The keys rattled when I opened the heavy padlock. The door's hinges creaked. She was already awake, her body was used to the schedule after all those years. I approached her small bed and lifted the lower half of her hood. She could hear my zipper but her sight was blocked. The first weeks she used to struggle. In vain, with her wrists and ankles chained together as they were. I quite enjoyed her distress, her tears and whimpers  quite annoying, mostly because it served as an excuse to be more agressive and punish her physically. At some point she stopped and just accepted my ways. Once I had tamed her spirit, I couldn't see her as the monster I knew she was. She was just the pathetically weak crybaby. So one day I brought the ring gag and black leather hood that we've been using since then. Thanks to them I wouldn't see her cry. She was faceless and voiceless. An object. Even if she had stopped crying long ago we still used them.

I forced myself into her mouth. Grabbing the back of her head I entered her as deep as I could. She had learned to control her breath and gag reflex. I had raped her hundreds of times in her ass and mouth. I ended up rubbing my glans against the inside of her cheek. I still remember with joy how many times she had been about to choke with my cum.

I unlocked the padlock that joined her iron collar to a short chain and to the wall, a few inches from her crown. Sticking a finger though the eyebolt in front of her collar I made her sit on the bed. The heavy chains between her legs rattled. Their weight no longer a nuissance, she was used to it. She was allowed sheets only in winter. Nothing in summer. A pijama the rest of the year.

I removed her hood freeing her from that suffocating garment. Then I unbucled the gag and she could readjust her jaw. For the umpteenth time I checked all her accesories. Collar, waistbelt, and wrist and leg shackles had built-in padlocks. The keys had been destroyed with a hammer years ago in front of her eyes. They were three inches wide and half an inch tick. Lined on the inside, a small mercy from me. A light eight inch long chain between her legs and four inches between her wrists, both welded, rendered her defenseless. Another chain ran from the one betweeen her ankles to the front of her waistbelt, also welded. It wasn't long enough to let her stretch her legs completely. To the same eyebolt on her waist her wrist chain was to remain padlocked most of the day and during all night. A heavy chain run from an eyebolt in the middle of her cell's floor to the chain between her ankles were a big padlock joined them. That chain allowed her to walk around her whole kindgdom. The bed, the table, the toilet bowl and the corner where a hose acted as a shower. The chain wouldn't let her reach the bars nor the gate. As if she could go anywhere else.

I led her by her neck to the toilet bowl. Small hooks embedded on the rim of the bowl helped her opening the slits of her pants at front and rear. Unfortunately, although fortune had nothing to do, the position and size of the hooks wouldn't let her sit down. She needed a pair of weeks to get accustomed in which her trousers were anything but fancy. Then I led her to her most hated piece of furniture.

-Please, Bruce. Please don't.- I slapped her hard on the cheek and put an end to the discussion. I had stated clearly that her stay wouldn't be comfortable, and it was absolutely true.

The chair had an inflatable plug, quite bearable when deflated. She took seat inserting it in her rear as usual. That one had the purpose of keeping her stuck there. I started pumping and the sphere grew inside her. I was sure she still could remember her first weeks when that thing threatened to tear her apart. The sphere reached its four inches wide and I stopped. I was in a good mood that day and she would want to do nothing to change that. She could try to get up and set herself free, but it would be unnecessarily painful and, besides, chained as she was she wouldn't go anywhere. I would find her at some point and make her regret her idea with my flogger and other means.

The chair was supposed to have a second plug for her cunt, but I had to change my plans. The first day I stated clearly that she wasn't allowed to cum without permission, which depended on her behavior. Unbeknown to her, there was a small camera hidden in the corner of the basement, thanks to which I caught her masturbating several times. I tried to be reasonable, and warned her several times about unorthodox masturbating practices. She just lied and repeated her transgression, sometimes even the same night. So, while the plug's intention was pleasure I used it for something entirely different.

First I ruined her pussy to ensure that she would never enjoy a cock again. Along several weeks I gradually increased the plug's size. Slowly and relentlessly I made her endure higher volumes to expand the walls of her sex. My explanation when she asked was lapidary: “I'm going to ruin your cunt forever.” I used ropes to keep it in place for hours each day, making sure that the knots were on her back, out of her reach. Two months later I could stick a baseball bat inside her.

Then the real punishment. I pierced each of her labia four times. Then, I placed a rounded concave steel shield over her lips with eight holes in two rows. Four wide C shaped rods with a gauge of a quarter inch, passed through a hole on the plate, then a hole on her flesh, then its twin on the other side and finally the other hole on the plate. Carefully I sealed the holes with molten tin, letting it fall over them drop by drop. She would need either a big pair of pliers to break that or a knife to cut her flesh. It was certainly funny watching her cry to sleep for months while she tried in vain to stick her fingers to reach her clit. I reminded her that I could have burned her clit or something worse. I wasn't trying to make her feel better with that revelation, for being honest. I just wanted to make her cry.

Leaving the past in the past and focusing on the present, I padlocked her collar to a short chain embedded to the edge of the table in front of her, which was screwed to the floor. Then I opened the padlock joining her wrist chain to her belt and reatached them to the chain hanging from her collar in such a way that her hands could move rather freely while she couldn't possibly reach anything below her navel. On the table I had already placed the tray with her breakfast. Cereals and milk. She grabbed the spoon and ate quickly, I had to go to work and she knew what happened the last time I was late.

Once she had finished I removed the tray and, opening the drawer of the table I produced the book she had been reading lately. It was about falconry. I had picked the book for her. I just wandered around my house and chose one randomly. I didn't care whether if she were reading them or not or if she liked them. If she preferred to stare at the grey cement walls, that was her problem. A couple of times per year I asked her what did she want and I allowed her the whim.

Grabbing the try I closed the door with that unnecesarily big padlock that she couldn't possibly break or open even if she were able to reach it. I left her there, with that big thing inside her ass. She had seven to eight hours to read that book, take a nap or whatever.



With no clocks and no windows she couldn't know the hour. She didn't know the day either. An old swaying bulb hanged down the ceiling of the basement. The AC kept the air retively nice, warm and clean. I returned, at last, carrying the sports bag that she dreaded so much.

-Thank you.- First thing was deflating the plug. Doubtlessly the best moment of the day, in her opinion.

-You are welcome. Today we are doing something new. Follow my fucking instructions to the letter.- I said as I unchained her from the table and her hands returned to her waist.

Producing a short length of rope from my bag I tightly tied her upper torso to the chair, the rope passing below her armpits and over her breasts. The first time had been quite traumatic. There was a symbolic value in that action. Producing the hair clippers I reshaved her head, leaving only a short fuzz. With no mirrors, and her hands barely movile, she couldn't know how short it was exactly.

From the bag I produced a tupper and a fork. It's contents looked like dog food and tasted like dog food. It took me a lot of time every day to cook the food so it looked like that but her face of disgust was worth the effort. If it were actual dog food I would make her eat it anyways, of course.

After eating I led me by her neck towards the iron barred end of her purgatory. To her astonishment, for the first time in five years she crossed that door.

We stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Her shackles were so short that she couldn't climb the first step. She tried several times, me prompting her all the time, but no avail. To speed things up while also adding a bit of needless humilliation, I helped her sticking my thumb up her ass. There was no need for lubrication, it fitted easily. With my other hand I grabbed roughly her left breast.

The staircase led to the garage in the ground floor of my fancy suburban house. I opened the trunk of my car. She was about to ask the question she should have already asked, but two hard slaps on her ass gave her all the clues she needed. She got in the trunk rolling on her back.

I drove for an hour. That beach was not very fancy, there were better ones close, but I went there because I knew that we would be alone. I opened the trunk and helped her out. Her expression was priceless, both confused and scared.

-Bruce, what...?

-Today is our fifth anniversary, Jennifer. We are halfway. Enjoy your gift.

-But I...- Her clothes were held together by velcro. With a quick yank her t-shirt was split in two. Her pants came immediately after that. After so many years with no sunlight and no work-out, her body had very little interest for me, and, probably, any other man. Besides the tattoos I had drawn all around her body didn't help at all. On her forearms, upper arms, thighs, shins, calves, buttocks, torso and even foot soles I had wrote a wide array of offensive and demeaning words, like “slut”, “garbage”, “useless” and many others along those lines. She couldn't see all of them but other people would. Even more, due to my zero drawing skills the words looked clumsily written and cheap. The overall sight was deplorable, indeed. After her ten year penance she would be forced to keep her body covered for good. I didn't intend to let her forget her crime.

-Get in the fucking water.- I slapped her ass so hard that she almost fell over.- You have twenty minutes.

She walked arduously through the beach trying in vain to avoid the many stones scattered all around. Once the water had reached the middle of her thighs she fell to her knees. She needed to stay near the shore because she couldn't swim.

Ten minutes later, after realizing that I had got distracted watching a pair of squirrels fighting over a piece of bread I looked at her direction. I cursed my name when I saw that she had plungued her face in the water.

I ran as fast as possible. When I reached her I grabbed her collar roughly and dragged her to the sand. She coughed many times, throwing out the saltwater trying to regain her breath. I helped her applying first aid techniques.

-Please...- She managed to say still coughing and spitting out the remining water.

-Please, what, you stupid shit?- I yelled.

-Please, let me die. Please, I can take no more.- She said between sobs.

-Of course not. Five more years. Then you'll have my permission to die.

I dragged her to the car. She put a bit of a fight, but chained as she was and still weak she couldn't do much. I covered her with a coarse towel and shoved her back in the trunk. During the hour I would be driving back home I would think on a fair punishment. She had tried to ruin my fun and that was unforgivable.

Once at home I inserted two fingers into her collar and I roughly made her stand up. I took her downstairs in to her cell, to the corner next to the hose. A chain hanging from an eyebolt high on the wall was padlocked to her collar. Just in front of her naked feet a drain would shallow all the dirty water.

I rubbed a bar of soap all around her body. Any other day she seemed to enjoy that little human contact, I guessed, because she used to close her eyes and hum very softly. Not that day, though. She kept sobbing all the time. Lost on her thoughts, perhaps, the cold water caught her off guard. Not only the temperature but the strength of the stream also was very unpleasant. She turned and twisted as I instructed to let me clean everything efficiently. When I made her bend down and face the wall, not entirely by accident a part of the stream of water entered her ass, a quite disgusting experience, I presumed. Of course, I knew I was being very cruel but she didn't deserve less.

I made her lay down on the bed and padlocked her collar to the chain on the wall as usual. That day she was going to sleep naked and wet. From my sports bag I produced the tattoo machine and the flogger. She had faced the same dilemma many times, either tattoo, or flogger and tattoo. As usual she chose wisely and she stood still. She kept sobbing, though.

-Please, Bruce.- She said just when I was going to start the new word on her forehead.- It was an accident.- Tears ran down her cheeks.- Please, no more.

-An accident!?- I yelled.- I told you not to drink. I told you not to take drugs. I told you to drive carefully. We were neighbours..., and friends. And what did you do!?

-I got drunk, I took drugs and I drove.

-And!?- I slapped her hard on the cheek.

-And I killed you wife and daughter.- She burst into tears.

-Exactly. And what was our arrangement?

-To avoid going to prison again I would sell my house, quit my job, give you all my savings and let you punish me as you considered fit during ten years.

-See? So stay still, you stupid bitch.- I wrote the word I had thought along her forehead. She stopped sobbing at some point.

-I'm sorry, Bruce. I really am. Trust me, please.

-You are not sorry enough.- I gathered my things and left her as she was, locking the door as I passed by.

I had written the words “worthless trash” across her forehead, but inverted. Someday she would have access to a mirror. She would look at her reflection and feel my justice.

Sometimes I wondered if I was going too far. Everyday, though, I walked in front of my daughter's bedroom and slept in my empty bed and my thoughts went in the opposite direction. I had five more years to torture her and I was going to use them well.