Read A Bestiary of Unnatural Women Online
Authors: Ashley Zacharias
Tags: #erotica, #bdsm, #bondage, #masochism
When Rob and I had discussed the likelihood
that she would be back, Rob, normally an optimist, was pessimistic.
He did not see why she would volunteer for another painful and
humiliating punishment session. He reasoned that she had probably
lost the weight or, even if she had gained weight, would simply
stay away. There was no reason for her to come today. I, on the
other hand, normally a pessimist, was optimistic about this one.
Few women, maybe less than ten percent, were bent the way that
Suzie was bent. But she had proven that she was bent more than a
little bit. She was one of the rare few who was so twisted that her
needs had driven her to seek out a stranger who would dominate and
humiliate her. Her need would not go away in a week. I was sure
that she would show up.
Suzie arrived at exactly four o’clock. Her
masochism included a compulsive streak. I could see that she was
carrying a canvas bag when she stepped into Rob’s office and closed
the door behind her. She stood in the middle of his office, waiting
for him to speak first.
Rob knew she had arrived but did not look at
her. He typed, “She’s here.”
“I see her. Keep working for a few minutes.
Make her wait on your convenience,” I typed back.
“I’ll be with you as soon as I finish this,”
he told her.
She said nothing, just stood impassively.
He typed for a few minutes longer before
pushing himself back from his keyboard. “I’ve almost finished
writing my thesis proposal. I’m proposing to design a virus-proof
computer. I don’t know why the computer companies haven’t done it
already. It’s not rocket science. You just build a computer so that
won’t execute any code without your knowledge and permission. My
design will be based on three principles. First, the operating
system will be installed on read-only media. I’m proposing to put
the operating system on a separate hard drive with the write signal
routed through a locked switch. To update the operating system, the
user has to use a key to physically unlock the drive. That way,
malware can’t install a root kit surreptitiously. The second
principle is that applications software is monitored by the secure
operating system and, if it is ever modified, is reinstalled
automatically from a write-protected source. I’m proposing a second
write-locked drive for the applications sources to ensure their
integrity. That way, malware can’t hide in an application program
for more than a brief time. The third principle is that data is
never executable. It’s execrable that anyone ever created a way for
code to be executed from data. I mean, who really uses macros in
documents, anyway? If something needs to be executed, it should be
an explicit and anticipated function of a known application.”
Suzie listened patiently to Rob’s nerdish
rambling. I don’t know if she understood a single word that he was
saying but, if she accepted that she deserved to suffer the pain of
the punishment bra, then she could chalk up Rob’s lecture as part
of her punishment.
Rob, on the other hand, appeared oblivious to
her distress. He was delighted to have a woman standing and
pretending to listen while he rambled on about the details of his
design proposal. For another quarter hour, he talked at her,
telling her about checksums for executable files, public key
encryption of data, and secure socket layers for software
registration servers. By the time he was finished, Suzie was
whimpering softly and her eyes were dripping tears. I did not know
if it was the punishment bra or the constant stream of tedious
words that hurt her the most.
Finally, he said, “How much do you weight
today?”
“One thirty one. I lost only one pound, not
the two that you wanted.”
“You’re wearing your bra, then?”
“Yes, sir,” she whimpered.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes, sir. It hurts like hell.”
“Good.” He continued to follow the script
that I had designed for him. “You deserve to be punished for
failing to lose two pounds as I instructed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What have you brought for me to use?”
She drew a leather paddle from the canvas bag
that she was holding. “I don’t deserve the mercy of a hand
spanking. I will submit to a paddle if you wish to use it.”
“I do,” he replied.
I typed, “Don’t get carried away. Start light
and work up slowly to a moderate strength. She thinks that she
wants more pain than she really does. It should sting enough for
her to know that she’s being punished, but not so much that she
will be afraid to come back next week.”
The camera was good enough that I could see
him glance at the screen, then nod slightly.
Suzie thought that the nod was directed at
her and held the paddle out to him.
“Take off your clothing.”
She began unbuttoning her sweater. This time
she was wearing angora and a pleated skirt. She looked much sexier
than last time. In a minute, she had stripped completely but for
the black leather bra. She could not remove that item.
“Bend over the desk.”
As the previous week, she bent over the desk,
resting her head on her arms. Rob noticed that her leather-clad
breasts were hanging clear of the surface. “All the way over. Press
your chest against the desktop.”
She whimpered piteously as she bent further,
pushing the tack-lined cups hard against her tender nipples. Rob
began striking her ass with the paddle. I was surprised to see that
he had a natural talent for spanking. He warmed her up with a few
light strokes then began hitting her with solid thwacks that
reddened her cheeks but were not so hard that they lost their
erotic character. He struck her with slow, measured strokes so that
she reflexively bounced off the desktop and then had to press her
tits back against the hard surface. I suspected that her tits were
hurting more than her ass by the time he finished. That was good.
She clearly liked having her tits tortured. I was not surprised.
She had large, uncommonly well-formed breasts and men had been
paying more attention to her chest than to her face or any other
part of her anatomy since puberty. Some women invest a surprising
amount of their identity in their breasts, developing a fetish for
them.
When he was finished the spanking, he said,
“Would you prefer to receive my cock in your mouth or cunt?”
She looked back at him over her shoulder and
said, “Please use my cunt, sir.”
“As you wish.” He kept her bent over his desk
while he entered her doggie style.
To my surprise, she came in that position.
I’ve never been able to come without direct clitoral stimulation,
but I suspect that the agonizing pain in her breasts caused by him
pressing on her back with his hands as he drove into her was what
really brought her to a climax. She was definitely a rare breed of
woman.
When he finally let her stand up and unlocked
her bra, there were a couple of drops of blood on her breasts; two
or three thumbtacks had been pressed so hard that they had
penetrated her skin. She looked down and flinched when she saw the
blood. I typed a warning to him to be more careful next time. She
wasn’t the kind of woman who would want to accumulate scars on her
tits.
Rob glanced at the screen and saw my warning.
“In the future, I expect you to tell me if you feel damage to your
breasts. We have to take care of those lovely things.”
“Yes, sir,” she sighed.
He pulled a new digital bathroom scale from a
shopping bag beside his file cabinet. “We need to keep an official
record of your weight. Step on this.”
The scale registered one twenty nine. He
said, “You should like this scale. It weighs a little lighter than
yours.” He marked a dot on a piece of graph paper that was already
pinned to his bulletin board. “You have to lose nine pounds. Come
back here next week at nine in the morning for your next official
weekly weighing. If you weigh more than one twenty seven, you’ll
spend eight hours in your punishment bra and receive another
paddling. But if you meet your goal, then you’ll have a comfortable
day and I’ll treat you to a nice dinner. I advise you to eat
sparingly during the week. You can get dressed now.”
The soft angora sweater looked delightful
when she pulled it tight across her large naked breasts but, as per
my advice, Rob didn’t linger to enjoy the view; he returned to his
keyboard and began typing again, not even answering when she said,
“Goodbye, sir,” as she left the office.
During the next few weeks, Suzie occasionally
met her goals, but failed more than twice as often as she
succeeded. Her weight dropped a little but tended to bounce up and
down around one twenty five, which was actually fairly light for
her height. Even though she continued to insist that she was fat,
she really didn’t need to lose another ounce. I couldn’t tell if
she was really suffering from body image dysmorphia or if she
merely needed an excuse to be punished. I suspected the latter.
Women who were truly dysmorphic suffered from far more severe
problems than Suzie. I could see no sign of anorexia or
bulimia.
Rob became more imaginative in his
punishments and that helped hold Suzie’s attention. I gave him my
best advice, but he often exceeded my expectations in both
ingenuity and execution. Though somewhat compulsive, Suzie did not
exhibit full-blown OCD; she preferred surprises rather than slavish
adherence to routine. Rob’s variations began with tack-lined
leather hot pants and assorted butt plugs but soon graduated to
other things. Who would have guessed that steel wool could be used
so effectively? Suzie also made occasional suggestions. Personally,
I thought that lining her punishment bra with thistles was over the
top and Rob agreed. It was her idea and she suffered it for a full
hour but she couldn’t leave Rob’s office because she was crying
constantly. She spent the last half hour begging for release. I
noticed that she never offered to do that again and he knew better
than to ask.
Rob continued to force her to endure
conversations with him while bound in various ways but he soon lost
interest in talking about computers. At my suggestion, he began
making her talk about herself. When that topic was exhausted, I
turned him towards current events. He soon developed strong
opinions about politics, economics, and even current literature,
partly shaped by Suzie’s more mature experience and knowledge.
Their relationship lasted for almost four
months. Suzie might have kept coming back forever but Rob began
dating a girl his own age and dumped Suzie.
In a stroke of pure justice, he dumped her
just as cruelly and abruptly as she had dumped her own husband,
Paul, and lover, Andy. One Saturday, he weighed her in the morning,
put her in her punishment bra, and, when she came back eight hours
later, told her that he was tired of her and their relationship was
over. He ordered her to leave his office and never come back. She
couldn’t believe what he was saying and he had to insist that he
was bored with her and never wanted to see her again. She began
crying harder than she ever had, even during his most cruel
punishments. He was unmoved. When she asked him through her tears
to unlock her bra before she left, he told her to go find someone
else to remove it. He was done with her. She hung around outside
his office door for a few minutes, pleading for mercy, but he did
not respond. It did not take long for her to realize that, the
longer she hung around in the hallway, the longer she would have to
suffer in the bra, so she soon left and never returned. Once her
trust in Rob was broken, it would never be mended again.
And that girl that Rob began dating? Suzie
showed me that Rob was no ordinary lump of rock; he was a diamond
in the rough that merely needed a little polishing. I haven’t moved
in with him yet but we spend every evening together. It’s our
Saturdays that are really special, though. I look forward to having
nicely warmed buns and well-pricked tits once a week. Suzie isn’t
the only bent woman in this world.
Riding the Devil's Horse
Cindy’s eyes narrowed when she saw Trevor
looking at the sign over the dark doorway. “You don’t want to go in
there,” she said flatly.
“It might be interesting, don’t you think?”
He sounded hopeful.
“I think it might be disgusting. That’s what
I think,” she replied.
“Oh, come on. How often do we come to
Amsterdam, anyway? I bet you’re curious. You’re curious about
everything. You don’t want to miss this opportunity.” He grinned at
her. “Come on, be a sport,” he said, took her and tugged her toward
the doorway. “It only costs five euros.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward. “It costs a
whole five euros? Apiece?” Then she relented with ill grace. “If
it’ll make you happy, okay. But you owe me for going along with
this.”
“Yes, dear,” he replied, already distracted
by the possibilities that lay within.
“You owe me big time!”
“Yes, dear.”
So she followed her boyfriend into the
torture museum and dutifully began studying the crudely-constructed
medieval devices on display, one after another; taking time to read
the English text on the yellowing didactic plates and examining the
pictures that illustrated their use. She studied the information so
thoroughly that one would have thought that she was preparing for
an examination. Trevor was not surprised. She studied any new
subject with equal attention to detail. That was what made her such
a successful graduate student in the Sociology Department at the
University of Chicago.
After an hour, he was bored stiff, tired of
looking at device after device that was designed to rend, pierce,
burn, crush, and break parts of the human body in the most cruel
ways that evil, brutal men had been able to devise. He had begun
hinting that he was ready to leave after the first half hour but
she had ignored him. Now, after a full hour had passed, he was
bluntly nagging at her to hurry up. He was hungry and his feet were
tired.