Folded, Spindled & Mutilated: A Love Story

Chapter One Learning the Ropes Outside the Presidential Suite Overlooking the Ocean, The Pandela Beach Hotel “Arthur. Arthur! Come here this instant, you worthless little PeezOhCheet,” Silvia Martinet, his step mother by proxy, called in a ragged, angry voice. Arthur heard his love calling and crouched even lower under the redwood table in the patio by the small, heated pool. It was the only private pool and patio in the hotel and he doubted anyone else heard Silvia’s shrieking. He shivered. He waited. He knew what was coming. “Arthur, you little s**t, when I find you, and I will find you, you will dearly wish that your father had never created you. Now come here right now or I’ll cut off what’s left of your useless, little pecker.” Arthur was thirty-three years old and to all appearances, a normal, well- educated, adult male, but at the sound of Silvia’s voice, he froze. He shivered again, pressing his nose to the concrete. His rough and calloused hands groped for his groin, protecting his already battered and swollen c**k and balls which were tightly encased is a heavy, chromed c**k and ball cage. A sideways glance confirmed his worst fears: the woman he both loved and hated was walking directly towards the table. In a few seconds she would be upon him, the cane in her left hand rising and falling like a metronome, beating any exposed Arthur flesh…and most of Arthur was pathetically exposed. He wore only his tattered blue jockey shorts and even these no longer functioned as a covering or protection for his “pathetic family jewels” as Silvia called his genitals. Nevertheless, for as long as the two had known each other, there remained something between them that defied logic…they were hopelessly attracted to one another. Arthur loved Silvia and Silvia loved Arthur, but for different reasons. Arthur loved what Silvia could and would do to him. The humiliation, the floggings, the hopeless confinement in a coffin or closet. The endless abuse of his body. Silvia loved to humiliate Arthur, in private or in public. Whipping his ass and back was stimulating. Doing so while Arthur massaged her p***y with his tongue and lips was a devastating rush for Silvia. The relationship was not as one-sided as it seemed. They needed each other. It was probably not true love, but it was certainly symbiosis in its purest form. To some observers, it was also parasitic. They saw Silvia’s great wealth and luxury life style as based on what she took from Arthur. But close examination of the relationship revealed that both organisms survived to a large extent due to what the other offered. It was unwedded bliss with a large, constant measure of sadistic/masochistic activity. *** “I see you, you little f**k,” Silvia screamed triumphantly, standing next to the table and swishing the cane about her, letting him hear the sizzle and whoosh of the flexible fiberglass wand that brought him so much pain, anguish and obvious pleasure. “Up and out, you worthless, little turd,” Silvia shouted, just loud enough for him to know she was pissed and not quite loud enough for anyone in the neighboring suites or on floors below to hear her. “Bend over the bench and grab your ankles. Now!” Arthur crawled out from under the table, both hands clutching his privates. He did as he was told, whimpering sounds coming from his slightly twisted lips; big, salty tears coming from his tightly shut eyes. His hair was disheveled, his light beard was three days old and he looked like a homeless man off the Philadelphia streets. The cane landed, sounding to Arthur like the flat side of a meat cleaver hitting a slab of beef. He started, tightened his grip on his ankles and continued to blubber as the vicious cane rose and fell in a steady rhythm until the already swollen hams of his ass were again glowing with purple and rose-colored cuts and bruises. He mentally counted the blows and when he reached eight, the flogging stopped. “Stand up straight,” Silvia said, her cane poking him from behind and digging into his already well-marked backside. “Pul, pul, please, no more,” Arthur blubbered, tears running down his face, weaving through his grubby beard, the salt taste seeping into his dry mouth. “No more, please.” “You’ll get no more when I say so, toilet mouth,” Silvia replied. “Now, get down on your knees and lick me until I say ‘no more’.” Sobbing, Arthur went to his knees, lifted the hem of Silvia’s short skirt and began using his tongue in the familiar routine of trying to bring Silvia to some sort of orgasm, a task that could take five minutes or five days, depending on her mood and the agility of his tongue. As he licked and probed, an aluminum paddle struck his ass repeatedly, leaving a series of bright red rectangular patterns with small white spots from the holes in the paddle. Eventually, Silvia tired of the game and ceased paddling, which was Arthur’s cue to stop his sucking and lapping. He pulled back and crouched slightly, not able to stand having his beet-red ass touch the back of his legs. “I’ve had enough for today, Silvia,” he said without thinking. “You will not, ever, ever call me that name, you little maggot; you worthless fucker,” Silvia spat. “But okay, no more of the paddle and cane today. Instead, you will enjoy the benefit of some new items on your pitiful c**k and balls. Now strip that pathetic pair of shorts and march you sorry ass over to the lacing bar.” Arthur knew the drill. He shuffled over to the bar hanging from its chain and snapped the padded cuffs onto this wrists. Silvia pressed the UP button on the remote and Arthur’s arm went up until he was hanging with only his toes on the sandy floor of the outdoor shower. “Now, you stand still while I put this spreader on your ankles and then you get your reward,” Silvia said as she locked the wide leg spreader onto his ankles. In doing so, she changed the distance from Arthur’s toes to the sand floor and he was now just barely touching the sand, which meant that his wrists were bearing most of his weight. Arthur struggled and Silvia delivered three strokes to his quivering ass. “Stop that. Stand still,” she warned. Arthur ceased his movement, fearing that something worse than three strokes would follow if he moved another muscle. He looked down while Silvia unlocked and roughly removed the CBC and began to attach a handful of bright metal objects to his privates. She was in the process of sliding the open end of one of the objects around the top of his ball sack when Arthur felt a stabbing pain in his entire groin. He screamed. Silvia stopped what she was doing and grinned at her sub. “If you would shave more often I wouldn’t be getting your public hair caught in the threaded hardware,” she muttered. “Now shut up and I’ll try and back off the screw.” The screw device was the straight, threaded bar in a stainless steel shackle, easily obtained from the marine store where Silvia often shopped for trinkets with which to entertain her subs. These shackles were not leg irons, but rather the sort of hardware often used to connect or terminate a length of chain or cable. Each C-shaped fitting had a one inch opening that was closed by inserting bar with a threaded end into an opening on one side and screwing it until it was tight, thus closing the C and enclosing the base of his ball sack. Used these on the genitals was always touchy because the threaded bar tended to pull hair while it was turned. Silvia’s solution for her subs was to assure that they shaved their entire abdominal region frequently. For those subs who were sooner or later destined to be transgendered, she pushed the point further and had them keep their entire body hairless, except for their head. She backs off the screw, used a thin, sharp blade to cut the offending hairs and then quickly returned the screw bar until it was tight inside the shackle. She added another shackle to the same place and then a third and fourth, each time stretching the loose flesh of the ball sack downward and of course, adding its weight and making Arthur struggle and sweat as his sac was stretched to the maximum he could tolerate. Smiling her evil, provocative smile, Silvia poked Arthur in the ass and said: “That tight enough for you, scum?” Arthur nodded. “I asked you a question, worm,” she shouted. “Answer me properly.” “Ya, ya yes Mistress,” Arthur replied quietly. “Louder.” “Yes, Mistress. It is good and tight. Thank you, Mistress,” Arthur managed. Silvia stopped working on Arthur’s scrotum and fitted another, slightly larger shackle around the base of Arthur’s entire genital set, pressing the open shackle against his abdomen, sliding the steel ring to enclose the entire package and then inserting the threaded, locking bar to close the opening. She then installed a smaller shackle on the end of Arthur’s c**k, but by manipulating the loose flesh behind the c**k’s head, Silvia forced the open shackle into place and closed the narrow opening with yet another screw bar. The shackle opening was too narrow to fit over the p***s’ head, but it now nestled snugly just behind the base of the head. It was a tight fit, squeezing the c**k flesh until the gap in the shackle was closed. Then she used a short length of steel chain to connect the ring on the end of the threaded bar to the base shackle, taking up the slack so that the c**k ring was not going to slide off. She used two more lengths of chain in the same way, forming a sort of three chain security cage around the d**k, and assuring that the ring on the end was not coming off. Arthur moaned and cried as his already brutalized luggage was locked up tightly in the metal shackles. Silvia put a thin dog leash chain around his waist, locked it in front and left two short ends of chain hanging below, nearly touching the new steel ring around the base of Arthur’s c**k and balls. She attached one dangling end to the ball sack shackles and the other end to the c**k ring. When she was done, Arthur’s entire s*x set was engulfed in locked stainless steel shackles, chained to his waist and frighteningly snug. “I don’t recommend your getting a hard on, s**t head,” Silvia cautioned. “Those shackles have a strength of about five thousand pounds and zero stretch in them, so it will hurt if you engage in any funny stuff. Into the closet now, b***h. Perhaps I’ll visit you tonight when I have a guest. So behave yourself and I’ll let you show off your new steel rings. You’ll spend the night and possibly longer in the closet. Let’s go. Move!” They went up the wide, white oak steps, past the white louvered doors of the boy’s and girl’s dressing rooms and into the spacious beach house. Later that night, Silvia freed Arthur from his chains in the closet, removed his mouth stuffing gag and allowed him a drink of beer. He sat on his haunches on the oak floor while Silvia occupied a comfortable lounge chair. “I’d like a break, Sil,” Arthur said in a much lower and different voice than he’d used a few hours earlier. “I told you, don’t ever address me that way, you worm.” she said. “I regret that, Mistress. It’s just that I think I need a shower and some rest. You did so well, I’m totally exhausted,” Arthur said, trying to placate his Dom. “Thank-you, Art. I’m happy to be of useful service. Will that be all for today or do you wish for me to stay and help you in the shower? I was thinking about how you might enjoy that exotic exercise that I brought back from Indonesia last year: the torment of the three traps. We haven’t done that in a few months, have we?” “No, we haven’t repeated that hellish game. The spring loaded mouse traps on my t**s were bad enough, but the one on my d**k was murder,” Arthur said, gritting his teeth as he recalled the routine that began with him chained to the wall of the basement with arms stretched out high and behind him, his feet locked in a steel spreader bar and his mouth sealed shut with instant glue. Silvia had set him up in that unpleasant posture and then slowly closed the giant rat trap on his c**k while her devious associate Dom, Lois, added fishing weights to the tit traps. His lips sealed, unable to speak or even scream, Arthur thought at the time that the pain would kill him. He was certain that the trap bar on his c**k would eventually snap his already shrunken p***s in half and he’d bleed to death. “No, thank-you,” Arthur muttered, still attempting to drive the memory of pain from his brain. “You may go. I will see you tonight at the usual time. Francine and Morgan are coming from dinner and it will be the usual waste of time and good food, but it can’t be helped.” “Right.” Silvia said. “See you at ten then.” Arthur watched and listened as Silvia, who was actually Silvia Marinetti, left the room. He watched the tilt and swing of her marvelous ass with each step and he listened to the rhythmic click of steel heel caps on her towering, red, patent pumps as she walked slowly down the hall, her footsteps echoing off the hardwood flooring and redwood paneled walls. The vision illuminated a different part of his male brain and he thought briefly of what it might be like to look like Silvia. Could he ever manage that walk, that erect carriage of upper body with unbridled t**s swinging slowly from side to side as she walked, the height of the high heels exaggerating the erotic motion? This was not the first time these thoughts had occurred to Arthur. It always seemed to him that women really ran the world, using men for their entertainment and constantly strategizing new methods of dominance. Nevertheless, he also knew that for the real grunt work, males were necessary and that there was no system on earth that could be arranged without their presence. This conundrum fascinated Arthur. He was as addicted to Silvia as he was to the things she did to him and he knew that no matter what form or gender he might someday take, he was a necessary cog in the great wheel of s*x and human erotica. He was certain that, in a way, the doms of the world were irrevocably indentured to their subs. It was, Arthur thought, an oddly balanced kind of symbiosis, one group dependent upon the other for its continued existence. Since nearly every living thing was to some degree dependent on others for its survival, the dom/sub relationship seemed to him as just another part of the total grand design. Arthur did not consider himself a philosopher, but at times like these when he and Silvia spent hours or even days locked in the mutual embrace of dominance and discipline, he was often inclined to ruminate about how things might be if the tables were turned. In his heart, Arthur knew that was a highly unlikely scenario, but watching Silvia’s incredible behind as she walked away again brought to Arthur’s mind the possibility of what their relationship might be like if he was a female. Would Silvia still find tormenting him/her as stimulating as their present arrangement? Would a female version of Arthur get the same electric surge from a strike of the whip or bondage in chains? Would Arthur the woman still seek pain and pleasure from another female or would she move on to a different gender combination?