Torturous Existence

by Candace Smith

  She scrubbed the lavender soap into her scalp while Taylor leaned against the bathroom vanity with his long legs crossed at the ankles. She began by turning her back to him, but he quickly made his desire known that he wanted to watch her prepare herself for him. Sabra dragged the chore out as long as she possibly could.

  The water was turned off and he threw her a towel. Sabra dried her body, fluffed the towel through her long hair and began to wrap it around herself. She glanced up at his arched brow and let it drop to the floor. Once again clipped to the leash, he led her into the bedroom. She was pushed to her knees in front of a chair and handed a brush. While she worked at the tangled knots, Taylor reached out and massaged her breasts, pinching her nipples when his fingers brushed across the taut nubs.

  Sabra stared at a leg of the chair and tried not to flinch. The man was frightening, but it seemed that if she did as he demanded, he would not punish her. In her mind, she vowed she would escape, and she decided the easiest way to afford herself the opportunity was to try to docilely follow his commands.

  His fingers pinched and twisted a nipple, and she gasped. He said, “Enough,” and he took the brush from her and laid it on the side table. He ran a tapered finger around her lips and her eyes widened as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Tell me you wish to service me. Tell your Master you want to fulfill his desire.”

  His finger was still trailing her lips and his meaning was obvious. What would happen to her if she refused? As if answering her question, there was a low shadowing throb from one of the welts on her back. He guided her hands toward the front of his jeans, and leered, “Acknowledge me.”

  “Yes Master,” she replied quietly. Her fingers worked the belt buckle, button and zipper on his jeans, and his erection pushed against the opening. Her small hands removed his swollen shaft and she stared at it, trying to work up the courage to fulfill his request. So much of her wanted to rebel, to injure or maim the beast, but she already recognized the futility of such an action, and her fear of his strong arm lashing out with the whip was greater.

  Her fingers were gentle as she coaxed the monster out of his jeans, and her eyes widened further at his proportions. Jocelyn had suggested an increase in size was probable, due to the adjusted levels of the chemical changes. Sabra’s channel seized with the thought of him driving his rod into her, and she recognized fright was not the emotion her body had responded with as a damp heat dripped onto her leg where her bottom rested.

  With a slight quivering to her touch, she stroked the length of the soft flesh and heard him hiss as he sucked air into his lungs. Sabra saw his hands gripping the arms of the chair with such strength. His knuckles were white and the veins raised along his forearms. She glanced at his face as she continued the most gentle of ministrations to the heated member in her hands, and his gaze was frightening... not as much in its ferocity, as in the undeniable anticipation and pleasure the small act was providing for him.

  Taylor wanted her lips, her tongue, and the warmth of her mouth, while her sage colored eyes looked up at him in adoration and recognition of his power over her. He watched as she leaned forward, and with the sweep of the liquid caress of her tongue across his weeping slit, he groaned and actually trembled both with the desire to plunge into her cavern and the expectation of her next seductions. She was a magnificent repository for his lust, and he once again congratulated himself on his ability to restrain his desires by choosing a less worthy slave in the early days.

  Her mouth finally lowered down over his crown, and as she sucked and caressed his member, a heated frenzy began to build. Sabra continued to stroke and suck the small portion of the rod that would fit into her mouth, but she became nervous when his hands left their position on the chair and began to finger through her hair. She thought of the intensity of his grip on the armrests, and a fleeting panic coursed through her mind that such a hold might be applied to her head. Indeed, his hold did become stronger, and as she tried to lift off him in an attempt to curb his arousal, she was afraid when she found he would not let her lips abandon him.

  Taylor’s eyes were closed as he thrust into the warm wet tightness pulsating around his cock. In some part of his mind, he registered her hands had abandoned their caress of his sack and were now pushing against his thighs. He did not need her hands. It was her mouth he needed to feel wrapping its liquid glove around a bursting cock that wanted to be seduced to release. He guided her quicker and deeper as his thrusts increased in demand, and he felt his hot seed begin to almost painfully expand through his channel.

  Sabra was panicked as he gripped her head and forced her further down on his cock. He was well beyond any position of comfort, and the taut flesh of his organ scraped as it forced its way deeper down her throat. Her fingers abandoned their seductive caress of his sack as she pushed frantically at his thighs and then tried to dig her short nails into the back of the hands guiding her head. Now, she was retching as his unrelenting rod drove past her gag reflex, immersing more than half its length behind her lips. She sobbed at the unexpected torment, and the vibration seemed to excite him further.

  At last, she felt a tightening through the shaft plunging so viciously into her, and heated salty jets of sperm erupted deep down her throat. Her attempt to avoid swallowing the viscous release was minimal, as it was deposited almost directly into her stomach. Finally, his last jerking shudder subsided and he let go of her head. She pushed away and lay on the floor, gasping for air and retching.

  It took Taylor a moment to compose himself, and he looked at the slave sprawled on the floor in front of him. “Clean me,” he demanded, and he smiled as she struggled to sit up.

  Dinner was apparently a community event, and Taylor clipped on her leash and led her across the compound to the bunkhouse. He had lashed her wrists behind her, so she had no option of attempting to cover her nudity. Her tearing eyes stared at the boots of the man she was following, as the cowboys admired their leader’s choice of a slave with loud and lewd comments. Crimson colored her face and part of her chest by the time they entered the building, and her tears spilled when she saw her friends naked and bound and kneeling by their new owners.

  Jocelyn’s stare was already becoming vacant and fixed, and Sabra gasped at the numerous welts crossing her breasts and belly. Sweet Angie was crying, but her new master was gently stroking her head. Sabra hoped he realized how fragile the young woman was, and a quick picture of Lucy strobed through her mind. Angie would be like that. If the man was too cruel, she would take her own life.

  Betsy and Emmy appeared to be in much the same state as Sabra… wary and alert, but trying to look complacent. At that very moment, the three of them glanced at each other and made the unspoken commitment to escape, knowing they would have to leave Jos and Angie behind.

  The stew was served, and the slaves received their portions from the fingers held in front of them. They reached out tongues to snag bits of meat and vegetables. Sabra watched Jocelyn. She made no attempt to grasp the food the cruel man held out, and she saw him cram some meat between the silent woman’s lips. Gravy trailed down her chin as she mechanically chewed, and it was not until they were standing to leave and Sabra gasped at the blood drying on her thighs, that she understood how evil a master Jocelyn had been delivered to.

  They were led out to the center of the compound where the fire pit was blazing and offering enough heat to make the crisp evening air bearable for the naked slaves. Sabra knelt before Taylor, and silently schemed her escape. She was so caught up in her fantasies that she ignored the cryptic conversations going on around her until Taylor ordered her to rise. She expected to be led back to the house.

  Instead, he led her closer to the fire and ordered her to kneel. She looked around the circle and saw that all of the new captives and their masters were spaced around the flame. Two cowboys approached with a square frame made of heavy beams. Sabra was ordered to lie on the ground in the middle of the box they had lowered to the dirt.

  The c
owboys secured her to the frame so that she was spread belly down in an X formation. She tested the bindings and found she had only minimal ability to move. She nervously twisted her head to watch Taylor as he paced in front of the fire and began to speak.

  “Our advanced skills have allowed us the good fortune of acquiring the remaining slaves for the compound. Thanks to Eric’s superior tracking ability, we have now obtained enough women and we will no longer have to impose the rotation and share. As the owners of those slaves have marked their property, so shall we.”

  Sabra had no idea what he was talking about, other than she got the idea that while they had been a few women short and there was a little bed-hopping going on. What Taylor was declaring became abundantly clear when he knelt by the fire and lifted a glowing bar of metal. Sabra began screaming and thrashing against the heavy frame, and she heard slaps as her girlfriends were being punished for breaking form while awaiting their turn.

  “You don’t need to do this. I won’t try to escape. Please, oh my god, don’t do this to me.” Sabra tried to shake against the frame and sobbed when it barely rattled. Taylor kept advancing with the rod, glowing neon orange with edges of white heat.

  “Hold her. My mark must be perfect,” he said. The two cowboys who had brought the frame walked over. One straddled and sat on the small of her back, the other on her thighs.

  “Oh, please,” she moaned. “Please, don’t do this to me.” A heavy pressure rested high on her left buttock and raised. Within seconds, the singed nerves screamed almost as loud as her voice. “Aaaaaah, oooh, aaaaah…please,” Sabra shrieked and wailed.

  The men rose and Sabra’s watery eyes saw a blurred vision of Taylor shaking someone’s hand as he laid the branding iron back in the fire. Someone handed him a bucket, and she sobbed and trembled harder as he approached. The bucket of freezing water hit the burn on her hip and she shrieked again. Taylor set the bucket down, and as the two cowboys unsecured her, he reached under her chin and lifted her face. When he was certain he had her attention, he said in an even tone, “You wear my mark. You will always wear my mark and you will always belong to me.”

  Those frightening words and the cruelly callous smile on his face were the last things Sabra was aware of before she passed into welcome unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER IV

  Taylor’s Slave

  Dawn was just beginning to filter through the heavy drapes and into the ranch house with the grays and muted colors that announced a new day. Sabra slowly opened her eyes to find herself lying on her belly on a big bed, and when she squinted her eyes and studied the semi-lit interior of the room, she recognized that she was in the master bedroom of big house.

  Her bottom ached, and when she tested the effects of moving her left leg she winced at the agonizing throb. She had been branded. She had been branded as Taylor’s property, just like his horse and the cattle wandering close to the camp. The brutality of the ceremony and the victorious expression on Taylor’s face had haunted her sleep. She turned towards a sound coming from the bathroom.

  Taylor came out of the room bare chested and wearing only his jeans. The mat of black curls on his chest was still damp, she could see that much, and she also noticed the tanned, broad surface they were embedded in. Now that his shirt was off, she studied his shoulders and arms and saw that they were much more muscular than she had thought them to be, although she acknowledged she had known from the beginning he was strong. She wondered if the lean muscular masculine frame was also a side effect of the change.

  As he approached the bed, their eyes met and she knew he was aware that she was awake. She whimpered and tried to crawl to the other side. Sabra was surprised to discover she was not somehow restrained or secured to the bed, and as her frightened stare looked into Taylor’s eyes, he smiled and answered as if reading her mind. “You are my property. There is nowhere you can run and nowhere you can hide where you will not be brought back to me for punishment.”

  His hand reached out to grab her left ankle, and he began pulling her towards him. The agony in her hip was immediate, and she felt the seared skin that had only a few hours to try to heal and repair, ripping open. She shrieked and kicked out at him with her other leg. He ignored her as he kept the steady pull to the edge of the bed.

  The nightstand drawer beside him was open, and with his free hand he took out a jar and used his thumb to pop off the lid. Two of his fingers scooped out a pasty substance that he applied to the brand. He did not just brush it over the surface; he pushed it into the wound itself. “My mark will be deep and permanent.” Sabra wailed as the scab was rubbed away and the antibiotic stung her raw flesh.

  Taylor put down the jar and grabbed the back of her collar and lifted her onto the floor. “There is a toothbrush on the counter and you have three minutes to make yourself presentable and to be kneeling in front of me.”

  Sabra took a limping shuffle towards the room, and she felt his hand grab her braid and drag her back to him. His open hand smashed down on her bottom and she screamed. “Acknowledge your Master,” he demanded.

  “Yyyes, Master,” she wailed. He released her and she moved as quickly as she could to the other room. The muscles in the thigh of the branded side of her body were tight, as if all elasticity had been stretched to its limits.

  She used the facilities, brushed her teeth and, noting the hairbrush sitting next to the toothbrush on the counter, she presumed he wanted her to use that as well. Looking into the mirror she could see why. She still had traces of dirt on her stomach, chest and thighs, but she had no time to wash them off. She worked furiously to get her hair twisted into a rope, and she shuffled back into the bedroom to find him sitting on the bed. She groaned as she bent her leg, stretching the skin on her injured hip as she knelt, carefully keeping her bottom hovering above her thigh.

  Her focus on the colors of the bedspread was broken by the motion of his hand rubbing the swelling in his jeans. Oh god, she couldn’t do that again. She couldn’t let him choke her again.

  Taylor watched the tears filling her green depths, and his cock twitched within the constricted confines of his pants. He felt himself swell impossibly larger as he imagined her fear and he remembered the ecstasy of being sucked into her liquid warmth. And she was his. His to enjoy whenever… and however… he desired. “Service me, slave.”

  Sabra whimpered, and his hand drew back to hit her again. It was useless. The deed would be performed and the only thing she would have a say in was whether or not committing the act would bring her more brutality than she was already suffering. “Yes, Master,” she whispered, and she reached her hands out.

  She quietly sobbed as she forced her hands to coax and seduce, prolonging the first taste with her tongue until it could no longer be avoided. This time, her Master was impatient, and instead of gripping the bedclothes anticipating when she would draw him into her mouth, he grasped the sides of her head and plunged inside. He quivered in an arousal so deep it took over his being, and the need to thrust and climax was foremost in his mind. His body demanded tribute and release from this vessel, and he drove himself deep to satisfy his craving. He groaned loudly as his seed finally left his cock in almost painful force, and when he opened his eyes he was pleased to see his slave sprawled on the floor where he had tossed her, sobbing and trembling at his mastery.

  “Stand up,” he ordered.

  Sabra struggled onto all fours and it took several seconds to straighten her aching leg and manage to stand. Why are they so cruel? Don’t they know how badly we need their strength and reassurance? Not like this, though. Not with this vicious brutality of a beast.

  “Turn around and put your wrists behind you.”

  Trembling before him, she slowly turned her back to him. He lashed her wrists behind her and took two more cuffs from the nightstand. These, he wrapped around her ankles. With each belt of leather, Sabra felt her freedom being caged. Taylor walked her towards one of the many frightening furnishings in the room.

 
; It was a beam… a simple wooden beam not unlike a sawhorse, but it was so out of place in a bedroom, and the chains with the clips bolted into the legs were ominous. She had been turned so her hips rested against the hard wood, and she jerked forward as the raw skin from the brand brushed up against it. Taylor walked behind the construction and lifted her bound arms over the crossbeam. He clipped them to the back of the support. There were chains at the base of the stanchions, and he spread her legs and clipped one of her new ankle cuffs to each side, spreading her thighs and leaving her sex lewdly displayed for him.

  “Please, Taylor,” she began to beg, “Please, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his chest. She smelled the leather that had permeated into his scent from the years of working on the ranch. The wild smell of nature, the horse, the cattle… the man. She rubbed her head against his coarse black chest hair, seeking comfort.