Playing With the Sadist.

They met only because they were looking for each other. That’s just flowery way of saying that they met online. A lot of people say these days that they miss seeing a person across a crowded room and being able to approach them without seeming like a creep. Maybe that takes something away from the experience.
On the other hand, people tend to have so many specific needs from their partners that being able to put them out there before committing to even a conversation really does seem like the smarter approach.
Regardless, Miss Quaali Lilith Hameed , 36, and Mr. Samuel Chopra, 43, had some rather specific needs and frequently found their love-interests online.

The two communicated somewhat extensively over a host of topics including alternate sexualities which they both admitted to possessing. He enjoyed hurting women, he had told her. And she enjoyed being “brutally” tortured.
“You have to be careful in such situations,” she wrote him, “It’s so hard to know whom to trust especially when the hormones factor into the decision…even though it’s always been fine you just never know.”
“I’d want you to take your time,” he had replied, “It’s important that you feel safe.”
In about a week they decided that it was time to meet. They would have an early meal at an outdoor café and if things felt comfortable they would go back to his place. She had a roommate she had told him earlier who wouldn’t appreciate the sounds of her crying and screaming.
She was slightly nervous, but she shaved her legs.

They liked each other just enough to be able to get through the meal.
It wasn’t that they weren’t interested in taking things further but that neither of them had been particularly interested in having that dinner. Some people date for relationships, others date for just the sexual activities. In case of the latter the dating is a more upfront and honest vetting process for the possibility of forty minutes to thirty-six hours of pleasure to come.
And the two of them were ready to skip to thepleasure-round.
On the way to his place she reminded him that she needed a safeword to play, and that was a nonnegotiable clause for her. He told her he understood and asked what safeword she’d like to use.
“Jack the Ripper,” she said, “that’s what I always use.”
He laughed as he pulled into the driveway.

Once they were in his house, his demeanor changed completely. He abandoned all politesse and ordered her onto her knees. She gave him a deep stare before she lowered her eye brows and then herself onto her knees. He walked to her and stroked her hair lovingly; like an adorable little puppy. And then he slapped her hard against her cheek. He cupped her chin between his palm and slapped again. And again. She inhaled sharply with each blow until her eyes were misty and the mascara started to run down her face. He lifted her up by her hair.
“Take off your dress,” he said to her.
She fumbled over the straps by had them undone in a few moments. He dragged her past the kitchen to his bedroom and dropped her on the rug. He sat down on his bed.
“Take it all off,” he said looking her, “Now.”

She gazed at him again just like she had before and then stood up.
She slipped out of her panties and unhooked her bra. She stood there in front of him, completely naked as he sat there and watched her. She looked him in the eyes and smiled.
“What now?” she asked, parting her legs and pushing her hip out in one direction.
“Now,” he said getting up and coming close to her, “I beat the fuck out of you.”
He positioned her against the closet; standing up with her arms against the wooden surface.
He retreated to a smaller cabinet on the side and returned with a bullwhip.

A few hours later his arm was tired and her entire body was lined with welts. Her eyes, surprisingly, were dry even as she lay in a heap on the floor. He went to her and lifted her into his arms. She pulled away.
“You didn’t even have to Jack the Ripper,” he said in a pseudo-soothing tone.
“May I go get some water?” she asked her gaze affixed to his eyes, completely unaware of his words.
“I can get it for you…” he said.
“No it’s fine,” she said getting to her feet, and walked out the door.

When she came back she was wearing her dress, her bag was on her shoulder and her hair were tied up loosely on the top of her head. She was holding a half-empty bottle of water.
“Thought you might like some,” she said offering it to him as she set her bag down on the floor.
“How thoughtful,” he said grinning as he took it from her and took a big gulp. She lay down with him on his bed and within a matter of minutes he was asleep.

When he woke up he was tied to all ends of his bed and his mouth was filled with what felt like cloth and taped shut. He was drowsy and confused.
She was standing over him and sprinkling water onto his face.

“I’m sorry I had to drug you,” she said smiling, “It’s just you’re so much bigger than me and I couldn’t risk being attacked.
He looked at her and shook as much of his body as he could which was not a lot and thrashed against his own bed.
“Yes,” she said mimicking his muffled screams, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions and unfortunately I don’t have the time to answer any of them. I won’t torture you though, I’m not like you guys.”
She walked to her bag and pulled out a syringe and a small glass container. She filled the syringe with the clear liquid and walked towards his bedside.
“Sorry, It’s not a fresh needle,” she said holding him tightly by the arms as he tried to move and piercing into his skin, “But..that really shouldn’t be a problem for you anymore.”

She watched as he started to turn blue, and his eyes started to flutter uncontrollably. She studied her watch and made notes in a little notebook she pulled out of her bag.
Once she stopped writing she moved towards him again and began to remove the duct tape. He had barely enough life left in him to keep his eyes open let alone shout for help.
She used her pen to pull out the scraps of cloth from his mouth.
“I did everything right,” he said in a slow labored whisper his eyes closing.
“But everything you do is wrong,” she said moving away from his mouth and walking towards the door, “Oh, and I’m keeping the whip.”



In a manner of speaking, we were friends. Just the kind of friends that indulge in a whole lot of word-foreplay without ever actually taking it to bed.
The kind of friends that openly admitted their attraction to one another and displayed their filth so as to reel each other closer and closer by the day.
The kind of friends that could point to the dirt where each other’s skeletons lay buried while explaining why the dirt itself was worthy of more attention.
I was just unsure if we would ever actually do anything about it.

So when he asked me to take a walk with him that evening I thought nothing of it. I put on my running shoes, shorts and a loose gray T-shirt and met him outside my building at dusk. Neither one of us ever really liked walking in parks so we let our feet pick a direction for us and walked into the labyrinth of narrow alleys of the city. He talked about his thankless job that he had finally decided to quit; just like he had decided the same thing the week before. I talked about my fiancé’s family and the pressures to bear children.

We laughed.

Somehow we ended up in a part of town neither one of us had ever been in before. On one side there was something of a cross between a park and a forest; on the other there was a boarded up gas station with what looked like an old abandoned bus parked on the side.
We shared a passion (or a pathology) for all things abandoned. It didn’t take words for us to tell each other that we should walk towards it.
I climbed in first and he followed right behind me. It was dark so he turned on the flashlight in his phone and we began to look around.
Foliage and inches of dust had taken over most of the seating area.

“Come sit next to me,” he said plopping down on a small area of available seating halfway down the bus as the dust few into the air and made me cough. I sat down next to him; our thighs touching slightly. He turned the flashlight off, and then there was darkness.
We sat, side-by-side, talking suggestively like we always did at some point in our time together.
“You know,” he said with a sudden onset of excessive force, “Someday I’m going to rape you.”
My throat turned dry as i turned towards him.
“What?” I asked slightly horrified yet unable to resist the power of that magic word, “Why would you say that? You know my..history, you jerk.”
I tried to laugh it off and turn the conversation in another direction but he wasn’t having it.
“Oh I know *something* happened,” his tone acquiring a serious quality, “But what was it? You never tell me, little girl.”
“Why must we speak of these things?” I asked, extremely grateful for the darkness, “It’s done. It’s over. Why must we talk about it?”
“Why can’t we?” he asked in a loud, firm whisper, “We’re friends. So tell me… Who was he?”

I looked in his direction; long and hard yet seeing nothing at all. My mouth started talking without waiting for my consent.
“My mother’s cousin…” I told him looking down into my lap as my cunt started to twitch at his mention, “He lived with us for a while when I was..a young girl.”
“And what did he do to you, this man who still makes you gulp?” He asked moving his mouth close enough to my ear that I could *feel* his words.
“He cornered me in my bedroom one day when no one was home,” I said my breathing slowly giving me away, “and told me he’d show”
“Do you ever think of him, girl?” He asked his tone growing more menacing.
“I do,” I confessed slowly as a tear began to form at the corner of my eye, “I think of him..sometimes.”

“And what do you do when this man comes creeping into you mind and decorates your thoughts?”
I let out an audible moan and a slight sniff before I offered a response, “I touch myself. And cry. Sometimes both at the same time.”
“Touch yourself then,” he said his voice more forceful than I’d ever heard it before, “Put your hand inside your shorts and tell me each thought that crosses your mind.”
“But….” I started to protest.
“Do it.” He said with finality, “Do it, little whore.”

I took a deep breath and realized there was no way I wasn’t going to comply. I arched my back, slid my hand inside my panties and gasped at the wet mess I had already made. I squirmed against my hand and heard him snigger into my ear.
“Tell me what you think of when you touch yourself to him,” his breath lighting every pore in my body, “What does it do to you?”
With my fingers playing with my cunt, my tongue loosened instantly.
“It turns me on,” I said in breathless whispers, “To remember him skulking around my empty house telling me he could do whatever he wanted and I couldn’t stop him if I tried.”
“Was your cunt still bald then, little girl?” He asked his own arousal barely masked by his dulcet tone.
“Yes it was,” I said, tears streaming down my face, “He’d grab the headboard and thrust into me with such force..while I cried silently.”
“Tell me every filthy detail,” he demanded, “Did he split you open with his cock? Was your little hole warm and inviting once he began his assault?”
“It bled almost every time,” I said playing with the wetness between my fingers, “I’d look at him all innocent and pleading while he’d look away and call me whore.”
“Touch your throbbing clit,” he commanded, “Slow but very hard. Like it deserves to be punished.”
I started to squirm and whimper.
“He’d tell me my hole was so little,” I continued telling him, “That he’d be gentle if I wasn’t such a slut.”
“Sit still you whore and move only your hand,” he said fiercely, “Punish your clit harder and tell me so much more.”

“Once he made me thank him for fucking me so hard,” I said the tears drenching my shirt as I squeezed my little clit harder, “I didn’t even fight him, I just did what I was told.”
“That’s because you’re a filthy whore,” he scoffed, “Thanking the man who befouled you. Keep hurting your little clit girl, or you’ll never ever learn.”
“Sometimes I think..I wish I had cum on his filthy cock,” I admitted, “His dirty breath in my mouth and his face wet with my tears.”
“Shove your fingers up that little cunt,” he demanded, “Can you feel him pummeling your hole? You want to cum all over his cock, you dirty slut?”
“God I’m so fucking wet…” I sobbed to him as I moaned.
“Stretch that little hole out,” he said, “That’s exactly what he felt when he was up there. Do you think he could help raping your perfect little cunt?”
“Goodness…” I whispered moving my fingers deeper.
“How can any man help himself?” He asked, “Especially when you’re so wet like that..only whores get that wet.”
“How I hate him I cannot tell you..” I screamed, “But god how I wish it were him hurting my little hole..”
“Because you’re such a dirty whore,” he accused, “Now fuck that hole deeper and feel it spasm just like he did. You love it don’t you, you bitch?”
“I hate it,” I said through gritted teeth and loud, audacious moans, “But I love much more.”
“Clench your hole tighter to stop him from entering just like you did before,” he instructed, “then fuck that whore cunt harder just like it deserves.”
“I need to cum,” I begged between breathes and helpless moans; my eyes closed and my hand moving furiously, “Please, please let me cum.”
“Then think of his dirty cock raping you,” he said with nonchalance, “And cum you filthy fucking whore.”

He laughed as I screamed and sobbed and thrashed against the dirty seat of that bus. He laughed harder as I pulled out my drenched fingers out of my throbbing hole.
“In your mouth, little slut,” he scoffed, “You clean your own damn mess.”

It took me a little while to regain my composure. I cried and shook for a little while before falling silent into a distant world.
He turned the flashlight on once more and looked at my red face.
“You didn’t touch me…” I observed softly.
“I know,” he replied smiling.
“…but it feels like you raped me,” I said looking away from his face.
“I know,” he said guiding my face towards his with a light trace of his finger, “and I’d do it over and over and over again.”
I looked at him for a while; sad but fierce, and then turned my face toward nothingness.
He was silent; I had disappeared. He clicked the flash light off once more.
“Then there was darkness,” I said sarcastically, “Once more.”
“And that’s not a bad thing,” he laughed, “You perfect little whore.”