Bondage story - The Phantom of the Roxy - 35

“He chained you up naked and whipped you, didn’t he?” said the old seamstress with undisguised pleasure. “That’s what he does.”

Jessica bit her quivering lip and stared aghast at the old woman. She had been about to start spilling out her story to this old crone, but now she was suddenly aware that Mrs. Crow was anything but sympathetic to her plight. The old woman was getting excited picturing her being tortured. She was getting off on it!

“I’ll bet you liked it, didn’t you, Jessica?” said the old woman wickedly. She could see the girl was on the verge of tears, but she went on gleefully, without pity. “He beat you raw and you liked it. And then he fucked you with that giant prick of his, and I’ll bet you really liked that! Didn’t you?” The hateful old crone had slammed her daggers right into the heart of Jessica’s guilt, thrown her most unspeakable shame right in her face. She stared, her mouth hanging open in shocked outrage, though she couldn’t make a sound. Her face burned with mortifcation, tears standing in her eyes. Suddenly she couldn’t bear the woman’s company another moment, and she stumbled down off the box and ran from the room. As she passed into the darkened hall, she heard Mrs. Crow laughing behind her.

There was a restroom at the end of the hall, and she fed into it, putting her back against the door and breathing deeply, fghting back the tears. After several minutes, the tightness in her throat began to ease, and she knew she wasn’t going to cry. A few more minutes, and she had pulled herself together, more or less. She washed her face, brushed her hair, freshened her makeup, and squared her shoulders to the mirror. She was ready now to go and tell that vicious, hateful old woman what a bitch she was. Jessica strode back into the wardrobe room ready for battle, but the old seamstress had packed up her notes and gone. Jessica had been the last cast member she’d needed to measure. Jessica cursed her soundly under her breath. But when she turned to go, she was suddenly confronted with that long, dark hallway once again, and no one else was even in this end of the building. It was a perfect opportunity for the Whisperer, or the Phantom, as Mrs. Crow had called him.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she steeled herself and began walking down the hallway. She slowed when she came to the turn, and peered around the corner. Nothing. Hesitantly, she moved around the corner and into the darkest part of the hall. The tiny lightbulb fickered and then abruptly died, leaving the hall almost entirely lightless. Jessica halted. Once again she felt the Whisperer’s presence, the back of her neck prickling.

“Jessicaaa,” came the whispered word, coming from everywhere and nowhere. Abruptly one of the doors on her left opened inward, creaking ominously. She could see nothing but darkness inside.

It was the Whisperer’s summons. He had told her he would call her. He expected her to go through that doorway voluntarily, offer herself to him so he could humiliate her and torture her and rape her. She had been expecting and dreading this moment for three days, wondering what she would do, and now the moment was here. She couldn’t do it! Sudden fear overwhelmed her, and she bolted past the open door and ran down the shadowed hall.

She didn’t get far. Suddenly another door was fung open before her, this one swinging outward and partially blocking the hallway. She slowed and tried to veer around it, but a huge dark shape appeared in the open doorway and seized her in an iron grip. She cried out, but she knew there was no one to call to for help, and so did the Whisperer. He didn’t even try to cover her mouth this time, but simply dragged her through the doorway, closing the door behind them.

Jessica was in darkness. Once again she felt the helplessness come over her as she realized she was totally un- der the Whisperer’s power. Her terrifying master had once again taken charge. From now until he was fnished with her, every decision would be his, and she wouldn’t be responsible for anything she did or felt. A strange sense of relief washed over her with that realization.

A gloved hand tangled in her hair, grasping a handful of it and dragging her head back painfully, then forcing her down to her knees. Fingers fumbled for a moment at her waist, and then her tight jeans loosened, were abruptly yanked down almost to her knees. Her panties followed a moment later, and she felt cool air touch her naked pussy. She gasped sharply, but didn’t try to fght. Her head was yanked back even farther, making her arch her back so far that she was leaning backward, supported only by the Whisperer’s grip on her hair.

“Lift your arms over your head,” he hissed, and there was a strong note of anger in his voice. She obeyed instantly, and a powerful hand gripped the bottom edge of her halter top and yanked it upward, over her head and away. She felt her breasts bounce free, naked in the darkness. The hand in her hair suddenly threw her forward, releasing her, and she was forced to catch herself with her hands. She was now on her hands and knees, all but naked, her bare bottom in the air. Something struck her soft bottomcheeks with a sharp crack, the impact almost knocking her off balance, the sting making her cry out. “Crawl!” commanded her master, and she obediently began to shuffe forward.

The foor was rough wooden planks beneath her hands and knees, and the air had the musty smell of a room long unused. Ahead she could now make out the dim outline of a doorway, and she steered for it instinctively. The next room was only barely lit by thin shafts of light that leaked in through cracks in the ceiling, revealing heaps of abandoned clutter, stage props that hadn’t been used in years.

“Right,” hissed the voice of her unseen master, followed by another agonizing crack to her naked bottom. She crawled to the right, circling around stacks of boxes, and found another door. It opened before her, though she didn’t see the Whisperer open it, and she crawled through. A short, narrow passage, two more turns and another door, and she found herself entering a room she recognized. It was the high-ceilinged, irregularly-shaped chamber he had brought her to the frst time he’d taken her, though they’d just entered by a different door. It was still lit by candelabra and a scattering of candles, the central posts supporting the heavy crossbeam from which hung the two chains he had strapped her to the frst time he’d whipped her.

“Left,” he commanded, and as each previous command had been, it was followed by another blow to her upturned bottom. She found herself crawling toward a straight-backed wooden chair. Mounted in the center of the seat was a carved wooden phallus, not nearly as large as the one in the Whisperer’s pants, but still uncomfortably big. Jessica stared at it as she approached the chair, knowing she would soon be sitting on it and wondering how it would feel inside her.

“Arms up on the chair,” came the command when she’d reached the thing, and she obediently placed her arms on the seat of the chair, the obscene vertical dildo inches from her face. “Lick it,” whispered her master. “Make it nice and wet with your mouth, so it will go in easily.” Jessica stared at the wooden phallus, which had been carved into a detailed likeness of a real cock, then stained and varnished to match the chair. Again something cracked painfully across her bare ass, making her yelp, and she glanced back for the frst time at her tormentor.

The Whisperer stood threateningly behind her, shrouded as usual in a hat and cloak, this time of burgundy, face hidden as always but for his ferce dark eyes. In his hand he held a thick leather strap with a wooden handle, which he was raising for another blow.

“Obey me, little cock-slut,” he hissed, bringing the strap down harder than before, the blow making Jessica shriek in pain. She quickly turned back to the wooden dildo and began licking its hard, carved planes and curves, but the strap continued to fall on her burning bottom. The Whisperer strapped her long and hard while she laved the obscene dildo with her tongue, turning her round, bouncing bottom into a throbbing blaze of agony. At last he stopped.

“Now, Jessica,” he hissed, “get up and sit on the shaft!” She didn’t move for a long, frozen moment. “Obey me!” he commanded, the edge of anger returning to his whispering voice, and the strap struck her bottom harder than ever, reminding her that she had no choice.

Hesitantly, shakily, Jessica rose to her feet. Her jeans still tangled around her knees, she turned awkwardly and faced her master, who was removing his hat and cloak. The chair was behind her. She had been ordered to sit in it, and reluctantly she positioned herself. Despite the strapping and the submissive feelings coursing through her, this was hard for her to do. At her master’s command, she was expected to voluntarily impale herself on a wooden dildo! She was being forced to participate in her own deflement, and this renewed the inner battle that raged within her. She clutched the chair’s back with both hands, blushing deeply and hiding her face behind her hair as she slowly lowered herself into the chair.