Animus

Animus
Chapter One

Khaley threw her head back while she danced alone amid the throng of sweating,
writhing club-goers. She loved the way her body felt when she danced. She swung
her hips and moved her arms in rhythm, eyes closed, luxuriating in the way her
limbs seemed to flow effortlessly in time with the loud music. Her body slick
with sweat, her tight black leather pants slid against her skin as she moved.
Her hair was damp, and a bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face.

It had become her weekly ritual to dress up and come here, to Pandora, the local
fetish club, and dance until she was exhausted. She'd only lived in this city
for a couple of months, since she'd gotten fed up with her family and moved
without a word, leaving her old life behind. Now, Khaley lived her life
privately, deliberately staying on the outskirts of any social life or intimacy.
She'd had enough of that. Now, she flowed through her days uninterrupted, and it
felt like a sort of dream. Khaley had saved up a large sum of money before
leaving home, the result of two years of full-time work, and living rent free in
her parent's house. So far she hadn't gotten a job here in this new city. And so
far, she didn't need to. So her days were spent browsing book stores, and
lounging in coffee shops. And her nights... her nights were spent exploring the
city, prowling around in clothing she never dreamed she'd wear, going into
establishments she never dreamed she'd have the courage or desire to enter. 

The song ended, and as the DJ called out to the crowd, Khaley made for the bar,
thirsty from all the dancing. She ordered a gin a tonic and leaned back against
the bar to cool down a bit and watch. The DJ was announcing a Dom and sub that
would soon start a scene onstage for all to watch. The crowd cheered loudly at
this, Master James and his veronica were a favorite couple of the regulars here.
Khaley was mildly disappointed, since it would now be awhile before she'd get to
dance again, but she enjoyed watching the scenes, so she settled on a barstool
and waited for the show.


____________________________
 
                                             
"So, what have you found out?"

Stephen Dale, the owner of The Pandora nightclub slid into his private booth
next to Brandon, who was busy watching the scene that was taking place in the
middle of the stage.

"Did you get all of the information we need?" Stephen asked. Brandon pulled his
attention away from the stage, and fixed his gaze on Stephen with a grin,
nodding his head.

"She's perfect, Sir," Brandon began, "Her family doesn't know where she is and
doesn't really care. She doesn't have a job, and as far as I can tell, she has
made no friends. There is no one to check up on her or notice that she is
missing."

Stephen nodded his head, his eyes wandering over the crowd and then settling
again on Brandon. He laughed a quiet laugh, excitement showing in his eyes.

"You've done well, Brandon. I'm very pleased." Stephen leaned over and stroked
Brandon's face with the back of his hand, and then planted a light kiss on his
lips. Brandon beamed with pleasure and closed his eyes.

"Tonight, then?" Brandon asked hesitantly.

"Yes, tonight," Stephen replied.

Stephen pulled a small packet from his pocket, holding it out to Brandon.
Brandon nodded, and as he slid from the booth, he took the packet and put it in
his pocket, heading for the bar.
____________________________


"Another Gin and Tonic please," Khaley ordered another drink absentmindedly, her
eyes glued to the woman on stage who was tied to a table and moaning while her
Master whipped her. The woman, Veronica, was gorgeous. Her blond hair was long
and flowing around her, sticking to her face while she lay there moaning. She
had on only a small latex thong and a pair of black boots, laced up to her
knees. It was obvious that she kept in great shape, her abdominal muscles
flexing as she strained against her bindings, her legs long and beautifully
sculpted. Khaley was mesmerized by this woman's grace. Even in her struggles, it
was plain that she was caught up in some slow dreamy form of ecstasy. Her eyes
were always on her Master, as though to lose sight of him would be to lose
herself. And James, her Master, spoke to her quietly while he put on the show,
attentive always to her body language, her facial expressions. Khaley felt she
could sense his love for Veronica all the way across the room, as she watched
the couple move through this intimate scene together as though no one else was
present. She felt a brief pang of jealousy over what these two so obviously
shared, but then the jealousy was replaced by mild embarrassment at the thought
of being in Veronica's place.

Khaley was pulled out of her thoughts by the bartender, who had set the drink
down on the bar, and was trying to ask her if she was running a tab. She turned
around, pulling money out of her pocket to pay for the drink, and realized this
bartender wasn't the usual one. This one looked incredibly young, almost too
young to even be in here. She thought he looked familiar, but shrugged it off
and handed him the cash.

"My name is Brandon," he told her as he took the money, and gave her a sweet
boyish grin, "I'm just giving the regular bartender a break, but if you need
anything in the next twenty minutes or so, just wave me down."

Khaley smiled and thank him. As he moved down the bar to take another order, she
lay down a large tip, thinking he sure was friendly, and then began to wander
through the crowd, drink in hand.

After another thirty minutes, the music was blaring again. Once the scene ended,
the couple from the stage retreated to a back room to recover, and as the DJ
started up the music, Khaley gulped down the last of her drink and headed back
out to the dance floor.

Her head was feeling a bit fuzzy, her body tingling all over. She wondered if
she'd had too much to drink, but continued to dance, enjoying the relaxing new
sensations. The colors and lights in the large room began to blur together. The
music, and the sounds of laughter and conversation around her became loud and
distorted, yet it seemed far away, as though it were all being piped to her
through a long funnel. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on her body, to
stay with her own rhythmic movement. Soon she felt as though she were falling
into a dream, all sound moving further and further away. She opened her eyes,
but everything was a blur, and darkness began to close in. Disorientation,
confusion. Khaley suddenly couldn't remember where she was, and her cheek was
pressed against the cold floor, her hand curled around a stale cigarette butt.
She stared at it in confusion. Feet appeared in front of her eyes, but she
couldn't look up to see who the feet belonged to. Her eyes were so heavy, she
wanted to close them, just for a moment.... And then she was enveloped in the
darkness of deep dreamless sleep.


____________________________


Stephen hummed along with the radio as he drove up the long driveway to his
house. He was in an exceptionally good mood. The club was becoming more and more
popular, making him a very rich man. He had this beautiful house set far enough
away from the city to give him the privacy he needed. He had beautiful, young,
pliant Brandon at his beck and call. And now, the first phase of his newest
venture was panning out flawlessly.

Nearing the four car garage, he punched a button on the car's control panel, and
the garage door began to quickly slide open. He pulled into the open space
nearest the house, and punching the button again, the door slid shut behind him.
He stepped out of the car and stood still for a moment, listening. Silence. Not
a sound coming from the large house. Nodding and grinning to himself, he quickly
walked through the door leading from the garage to the kitchen, and made his way
toward the living room.

The living room was huge. There were several large, plush leather couches with
throw pillows scattered randomly. The hardwood floor was covered in a thick
oriental rug. In the corner was a huge fireplace that Stephen adored more for
the mood it set than the warmth it provided. Against the far wall was a fully
stocked wet bar. It was to the bar that he made his way now. He filled a glass
with ice and poured himself a generous glass of bourbon, and then sat down on
the nearest couch, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, lost in thought.

Stephen was thinking about the secret rooms under the house, and what he knew
was going on down there right now. When he'd had this house built, he had
special rooms put in beneath the main house, accessible only through a hidden
panel in the back of Stephen's large walk-in closet. For the most part, the
rooms remained empty. But at times they came in quite handy.

Stephen's thoughts wandered then to memories of the last time he'd had use for
those rooms. The memories were sweet. His Brandon, so beautiful in his fear and
torment. Stephen had enjoyed Brandon's training in a way he never imagined he
could. Images of Brandon bound naked flashed through Stephen's mind, long red
marks covering his body, Brandon blindfolded, sobbing and struggling. The venom
in his voice as he screamed at Stephen that he was a monster had only stirred
pure arousal in Stephen, and excited him more at the prospect of the continued
training. Then he thought of Brandon's slow submission. His sweet quavering
voice, his body yielding slowly to Stephen's every whim.

He thought of his growing need to see Brandon's pain, and to see love in his
eyes while he endured that pain. Sweet Brandon. He had endured so much for his
Master. Stephen had begun to worry that he might inflict permanent damage one of 
these nights, though. More and more he was finding himself filled with such
mounting lust for the sight of Brandon's pain twisted face, he was taking things
to further and further extremes. Brandon begged for it, which threw him into a
fury of need, and often when it was over, Brandon required several days of
recovery before his body would cooperate with him again. 

Stephen realized he'd become incredibly aroused during his mental wanderings.
It's time to go downstairs, he decided, and see how things were coming along. He
got up, poured himself another drink, and made his way to the bedroom, where he
would open the hidden panel, and descend the stairs to his secret rooms.

____________________________



Khaley was dreaming of her childhood. Her father was yelling at her again.
Something about playing with the boys on the playground. He'd seen her, he said.
He knew she played with them. He sneered at her and said that he bets she lets
them play with her in all kinds of ways. Khaley didn't know what he meant. She
was scared. She didn't know what she'd done wrong, but she knew she didn't like
the way her father got when he was angry. She cowered on her bed, trying to pull
her pleated skirt down to cover as much of her legs as possible. Tried to hide
in the corner, praying he wouldn't touch her. But when father was mad, he always
touched her. In slow motion, Khaley watched as her father pushed her flat on her
back and hiked up her skirt. She struggled to keep from crying. He was telling
her she deserved what he did to her, that she asked for it. She hated the way
her stomach felt sick when this happened. She didn't understand why he did this,
but she supposed he was right, she probably deserved it.

Khaley jolted awake, breathing rapidly, still seeing images of her father's
sneering face. Thank god, she thought. It's just a dream.

But something wasn't right. Khaley struggled to open her eyes and throw off the
lingering fog of sleep. She tried to lower her arm to rub her face, but
couldn't. In a panic, Khaley realized she was blindfolded and couldn't move her
arms. I must still be dreaming, she thought. But as she slowly tested each arm,
pulling, and twisting, she knew she was awake, and that her wrists were bound
above her head with rope. She tried to move her legs and found that they too
were bound at the ankle. She struggled helplessly, panicking and groaning,
chaffing her wrists and ankles against the rope. But it was useless. She was
tied too tightly.

She had no idea where she was or how she'd gotten there. All she could remember
was being at the Pandora, dancing, and then... nothing. What had happened to
her?? Fear gripped her as she thought of all the stories of girls being drugged
at bars and raped or killed. She prayed that this was somehow something
different, but couldn't think of any other scenario that fit. She fought to hold
her panic at bay and think, what could she do? Should she scream?

Just then she jumped as she felt a hand touch her leg. She began to scream and
jerk uselessly at her bonds to escape the hand. But it continued to touch her.
It was touching her bare skin, Khaley thought, as it dawned on her that she was
naked in addition to being bound and gagged. Her screaming and panic increased
as she thrashed. The hand disappeared then, and after a few more moments of
futile struggle, Khaley quieted down and began listening for whoever owned that
hand that had touched her.

"It's useless to struggle, you know," I male voice spoke, soft and gentle, but
still menacing to Khaley's terrified mind. "Get used to the blindfold and ropes.
You're going to be living with them for a long time."

"Who are you," Khaley choked out, trying not let the panic show in her voice.
But the man didn't speak again. He was moving around the room. There were
footsteps a few feet away, and then rustling noises. "Please," Khaley sobbed,
"what's going on? Who are you?" And then she screamed, a shrill, hysterical
scream, as a stinging pain accompanied by a sharp cracking noise shot across her
ribcage.

"Oh, GOD," Khaley screamed, "Please don't hurt me, please, please, I'll do
anything, please." Crack! The pain again, across her upper thighs. Khaley's
pleas became incoherent as she struggled against her bonds, terrified of this
unknown pain and this unknown man. Then more pain, again across her ribs, and
then across her belly.

The jolts of pain became more rapid, searing across her body, seeming to cover
every inch from her ankles to her breasts. Her whole body was aflame, her wrists
and ankles raw from struggling against the course rope, her voice hoarse from
screaming, and yet the assault continued on. Khaley lost all sense of time, it
felt like this had gone on for hours. Her mind became foggy and her terror
subsided a bit. She was afraid for her life but too exhausted to struggle and
scream anymore, her entire existence was the pain she felt, and the cracking
sound that soon became an anchor that she held onto, just to keep track of
herself.

Then it stopped. At first, Khaley wasn't sure if it really had stopped, or if
she had just become so numb that she didn't feel it anymore. She couldn't think
straight. Her whole body was pulsing and burning.

Then she felt a hand on her arm, and a prick. And once again, she tumbled into
unconsciousness.

-End of Chapter One-

Animus
Chapter 2

Stephen sat alone on his large upper deck, smoking a cigarette and swirling his
forgotten drink absentmindedly in his hand. The ice cubes chinked against the
sides of the glass, lending a pleasing rhythmic background to Stephen's
thoughts. The girl was radiantly beautiful. The sight of her writhing sweating
body bound to that bed while Brandon whipped her kept replaying itself over and
over in his head.

He'd wanted to take her right then and there. He still wanted to. The knowledge
that she lay just below the house, bound, naked and completely helpless taunted
him, tickled at his desire. Not yet, though. He needed to do everything just
right.

He could hear footsteps approaching through the living room. Brandon was
finished downstairs and was coming to find Stephen, as Stephen had instructed.

"Everything is done, Sir, just like you asked." Brandon hesitated in the doorway
leading to the deck, and then began slowly walking toward Stephen, his eyes cast
downward in respect.

"Wait," Stephen commanded, "stand right there, I want to look at you for a
moment." Brandon was angelically beautiful. God, Stephen thought, I don't even
deserve this creature. He let his gaze lazily wander over Brandon's face, over
his soft blond hair, his large, round, light blue eyes with those lushly thick
eyelashes, and his soft, sensual, almost feminine lips. He wanted to bite at
those lips until Brandon cried out in pain. He wanted to make them bleed, and
then kiss away the blood. He felt his cock stiffening in his pants for what
seemed like the thousandth time tonight.

Then his gaze dropped down to take in his youthful body. He was thin, but not
skinny. His shoulders were just wide enough to give a hint of masculine strength
without being overpowering, his arms and legs were long and gracefully muscular.
Brandon had a way of carrying himself that shouted sensuality. He was masculine,
but in a sexually feminine sort of way. The combination roused Stephen's lust
like nothing else could.

"Come here," Stephen finally said, pointing to the floor directly in front of
him. Brandon quickly strode to the place he'd pointed, and knelt down in front
of him.

"Brandon, do you remember your first night here?" Stephen reached out a hand and
began stroking Brandon's hair.

"Of course I do, Sir. I was a homeless kid and you took me in... taught me what
I was - what I am.."

"Yes, that's right. But we both know it wasn't so benevolent as that sounds.
Tell me what it was that turned you around. I want to hear you tell me why you
look at me so lovingly now."

"Because I'm yours, Sir, I, uh, you taught me to love you. It-it's hard to put
words to it."

"You're doing well so far. Keep going. I want to hear how you see it."

"Okay, well," Brandon began again, taking a deep breath, his eyes glazing over a
bit as he thought back, remembering his first weeks here at Stephen's house.
"After a long time of torment, being blindfolded and not knowing what was going
on and being so afraid, I was just desperate for human contact, for anything.
And then you came and your face was so kind, and you kissed my welts, and when
you spoke, your voice was so soothing, I just couldn't help but feel like you
saved me from some kind of hell.

And I loved you almost instantly. All I wanted at that moment was to make you
love me, so you'd never go away."

"Ah, and do you still feel that now?" Stephen asked in a low quiet voice.
Leaning down and cupping Brandon's chin in his hand, he looked him in the eye.
With his other hand he reached down and took one of Brandon's nipples between
his thumb and forefinger and began to squeeze it, rolling it back and forth. A
small sigh escaped Brandon's lips as he gazed up at Stephen.

"Yes," he whispered in a breathy voice, "yes I still feel that way now. I'd do
anything for you."

"I know, Brandon," Stephen leaned forward more, and kissed Brandon deeply, his
tongue exploring the youth's warm inviting mouth.

"You've proven it tonight with this new one downstairs," he continued after
finally pulling away, "I'm very, very pleased with you, Brandon."

Brandon smiled a soft smile, feeling warm and giddy from Stephen's approval. He
adored Stephen. More than adored him. He belonged to Stephen completely. He had
every opportunity to leave if he so choose, but he could not even imagine it.
This - this life with this man - was everything to him.

"Thank you, Sir," he finally managed quietly with a warm smile.

Stephen stood then, gesturing for Brandon to do the same, and began walking back
inside the house.

"Let's go to the bedroom for the night, Brandon. I expect our little one
downstairs will sleep until the morning, yes?"

"Yes, I expect so," Brandon answered, following on Stephen's heel as they made
their way through the house and toward the bedroom. 


Brandon was afraid. But his fear excited him almost as much as the pain.

He struggled now to keep his legs from giving out as they quivered beneath him.
His hands were bound tightly behind his head with leather straps, and he knelt
on the floor now, under Stephen's wild gaze. The last hour had been a complete
daze to him. His back and torso were aching. Most likely turning a deep shade of
purple by now, he thought. His legs trembled with the effort of kneeling without
sitting back on his feet. This was how Stephen wanted him, and he believed he
could endure anything to see Stephen pleased. He'd been whipped, then beaten,
then whipped again.

Once, in the middle of it all, Stephen's desire had overcome him. He'd thrown
down the whip and entered Brandon in one swift movement, shoving him forward so
that his face was grinding against the rug. He soon regained his composure
though. With a renewed enthusiasm he fetched his piercing set and went to work
forcing thick needles through Brandon's nipples. When he was finished with that,
he made a tidy row of six needles pierced through the skin on the underside of
Brandon's cock.

That had hurt the most. Brandon screamed and wept, but he loved it. He loved the
euphoric feeling that came with the endorphin rush. He loved the crazed sense of
helplessness that he felt. But most of all he loved the look on Stephen's face.
Stephen was wild with a frenzied passion. He spoke throughout the entire
session, raining kisses on Brandon's face at the same time he tugged on the
needles, thrilling in the tight grimace of pain he could extract from the boy,
telling him to hurt, to hurt for Stephen, to hurt because he loved him, and he
needed it.

But now Stephen wasn't talking.

He was standing in front of Brandon, breathing heavily, a new look on his face
that Brandon hadn't seen before.  He seemed to be lost in thought, but his eyes
were glued on Brandon, as Brandon's were on him. His brows knitted together in
concentration. This new mood frightened Brandon more than any of the animated
passionate moods he was used to.

Finally, Stephen spoke, "Get up, Brandon, come here."

Brandon rose on shaky legs and moved toward Stephen slowly, trying not disturb
the needles imbedded painfully in his most sensitive region. As he drew close,
Stephen visibly relaxed and reached out, running his hands over Brandon's
shoulders. Ever so lightly, Stephen kissed Brandon on the cheek, then on the
neck, then the lips. Brandon leaned against his powerful frame, tilting his face
up to accept the kisses. Then he was quietly being led to the bed. Stephen
helped him lay down on his side, and then moved in behind him, stretching to
full length and wrapping his arms around Brandon's torso. He kissed his neck and
releasing Brandon's arms from the restraints, he ran his fingers slowly through
his hair.

Stephen paused for a moment to reach behind him and grab a bottle of lubricant
that he had placed there earlier. He spread a generous amount on his own
throbbing cock and then went back to kissing Brandon's neck and shoulders as he
slowly pushed the head against Brandon's sore opening.

Brandon was in heaven. The awkward moment earlier was forgotten, his full
attention on Stephen. He moaned softly at the light touch of Stephen's lips on
his neck and back, the feeling of Stephen's cock slowly entering him. Then he
felt Stephen's hand reach down and begin tugging gently on the needles that
still lay pierced through his rigid member. He stiffened at the stinging pain,
then relaxed again as the new sensation added to the pleasure from being
entered.

Stephen had entered him fully now and began long slow thrusts in and out,
Brandon moved his hips back to meet him. Stephen pulled on the needles, gently
twisting them in his fingers, eliciting loud moans from Brandon. Stephen's
excitement began to build. He rolled back, pulling Brandon almost on top of him,
one strong arm wrapped around Brandon's chest, holding him tightly as the other
continued it's torment of the fresh and sore piercings. He pulled hard on the
needle closest to the base of Brandon's cock, Brandon screamed, and with another
quick jerk it came free. He moved on to the next one, pulling hard to free it,
while he frantically pumped in and out of Brandon's warm tight ass. Brandon
wailed and panted in pain and ecstasy as he strained to move in rhythm with
Stephen's hips. Finally, the last needle was free. Brandon's cock was slick with
blood. Stephen wrapped his hand around it and began pumping it vigorously in
time with his thrusts. Brandon came almost instantly with a low moan. Stephen
then flipped him over onto his hands and knees and began pounding him furiously
from behind. He grabbed a handful of Brandon's hair and pulled him up onto his
knees, wrapping his arms around him and biting at his neck. He fucked him hard,
both of them risen up on their knees on the bed, Stephen's chest pressed against
Brandon's back, and then he came, yelling Brandon's name, with an explosiveness
that he had never before experienced.

They both collapsed onto the bed. Stephen pulled Brandon into his arms, and ran
his fingers over his back and his hair. Soon they were both deeply asleep.




Stephen stood in the doorway watching Khaley sleep, sipping on a cup of coffee,
and thinking over the events of the night before. This girl's presence was
having an effect on him already. Knowing she was downstairs and helpless had
made him almost lose control with Brandon. For an instant he had stood frozen in
fear, staring down at Brandon with the strongest lust for violence he'd ever
felt flowing through him. At that moment he wanted to gut Brandon slowly. He
wanted to watch Brandon and hold him and feather him with kisses while he
screamed over the most excruciating pain he would ever feel. Even now, the
thought fanned Stephen's passion. He had to get control over himself. Things
hadn't gone too far - yet. He loved Brandon. He had come so close to allowing
his desires to take over last night. The consequences would be devastating. He
couldn't let that happen.

He looked down at the helpless girl laying unconscious on the bed. He took
another drink of his coffee and then entered the room, putting his coffee down
on a table in the corner. He turned and went to stand by the bed. She was so
fragile looking. Her long hair was stringy from perspiration and strands of it
were stuck to her face. The back looked fairly well matted from her struggles of
the night before. She was pale, very pale. But her lips were still a deep shade
of pink. Pretty lips.

After she'd been drugged last night to make her sleep, Brandon had untied her
wrists and ankles, applied an antiseptic ointment where she'd rubbed them raw,
wrapped them in thick bandages, and then tied them back the way they were
before. He left the blindfold where it was. To ensure she wouldn't need to be
moved from the bed in the next couple of days, he'd inserted a catheter. The
catch bag lay down between her legs. The night of drinking had obviously taken
its toll as the bag was almost full. Stephen went back to the cabinet against
the wall where various supplies were kept and went to work changing out the full
bag with a fresh one. While he worked she began to moan and murmur quietly. By
now the drugs should be wearing off. She might wake up anytime.

Stephen toyed with the idea of waking her up, but decided against it, preferring
to explore her without her screaming. There would be enough screaming later
anyway.

Finished with changing the catch bag, he set the full one aside, reminding
himself to dispose of it later. He returned to the bed and sat down beside her,
running his hand up her leg slowly, enjoying the feminine smoothness of shaved
legs. Shaving was too much maintenance for his taste, though. He decided he'd
let all of her body hair grow for a couple of weeks and then wax it all off. The
pussy hair would go today, though. She shaved her bikini line and kept the rest
neatly trimmed, but he preferred naked, hairless skin. He didn't want anything
blocking his view or cushioning the beatings it would inevitably receive.

He decided to wax her now. The idea of her waking up while her pussy hair was
painfully being ripped off of her body made him laugh. Poor thing. She'd be so
terrified, it was delicious. He set to work preparing everything that he would
need.

A few minutes later he sat near her on the bed again, a small table pulled up
along side him with the wax and the small strips he would use. He applied a
generous amount of wax in a line down one side of her mound and pressed a strip
into it firmly. He paused, watching her peacefully sleeping face, then grabbed
the strip and quickly ripped it off of her leaving a line of bare, quickly
reddening skin.

A yell broke from her before she was even fully awake. It only took her moments
to remember the night before and fall once again into a panic. She knew she was
in pain but could not figure out what it was from. Someone was in the room
again. She could hear him moving next to her, only inches from her.

And then a warmth on her crotch, pressure, fingers pressing on her... she
screamed again and tried to arch her back, tried to move away from the figure
seated on the bed next to her. The pain quickly subsided and it hit her that she
was being waxed. She'd had her legs waxed once, but it hurt so bad she decided
to stick to shaving. And oh, god, this man, this stranger that she couldn't even
see was now waxing her most intimate and sensitive parts!

She began to beg and plead with him, screaming, threatening, saying anything she
could think of just to make him stop. He said nothing and continued to remove
her hair calmly and methodically. She kept squirming and wiggling her hips as
much as she could, jerking her body away a few inches each time she felt the
warmth or the hands, but it was useless, it only slowed the process and forced
him to go over some areas a second time.

She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to shut out the pain and humiliation when
he waxed her labia and around her anus. She could feel the cold air on her bare
skin down there, and could feel her face turning red with shame.

How had she gotten herself into this? She should never have moved to this town,
she should have stayed home, living with her parents. Even that was better than
this helplessness at the hands of an unknown stranger. If he would just take the
blindfold off she was sure she would feel so much better. She would still be
afraid, but at least everything wouldn't be entirely unexpected. She suddenly
felt it was imperative that she see the face of her captor. She needed to know
who was doing this to her.

"Please, whoever you are," she began, "please can you take off the blindfold?
Please, I won't tell anyone what you look like if you're worried about that, I
promise, I won't, I just..." she began sobbing helplessly. She cried for several
minutes, pleading between her sobs. But the stranger didn't make a sound. It
felt like he was rubbing cream on her now exposed and sore skin. But he did it
in complete silence.

"Please," she said again, quietly, "this would be so much easier if I could
see...please." But he ignored her.

Stephen then walked over to the cabinet, looking over the shelf that contained
the various toys and devices that he planned to use on this girl. She was
whimpering and pleading with him, but he just grinned and shook his head. She
had no idea. She'd be wearing that blindfold for quite awhile. He wasn't
concerned about her ability to identify him. That wasn't the point at all. He
had no intention of letting her leave this house until she completely gave
herself over to him. The point of the blindfold was purely psychological. He
wanted her feeling of helplessness to be complete. And he didn't want her
knowing who was beating her. When he did this with Brandon, he didn't have
anyone to help him. But now, he had Brandon's help. He intended to experiment
with a new element of the psychology this time. Letting her see their faces
would ruin the whole experiment.

He finished looking over the items on the shelf and chose a black riding crop.
Perfect for getting to know that beautiful bare pussy of hers. He took it with
him to the foot of the bed and looked down at her. She was laying completely
still, shaking and crying, but no longer pleading with him over the blindfold.
Her cunt was bright red now and puffy from the waxing that it just received. Oh,
this crop was really going to smart, he thought to himself, trying to not to
laugh out loud. Then he brought it down hard between her legs. It smacked
directly on her clitoris. She stiffened up and let out the loudest scream he'd
heard from her yet. Without pause he brought it down again, this time harder,
trying to find out just how loud she could scream. Her back was arching with the
pain. He could tell she was seized with it, unable to do anything but scream,
and he was pleased he wouldn't have to listen to her pleading again. He didn't
really care much for the pleading, but god he loved the screaming and writhing.

A few more good whacks, some lengthy screams, and Stephen was satisfied that he
and her pussy were sufficiently acquainted. He replaced the crop on the shelf,
and without a word, he left the room. As he made his way down the hall and up
the stairs, he could hear her loud sobbing. He closed the door at the top of the
stairs, and the room was engulfed in quiet. The soundproofing between those
rooms and the rest of this house was perfect.

Satisfied, he made for the kitchen. Time for a good breakfast, and then he would
sit down and figure out what he planned to do next with his new toy.

END CHAPTER TWO

Chapter Three coming soon....

Animus
Chapter Three


Complete quiet all around. Nothing but quiet. She'd taken to rocking her weight
back and forth on the bed just to hear the small squeak that the mattress made.
She sometimes hummed to herself a small nonsensical tune as another way of
producing some sort of noise, just to have something -- anything to listen to
besides the thoughts going round and round in her head.

She knew she wasn't quite making sense anymore. How long she'd been here in this
room, she had no idea. There was no way for her to tell night from day in her
perpetually blindfolded state. She'd been drugged so frequently she had no way
of keeping track of anything. She didn't know anymore how many times she had
been visited by her faceless tormentor, or how many times she had been driven to
a near mindless insanity by the pain inflicted on her.

But now it seemed weeks had passed since even that had happened. Once in awhile,
she heard someone come in. They checked the catch bag on her catheter, which
she'd grown used to. They readjusted her blindfold sometimes. But the beatings
had ceased completely. She was now so desperate for something to happen, for
something that she could cling to as a means of keeping her mind intact that she
almost missed the torture. She knew that was crazy. She knew she wasn't herself
anymore, that the isolation was distorting her sense of reality. But she didn't
know how long she could stand this. This silence. It was just so goddamned
quiet.

She'd been dreaming of home a lot.

In her scattered sleep world she'd confused her tormentor for her father and
began dreaming over and over that she was home, tied up in her own bedroom and
being punished by her father for something that she'd done wrong. She could hear
him in his fury telling her what a slut she was. How she deserved what she got.

After all, look at the way she was dressed that night at the club.

He'd seen her. Oh, yes, he'd seen the way she shamelessly danced, moving her
body for all to see. She deserved this.

"Start praying, girl," he'd say, "what you need is to pray for God's
forgiveness, and to understand that I'm here to issue God's punishment." Was she
really going to go to hell? That's what father always said. Maybe this was hell.

Maybe she died in that club and this was hell.

But, no. No. She didn't believe that.

"Who are you to question God's judgment," Indeed, who was she. Was this God's
judgment? Was her father so holy that he knew god? "Get down on your knees,
girl. Start praying that what I do will make you clean."

She thought she'd escaped this particular version of hell. She'd moved so far
away from home, hadn't even told them where she was going.

She thought she would never have to tolerate her father's crude advances again.
His touching and stroking, all in the name of "God's punishment" or making her
"clean". It made her stomach hurt just thinking about it. Maybe she had failed.
Maybe that's why her tormentor had begun ignoring her. Maybe she was a hopeless
case. Incapable of becoming clean. Maybe he was too disgusted with her to even
try anymore.

I can be clean! She wanted to scream aloud and beg for another chance. Please
just talk to me! I'll be better, I promise, just please come back. Don't ignore
me anymore.

"Shhhh, hush now," it was her mother's voice now. "Just be good. Try to be good
so he'll leave you alone. I know you can be a good girl." Momma, help me. Tell
him I'll be better. Tell him to come back.

But Momma wasn't there. Neither was Father. Khaley knew this. But sometimes it
was hard to keep her mind straight. She was alone, here on a bed in some unknown
place, and this man that came into this room sometimes, he was a stranger. He
had to be.

She was famished and her throat was dry. How long had it been since he'd fed
her? She didn't know.

Footsteps. Someone was in the room with her. How long had he been here? Had he
been silently watching her?

She heard the familiar sounds of her catheter bag being changed out. She
listened to the soft breathing of her tormentor and tried to imagine the face of
this man. She wondered if he was handsome. She wondered what his hands looked
like. The hands that she had felt so intimately so many times.

"I'm thirsty," she managed to croak in a raspy whisper. "May I please have a
drink of water?" She didn't really hope for him to acknowledge her request. But
her throat was so very dry.

His footsteps paused, then began to move across the room again. He stopped to
her right, and she heard the sound of fluid being poured into a glass. Khaley's
heart soared. This was the first time he had ever responded to anything she'd
said. She felt her mouth stretch in a grateful smile.

A large hand wrapped gently around the back of her head. It felt so soft and
warm. It lifted her head off the bed, and then she felt a glass touch her lips.
She opened her mouth and darted her tongue out in anticipation of the water. Ah,
it was even cold. It was the best water she had ever tasted. She drank hungrily
and quickly emptied the glass.

As he removed the glass from her lips, he gently lowered her head to the bed and
then stroked and smoothed her hair. Khaley held her breath, afraid the slightest
movement might make him leave. His fingers traced down the side of her face,
making her tingle all over. Then she felt lips on hers. It was so quick and
soft, she almost wondered if it really happened.

Then he was walking away. Her heart fell as she realized he was leaving her
again.

"Thank you," she said, trying desperately to convey in her voice just how
grateful she was. Not just for the water, but for the gentleness he'd treated
her with. He paused, then began walking again. She heard a door close, and he
was gone. Khaley was alone again.

********************************************************************************

"How is she?"

Brandon was busy in the kitchen making dinner when Stephen emerged from
downstairs. He had a thoughtful, but slightly distressed look on his face.

"She's fine," Stephen said. He opened his mouth to say more, but then stopped,
his eyes dropping and his brows knitting together in thought. "She's fine, but
there's something on your mind?" Brandon encouraged. He could tell by the look
on Stephen's face that he wanted to talk, but was having a hard time putting his
thoughts to words.

"Yes, yes she's just fine," Stephen began again, "I just, I don't know, there's
something about her. Many things actually." Stephen laughed then, feeling
ridiculous at the way he was stumbling over these thoughts. He ran a hand
through his hair, and then tried again.

"I believe we may have been luckier than we thought in choosing her. It seems
she has a bit of a past with her family that I may be able to use to my
advantage."

"Did she tell you this? You were talking with her?" Brandon asked, confused.
Stephen had told him just this morning that they were not yet to the point where
they should begin talking to her.

"No, I didn't talk to her. She was talking in her sleep. I think she was
dreaming that I was her father."

Brandon raised his eyebrows at Stephen. "Dinner's almost ready. Would you like
to tell me all about it while we eat?"

"Yes. And while I wait, please make me a drink."

Brandon quickly set to pouring Stephen his favorite drink, bourbon on the rocks,
and handed it to him.

Stephen took the drink and wandered into the large dining room. He had a
mahogany table that would easily seat twenty, though he couldn't remember the
last time he'd invited that many people into his home. Now, the table was set
for two. As usual, he seated himself at the head of the table. Brandon would sit
to his right. And soon enough, Khaley would be taking the seat to his left.
Stephen smiled to himself, thinking of having these two to himself, both well
trained, both glancing at him with that adoring look in their eyes.

He felt himself grow hard as he began to imagine the two of them, naked in his
bedroom. All his to do with as he pleased. He hoped she would grow to enjoy pain
in the same way Brandon had. He shrugged to himself, thinking she would have to
learn, because that's what he wanted from her, and she would get the pain
regardless of how she felt about it.

Brandon came in then and began putting dishes of food on the table. A spinach
salad with feta cheese, a deliciously flaky looking dish of spanikopita, and a
bottle of red wine. Brandon was a fantastic cook, one of the surprise bonuses of
Stephen's choice in taking him.

Stephen gestured for Brandon to take his seat and begin dishing the food. He
filled Stephen's plate first and poured him a glass of wine, the glass of
bourbon long finished, sitting off to the side. Then he began serving himself,
and Stephen began to talk.

"I was sitting down there watching her sleep, just sort of thinking over how
things were going and what should be done next. I'm feeling impatient, you know,
I don't want to wait this thing out, but I must." Brandon nodded his
understanding.

"So, I'm sitting there, and she begins quietly moaning, which I've heard her do
a hundred times, but this time I could make out words. It began with just a word
here and there. Words like father, god, clean. Things like that. She must have
been dreaming quite deeply, because soon she began talking clearly, in a loud
voice. First talking to her father, begging him not to punish her. It was
confusing. She kept talking about God and crying and saying she would do better.
I can't repeat to you everything she said, it was pretty jumbled. But so
fascinating. After a bit, she began saying 'momma, momma help me' she begged her
mother to convince "him" - I'm assuming her father - that she was clean, that
she didn't need to be punished, that she would be good. Her voice was so like a
child while she spoke. "But the most fascinating part is this. Brandon, she is
dreaming about her situation here as though her father were the one doing this
thing to her. She dreams that we are her father, I'm sure of it. I'm no
psychologist, but I like to think I understand the human mind a little better
than the average person. When she's awake she knows we are strangers. Actually,
she probably believes there is only one of us, which suites my purposes, but she
knows the dreams are just dreams. But the emotional affect is still with her
when she wakes. And like most little girls with abusive fathers, she will look
to please us and to gain our approval, because we will represent that father
that never approved. This might just make our task much easier than I originally
anticipated.

"And when she woke.... Ah, Brandon, when she woke, she was whispering to herself
that she wanted us to return. I don't believe she realized she was vocalizing
it, the isolation has really taken a wonderful affect on her perception. She was
begging for our return, begging to be allowed to prove herself. It was
delicious.

"Once she quieted down, I rose and began changing the catheter bag as usual,
letting my presence be known, and she asked me for a glass of water. She asked
me in the sweetest, most hopeful voice I have ever heard, and Brandon I wanted
to rain kisses all over her. I wanted to untie her and carry her to my room and
release into her all of the passion I've built for her over these weeks. It took
everything I had to hold myself back and simply pour the water. And after she
drank, I indulged in the smallest of kisses on her lips. I expected her to try
and jerk away, but her lips were soft and yielding.

"I think she will be ready to have the blindfold removed much sooner than we
thought. I think she is almost ready now."

Brandon smiled, pleased to hear that he might soon get to look her in the eye
and speak with her. He had grown quite fond of her. Unlike Stephen, he knew what
it was to be in the position that she was now in. And though Brandon was now
grateful for it, he knew how difficult it was to accept in the beginning. He
believed he would have a bond with this girl that was like nothing either of
them ever knew. He hoped like hell that Stephen would allow him to take his
pleasures with her. His use for her wouldn't be the same as Stephen's. He would
never beat her. Dominate her, yes. But not beat her. Not that she wouldn't enjoy
it, he just wasn't a sadist like Stephen was. He imagined being playful with
her, making her laugh, and fucking her passionately. God he wanted to fuck her.

As of yet, Stephen had forbidden sex with her. He didn't want that to be
associated with her first painful transitions here. The pain and torture was a
tool that she would grow to enjoy, sex would also be a tool, but he wanted it
introduced at just the right point. And both of them were going crazy with
desire for her. Sex between the two of  them had grown increasingly more
frequent and explosive. Every night they checked on her, and then they retired
to the bedroom and spent several hours in a pain filled erotic frenzy before
finally falling off to sleep.

Stephen caught the look on Brandon's face when he was thinking about their
nightly activities, and he grinned a devilish grin, knowing he had no intention
of letting Brandon off easy tonight. God, every time he pictured that beautiful,
fragile young thing tied up downstairs it made him so hard he just wanted to
bend Brandon over the table and fuck him raw. Jesus, and that sweet kiss he'd
stolen before he left the room. It was driving him mad thinking about it.

He rose then. Reaching for Brandon, he grabbed a handful of his soft hair and
lifted him from his chair, shoving him backwards off of balance until he hit the
wall behind him. Stephen quickly threw himself against Brandon, pressing his
body against him, his rock hard cock against Brandon's pelvis. He kissed him
fiercely, forcing his tongue into the youth's mouth and then biting his lower
lip hard as he pulled away.

He stepped back then, looking at Brandon with an animal hunger in his eye. He
began to unzip his pants and pull his cock out, licking his lips and using his
eyes to direct Brandon in what to do next. Brandon quickly dropped to his knees
in front of Stephen and wrapping his hands around the shaft, he wrapped his lips
around the head of Stephen's swollen member and began expertly playing his
tongue around the sensitive ridge, pumping his hand up and down. His other hand
reached to pull Stephen's pants down far enough to give access to his testicles.
He began gently fondling them.

Stephen moaned quietly, letting his head fall back. He sunk his hands into
Brandon's hair and just relaxed with the sensation, letting it build slowly. He
wanted more. He wanted so much more. But he would save that for later. For now
he just wanted to fuck Brandon's mouth and enjoy getting off. Brandon was a very
talented little cock-sucker. He wasn't always so good at it, but with some
instruction from Stephen and plenty of practice, he'd become a pro.

Stephen then tightened his grip on Brandon's hair and pulled him close, forcing
his cock slowly down Brandon's throat. This was the hardest part. He had to go
slow, let Brandon's throat get used to him, so as not to hurt him. But what he
really wanted to do was fuck it as hard as possible. He wanted to rip it if he
could. But ripping Brandon's throat was probably not a good idea. So he forced
himself to be gentle. Slowly, so slowly he pushed until Brandon's nose was
pressed against his belly. Then he began to gently stroke in and out. Slowly, he
could feel Brandon's throat relaxing, and he began to quicken his pace,
thrusting in and out of that tight warm throat. He could tell Brandon was
struggling to get a breath in between the strokes, and that just made him fuck
harder, turning it into a game to see if he could pull all the way out and slam
himself back in before Brandon had the chance to take a breath.

He came quickly, groaning loudly, and holding Brandon to him, his cock all the
way down Brandon's throat until the last spasm was finished and he began to go
limp. Brandon was obviously straining for air, trying desperately to keep his
hands from pushing on Stephen's hips, to try and dislodge the member that kept
him from taking a precious breath.

Finally, Stephen laughed, and slowly withdrew. Brandon slumped to the floor,
gasping for breath, but looking up at Stephen with a boyish grin. He loved it
when Stephen fucked his throat like that. It made him feel wonderfully
submissive.

*************************************************************************


Brandon sat in a chair against the wall in the room where Khaley was being kept.
Stephen had gone to the club for the night to see how things were going. Stephen
trusted his employees, they did a fantastic job and the place pretty much ran
itself, but he felt it important to show up regularly. It wouldn't do to have
people noticing a change in his habits right now. No one had come around asking
about the girl, and he didn't expect that anyone would, but there was no reason
to take chances. Brandon was told to stay and keep an eye on the girl.

Not that she was going anywhere. She hadn't been given any food in a week. All
part of Stephen's plan for making her vulnerable and suggestible. She was of
course given water, which made it necessary to continue using the catheter.
They'd had to untie her and give her an enema several times, letting her release
her bowels into a small portable toilet that Brandon would later empty and clean
out. But it had been several days since that had been necessary. Which was good.
She'd been much more pliant when she was constantly sedated. Now that they were
allowing her to be sober, he didn't expect her to be so cooperative once
released from her binds.

He watched her lay there now. She seemed to be sleeping, but he couldn't be
sure. He remembered how he would pretend to sleep when he heard Stephen
approaching, back in the days when it was him tied to this bed instead of this
beautiful woman. She might be laying there motionless, listening to him breath,
wondering if he was going to do anything to her, afraid of the punishments that
had so often been administered.

She was breathing deeply, her chest rising and falling with each breath. His
eyes were drinking in her body, soaking up each detail. Her nipples were small
and pink and erect. They sat upon firm round breasts that were smallish but just
right for her slender frame. Her ribs stuck out a bit now, but he was sure that
would change as soon as she started eating regularly again. Her stomach was flat
and soft. He really liked female bellies, and he thought hers was particularly
cute, especially offset with the small navel ring that she had. Her hips were
slender but still round enough to accent the slenderness of her waist, and her
legs were long and shapely. She had such a tight, lithe little body, she seemed
feline, sort of like a dancer. He sensed that her body hid a surprising amount
of strength, that the small frame was quite deceptive. He couldn't wait to have
her untied and willing. He imagined play struggling with her on Stephen's bed,
forcing her to submit to him, and having a fairly difficult time of it, her
powerful little body escaping him over and over, until finally he overcomes
her... Ah, he just knew she was going to be so much fun.

Tomorrow they would take off her blindfold. Stephen had made his decision about
it before leaving for the club. Brandon could hardly wait. Unfortunately, he
wouldn't be present when it happened. Stephen was certain that his plan for her
would work beautifully, but it has to be him that she focuses on at first.
Stephen must establish his control over her, and having Brandon present might
just confuse the girl. But soon. Stephen had promised that soon he would be
allowed to have her. Soon she might even be begging for it.

End Chapter Three

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