Free JF Gonzalez - Fetish.wps by phuc Page B

him, smiling. “What you have in mind, baby?"
    He'd told her what he wanted. He wanted to handcuff her to a bondage rack he had in his dungeon and fuck her in the ass. She had agreed to this, told him it would be a hundred dollars extra. No problem. He'd led her to the dungeon he had set up in the next room and switched on the light.
    The dungeon was neat and orderly. It was roughly thirty by forty feet in size, the biggest room in the house. The walls and ceiling were painted black. The windows were closed, the blinds drawn. The bondage rack, painted blood red, was against the far wall, a low wooden table with a rubber mattress and a makeshift wooden frame at the end. The frame was scarred. There was a bucket directly behind the frame, out of direct eye view.
    He took off his clothes and reached over to a small bureau, opening a drawer. Inside was a mixture of bondage gear; leather harnesses, handcuffs, cat-o-nine tails, ball gags, nipple clamps, ben-wa balls, ankle and wrist straps. The woman had eyed them as she shrugged out of her miniskirt. “You want me to keep my hose and heels on?"
    “Sure.” He directed her to the table.
    For the first time that night she looked hesitant. She had eyed the black rubber mattress, the handcuffs that he fondled gingerly. She'd looked back at him. “How do you want me handcuffed?"
    He had motioned to the wooden frame at the foot of the makeshift rack. “See those posts? I'll handcuff each wrist to either side of the frame. You'll be able to lean against it with your hands."
    “And you want to fuck me like that ?” She had looked apprehensive.
    “You said you were into this,” he'd said, sounding disappointed.
    “I am,” she said. “But ... I ain't too keen on being on the receiving end."
    “It's the only way I can get off,” he'd said, his voice smooth. “I won't be too rough.
    When I'm done, if you want to get off you can strap me down."
    She'd eyed him, then eyed the bondage toys on the open drawer. This had seemed to change her mind. “I want to whip your ass with that cat-o-nine tails."
    “Mmmmm, yes, I like that,” he'd said, smiling, brandishing the handcuffs. “That's really about the only thing I like when I'm in the submissive role."
    “Good.” She had climbed on the rack, got on her hands and knees. “You want to be my slave?"
    “Sure,” he'd said. “But only after you let me fuck you, master."
    “Beg me, slave,” she'd purred, red lips pursed. “Beg me to let you fuck me."
    He had played the role of the submissive slave begging his mistress to savor her delights. She'd played the role well, and the fantasy fueled his lust. When she got down on her hands and knees and demanded that she cuff him to the headboard, he had complied eagerly, clasping the cuffs to the worn wood of the frame. She gripped the frame, body arched, ass sticking out demurely, legs spread slightly. He had climbed on the rack behind her and parted her ass cheeks, tongue lapping at her womanly folds.
    The woman had moaned, eyes closed, head bowed down as she rode through her orgasm.
    He had taken her quickly.
    Moving behind her, he had brought his arm up around her throat in a headlock and squeezed. She'd struggled hard, her breath catching in her throat, stifling a scream. He applied pressure and she dropped like a sack of potatoes, unconscious. His breath had quickened as he released his grip from her throat and regarded her helpless form on the rack. Worked every time; apply enough pressure to the right spot in the throat and the oxygen supply is cut off from the brain in seconds. He had been fully aroused by then, ready for the coup de grace .
    He had reached for the heavy butcher knife that he kept hidden behind a row of bottles. He grabbed the back of her head by her hair and pulled, exposing her throat. He moved her body forward slightly, her head and throat positioned above the bucket at the foot of the rack. With one fell swoop, he'd drawn the long heavy blade of the knife