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Part Five
The Mirror
He began "Well my little Oriental crossbred bitch, you are becoming an actual pain slut. That was quite a little trip you took back there. Did you shoot the moon or travel to the stars. You certainly left this world without a doubt. Well it is time to vary the games we play." With that he went over to steel cabinet and pulled out a mirror, just a plain wooden framed mirror about one foot by a foot and a half. He took out of the bottom of the closet a three foot step ladder, went over behind me and climbed the little ladder. Then by craning my head around as hard as I could I saw what he was doing. He was hanging the mirror from one of the numerous pipes that criss-crossed the ceiling of the storage room. As he adjusted, it I could see my backside. I was simultaneously impressed and appalled. I expected that skin of my thighs and buttocks would be cut into ribbons by the two dozen or so strokes that had hit them. But that was not so. What I saw was the work of a master and I was horrified by it. From my waist to the top of my stockings and from one side of my hips to the other side was basically one gigantic, continuous bruise. At the very edges and down my crack it was red. Bright crimson red. But overlying this red were giant swollen purple wheals. The whole thing more or less had the appearance of raw hamburger. Here and there little strips of the outer surface of the skin were detaching but there was not any actual bleeding. At most there was the seeping of a little clear fluid from the blistered surface. This is what my rational mind saw and it was appalled at the hyper rational precision with which the flogging had been administered. Hard to believe. But my reptilian brain knew better. I had been beaten beyond the imagining of my rational mind. I had been beaten back into savagery. I was no longer Homo sapiens . I was something back in the cave. Irrational, animal.
Then he untied my ankles and I kicked my legs in the air to drive out the cramps that had accumulated while I struggled. I gazed at my ankles in amazement. Despite my struggles against my bonds I had not torn my stockings. Tough hose, a tribute to modern polymer chemistry. Then he spread my knees and stood in back of me. To my horror he then undid his belt and dropped his pants. He was going to take me sexually. I wasn't sure whether he was going to simply rape me or rape and sodomize me. It was so weird, I had detached myself and my mind was up there near the ceiling dispassionately looking down at the body with the blistered behind splayed across the table below. Hey, what's going on here. Going to be a wild fucking movie. I was floating up there on a cloud of pain. Well my pussy was certainly wet enough from my evening-long arousal so that at least it wasn't going to be a dry fuck. Oh shit. He was fingering my asshole, looks like an ass fucking for me tonight.
It was amazing. I had only had penetrative sexual intercourse three times in my life. Ordinarily if some guy tried to sodomize me I would have fought him to the death. But right now I was mentally too fucked up to care. Truly mind fucked. It was only when he was about half way through that I realized that his banging into my backside was hurting my beaten-to-shit rear end. My response to this was to moan a bit but I didn't even care enough to buck. Eventually he ejaculated, I could have cared less. I could now see that he had too purposes in mind when insisting on my bowel preparation. He didn't want me losing control and defecating on the floor while being beaten. But neither did he want a shitty stick. Finally he untied my wrists and I curled up on the desk in a fetal position and softly sobbed. I don't really remember what happened the rest of the night. Except, I do dimly remember the searing pain of the branding iron, burning the upside-down triangle into the flesh of my naked pubes.
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