BlackmailedbytheSadist (3 page)

He waited between her legs for several seconds, peering down at the steaming mess streaming out of her. A vast pool of semen dribbled down across her ass and found its way to the floor, where the virile cream formed a small sea.

“Close your legs. One of my men will be down in a bit to make sure you don't try anything stupid. It's been a pleasure, but I think our bargain is drawing to a close.” He rolled off his cape and stomped away from her, leaving the musky wolf skin draped across her upper body as her well used folds steamed.

“What about my money?” Sandra unevenly propped herself up as he ascended the stairs. The door to the private dungeon slammed shut behind him, leaving her without an answer.

Unseen Clauses Fulfilled

Sandra broke down and wept, unsure whether to howl her derangement at the walls, or masturbate from the confusion settling over her. Everything about the situation seemed unreal. She babbled to herself until Lucien's aides came down to check his deposit, binding her legs at the knees and ankles to hold the remainder in.

You're living in a nightmare, Sandy. Yeah, that's it. A demon haunted nightmare, just like the night of
the accident.

The stone faced men carted her off to a guest room, where she slept fitfully for what seemed like only an hour. Yet, it was already nightfall again when they finally unbound her legs, and marched her off to the black sedan, covered in a new dress very much like the one she wore when she arrived.

After Lucien's rigors, all she could think about after arriving home was the money. By the time the wire transfer finally came, other thoughts were beginning to creep in.

She found herself watching the little scrapes and bruises left from their liaison heal, the only reminders she had of their encounter. Her supple body rolled in bed as she masturbated aggressively, clawing at her strained nipples and hungry sex until she came.

Her hands no longer sufficed. She ordered an industrial grade pair of nipple clamps and a matching silver dildo that stretched her as Lucian had.

Still, the fire was missing. She could only imitate the darkly dreamy atmosphere of his Herculean form driving into her, and splattering his seed into her womb, consequences be damned.

Her greatest reminder of his presence slowly appeared over the following nine months. As her belly bulged, she only grew hornier, spanking her swollen nipples with nail files. The strange cocktail of pregnancy vitamins and fog shrouded memories made her delirious with lust, an addict of self-pleasure.

“Lucien,” she whispered, hallucinating his statuesque body trailing the wolfish cloak each time her fingers dug into places she had never touched before.

One day, not long after she had returned from her latest physical before delivering her baby, she received a call from Randy. Her agent's words seemed unreal and far away, as though a distant voice were talking to her through a staticy television.

“Good news, baby, you're never gonna believe this...” He went on to say that Lindt Lynche, one of Hollywood's titan directors, wanted her for his latest project that he had been keeping tightly under wraps.

So, everything is beginning to come together. The doctor did nod at you in a strange way at the clinic,
didn't he? Smug.

Too smug.

Birth was hell, especially for a body that had always been carefully primed to look twenty five forever.

Nearly ten years beyond those years added additional strain that chipped away at her flesh, damning her self-styled physical perfection.

Meanwhile, the visions came, in the maternity ward and long after. An imaginary Lucien lingered over her shoulders as she delivered the twelve pound boy, a beautiful token of her submission, with the same piercing eyes she had observed from behind the mask.

It took a few months of her settling into her renewed millions and motherhood before she opened the script for the new film. Her nonsensical laughter nearly woke the slumbering infant as she paged through her lines, which chronicled a desperate woman's experiences in a large and secluded mansion.

In the movie, her lover had seduced her with a fake identity, only to drag the heroine down into his chambers. He left her chained to the wall in his dungeons for several days, occasionally appearing with food, water, and an exotic cream that made her loins burn with need.

When she nearly broke her constraints off the walls, he was waiting for her. Her captor gnawed at her flesh as much as he licked her, all while wearing a wolf skin cape and a dark hooded mask that didn't allow her to see anything more than his eyes.

“Miranda, cum for me on command. I demand it. You know what happens to naughty little girls who disobey, don't you?” Sandra whispered his words and practiced her character's twists of the face, gradually turning the faint shiver down her spine into a sustained spasm.

“They get hurt real bad. Life has a way of turning sour, even when things are on the up and up.” As she read the next lines, she laughed again, trying to shut herself off from receiving the message for her.

Heroine looks up to the corner and sees the camera. Her eyes pass to the opposite corner, where
another awaits. She squints, overcome by lust, but understanding her new Master very clearly.

The fifteen months of filming were the longest of her life. She passed out in her trailer between breaks, exhausted, often forgetting to close her robe as she stalked past the attendants on the set.

“Wow, our makeup crew sure did a hell of a job on that one,” one of them said, pointing to the faded imprint on her right thigh that refused to go away. Lucien's whip had permanently reshaped her flesh, and she sometimes stared in the mirror at his most long lasting mark while masturbating, remembering his power.

Everyone applauded her passion when the business was concluded, and she found her name circulating in all of the big celebrity journals. Sandra Lowry became the talk of critics and judges at awards ceremonies, but she refused to show up to the normal Hollywood ringers, even when nominated.

They don't understand. I was really cumming when Lucien – or was it Carl Marsters? - was clawing at
my shoulder and leveling himself into me. Everything about those scenes was real...because it
happened before.

Some nights, she left her growing son with the nanny she had hired and went out late, hitting the nearest bar. Occasionally, when the liquor had worn off, she drove into the more secluded areas, staring up at the great houses and vast tracts of land that were almost in her budget.

A few times, Lucien saw her car from his fifth floor master bedroom, watching it over the trees as it glided across the winding roads. He smiled, illuminating his face in the darkness – a portrait of desire as the dull candle light haloed him from behind. His latest candle had barely lost wax off the top, carved with the initials S.L.

“It won't be long,” he said, flexing his hands the way a wild animal stretches out its powerful limbs before hunting.

In fact, Sandra's searches turned more desperate much sooner than he expected. Her lengthy drives turned into all night affairs that often led her to the driveways of the gated mansions.

On more than a few occasions, private security forces from the elite stopped her car, on the verge of phoning the police as a well dressed woman in her luxury car yelled the name “Lucien” from the window. She escaped their private drives before any could ever act.

Her heart leaped into her chest when she saw the roguish faces of the hired toughs on the secluded drive she was seeking. Behind the three weathered bullies, a tall figure with a mask and a furry cape appeared.

“Come in, my long lost beauty. I've been waiting for you, with a room prepared. Once you enter, you may never leave again,” he said, watching her face wrinkle with worry as the guards smiled.

“Don't worry about our son, Sandra. He's already on his way here, where he'll receive nothing but the finest instruction – far better than a mere millionaire can purchase for a young man.” His eyes bent across hers like sheets of ice.

She swallowed a large knot in her throat as she looked up at the soaring floors of his mansion. Most of the glassy portals were illuminated with dull orange, just enough to see the outlines behind them. Every lit room, without exception, had the silhouette of women contorted in the most marvelous ways.

There's no place out there for me anymore,
she thought, stepping out of her car. His aides clambered inside, shutting off her ignition and confiscating her belongings. One of them tossed her gold frosted cell phone onto the pavement, grinding it beneath his polished heel.

This is where I belong,
a servile voice said from within, one that was beginning to feel wholly natural.

Lucien's soft, but rough cape wound its way around her and she listened to his familiar heartbeat. Each tone echoed with the command to surrender, the only call that mattered to her now.

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Blackmailed by the Sadist
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