Pristy hears him at the bar, adding ice to an empty glass.  It is humiliating standing like this, not to mention stressful as hell.  She tries to turn her head just a little to see what he is doing, but he catches her.

            “Since you are so nosy, you may now place your forehead against the wall.”

            She issues a wordless protest, but is afraid to disobey.  The position requires her to press her nose to the wallpaper, as well as her engorged nipples.  She breathes shallowly; her concave stomach is fluttering and spasming as she contemplates her dilemma.  If she puts her pelvis to the wall, she will drip on it and lose the last of her dignity.  But if she holds back, it means she’ll have to expose her ass all the further.

            She opts for a halfway measure, which satisfies on neither score. 

            The tension mounts as she hears him approach,

            “The biggest problem with you,” he runs his hand teasingly down her back to the crack of her ass, “is that you’ve been given too much too fast.  The world tells you you’re more than human and after a while you believe it.”

            Pristy moans; she’d hadn’t expected the caress and it is almost more than she can bear.  “J-just beat me,” she manages bravely, “and get it over with.”

            He rubs his hand over her ass cheeks, feather light.  “It doesn’t work that way, sorry.”

            Pristy starts at the snapping sound.  Like gum or a rubber band.

            “It’s a surgical glove,” he explains.  “For my protection.  As I understand it, your flesh is very well trafficked these days.”

            He’s as much as called her a dirty slut, but she is powerless to react.

            “Y-you’re a miserable bastard,” she cries softly as his smooth, latex covered fingers part her well-lubricated sex.  “And I hate you!”

            “You want me to stop, then?”

            She does and she doesn’t.

            “Y-yes.” She writhes, trying to escape. 

“Are you sure?” Gage is unperturbed as expertly he hooks his pinky over her clitoris. 

This latest contact is more than she can bear.  Pristy groans and pushes back against his hand now, much closer to the brink than she’d like to admit.  “N-no,” she recants.  “P-puh-lease don’t stop.”

            Having won the concession, Gage abruptly abandons her sex hole for the smaller, equally vulnerable one.  “But teasing is the name of your game, isn’t it?  That’s how you’ve made your millions.”

            Pristy’s sweat covered body falls against the wall.  Her nerves are a mass of unfulfilled confusion.  “Not…my ass,” she breathes impotently.

            “Anal sex is a form of discipline.  By taking your victim’s ass you exercise complete and total domination.  You should know that; you’ve done it often enough with Mindee.”

            “Oh…god…” she cries as Gage replaces his finger with the handle of the hairbrush.

            “This brush is going to become a signal between us, Lisa…that is your real name, isn’t it?”

            “I—I don’t…”  She isn’t prepared to have him know this much about her and to exercise this much power over her.  If he can even change her name back then he can do anything to her.

            “Don’t what?”

            She thrashes her head, trying to will herself free of the hairbrush in her ass.  Everything is spinning and she can’t think straight.  She wants him out of her anus, out of her life, but she wants more, too; his cock, his hands, hard and firm and strong on her and in her…now and always.

            Gage pushes the handle to the hilt.  “From now on, Lisa, how and when you have sex is up to me.  Sexual activity is a privilege you will have to earn.  It will be the same with movies, shopping, visiting with your friends, and most especially dining.  I’ll decide what you eat and drink, based on your behavior.  Denying you things you want will be a form of punishment, along with the physical pain I bestow with my hands, this brush and with any other instrument I decide.”

            Pristy doesn’t want to yield; she wants to fight, she wants to turn on him or at the very least scream and froth at the mouth, rejecting him so violently that he will have no choice but to retreat.  What he is talking about is slavery—illegal, immoral and unethical.  It can’t, won’t be abided.

            “F-f. . . f…,” she mouths.  She wants it to be ‘fuck you’, but it comes out as something very different, a plea, which he promptly denies.

            “No orgasms for you, Lisa.” 

            The brush is removed and repositioned in Gage’s hand.  He places his arm at precisely the right angle.  The trajectory, the speed, are amazingly accurate and effective, having come from long years of experience…

            … Pristy whines like a small child at the first blow.  It is a clean hit, the rounded top of the pearl handled brush landing directly at the cleft of her cheeks.  Each globe absorbs half the blow and Gage delights in seeing the soft skin recoil and jiggle.  Pristy is young and firm, but she is still made of flesh.  Delightful womanly flesh.

            “Don’t move,” he warns, using his ungloved hand to press her neck back to the wall.  “Or this will go much worse.”

            Pristy whimpers because she is helpless, and also because she is turned on.  Gage has seen it before in women like her.  The free and loose kind who use their sex to sell but underneath are tiny wounded birds, never loved enough, never allowed to blossom.  But deeper than that, in his experience, there must be some kind of gene, primeval, dating back to the days of the cave when women ovulated only for the strongest thug on the block.

            She makes a deep, guttural groan when he hits her again.  Now the reality is sinking in: she is subject to a man’s will and he will continue as long as he likes.  It’s a kind of shock that will quickly wear off. 

            Sure enough, on the third blow she feels real and naked pain.  This blow lands over the second, and now he is impacting on already reddened skin.  She calls him names and starts a little dance on her bare feet.  Mercifully—or unmercifully as the case may be—he overwhelms her with four more hits, hard and fast.

            “Hold still,” he commands his crying prisoner, inducing her not to move a muscle.  The cheeks are glowing red, hot and tantalizing.  He wonders how much most men, or even most women would pay for a sight like this.  Pristine punished and humbled.  The average person would deny any interest in bondage or corporal punishment as being a personal stimulant, but Gage has a feeling it is something very deep and powerful in the human psyche—at least in a percentage of people.  The trouble for society came in blurring the distinctions between fantasy and reality, as well as in trusting people to engage consensually in whatever behavior they damn well choose without tearing each other to pieces.

            “I want you to come for me, Lisa.  Right now.”  Gage gives her no time to think, but works her magic button so that she has a screaming orgasm in seconds flat.  The girl is responsive, to be sure, one of the most passionate he’s ever seen.  Generally, even when a woman is submissive, it takes substantial training to render her a total slave to her physical needs.

            “Oh…oh…” she moans.  “Gage…you…you…”  Whatever she’d wanted to say, it’s lost in translation.  Shamelessly now, like the porn star many already think her to be, Pristine Stiles fucks his gloved fingers, thrusting her cunt at him, allowing herself to be sandwiched between them and the wall.  She is a tigress, an animal, and of course, the whole experience is undergirded by what has preceded.

            It is a lethal combination: The punishing, the discipline, the submission, all of it spurring it on, working in her mind.  The effects are inevitable.  She’s been tied and beaten with her own brush, humiliated and made to perform.  Afterwards, Gage knows there will be a flood of emotions.  First guilt, then anger and wonder, followed by more anger, and finally rebellion. 

            This is why he is not fooled by her soft, kittenish demeanor afterwards.  “Oh, Gage,” she turns to face him, running her hands through his hair.  “That was…you were…wonderful.  Won’t you let me…can I…please…”

            Pristy wants to go down on her knees and suck him with her mouth.  It would be, under the circumstances, an equalizing act, a gift on her part, which would put him back in her debt, and so he refuses.

            “My penis is none of your concern,” he grabs her wrist, keeping her on her feet.  “The only thing you need to worry yourself about is cleaning up this room.”

            She looks at him, stunned.

            “You’ve made a mess, little girl, and you’re going to make it right.”