He turned and walked out of the room. She didn't know what to do, so she stood there, her ravishing body alternating between chills and hot flashes.
Time passed and he stayed away. What could he be doing? She craned her head in the direction of the other room. She was able to see him, barely. He was seated on the bed, reading something, a newspaper. A newspaper! Here she was, naked and waiting and that man read a newspaper! If she hadn't been so afraid of him, she would have laughed out loud.
She turned way and looked out the window. Her arms crossed around her body, she watched the dark sky. She didn't even hear him come in and she whirled around in shocked surprise as he grabbed her by the hair.
As he dragged her along the floor, she was able to see that he had changed once again. A fierce black leather mask covered his entire face and was naked save for a black leather jock strap and heavy black leather boots. The mask had holes for his eyes, nose, ears and mouth, but the overall effect was eerie, like an executioner. She shivered as she looked at him.
He pulled her over to a metal chinning bar that hung suspended from the door way of the kitchen. In a moment of terror, she tried to bolt, but the attempt was useless. He smacked her across the face with such a hard blow that she thought her nose might be broken. The blood trickled from it, but she dared not wipe it away.
He bound her wrists together with a length of long, black leather cord that cut into her skin. Then, with the same violent economy of gesture, he pulled her arms up above her head and fastened them to the metal chinning bar.
It was too high for her and the muscles in her arms were painfully pulled and stretched as the bound her tightly to the rod.
He walked into the living room and fetched his dirty socks. Before she could utter a cry, he stuffed them into her mouth, all the down her throat so that she feared she might throw up from the smell. He did not cover her eyes, but he put a tight cloth around her mouth so that she would be unable to spit out the filthy socks.
He went into his bedroom and again, remained there for a while. She was hanging cruelly, her limbs wracked and aching with pain, her mind fearful and tormented by wondering about what he would do next.
He returned with a pair of tight, black boots with pointed toes. He shoved her feet into them. Even though they were sizes too small, he forced her delicate feet into the loather prison. He bent down again, to get something else he had left on the floor and she nearly passed out when she saw the whip.
It was huge and fearful looking, with a long, serpentine end from which dangled a spiked metal ball. Her eyes closed for a moment, feeling faint from the awful stench of the socks and the certain knowledge of the pain she was about to experience.
She did not have to wait long. The first blow landed across the front of her body, branding it with a huge, scarlet gash. The sharp metal dug into her skin and gouged out an angry wound in her soft inner thigh.
Tears sprang to her eyes as he continued to beat her, slowly at first, taking his time. He hit her as an artist, waiting to see the furious gashes appear and then deciding where to place the next one. Her breasts and thighs and stomach were soaked with her blood and the cruel whip kept up relentlessly, ignoring her streaming eyes and vain strugglings.
Had she not been crying so hard, she might have seen that now, only now, did Hank's tool begin to rise. If she could have seen it, her eyes might have popped out of her head when she saw the throbbing tool slowly harden and rise to its full ten inches. He stripped off his jock strap and fondled his magnificent meat as he whipped her.
He moved back, to whip the soft tender pits of her arms and she twisted and turned, trying to get away.
Then, as if tired of the bloody mess in front, he moved around in back of her and commenced whipping her tender buttocks and, narrow spine. Crack! Crack! Crack! The only sound in the room was the furious sound of the whip, beating out its endless tattoo on her poor, broken flesh.
His cock grew and grew, the purple head flaring out, as he continued to beat her. With a sudden gesture, he hurled to whip to the floor and pushed past her shaking wet body to go into the kitchen.
Her eyes were so dazed with pain that she could barely see, but she was able to make out what he war returning with now. Vinegar! Oh no, God no! But his twinkling, bitter eyes told her it was true. He poured it out onto a cloth and moved towards her body. She cried out, even though she was gagged, as the first touch of the burning stuff was placed upon her torn and mangled body.
Her body writhed furiously, shaking as if she were experiencing a fit, as he lovingly anointed her wounds with the liquid. It burned and stung, piercing every nerve, every cell of her being. Her body felt as if it were on fire and the tears poured faster and faster down her face. She was covered with it now, a stinging bloody mass that was no longer human, it was so consumed by pain.
It was merciful that she didn't know that this was only the beginning. As her writhing subsided, Hank put down the vinegar and walked out again. She heard him turn on the television and wondered how long he was going to leave her here, hung from the metal pole.
She heard the start of a movie and the slow minutes ticked by as the movie droned on and on.
Her eyes grew dim from the pain and the sound of the television began to be a meaningless blur in her ears. After a while, she was aware that the sound had changed and that Hank was now watching the news. That meant she must have been here for at least two hours. Her skin was still smarting painfully, as if it were dried leather that were about to peel right off of her tortured frame.
The minutes went by, agonizing in their slowness. Her arms and back were being rearranged. She was sure that she would never move with the same ease or grace again. Her body was painfully being altered to some new shape, to suit some new purpose. Although she didn't know it yet, so was her mind.
The television continued, but Valerie was no longer able to make out the distinct sounds. She had passed on to a quiet, almost serene state, where the pain did not subside, but where she grew accustomed to it.
In the midst of her semi-trance, Hank returned, in all his full, menacing glory. His lip curled slightly as he looked at her. She was so fearful when she saw him that she didn't notice that he had a large, spiked dildo in his hands and something else draped across his arms.
Moving silently towards her, he waved the dildo in front of her face with evil glee. Had she not been gagged with the socks, he might have forced it down her throat and made her give head to the plastic dick. Instead, he would have to choose between her other available orifices.
The dildo was made out a very rigid, hard plastic, so that where ever he chooses to put it, it was bound to cause her great torment. He placed it between the lips of her cunt and then moved it around to her asshole. He kept switching it back and forth between the two holes, so that she would never know which one he would finally choose.
The large pink rod looked good as it was about to slip into her pussy, but Hank realized with some annoyance that the view was partially blocked by the fine halo of pubic fuzz that surrounded her cunt lips. 'Well, it will just have to come off!' he thought. He put the dildo down for a moment and went into the bathroom. Valerie grew nervous again, not knowing what to expect from him.
He came back with a razor and she felt everything grow black before her eyes. She really believed that he meant to do her some serious harm. She hadn't seen the can, of shaving cream that was in his other hand. If she had, she might have realized that humiliation and not murder, was his intention.