Arrival Home
Alright, second chapter.
Warning: This piece is EXTREMELY harsh. It contains gay sex, graphic torture and mutilation. DO NOT read it if you are underage.
Again: Feedback welcome.
Rahz guides his cobalt-blue 2104 BMW through quiet, leafy suburban streets. Quiet, because his car, like most automobiles developed in the last half century, makes less noise than the birds chirping in the trees lining the tarmac. It swiftly rolls along on two spherical "wheels" - a system providing the luxury sedan with incredible control, speed and comfort for its passengers; those passenger who sit in the seats, at any rate.
One aspect of German cars which has changed little in 100 years is the luggage compartment - trunk, boot, or however one's own dialect describes it. This cramped storage area was where Rahz had stuffed his latest purchase - the blue cat slave he had acquired for 599 Federal Credits at GeneCore Technology's mall outlet.
"Call Howard," Rahz addresses his car's hardwood and grey plastic dashboard.
"Hey, Rahz," The gruff voice answers almost immediately. "What can I do for you today, buddy?"
"Hey man. Are you busy tomorrow evening?"
Howard was the fifth person Rahz had posed this question to in the last ten minutes. He wasn't busy... Three out of the other four hadn't been either.
"Okay, great. How does a barbeque at my place sound? Ha ha, yes a barbeque. I bought this slave today, you see..."
Rahz gives Howard the brief on his latest purchase.
"You got it. Yeah, and bring that sexy husband of yours too. No, you don't have to bring any meat... That's taken care of. It would be great if you could bring a bottle of wine, though. Ok, see you then."
Rahz taps a button on the steering column, and their conversation is ended. He chuckles to himself; neither Howard nor any of his other friends know exactly what they'll be eating that Sunday evening, although he's certain none of them will be disappointed.
Arriving in his own street, Razh instructs the car to guide itself automatically into his garage. Of course, the car can drive itself all the time, but Rahz never enjoyed giving up that much control to a machine assembled by European wage slaves in a German sweatshop somewhere...
As the car brings itself to a stop, Rahz reaches into the backseat to retrieve the single item he bought at the fetish shop on the way home. Being an experienced hobbyist in the BDSM field, his own home is well equipped with most of the items one could possibly need or want to restrain, discipline, punish, abuse or torture a slave. However, one can never have too many toys...
Stepping out of the car, he gives his latest implement a swish through the air to test its flexibility, and to hear the satisfying and ominous "woosh" that only stainless steel can make
His latest tool is a metal switch - a leather-bound handle connected to several steel strands - each about four millimetres thick and about seventy-five centimetres long. With enough force applied, the switch will not only break the skin, but will leave deep bloody gouges with every stroke - not a tool for the fluffy-pink-handcuffs branch of BDSM, but then that fraternity was very far removed from the lifestyle of Rahz Feltzin.
Rahz applies the ball of his thumb to a security sensor on the car's trunk, and it clicks open to reveal his bound, blindfolded and collared cat-slave crammed inside. The slave gasps at the sudden rush of air - apparently the journey didn't kill it, although judging by the temperature of the trunk's interior, it wasn't a fun ride.
"Come on, get out." Rahz instructs his purchase, yanking on the slave's collar to pull it out of the luggage compartment. The slave struggles to its feet as Rahz slams the trunk closed behind it.
"Wait, take those stupid pants off..." With its arms bound behind its back, the slave is unable to comply by itself, so Rahz pulls its comically short latex pants off himself - leaving the slave now entirely naked, if one does not count the thick leather collar around its neck.
Rahz chuckles at the large, blue erection sported by his new slave... Apparently it is aroused by its rough treatment. "Well, it hasn't experienced anything yet." Rahz thinks to himself.
With its leash in his left hand and the metal switch in his right, Rahz directs the slave to face the door which leads from the garage into the house, and barks the order for his slave to move. He punctuates this with a blow from the switch beneath the base of the slave's tail.
The slave grunts through its ball-gag, and starts trotting forwards. It is still blindfolded - actually an oversight by Rahz, although he purposefully neglects to correct it now - amused as his slave trips over the tiled steps leading through the door and stumbles onto its knees.
"Bad slave, get up!" Rahz strikes the slave twice over the lower back - the second blow causing diagonal cuts which begin to ooze blood. Rahz yanks it to its feet by its leash.
Gagging, the slave carefully ascends the steps and proceeds through the (open) door onto the tiled floor of Rahz's suburban home.
"Proceed straight." Rahz orders coldly, striking the slave a blow across its shoulders for good measure.
The slave proceeds straight - trotting blindly ahead - oblivious to any obstacles which may be blocking its path.
Without informing the slave, Rahz turns into an open door to his right - this one leading down into his basement. He yanks the slave's leash as he does this - causing it to gag and collapse back onto its ass.
Ignoring its plight, Razh proceeds down the wooden staircase into his basement. He yanks the slave along behind him now - falling over itself down the stairs.
They reach the bottom. Rahz had converted his respectably-sized basement to serve a dual purpose... The half of it extending out to his left was furnished with a large, vintage Tama drum set, large cabinets of speakers, amplifiers and recording equipment - most branded "Mesa Boogie" - and several vintage electric guitars and basses resting on their stands, along with a microphone. Rahz was the vocalist and rhythm guitarist of a classic rock band specializing in heavy metal revival - his basement being completely soundproofed; the other band members had chosen to use it as a practice studio. A large poster of 20th-century metal legend, James Hetfield (armed with a white ESP Explorer and his permanent scowl), overlooked the various musical instruments and noise-making equipment.
The other reason for his basement being soundproofed was evident to his right. This half of the large room was filled with torture equipment - an authentic medieval rack, an authentic 19th-century judicial flogging stand, and something closely resembling an old electric chair were among the more recognizable items of equipment here. More enigmatic was something that resembled a large aquarium - empty now, but with rubber hosepipes attached to its base. What appeared to be an oversized hamster's wheel graced one corner of the room.... There was also more equipment, which completely defies succinct explanation as to its purpose.
Two walls of the room were adorned with shackles and chains for restraining slaves - the third, on this end, was covered in hooks - each sporting a tool of torture, discipline or restraint. Clearly, the soundproofing not only blocked the crunching roar of Rahz's guitar amplifiers, but also the screaming of tortured slaves. Both were music to his ears, but his suburban neighbours sometimes had different ideas...
He yanked his newest possession to a kneeling position. Blood trickled down its back from the switch's cut, but it still looked okay otherwise. Rahz felt the need to rectify that.
He removed the blindfold which the slave had been wearing since purchase. The slave had bright green eyes... They reflected fear... Rahz loved that look.
"What pretty eyes it has." He remarked. "Too bad you won't be needing them anymore. I only wanted you to look on me once."
He removes the slave's ball-gag. According to the computer at the store, his slave can't talk... The gag is largely ornamental. Rahz wonders, though, (hopes) if the slave can scream...
Rahz takes off his black leather belt and tosses it onto the floor. He removes his pants - faded denim jeans.
"Alright, slave. Suck it."
Rahz is hard from dragging and beating his new possession down into his basement, and, grabbing a fistful of the slave's black hair, he rams eight inches of hard lion meat into his slave's face.
The blue cat gags on the organ stuffed rudely into its mouth, but quickly begins to apply its pre-programmed skills in fellatio to the task at hand. The slave runs its rough, feline tongue over the shaft of Rahz's cock - paying special attention to the sensitive head.
"Oh god, yes...' Rahz purrs - a deep rumble in his chest.
"You are good at this."
Rahz looks into the two bright green eyes of his new slave - they look back fearfully. Rahz considers, momentarily, that the slave knows that it is sentenced to an imminent death, and wonders if the fear is genuine or just part of a convincing act.
The slave continues to roll its rough tongue over Rahz's hard cock - a sudden suck on the tip of his penis bringing him dangerously close to orgasm.
He pulls back roughly on the slave's hair. "Alright, enough. I don't want to come right now." He punctuates this order with a slap across the flank with the steel switch. The slave stops and closes its mouth obediently.
It cocks its head to the side and studies Rahz with those haunting green eyes - apparently waiting for its next orders.
"Stay." Rahz grunts, and turns to the wall of tools behind him.
Those eyes bothered him a bit. He didn't like this slave looking at him - gave him the creeps. He also remembered the comical control over the slave while it had been blindfolded...
From the wall, he selects a small blowtorch. A basic instrument - a small bottle of gas is attached to a head and valve which, when lit, creates a small, intense blue flame. It is useful for burning marks onto slaves, or for what he was about to do now...
He returns to his kneeling slave - blowtorch in hand. He twists the valve and clicks the bottle's ignition switch... A bright orange and blue flame extends several centimetres from the bottle's nozzle. He twists the valve until the flame is focussed into a small, intense blue streak.
"I told you that you wouldn't need those pretty green eyes anymore..."
The slave gasps in horror. It knows what is about to happen, although it is genetically programmed to be unable to stop it.
Rahz grabs a fistful of the slave's hair again and brings its head up against his leg - lodging the chin over his knee. He slowly lowers the blowtorch to the slave's face - the hiss of the flame an ominous precursor to what lies ahead.
The slave begins to whimper and struggle against Rahz's grip. Rahz sends a kick into the slave's belly and a knee into the slave's chin and secures its head tight once more.
"Come now, the more you struggle, the longer this will take..." He lowers the blowtorch once more.
The last thing the slave ever sees is the blue flame descending to a few centimetres in front of its eye - which is being held open by its master's strong hand. First there is heat - a wave of hot air streaming into its eye socket and drying it out - causing tears to run down the slave's cheek. Then there is pain. Brutal, white hot, searing pain.
The slave screams - a piercing howl of pure, raw agony which courses into Rahz's skull - it is a sound which makes him feel alive, and he roars with pleasure - a terrifying sound which almost drowns out the slave's screaming.
Rahz passes the blowtorch over the surface of the slave's eyeball as though he is browning crème brulèe. The touch's focussed flame moves over the bright green - reducing both pupil and iris to a milky white as a bubbling liquid runs from the boiling eyeball and down the slave's cheek.
Rahz goes slowly, being careful with his work. When he is satisfied that the eyeball is completely white and utterly destroyed, he moves onto the next one - eliciting another howl of agony which sends shivers through his body. He hasn't had this much fun for a while.
When both eyes are nothing more than useless white orbs - gooey egg-like liquid mixed with blood running down the slave's quivering face- Rahz turns off the blowtorch and returns it to its hook on the wall.
He examines his slave. It kneels on the floor emitting nothing more than a whimpering sobbing sound now... blood and melted eyeball fluid running from its face in streaks onto the basement's bare concrete floor.
"Bad slave! You're making a mess!" Rahz gestures towards the gooey, bloody mess dripping from the slave's face. Although gestures are purely for his own benefit now...
He picks up his metal switch and returns to his slave. Bringing the switch down hard over the slave's hindquarters (leaving another bloody mark), he forces the slave's nose down into the bloody eye-mess as an angry owner might do to a puppy who had soiled the carpet.
"Lick it up!" He orders the sobbing cat. He punctuates this order with another strike from the switch on the slave's backside.
The slave grunts and, sobbing miserably, begins to lick up the bloody mess made by its own eviscerated eyeballs. As it does so, Rahz continues to strike its rump with the metal switch.
Soft sobbing, the swish of the steel switch, and the "thwack!" as it strikes the slave's rump permeate the dusty air of Rahz's basement along with cries and whimpers from the blue cat-slave.
When its rump is a bloody mess - criss-crossed welts oozing red blood onto its fur and onto the floor, Rahz decides that enough is enough.
Lubricated by the slave's blood, he holds its tail out of the way and rams his solid eight inches of lionhood into the slave's tight tailhole.
"Oohhh God..." Rahz groans - his eyes glazed over with pleasure.
As the slave continues to blindly lap at the mess on the floor, Rahz begins to thrust his now-bloody cock through the tight ring of his slave's tailhole. Using the slave's tail and hips as leverage, he climaxes... Roaring as his seed spills into the gut of the small, bloody cat in front of him.
Breathing heavily, he extricates his lionhood from the cat's tailhole. Wiping it off on a clean section of his slave's matted fur; he retrieves his pants and makes for the staircase.
"Keep licking,' he turns back to the slave who is indeed still lapping at the mess flowing out of its eye sockets. "The mess you made," referring now additionally to the pool of blood from the injuries on its backside, "Is the only food you're going to get this weekend. Enjoy."
With that, he exits the basement - leaving the now silent slave to clean up the mess.
Hope you had fun. Chapter 3 on its way.