, her breathing became heavy, and her mind lightheaded. For a moment, nothing seemed real, and her heart fluttered, both terrified and excited at the same time.
“I’ve done this before,” she whispered, willing herself look away, her cold blue eyes gazing into one of the many mirrors that were affixed to the dungeon’s walls and ceilings. She was gorgeous: silky blond hair tied into an oriental bun; long, luxurious legs wrapped in tight black knee-high boots; supple, milky-white breasts ensconced in well-oiled leather, strict corset that was laced from her exposed abdomen all the way to her neck. Seeing herself invoked another light-headed rush; one she couldn’t come down from before he entered the room.
Soft brown hair (she fondly recalled), soft gray eyes (she loved looking into them), soft, tanned, toned flesh (she relished touching it). He came through the pad-locked, sound-proofed door that was the only entrance to the dungeon, wearing a smile and a light blue kimono decorated with swans. Everything about him was magnetic. As he descended the stairs, all she could do was watch. He spoke first, barely breaking the euphoric daze she was in.
“Hi, Josephine. You’re back again…? Adrianna told me that you paid an entire evening this time.” His voice was heavenly to her ears; just hearing it made her heart flutter. The way he sounded was as light and airy as she felt just by being around him.
“Y-yes. Let’s start now, please.”
Chapter 2
Forty-five minutes later, he was screaming for help.
Nobody could hear him.
Warm and wet with arousal, she meticulously cleaned the sweat from her body and the hot moisture from her crotch with a pair of red, satin panties. When the fabric had finally turned dark red from moisture, she shoved the dirty panties into his mouth; the sticky satin fabric folded around his tongue, so he could share the sweaty pleasure she had for him. She sealed his lips together with duck-tape. Now all he could do was scrunch his face and make cute little noises for her.
He was bent over backwards on a flat wooden table, his tanned, naked flesh stretched until his arms and legs were a beautiful rosy red at the joints. The coarse rope she used to tie him to the table was cruelly knotted; the price for his pained writhing were dark red abrasions over his wrists and ankles. Josephine had slid a thick section of wood, triangular, underneath his backside, arching his toned body into the air for her delight. His body glistened with sweat, and shone with thick purple bruises where she beat him last.
“Is that long enough of a break, darling?” she whispered darkly into his ear. The sickening adrenaline rush was over; now all she felt was the sadistic desires welling in her. The feeling of power, control; all her darkest emotions came out as she towered over him. In the dreamy has, sometimes she wondered if she controlled them, or if they controlled her. Did it even matter?
She pressed her fingers into his purpled bruises, admiring the work of her bull whip — she was getting much better with it. One of the bruises cracked open, weeping beautiful red rivers down his chest. In response, his body arched, his broken flesh straining, uselessly, against his bonds. He cried into his gag and suffered; she drew her fingers across her wet slit and sighed with pleasure. Mercy. That’s what his eyes begged of her, pleading for freedom.
“What…? Harder…? Of course, my love,” she crooned into his ear, motherly drinking up the blood from his broken flesh, nursing his painful welts and broken flesh until they had no more of his red wine to give.
When her eyes caught his again, he frantically shook his head.
She ignored him.
Gently kissing him on the cheek, she turned his back to him. She only had three hours left with him; precious time she refused to waste on his pathetic mewling.
Garden snips.
The dungeon was well-stocked with a plethora of things that fascinated her. The garden snips were small, too small to use on the rest of his body, but for his fingers, they were just the right size. She slid the stainless steel blades over his cheeks to warm them as the first trickle of fresh tears started.
“Aww, does he know?” she thought to herself. She wanted to surprise him, but maybe he would enjoy it more this way. She saw the anticipation in his eyes; she was sure he wanted her to take her time with him.
She started with the tips of his fingers: pulling off the nail, then cleanly cutting through the very end of his flesh with smooth, circular snips. She pruned him like a tree, carefully, avoiding the bones and saving the burning nerve endings for the very last. Every few bloody fingers she stopped, and offered to set him free if he would just ask her. But all she heard were his muffled cries; ‘don’t stop‘ and ‘harder,’ they said to her. Filthy. Erotic. She absolutely adored the way he talked dirty to her.
She wasn’t satisfied until she scoured every scrap of flesh from his finger bones. The remnants of his fingers were a bloody pool between her thighs. His finger bones were dirty white and gleaming with blood. Crooning softly, she wrapped her tongue around the bony remains of each finger and licked it clean. Slowly. Lovingly.
Suddenly, it was all too much for her. She stopped, wiping the strands of spittle from her mouth. Her body throbbed, ached for attention. Scooping up the broken, bloody strands of finger flesh, she rolled them over her thigh, ground them into her pert nipples until her tiny red lips parted with soft moans. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror; her heaving breasts covered in bloody streaks, the patterns exotic, tribal.
It felt like he was trying to please her with his fingers. He massaged her until she orgasmed, and in her euphoria began to shove the pieces of him inside of her, needing to feel him there; her slit, her mouth, anywhere she could reach, anywhere she could feel him. The taste his bittersweet misery and coppery blood caused another orgasm to rack her body.
“You’re wonderful,” she gasped, lying in a pool of filth they made together. She gently stroked his simpering body, feeling his strained, cracked lips through the matte-gray duck tape. “There there, sweetie,” she purred, “… give me a few minutes and I’ll be good to go again.”
God, she loved him.
***
Upstairs.
Two and a half hours later.
Adrianna kept the lights off. She wanted no distractions tonight, her attention glued on the flickering images of the computer monitor. Josephine had no idea she was being watched.
‘Or maybe,’ Adrianna liked to think, ‘she does, and she’s putting on a show just for me.‘
Josephine was in rare form tonight; she was more brutal than anyone Adrianna had done business with yet. Josephine’s cruelty spent shivers up her spine, and her fingers down the elastic waistband of her pajamas.
The computer’s hard-drive clicked and chugged, feverishly collecting the images and archiving them somewhere in its bowels. Adrianna didn’t record the sessions for blackmail — coming here was enough to blackmail anyone. She kept them for exclusive viewing only. The creative genius of a depraved mind was better than anything she could have bought off the shelf.
A few minutes ago, Josephine had savagely beaten Adrianna’s little brother with a thick steel pole, cracking his knees and splintering the bones of his elbows with a few well placed shots. Then, she dragged him over to the rack, fitting his body with the needle-laden cuffs. She spun the rack’s wheel, tightening the chains until his body seemed to rise from the rough wooden surface.
Pausing, Josephine tore the make-shift gag from his mouth, and spun the wheel a few notches more, until the flesh around his shattered joints tore and blood started to pool on the rack. The sickening crack of bone caused Adrianna’s thighs to clench together. Close, but with a few deep breathes she eased herself away from the brink of another orgasm.
The computer speakers crackled to life with her brother’s screaming. She put away her glass of wine and turned the volume up to hear better. His tortured cries peaked before he had the energy to form semi-coherent sentences. He was calling to his big sister for help, while pleading with Josephine to stop.
‘Why should she? The customer is always right.‘
The customer was also patient. Until now, Josephine had deliberately ignored his cock. The medication Adrianna kept her dearest brother on was designed to keep him hard and viscerally aware of everything for most of his sessions. How did Josephine resist fucking him for so long? She had been so cruel to him: carving expletives into his chest, peeling the skin from his toes one-by-one, blow-torching his palms until they were black and lifeless. Yet, she avoided his sensitive shaft, showing more self-restraint than Adrianna could ever dream of having. But finally, to her delight, her Josephine was finally interested in his cock.
Adrianna clicked on her vibrator, running it over her swollen slit as Josephine mounted his face, drowning his screams in a mound of wet flesh. Adrianna quickly changed cameras; toggling the zoom until she had the perfect shot of Josephine’s gorgeous, glistening body bending over him and taking his shaft in her mouth.
She admirably swallowed every inch, until her lips were nestled against the base of his cock. Her cheeks tightened around the fleshy outline of his shaft; her quivering thighs, straining against the leather of her thigh-thigh boots, bared down on him. He came; Adrianna could see the milky white semen dribbling between Josephine’s lips.
She was savoring the taste; smearing the greasy white fluid over her lips, then lapping it away like a kitten. She twisted upright, letting the weight of her full body rest on his face. Back arched, she cupped her chest, massaging every inch of her nubile flesh. He began to suffocate.
He struggled.
Her thighs clenched.
She came; he drowned in her sticky orgasm, his spasming death-throes enough to send Adrianna over the edge.
For the both of them, it was the best orgasm they had all month.
