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I don't even know where he found her but he showed up at my door one night, late, and made me get dressed. He drove us into the country, turned off on a dirt road and drove several miles back to a small cabin. "Friend of mine goes hunting out here," he explained as we got out of the car. I was thinking romance until he popped the trunk open. A woman lay inside, bound and gagged, blindfolded and well dressed in a black dress and heels. "I looked in her purse," he said as we stared down into the trunk, "her name's Diana." We carried Diana into the cabin. She lay in a heap on the floor. By this time he had had his revelation about binding me to a chair to watch the attack, a literal captive audience. So while I got a chair and took my clothes off he freed Diana's feet, removed her gag and blindfold. He did keep her wrists tied in front of her body. She lay on the floor quivering in fear but she controlled herself enough to ask what he intended to do to her. While he tied me to the chair he said to her, "just do what I tell you." When I was securely tied to a hard wooden chair next to Diana, he yanked her to her feet. She stared at me while he tossed a rope over the ceiling beam and tied one end to the rope around her wrists. He took her heels off then pulled on the rope, hoisting her hands above her head. "Oh, that..." I started to say but he glared at me. This is when and how the no talking rule started. He looked at me and the sentence died in my throat when I saw the anger flare in his eyes. He stepped over to me and delivered a vicious backhand to my mouth. Blood flew and I tasted its salty flavor. The pain was sharp and erotic. "Don't talk," he said, unnecessarily. I had already received that message loud and clear. He tied the rope that held her hands aloft to my chair. Then he took out the knife and showed it to her. "Oh my God!" He slowly cut the dress off. She had on black pantyhose over black satin panties with a matching black bra. Her tits were firm and round, big pillows on her chest. The skin was dark and her features displayed some Latin ancestry. She was beautiful, she was dark, she was sexy, and she was utterly terrified. My pussy dripped onto the hard wood and puddle beneath me. Her pantyhose was cut away, too. But the bra he shoved up over her tits, up high on her chest. He showed her the knife again. "No, please!" He got between her thighs and used the tip of the blade across the crotch panel of her panties, back to front, front to back along where her slit would be. "Oh God!" "Want me to fuck you with it?" "No!" "Are you sure?" "Yes! Oh, God! Please leave me alone!" He watched the knife move along the black satin between her legs for a moment, seemingly considering his next move. Then he put the knife on the floor and dug into a pocket in his jeans. "Do you believe I have the will to hurt you?" "Yes," she said. Her voice quivered and she was crying, shaking like a leaf. My cunt gushed juices. "No you don't," he challenged, "so I'm going to prove it to you." "I believe you!" He held up the items he had retrieved from his pocket, two very large safety pins. "Look at the bitch in the chair," he commanded. She looked at me. I could feel her terror and it was obvious in her wide eyes. "She's my slave slut. Do you want to be my slave slut too?" "I... yes, I... what do you want me to do?" "Every fucking thing I tell you." He slowly pulled her panties down her tanned legs revealing her well-trimmed black bush. He slid his index finger along her slit, getting her wet, making her pussy lips swell. She hung from her ropes, whimpering and pleading, praying and swearing softly. He opened one of the big pins and showed it to her. He smiled. "If I miss," he said, "I'll have to try again." To her credit she managed not to move around too much. He tugged her left side labia downward and jabbed the pin through it. "AAAAAHHHHH!!!" "Don't move." He pulled the right side lip outward and continued the pin through that lip as well.

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