Sentenced to Heaven

Chapter Four-1

Chapter Four

Sentenced

For a while he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.

The effects of whatever drug he’d been given lingered, making him groggy. All he knew was that he was miserably chilly and everywhere he wasn’t numb he ached. The side of his face in particular hurt. Something hugely momentous had occurred, but for the moment it escaped him. He lay with leaden limbs on some hard surface, looking up at some soft surface, its pattern intricate but regular. Only after drifting through this befuddling limbo for an indeterminate time did understanding at last come to Alex.

He was staring up at a ceiling. Huge timbers supported a roof – or structure – above him. Between these stretched that strangely textured surface, which he now recognized to be acoustic dampening foam: soundproofing material. Next to those rustic timbers and the stone walls that met them, this looked bizarrely anachronistic. Nevertheless it made sense of things at last.

Alex remembered his surrender and relief returned in a swooning rush. He understood that his captor-savior had brought him to this place, a basement by the look and chill of it.

Clearly just burying, drowning or baking him alive was also too good for him. Instead she’d taken him to a private, no-doubt cleverly-hidden murderess’ lair where she could take all the time she liked finishing him. Good: whatever happened from here on in would be just between the two of them. Justice would be both of theirs at last.

Alex smiled at the thought and his face throbbed on. He went to gingerly explore it. Only then did he realize he was still shackled up hogtied.

Folded up and cuffed behind him, his arms and legs might already have been dead. Lying half upon them and half on his side, he was resting on an inch-thick tumbling mat like those used in gym class. He was completely naked, his clothes apparently having been cut from him. His body was bruised and galled from his travels, just like his face by the feel of it. How long had he spent locked in that box, his bound body being smuggled like cargo over ever rougher and more remote terrain? However long it was, the box may have been gone, but it had been replaced by another inescapable restraint.

Some kind of heavy leather collar had been fitted snugly about his neck. An even heavier-gauge steel chain ran from this to the stone block wall, where it was locked to an iron ring – one of many recently cemented in. He clearly wasn’t going anywhere, ever again.

All this was wonderfully gratifying. Alex reveled in his discomforts, his pitiless bondage and hopeless imprisonment. With any luck at all he’d be slowly, gruesomely put to death soon. His own screams would drown out those in his mind and finally he’d know peace. The only pain that actually distressed him at the moment was the cramping in his bladder.

He had to go soon or make a mess in here. Stirring his torpid system, Alex squirmed at his bonds a moment before managing to roll over and face the rest of his jail. What he saw slapped all thought of pissing from him, at least for a while.

He couldn’t believe it. It was like one of those videos he’d downloaded and feverishly jerked off to. He was being held in a dungeon, a meticulously prepared and appointed torture chamber. It seemed that not only was he being allowed to make restitution in person, but his darkest fantasies were truly going to be realized too. Mrs. Blaine might have conjured this place straight out of his sickest, most perversely needy dreams.

Flat white light revealed everything. Though the ceiling was low, about eight feet at the beams, there was enough room down here for plenty of devilry.

The walls were crowded with shelves, this perimeter regularly interrupted by apparatus. Devices for restraint and the mechanical application of pain were ranged everywhere, the archaic cheek-by-jowl with the modern. The was an adjustable pillory and what looked like a homemade stretching rack set up like a pool table right in the middle. Past these, Alex saw steps on the far wall, confirming what the very un-California-like cold told him: he was chained-up underground.

All was utterly silent – except for a quiet trickling of water.

Even as he was gaping at the pervert’s paradise he suddenly found himself in, this sound reminded the criminal of his cramp. His mouth and throat were parched as well, a condition no doubt worsened by the sedative. Alex squirmed around to investigate.

A small faucet jutted from the wall he was chained to. A tiny rill of water ran continuously from this, down a groove in the wall and into a metal bowl and drain set into the floor. Clearly these were provided for his needs, more evidence that his captor meant to keep him alive here for quite a while – unless this place served many such victims as him. With those needs immediate, Alex put off wondering about the future to face the challenges of the present.

Twisting and wriggling sensation and function back into his sluggish system, he maneuvered his hogtied form around until he could put his face in that bowl and suck up a revivifying draught. Then with no other option he writhed groaning over until he could hang his d**k in that same bowl and let the waters mingle their way down the drain.

With that taken care of, Alex rolled back over to notice that a change had taken place.

Unnoticed amongst the shelves of tools and implements, the devices and machines, were tucked a number of electric space heaters. Triggered by his movement or something else, these had begun to radiate and put out a steady warmth.

Oh, how this was welcome! As his shivering began to ease Alex began working his fingers and toes, the tingle of reawakening spreading. The last fuzziness of drugs dropped from him and by the time the temperature had risen to a comfortable level down here he wasn’t surprised to hear the scraping of bolts being thrown back.

His savior was returning. The vengeful mate and mother of his victims, what might she have to say to him? Remembering her in the courtroom, on the benighted street and looming over him the dark of the truck, his heart began to hammer and his c**k to harden. As the door overhead creaked open Alex rolled to conceal this, squashing it underneath him. As it pained and throbbed with demeaning need he cast his eyes subserviently down and waited.

***

Her feet were soundless on the stone stairs. The door creaked as it closed again and he dared to sneak a peek. Mrs. Blaine wore only a tight black singlet that covered her to the top of her neck – indeed he’d seen this exposed at the throat of her shirt last night. As she carried a mug of coffee and her short hair was as rumpled as he expected it got, Alex assumed it was now the next morning or perhaps noon. As the woman he’d given himself over to left the stairs and began to cross the dungeon toward him, he dropped his suddenly widening eyes again. She was braless under that body stocking and it clung like a second skin.

Moving with nimble surety through her equipment, she approached to where he lay on his pad against the wall. Trembling with an almost holy awe, Alex watched only peripherally as she seated herself on a chair she pulled up and took a sip of coffee.

Still his conflict regarding this insanely desirable older woman tormented him. When she spoke her voice was as unintentionally sexy as before. He focused avidly in on her stocking feet.

“I believe we have an understanding, murderer of my family. You made an honorable offer to me to expiate your blood-debt. I accepted it. But I’d like to hear you make this consent explicit, for the record. You cooperated in your own abduction. Why did you do that? What did you expect to receive in surrendering to me?”

“Missus Blaine…”

“Look at me, boy. I want to judge the honesty in your eyes.”

“Yes ma’am. I’m sorry. Missus Blaine, I can’t live with what I’ve done to you. I never meant to kill your man and your baby, but it was still a hundred percent my fault. I’ll never be able to get their screams out of my head. I would hang myself in a second to escape them, but I deserve so much worse – and I owe you so much more.

“So I submitted to you in the hope that you would torture me to death. I sensed you might agree to do this. Surely you know how. Maybe you even have a taste for it. You were a combat soldier and a prison guard. I want to pay for my crime in the worst way imaginable, so that I can go out feeling that I’ve done everything anyone possibly could to make up for it. Please, Missus Blaine, won’t you avenge my victims by torturing and killing me?”

It took all of Alex’ will to hold his gaze on that keenly attractive face. Her stern visage probed at him while the allure of her casual attire tested his resistance to the spectacle of her breasts. Somehow he kept his tormented blue pleading focused on her brilliantly green assessing. At last she freed him to weep with relief by nodding.

“It’s already been decided. You owe me for two deaths, boy. You have offered p*****t with your life and I accept. I will kill you for your crime. I will slowly torture you to destruction, so you can repay how my baby felt, burning alive in plastic and gasoline. Then I will feed your remains to scavengers, so that your privileged line goes to a grave-less, ignominious end. Perhaps this will make your unconsecrated soul my property too, so your repayment can continue for eternity. But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a bit for that ultimate culmination.

“You have surrendered your life to me. I now own it. Before I end it I intend to enjoy it.

“I have endured way too much injustice in my time, Alex Downing. I have suffered more pain and degradation at the hands of men than I can ever be expected to take. I need to make someone pay for all that in addition to my murdered darlings. Who could suit better than you?

“You’re right; I do know how to make a person suffer. And I have a taste for it too, when it’s done in the right cause. So as my property you will suffer for me here until I tire of punishing you, or until I feel I’ve exhausted your usefulness as a slave, or until you offend me in some new unforgivable way. Then I will carry out the requested sentence: execution by incremental torture.

“So: we have an agreement between honorable enemies, yes? You will serve me and suffer for me and offer no resistance while I afflict you in any way I like for as long as I like. And in return, when I feel you’ve finally earned release from this life, I will make your soul my own by hideously finishing you in the names of your innocent victims.”

Alex squirmed, unconsciously crushing his erection. His breath caught in his joyous excitement and tears of gratitude pricked his eyes. He voice warbled with emotion.

“Thank you so much, Missus Blaine! That is so much more than I could have hoped for! And to think I was about to so wastefully hang myself when you stepped out of the car! You have saved my soul, so consider it yours. And the sooner you begin to torture and destroy my body, the more grateful I will be.”

Mrs. Blaine eyed him a moment, a hard, cruel, eagerly sadistic shine in her eyes. Then she surprised Alex by laughing.

“Good boy. I must admit, you are not what I expected. A gutless, entitled, sniveling little teenage crybaby in denial would have been a whole lot of fun to hunt down, kidnap, terrorize, psychologically break and finally gruesomely slay. Instead I’m stuck with a willing sacrifice I’m forced to afford some grudging respect.

“Very well slave. After I shower and eat I will return and spend the day inflicting pain on you. Behave for me and I will allow you a blanket tonight. Resist in any way and that voice-activated shock collar you are wearing will incapacitate you instantly. Understood?”

“Yes Missus Blaine.”

“That is no longer my name, though I still think of myself as Rachel. You may address me as ‘Mistress’ if you like.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“All right. Prepare yourself, slave. The suffering you’ve earned will begin within the hour.”

Mistress stood, turned and swept away, leaving him lying there, still shackled and chained – and hugely stunned by his wondrous luck.

***

Back upstairs, Rachel finished her coffee and started the shower running. She stripped off her body stocking, tested the temperature and stepped into the stall. Part of her remodeling job included a sumptuous, specially outfitted tub, but she was in a hurry. Though on her own clock for the rest of her life, military discipline persisted. This first day of her revenge was almost half over, and it hadn’t even properly started.

Of course she could be forgiven for sleeping past noon, when she hadn’t gotten to bed until nearly four in the morning. Driving back up here (at a sedate rate of speed to avoid notice by police) had taken longer than going down. By the time she’d completed the round trip she was running on little more than elation and adrenaline.

She’d needed all she had of both to get her prize unloaded, down cellar, stripped and settled in. After that she’d just had to crash.

As little as five years ago she could have marched and fought for another twenty-four hours straight. Maintaining that kind of conditioning and intensity was a full time job though, and one she’d unfortunately left behind. Still, if not battle-ready she’d at least stayed fit enough to get last night’s abduction done. She was plenty fit enough to carry out the further exhaustive demands of vengeance too, even if it took her ten years. Today she could even find pride and pleasure in herself through the simple act of bathing.

She loved her long, strong limbs, so lean and hard yet shapely. Even after the baby her butt and belly remained trim and tight. Soaping up those unfortunately extraordinary boobs for once didn’t flush her with resentment for all they’d cost her but made her feel sexy for the first time since Jimmy had died. Her n*****s grew hard despite the warmth of the water, and Rachel tried to tell herself she was surprised to find her libido resurfacing after so long.

Okay, torturing and dominating a helpless enemy had always turned her on. The anticipation of the coming months or years of punishment could no longer be suppressed. Nor was there any need. But she’d believed this would be different, at least at first.

Surely her still unassuaged grief should preclude such feelings. Righteous fury and satisfied sadism seemed the only appropriate emotions to be indulging in while planning and enacting her revenge. Arousal raising its head already presented unsettling questions.

Unwilling to confront or even identify these, Rachel turned to the practical business of shampooing her hair. Letting her body tingle on, she wondered again at the rare sensitivity displayed by her new slave.

Truly a prisoner of his own conscience, he was more driven by remorse and responsibility than anyone she’d ever met or heard of. And she’d known dozens guilty of far worse crimes. The rich were said to be without scruple. Alex Downing must be the exception that proved the rule. And too bad for him: with his advantages he could have easily put himself beyond her reach. Instead as a nice guy he was determined to finish last.

That brought a wicked grin from her. Rinsing off, Rachel found her tingling persisting. What the hell – just because he was willing didn’t have to spoil the thrill of killing him, or of any of the other liberties now available. Anticipation finally having its way with her, Rachel hurried to dry off, dress once again and eat a quick piece of fruit for ‘breakfast’. The she went back downstairs to give her most sadistic impulses free rein.