Dangerous Redemption

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Gradually the agony subsided enough for me to think properly. Yet this was the last thing I wanted to do. Every time I tried to get my head around Julia’s outrageous threats and their murderous implications (serious or not?), I kept being diverted by the strangely compelling memories of being pitilessly smothered, and the almost hallucinatory aftermath of that.

Never had any experience been so arresting – or arousing. Never had I achieved such sublimity of perception, or reached an orgasm so easily. Then of course, there was Julia herself: so surpassingly lovely and desirable, fearsomely demanding, cruelly dominant and effortlessly omnipotent. She truly seemed a goddess of sorts, and worthy of my instant unlimited devotion. Already the thought of the agony she’d just inflicted on me was being subsumed by other memories: the taste and shape of her n****e in my mouth and the firm warm press of the breast behind it; sucking her engorged c******s while she thrillingly humiliated me; and most of all the slick groove of her s*x sliding along the rigid underside of mine as she lay undulating atop me, her hot mouth fastened insistently upon my throat and engendering the most exciting of submissive fantasies…

Even had I been free to get up and flee (unconsciously I rattled my shackles, perversely reveling in the helplessness of my bondage) it was doubtful I’d have been able to make myself do so despite the very rational fear for my life beautiful Julia inspired in me. Like a moth drawn to a flame, I was so mesmerized by the brilliance of her attraction that I was able to disregard its possible fatality. Finally, overwhelmed by contradictions and confusion, I sought distraction from this turmoil in a study of my surroundings.

I had been too captivated by the spell of Julia’s presence to take in any but the most general features of her bedroom yet: its high-ceilinged spaciousness, the enormous square bed, the rather sinister ambiance created by its décor. Now I had leisure to really register each feature. And sinister it certainly was.

The overwhelming impression was of darkness. The brightness of fifteen or so flickering candle flames (perched on shafts of thick black wax) seemed not only to sink but actually be sucked into the identical, nearly unrelieved blackness of the walls, ceiling, floor and bedding. Everything but the darkly varnished oak of the bed itself (the only piece of furniture other than a compact stereo and that tall steel cabinet) painted a deep flat black, and heavy curtains of sable silk and a deep-pile black carpet completely concealed the windows and floor. There were only two further exceptions to this creepy totality. A large mirror, eight feet wide by six high, affixed to the wall just above the head of the bed. On the opposite wall, reflected in this, the stenciled cover art from Pink Floyd’s iconic Dark Side of the Moon album: a central triangular prism, with a slender beam of white entering one side and a rainbow fan of color exiting the other.

This musical motif recalled the aural component of the room’s sinister ambiance, long unheeded but surely continuously contributing. In the same lunar spirit it was Santana’s Moonflower playing, a double album consisting almost entirely of long, wailing electric guitar jams, each track and even note seemingly sustained more than the last: a fluid, ceaseless, melodic river of sound overflowing with Latin passion.

For a bit, I let this entrancing flow carry me thoughtlessly along, gazing at everything in general and nothing in particular. It was enough to just lie there naked, spent and helpless, feeling a twining of unease and excitement inside me as I waited for the goddess of this particular universe to return and wreak whatever terrifying and exciting vengeance she had planned upon me. Then out of the gloom above me, my eyes picked out one last feature of this place that had gone hitherto unnoticed. And just like that I was forced abruptly back into an acute contemplation of Julia’s dire warnings and the possibly eternal consequences of my shameful failure to satisfy her.

Centered above the bed, set into that high ceiling and painted an identical jet black, was a motorized winch. Descending a mere foot or so from this, black as well and blending in so effortlessly as to make it nearly invisible, was a thin but stout cable formed into an unmistakable noose.

Holy s**t!

Suddenly this went from a kinky if decidedly creepy disporting place to an actual execution chamber! Here was tangible, heart-freezing evidence to give credence to Julia’s nebulous threats and supernatural intimations. Suddenly my heart was racing again; my balls drawing up and astonishingly, my recently exhausted erection springing quickly back up into urgent rigidity.

How in the hell could this sudden mortal terror be turning me on at all, much less so intensely?

The part of me that had reveled in terminal fantasies and even suffocation seemed to have some idea. But before I could drag this into full consciousness the closet door suddenly crashed open, and the deity in question dramatically emerged. Her changed appearance immediately scaled my intermixed terror and arousal to new heights – along with an additional horrified realization that threatened to topple my reason altogether.

Exacerbating my sudden awareness that I rested comfortably if inescapably on a gallows, Julia’s fetchingly short hair and most of her severely lovely face were now hidden beneath the black leather half-hood of a medieval executioner. Only her ears, strong jaw, gleaming teeth and darkly blazing eyes were visible. On her formerly bare limbs, she wore black leather stiletto-heeled boots and knuckle-spiked gauntlets that rose just above the knees and elbows respectively. In one gloved fist, she clutched the handle of a Bowie knife, its enormous notched blade keenly shining, and trailing from the other was the sinuous lash of a bullwhip. Yet it is what is displayed between the bodily extremes that really roiled my insides and made my erection strain traitorously upward.

Julia’s breasts, wondrously upswept and disproportionally large already, were further raised, separated and supported by a scant black harness of thin leather straps glittering with pointy silver spikes. And clinging seamlessly to her hips, low around her waist and cut high around her crotch and buttocks, were tight latex panties of shiny black. Shiny black as well and sprouting out from low down front and center of these however was the instant focus for all my shocked, horrified, terrorized, exquisitely arousing and humiliating realization: a slightly up-curved, fully erect phallus over eight inches long and perhaps one and a half thick.

Immediately almost the last words Julia spoke to me recurred in their suddenly monumental significance. There was more than one way to f**k a man? Indubitable there were multitudinous ways. Yet this one was so depraved that it had honestly never occurred to me.

Of course, I was aware that faggots f****d each other in the ass. But I’d never really considered the matter beyond a distracted disgust and as a fodder for jokes and metaphors. That a woman might force this extreme indignity upon a heterosexual male seemed as shocking as an atrocity.

Naturally, I clamped my legs together, shook my head in desperate denial and began babbling incoherent pleas. Yet as when Goddess Julia had thrust her abnormally large clit through my lips and f****d me with it, degrading me all the while, this even more wildly extreme and perverse prospect blackly and almost sickeningly excited me in the same inexplicable way. And of course, given the far greater magnitude of the depravity on offer, my shameful reaction was correspondingly more powerful.

Nearly swooning with the stew of conflicting impulses swamping me I at least temporarily forgot all about the fatal implications of my devastatingly attractive and fearful lover, my recent proof of inadequacy and the deadly noose impending above me. I only had eyes and brain space for the menacing organ bobbing so jauntily as my omnipotent Goddess brought it closer to me with each cocky stride. Then she spoke, compelling my attention and compounding my uncontrollable upset.

“Prepare yourself for rape, peon. I’m going to f**k your ass until I come about a thousand times. However, don’t think this is your punishment for failing to satisfy me. I was going to do this to you anyways.

“You see, long before I was a goddess I was a helpless child of ten cursed with an early developing bosom and great physical attractiveness. Some asshole male bastards like you took advantage of this.

“They took turns raping me for hours, and the damage they inflicted left me barren. Now I live for the opportunity to exact revenge. Thanks to police indifference – the f*****g pigs were all asshole males too – those particular perpetrators got off scot-free, instead of suffering incarceration, repeated rape, castration and execution like they deserved. I consider all men guilty as sin however. And so I take what satisfaction I can by punishing my despicable assaulters by proxy.

“You will be the latest to stand in for them. So go ahead and struggle with me all you like. Every bit of resistance you offer will just enflame and excite me further. And if I find raping you to be particularly satisfying, I just might reconsider dispatching you shriven and sexually useless directly to my harem as a lowly toilet slave. Once again the fate of your eternal soul is in your own hands.”

Just like that, all of my doubts about the seriousness of Julia’s threats were banished. Not only did she mean to kill me if I failed her again but to cut off my genitals too! As she climbed grinning onto the bed and set the whip and knife aside within easy reach, I suddenly couldn’t tear my eyes from this latter object.

Gleaming in the candlelight the heavy blade was about fifteen inches long and clearly honed to a razor edge. As I imagined it slicing effortlessly through the base of my balls and c**k that threatened member pulsed paradoxically harder still, and my breath seemed to stick in my lungs. Frozen with inexplicably exciting terror, my skin crawled with gooseflesh, the hair prickled on the back of my neck and despite my mortal jeopardy, I found myself unable to move a muscle. Then Julia knelt by my feet, seized my ankles, wrenched apart my legs and made to move between them. Instantly my strange stasis shattered.

Right away I began kicking and thrashing frantically. All of my terror for my manhood and life, all my unspeakably perverse excitement at my unbelievable predicament and more I poured into my galvanic struggles. Yes, I was urgent to satisfy Goddess’ demand of resistance and possibly save myself. However, this autonomic panic needed no rational reason. Desperate to escape despite the obvious impossibility of this I wrenched against my manacles more furiously than ever, bucked and bounced on the bed and tossed my head violently from side to side. Unexamined at the time, I’ve come to believe this was the last ditch resistance of some innately male self-conception facing certain eradication at the tool sprouting from Julia’s groin.

The prospect of submitting to that organ was incredibly secretly exciting to me on one level and as terribly final as castration and death on another. I would never be the same afterwards, and even if my subsequent life was measured in mere minutes it would be another being entirely who was summarily shriven and dispatched. It was this remnant of the man I used to be before falling into the seductive and transformative clutches of Goddess Julia that was fighting so terrifically for life. Unfortunately, for the former me, that effort was unsustainable and ultimately futile. Even had that primal determination not been insidiously undermined by the emerging persona that craved helpless submission to this icon of feminine omnipotence, that unlimited power embodied in her was far more unconquerable than even my own self-destructive perversion. She could have overcome and taken me in seconds, and only her predatory enjoyment of the thrill of the struggle caused her to draw it out to several intensely exciting minutes.