The following story is a sadistic FANTASY, AND A COMPLETE WORK OF FICTION! It depicts acts of sadistic violence against the helpless and sexual situations. In REAL LIFE, I DO NOT CONDONE violence against the helpless in any way, shape, or form! BDS&M play should always be SAFE, SANE, & CONSENSUAL!
Dressed comfortably in my favorite ripped jeans and a burgundy halter top, I answered the door to my country estate. On the door step was a sharply dressed state caseworker pushing a man in a wheelchair.
Oscar, weak with Cerebral Palsy, was slumped in his harness. He was 35, and his mother had just died, so the state had placed him in the group home my husband, Hans, and I owned.
When I inherited my daddy’s fortune, I could've lived
the high life anywhere in the world, without working a day. However, Hans and I decided to own a house
for physically disabled adults, so we could live our desired lifestyle.
“Hans,” I called.
“Our new resident is here.” I bent
down, smiled, and looked Oscar in the eye.
“Hi Oscar. I’m Ava Grausam, and
this is going to be your home for a very long time.”
He looked at me and smiled, probably because I'm so
pleasant to look at. I’m 5’11” with shoulder
length chestnut hair, a slender well chiseled physique, C cup breasts, and
gorgeously long legs. A pair of
ultra-comfy Birkenstock sandals, with a blue leather strap, showcased my
beautifully supple feet and perfect toenails.
Hans came up behind me and kissed the nape of my
neck. He was an inch taller than me
with a skinny rock-hard body, and a well-kempt crop of straw blond hair. In 1930s Germany my handsome husband would've
been worshipped as the perfect Arian specimen, which he was. He wore black biker boots, shiny black leather
pants, and a sleeveless smoky grey leather t-shirt which left his delectable
biceps exposed for me to enjoy.
I took the wheelchair by the handlebars as Hans
grabbed Oscar’s suitcases. Once I was
inside with Oscar, and the door was shut, Hans & I smiled as we watched our
new arrival process what he was seeing.
Three crippled, and severely bruised, men were lying
naked on the floor. Another was tied to
the couch with his penis sticking straight up.
Behind the couch was a crippled naked woman tied spread eagle to a
table; her breasts covered in burns and pretty pink wax. Two of the residents, who could walk with
great difficulty, were struggling on their hands and knees to scrub the
hardwood floors.
“Those are our limpers,” I said. “They do the
housework around here. You droolers, on
the other hand, are nothing more than play things for us to enjoy.”
Oscar shook his head in protest.
I slapped him hard across the face. “You don’t get a vote!” I barked. “Like it, or not, you're here for our entertainment. You're our slave.”
Oscar began to tear up with fear, which had Hans and I
in stitches laughing. The harder we
laughed, the more his face filled with terror.
Ignoring our new toy, I kicked one of the limpers in
the ribcage, sending him to the floor.
“Pull down my pants loser,” I said.
I could've done it myself, but I wanted to watch him struggle to do what
I could do so easily. We laughed and
made fun of him a he worked hard to use his better hand and his mouth to
unfasten the fly before lowering my pants below my knees.
Once he finished, I rewarded his efforts with a sharp
kick to his balls, sending him to the floor in agony. “Get up and get back to work,” I said. The limper got back on his hands and knees, picked up his sponge, and continued cleaning
the floor.
I lowered myself onto the sofa slave’s erect member
and pressed a button on the end table.
The slave’s shock collar buzzed, and the pain started his hips convulsing
up and down, which, in turn, thrust his cock inside me, providing me with waves
of intense pleasure.
“You want any of this junk?” Hans asked.
“A bunch of cheap ugly clothes, a few stupid space
movies, some photograph…”
“…Oh, let me see the picture,” I interrupted eagerly.
He tossed me a framed portrait of an elderly woman in an
auburn polyester pant suit and silk blouse.
“Is this your mommy?” I said.
Oscar nodded.
“It’s all you have left of her, isn’t it?” I said.
Oscar nodded again and a tear ran down his cheek.
I tossed it back to Hans and climbed off the cock I’d
been using. “Burn it last to prolong
things for him.” I crouched above the
couch slave’s mouth, and on cue, he got to work licking the jizz from my shaved
pussy.
Hans laughed and wheeled Oscar over to the fireplace
where he was forced to watch his new master feed the fire with his things,
piece by piece by piece. “From now on,
you're our slave, and slaves don’t own property. Slaves are property.” My gorgeous husband held the picture up last,
where Oscar could see it.
Oscar’s body tensed and his eyes begged my husband not
to destroy the last connection he had to the mother he loved. Hans dangled the picture over the dancing
flames for three long minutes to give Oscar a sliver of hope, before finally
dropping it. Oscar wailed miserably as
the picture blistered and curled into nothing.
Once I was clean, I stood and snapped my fingers. The limper I’d used before crawled to me,
kissed my feet, and set to work pulling my pants back up. They were tight so it was difficult for him
since only one of his hands was somewhat usable. I made sure not to assist him in any way. Watching him grunt and struggle to obey was
so much fun.
“Hurry up,” I said.
“You're such a lazy piece of shit.”
“Yesth missthtressth, I’m a piecthe of shthit."
“You sound so stupid with that lisp. You're lucky I let you live here at all,
you're so stupid and worthless.”
“Thank you missthtressth for letting me sthtay
here. You're very kind.”
Once my pants were up, he began to crawl back to his
sponge and pale of soapy water. I walked
around him and stepped on his bad
hand. He winced in pain as I twisted my
sandaled foot back and forth. “Did I
tell you to get back to work?” I said.
“No missthtressth,” he said through the pain.
“Kiss each toenail,” I said.
His body wobbled and shook as he lowered his head to
my feet. Starting with my left little
toenail, he kissed each nail. He fought
not to collapse from the pain and strain, as the sole of my sandal continued to
torture his useless fingers.
Meanwhile, Hans was busy selecting the right ropes for
his next bit of fun. From our oak cabinet of goodies, he selected a role of
#12 twine, making sure it was as rough and prickly as possible.
Hans unchained the crippled bitch from the table and
tied her wrists together with the twine; around one wrist, around the other
wrist, then around both. He did this
several times to make sure her wrists were together as tightly as possible, and
that the twine dug into her skin causing pain.
He joyfully repeated the cruel procedure with her ankles. She screamed as he cinched the twine tight.
My beautiful husband flipped her, like a piece of
meat, onto her belly. What she wanted
didn't matter in the least. She was just
a slave, there for his use, his enjoyment.
Right now, he wanted to cause pain and degradation, and she was handy.
It pleased me to see him having fun. We were never jealous when we saw each other
having fun. We fucked our slaves; we
made love to each other. We loved giving
one another pleasure as much as we enjoyed giving our slaves pain.
Once she was on her belly, Hans slid a block of wood
under her hips to put her ass in the
air. With no lube whatsoever, he
inserted a steel butt plug into her ass.
Once it was in place, Hans whistled happily and turned the crank on the
end of the plug to lengthen it inside of her.
She screamed with every rotation.
Hans smiled, relishing every
second of her agony.
Without warning, Hans flipped her off the table
allowing her to land on her back on the floor.
Stepping on her breasts and smashing them flat with his boot, he bent
down and let a long string of saliva leave his mouth and cover her face.
“No, you can’t wipe it off,” he said. “I want
you to bathe in every bit of my spit.
It’s worth so much more than you are.
Yes, it is. Oh yes, it is.” He stepped off her tortured body, put a foot
on each side of her head, so it couldn't move, took his strong perfect penis
from his fly, and covered his slave's entire body in a long hot stream of
golden piss.
With her last bit of humanity having been crushed for
our amusement, the slave sobbed uncontrollably, only adding to our pleasure.
Hans stepped around the mess and stood directly in
front of the scrubbing limper. “I have
piss on my boots,” he said. The
limper started to lift the sponge, but Hans cleared his throat. Sorrowfully, he lowered his sponge, and
licked the piss from Hans’s boots.
“Now clean the piss from the floor over there, but DO
NOT clean the slut! She’s not too good to have my piss soak into her skin.”
I took Oscar’s wheelchair in-hand and winked at Hans. “Wanna have some fun?” I said. “Let’s
go find a place for this loser.” I
rubbed Oscar’s hair playfully.
“Are you in the mood to make some art?” Hans
said.
“You know me so well,” I said.
“And, I love every single part of you,” he said.
We took our newest resident down the hall to my
office, making sure to step on fingers and crotches along the way. Hans found it particularly enjoyable to step
on the tits of one of the female droolers.
He smiled as her breasts flattened underneath his heavy boot and she
screamed in agony.
My office already had two art pieces for me to enjoy
as I paid bills or surfed the internet.
Next to the door sat a long box on the floor with a drooler’s head
sticking out of one end. Hans and I would
stop as we entered and left the office to have our feet kissed and/or licked
clean.
The other art piece was a crippled naked male hung on
wall pegs by his armpits, facing the wall.
His eyelids and lips had been sewn shut and his ears had been filled with
molten wax, rendering him completely deaf.
The only thing he could perceive was the pain when I decided to whip
him.
“That collection of welts looks beautiful,” Hans said
as his boots were being licked. “I
think his right thigh could use some color though.”
After a squint and a cock of my head, I took the
bullwhip from the top of my desk and whipped the thigh with a volley of painful
blows. My wall-hanging shuddered and
grunted inaudibly, which proved remarkably entertaining.
Once Hans was satisfied with the cleanliness of his
boots, he kicked the doorway groveler in the eye, and wheeled Oscar to the center of the
room. I removed his harness and
seatbelt, and we cut his; t-shirt, jeans, and socks; off, making sure to
destroy them along the way. Hans picked
up the wheelchair and we let the terrified naked slave crash to the floor in a
heap of pain and misery.
“Perfect,” I said, as his head bounced off the floor,
dazing him. I kicked his stomach and
said, “Stay conscious you piece of shit!
I wouldn't want you to miss this.”
I pulled an anal plug and a much smaller plug from a
nearby drawer as Hans lifted Oscar’s ass into the air. I shoved the first plug deep into Oscar’s ass. Pain wasn't the purpose of the plug, but seeing
our play thing convulsing in agony as I twisted the plug deep into position made
my lovely husband and me laugh.
“We can’t have you making a mess,” I said. “You’ll
be emptied every Wednesday, otherwise you'll just have to hold it.”
“Hun,” Hans said. “Won’t that hurt like Hell and
cause painful kidney and bowel infections?”
I nodded and shrugged. “Sure,” I shrugged. “I just don't give a fuck about his health or
well-being.”
I could’ve tied him up, but Hans took special pleasure
in bondage. Wanting to see my man happy,
I handed him a roll of extra rough and prickly rope. He rolled helpless Oscar onto his stomach and
bent his feet up to his ass. I held the
feet in place while Hans looped the rope around one ankle, around the same
thigh, around the other ankle, then the other thigh, then around both
ankles. He repeated the sadistic pattern
several times to make sure our play thing's feet were trussed securely and
painfully against his butt.
We didn't have to tie his hands for our plan to work,
he couldn't use them in any case.
Nevertheless, we knew that tying his hands would add to his pain,
especially when his muscles began to go into spasm.
I folded Oscar’s arms behind him and bent them up
toward his neck to create as much painful stress as possible in his shoulders
and elbows. He squirmed and struggled,
which made things all the more enjoyable for Hans and me.
“No,” I said with a cruel chuckle. “No, you can’t get away. You're ours to play with. We’re going to have such fun torturing and
humiliating you. Ah, but don’t
worry. We’ll give you enough stimulants
to keep you constantly awake. We don’t
want you to sleep during I minute of the pain.”
“That's right,” Hans said, cinching the rope tight one
last time. “We want you to be awake and
actively suffering just to see how miserable we can make you… for fun… our
fun.”
At the end of my desk was a small cabinet. I opened the front and top doors the cabinet,
and we placed Oscar inside so that his full weight rested solely upon the very
tips of his knees. Then I closed and
locked the front and top doors into place.
A hole had been cut into the top doors beforehand so they would close
around his neck. As a result, it looked
like his head was on top of the cabinet, disembodied.
His knees bit into the hard wood floor of the cabinet,
flooding him with waves of scrumptiously intense pain. I closed one eye and cocked my head. “It’s getting there,” I said. “Something is missing though.”
“Anything I can do to help sweetie?”
“Would you be so kind, and hold his mouth open?” I
said.
“Of course, dear.
Be happy to,” Hans said happily.
He used his strong hands to pull Oscar’s jaw down, then squeezed his
cheeks together to keep his mouth open, making sure to squeeze hard enough to cause
pain. Oscar grunted and tried to pull
his head away, to no avail. “That's
right," Hans said. “Squirm all you
like. You can’t get away. You're completely powerless, completely at
our mercy. Unfortunately for you, we
don’t have any mercy for the weak and
crippled. Do we pumpkin?”
“We surely don’t dear,” I said digging through my desk
drawers. I finally found what I was
looking for. It was a mouth-shaped brace with a leather strap and
a strong brass buckle. I put the brace
in our slave's mouth, making sure all four pegs went behind his teeth to keep
him from spitting it out. As I
positioned the brace, my sweet husband fastened the thick strap around Oscar’s
head and cinched it as tight as possible.
We stood back and admired our handiwork. Oscar’s head bobbed from side to side as he
strained in vein to close his mouth and adjust his knees to relieve some of the
pain.
I pulled a bottle from the drawer and shook it like a
rattle. “Time to take your pills,” I
said with a sadistic laugh. Hans held
Oscar’s head back and I dropped three of the pills down his fucking
throat. “The nice thing about these
puppies is that not only will they keep this shit stain wide awake, but it’ll
keep those nerve endings firing at a hundred and ten percent, so he’ll feel
pain much more acutely.”
Hans stood, put his strong hands gently around my
waste, and we shared a passionate kiss.
After a blissfully perfect moment of love, Hans whispered, “Should I
help him wash his pills down?”
“Please do,” I said.
I squatted on my haunches and held Oscar’s head back as far as it would
go. The angle put a painful strain of
Oscar’s neck. I didn't care.
Hans unzipped his fly, pulled his large strong penis
out of his pants, and placed it deep inside Oscar’s open mouth. Being completely helpless, our slave had no
choice but to drink every last drop of
the noxious yellow liquid coming from the lovely appendage.
After Hans had fully relieved himself, he began to
pull his penis out of Oscar’s throat. I
put my hand on it and lovingly guided it to its resting place. Fortunately, for us, Oscar’s neck had gone
into spasm and locked into place, allowing me to let go and take my shirt off.
Seeing my breasts always excited my sexy man, and now
was no exception. Oscar began to gag as Hans’s
penis grew hard and long. I kissed and
stroked his penis, gently, lovingly, making Hans moan with erotic ecstasy. My masculine husband shook with orgasmic
rapture as he shot a salty hot load of his seed down Oscar’s awaiting throat.
I stood, and Hans took me in his strong arms and kissed me again. “Come,” I said softly. “Let’s shower, then I’ll cook us some vegetables for supper.” Cooking was the one chore I enjoyed doing. We took superb care of our own beautiful bodies, so we were strict pescatarians. Plus, I enjoyed making tasty food to make Hans happy. Our meals tasted even better when we watched our play things go hungry.
