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Blood & Bourbon

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Victoria I, Chapter IV

You Fucking She-Wolf

“You should be a mistress. You have what it takes.”
Unknown Chakras domme

Thursday evening, 19 September 2011

GM: They call it the Steel Room. It’s where Sylvia makes the magic happen. Cages. Spreader bars. Collars. Cuffs. Chains. St. Andrew’s crosses. Chastity belts. Stents. Anal hooks. Kneelers. Bondage fiddles. It’s all there, and more. The past six months have been good to Chakras’ resident welder.

Sylvia’s in the middle of her latest project when a man wanders inside. He looks like a client, and an older one, with a portly belly and receding gray hair.

He grins and looks around.

“You a new girl?”

Victoria: She lofts a brow to him. Her leather-dominated outfit screams ‘Yes, I fucking work here, you unobservant choad’, but Sylvia is more polite.

“Nope. Been here a whole two weeks.”

No one is new past the first day. Not after the interview. Faces come and go. Or cum and go. Or don’t cum, then go. Or don’t cum, and don’t go. Sometimes they leave by the door. Sometimes they leave by ambulance. One time, Sylvia saw someone leave by a body bag—though, she wonders whether that was part of the act or not.

“You must be lost.”

GM: “My good luck,” grins the man.

He whistles and looks around.

“What a collection.”

Victoria: “Why, all the yours, if you paid at the front and booked your time with one of the masters or mistresses.”

GM: “Heh,” says the man.

He takes one of the bondage fiddles off the wall and turns it around in his hands.

“How long can someone wear this thing for?”

Victoria: She looks to the fiddle.

“I suppose until your arms fall off, or are removed.”

GM: The guy laughs and sets the fiddle down, then picks up a pair of chainless cuffs.

“You got a name, sexy?”

Victoria: She lofts a brow at him. Even in two weeks, it isn’t the first time she’s been mistaken and accosted by the clientele. As much fun as she had during her interview, it isn’t her place to whip the guests.

“You just said it, hmn?”

GM: The man laughs and turns around the cuffs in his hands. “What, Sexy’s really your name?”

Victoria: “Seems to be what I’m called more than not.”

She refrains from giving him his name.

GM: “Heh. You got a… you got a mouth,” the man chuckles.

Victoria: And oh, the things she can do with her mouth.

“Look, I think you’re a bit turned around. Booking is at the front. Were you assigned a room?”

GM: “Is that part of the job for you, being mouthy?” asks the man.

“Seriously, what’s your name? I just wanna be friendly.”

“I’m Greg.”

Victoria: She sighs, calming herself.

“I’m Sylvia.”

GM: “Sylvia. That’s a pretty name,” smiles the man.

“Isn’t really a domme name. Are you a sub?”

Victoria: “Nope.”

She picks up a welding torch.

“I build the things that make you scream—one way or another.”

GM: “Wow,” whistles the man, backing away slightly.

“That’s intense.”

Victoria: She glances past him, wondering how he escaped his domme.

GM: “So you’re not just a domme, you’re the domme who makes all the toys?” he grins.

Sylvia doesn’t see anyone else nearby.

Victoria: “Not a domme, not a sub, just an employee in a house of horror.”

GM: “Oh. But you use these things, right?”

“If you make them.”

“Do you like it when guys use them on you, or do you like to use them on guys?”

Victoria: She shakes her head.

“Not really. I just fiddle with them. If you want them used, the front desk is what you want.”

GM: He looks at her suspiciously.

“You really don’t use these things?”

“But you make them.”

Victoria: “Uh huh. Got a degree and everything. I had to dye my hair away from blonde so they believed me, even with the diploma. Go figure—a smart woman in 2011. Next we’ll be practicing communists.”

GM: The man laughs. “Yeah, ‘smart’ sounds like you. You feel like a domme, though. Do you do it on top with your boyfriend?”

“Gregory!” comes an imperious female voice.

“Where are you, you impudent boy!”

“Ah, shit,” Greg grins, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Hide me! There anything here?”

Victoria: “Try the closet.”

She gestures to an iron maiden.

GM: “Oh, ha, ha, that’s fun-”

He’s interrupted as one of the dommes strides in, high heels clicking against the floor. She yanks Greg away by his ear. He gives a loud, “Owww!”

“My apologies,” she says huskily. “He’s such a bad boy, showing up where he’s not wanted. You can be assured he’ll be punished, and severely!

Greg’s ear-to-ear grin is interrupted by the domme giving his ear another sharp tug. “Yoowww!”

Victoria: “I’m sure he’ll love the punishment!”

She curls her fingers after them, as if waving goodbye to a child.

“Bye bye.”

Friday evening, 27 September 2011

GM: Sylvia’s working in the Steel Room again, perhaps a week later, when Greg pops his head in.

“Hey, how much to hire you as my domme?” he grins.

“I’ve been thinking about you, and you really get my motor going. If y’know what I mean.”

Greg wiggles his eyebrows.

Victoria: “Oh, I don’t know if I could cut it as a domme, but I’ll give you a pitiful hand job for seven million dollars. Hell, I’ll even use the special lube with gold flecks—but don’t tell the master! He’ll want a cut.”

GM: Greg laughs.

“Dang, the mouth on you!”

He runs his hands over the devices like a kid in a candy store.

“These things are amazing, you know that? Seriously, I bet you’d use ’em better than any girl here. Since you made ’em, right?”

Victoria: “Is the best blacksmith better than the best swordsman? I think not.”

GM: “Huh. I didn’t think of it like that.”

Greg picks up a gag, sets it down, and then another pair of link-less handcuffs.

“But you are a domme, though. Just the way you talk!”

Victoria: “No, dear, I’m a Christian. This is my church, and through prayer, I can see why many find catharsis in these halls. Can’t you?”

GM: “Huh?” frowns Greg.

“Like, this is how you get off?”

“I mean, duh, there!” he chuckles.

Victoria: She stares at him.

“Did you run away from Mistress Cybil again, Gregory?”

GM: He raises his hands. “All right, all right. I’ll be outta your hair.”

“She was really mad about that last time, anyway.”

Victoria: “Uh huh. What did she do to you for it?”

GM: “She didn’t let me cum.”

Greg looks genuinely irritated.

“Like, fucking hell. I’m here to get off! Five hundred bucks down the fucking drain.”

“I thought running off was gonna make her beat me extra hard, make the session extra good. She ruined the whole thing.”

Victoria: “Are you big, Greg? Like—be straight with me. You packing?”

Sylvia turns, opening a drawer.

GM: He grins at Sylvia’s words.

“Yeah, I sure am.”

“I beat it off thinking about you, a couple times.”

Victoria: She pulls out a pair of garden shears.

“Like, how big? Grocery store salami or Oscar Meyer hotdog? I’m wondering if she’ll use these, or get out the crescent knife and really have to work at it.”

GM: Greg freezes like a deer in headlights, as if wondering whether Sylvia is serious.

“Uhhh, I’m just gonna leave. Okay?”

Victoria: She snickers. “Hey, you were surprised what she did on the first offense.”

GM: “Yeah, you…”

Greg suddenly looks straight past Sylvia.

Not in the direction of the door, where one would expect Cybil to come from.

“OH SHIT!” he exclaims.

Victoria: She jumps with a start, her heart bouncing off the ceiling. She looks where he’s looking.

GM: Suddenly, she feels Greg’s hands on her wrists, forcing them into the cuffs she made. There’s a metallic click.

“Ha ha! Not so smart after all!” laughs Greg.

Victoria: The shears clatter to the floor.

FUCKER! Let. Me. OUT!”

Sylvie screams bloody murder, which is exactly what will happen whether she is or isn’t let out—it just depends when.

GM: Sylvie knows the room is soundproofed. No one wanted the welding noises disturbing scenes in the other rooms.

Greg pulls Sylvia against his body. She can feel his erect cock pressing against her ass. Rough hands squeeze her tits.

“Ah, fuck, yeah!” Greg exclaims. “You really are a domme, aren’t you? You just fuckin’ wish I was the one locked up! God!”

He delivers a hard smack to her ass.

“Call me Daddy, bitch! I’m your dom now!”

Victoria: As she pulls him against his body, she slams her forehead into his nose. No playing, no toying, no risk—she intends to break his nose and send him to the floor.

GM: Despite being handcuffed, Sylvia’s forehead smashes into Greg’s face with a satisfying crunch of cartilage. Blood leaks down his nose as Greg gives a shout of alarm, reflexively pulling away. Sylvia trips him with her leg and he hits the floor.

Victoria: She bolts for the door, hopping over his body and trying to wrench it open.

GM: Opening a door while handcuffed from behind, and thus facing backwards, proves difficult. Sylvia can’t even see what she’s doing.

But she can see Greg. He angrily hauls himself to his feet, then grabs Sylvia by her hair and yanks her away from the door. Another hand clamps around her throat as he forces her head downwards.

“You’re gonna get it for that, cunt!”

He hauls her towards the sink in the corner of the room.

“I love bringing a domme to heel! Fucking yeah!”

Victoria: Hands behind her back, there’s little she can do to fight him with her hands.

OUCH!” she roars as he pulls her by the hair. She opens her mouth to scream a string of profanity that would make a sailor blush, when his hand forces the air out of her throat.

She writhes, struggling against him.

GM: Greg slams her against the sink. Her belly hurts.

“God! Fuck!” pants Greg. “That’s the thing, about dommes! They got spirit! They fight!”

Victoria: She grunts in pain, trying to scoop a leg in front of him to trip him.

GM: His hand slips down her leather pants as he stomps a foot over hers.

“Submit, honey. Say you submit. You’ll like it, I promise.”

“As a bitch at my feet!”

Victoria:OUCH! Okay, OKAY… fuck, just stop!”

Unless he holds her up, she sinks down.

GM: Greg lets her kneel to the floor. Blood’s still leaking down his nose.

“That’s a good girl!” he sneers.

He points at his shoes. “Lick ’em. First step to fixing your dirty mouth.”

Victoria: “Just fucking let me suck you off. That’s what you want, right? An apology for your lost money? They’re going to wonder where you are, soon, so if you want what’s yours, you’ve probably got three minutes.”

GM: Greg scowls furiously, then unzips his pants and forces his erect member into Sylvia’s mouth. He makes a fist in her hair, tugging her close.

“Suck, bitch!”

“That’s a tame little domme!”

Victoria: Well, she was going to suckle his balls, but sure.

She takes him into her mouth, her tongue lapping at the underside, as far as he’s willing to go.

How pliant.

GM: Greg spits on her face. He chokes her with one hand. He yanks her head backward and forward by the hair with his other hand.

“Good bitch! My fucking pet domme!”

“You love that, don’t you, when a man takes control!”

Victoria: “Mhmhmhmmm!” she mumbles. Wow, she’s really putting in her effort. She takes everything he has, and is a compliant kitten when he offers more.

GM: Greg humps her face back and forth, holding her head in place with both his hands. It’s very little time before he feels almost ready to climax, if his faster thrusts are any indication.

“Swallow it! Swallow it all, bitch!” he pants.

“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! You’re mine!”

“My pet domme! I fucking TAMED you!”

Victoria: “Mhmm! Mhmm!”

She begins to gag on him as he presses further into her mouth, encouraging him. She’s an attentive lover, and so she watches him, his emotion, his escalation. She reads his body as if it is a musical score, and just before he erupts, she clamps her teeth down and sheers, as if rending beef jerky. She can’t move her head, but the natural reaction to pain is to jerk away.

Someone always pays for gifts, and she has been very generous.

GM: The human jaw can exert a truly prodigious amount of force. 70 pounds per square inch, even if most of it is back in the molars.

Even the most well-endowed penis weighs a lot less than 70 pounds.

There’s a grisly tear, and then suddenly hot, coppery blood fills Sylvia’s mouth, almost completely masking the salty tang of cum. Greg’s screams are prodigious as the man collapses to the ground, blood freely leaking from his ruined manhood. Greg rocks back and forth in fetal position, screaming at the top of his lungs. Tears stream from his scrunched eyes.

“You… bi… you…!”

The rubbery, turn-off, bloody shaft sits there in Sylvia’s mouth.

Victoria: She gags, chokes, then vomits the amputated member onto the floor along with her half-digested lunch.

Coughing, she still manages a smirk.

“Enjo—” cough! “—enjoy your last?”

With him in the fetal position, she finds the strength to stand up, and does what she didn’t to that poor sub just three weeks before. The same boot that crushed her face lands a heel to the center of his face, forcing his already-broken nose further into his head.

GM: There’s another satisfying impact beneath Sylvia’s boot as red gets all over the sole. Greg screams and crawls away on his hands and knees, blood still leaking from his destroyed manhood.

Victoria: She runs to the door, kicking it.


GM: The closed door remains closed.

Greg continues to scream. Sylvia sees him crawling towards his spat-out penis shaft.

Victoria: She walks to him, swiping it away with a foot. It splatters across the room. Then, she moves to take the shears off the floor, lest he become brave.

Even injured, as adrenaline begins to cool toward calmer heads, she begins to tremble.

How could they leave her like this?


She walks over and kicks it again.

GM: Greg’s screams rise to a still-higher pitch as he sees his manhood fly away. He scrambles after it.

The door finally crashes open beneath Sylvia’s adrenaline-fueled kicking.


She stomps out of the room, looking for the nearest employee. Blood and cum coat her chin.

GM: The handcuffs she made dig painfully into her wrists. However, Sylvia’s shouting eventually brings several of the dommes and subs running. There’s several screams at the scene of violence. Several more people just look turned on and start kissing and groping one another. Someone licks Sylvia’s chin. There’s questions about what happened. There’s more screams from the now-open room.

It’s not until one of the dommes arrives, though, that some sense of order is restored to the scene. She has caramel skin, a slender body encased in a leather corset, and way black hair that falls to the small of her back. She starts perfunctorily giving instructions and has someone unlock Sylvia’s cuffs.

“You poor dear…” she murmurs, dabbing a cloth along Sylvia’s chin. “I’m so sorry this happened to you… we’ll take care of this, don’t you worry.”

Victoria: The chaos makes her want to cover her ears and shrink into a ball, but she can’t do that. So much screaming. A tongue on her chin. More screaming. Being pulled this way, and that.

Finally, freedom.

When she looks into the domme’s eyes as she cleans her chin, she’s that little girl again; a small child in bed, helpless, while a monster of a man shoves his hand into her pants.

She can hardly speak without trembling.

“He… he… he…”

GM: “Yes… things out of hand…” says the domme, thoughtfully dabbing her cloth along Sylvia’s face.

“I think a raise would only be fair, don’t you? Call it reparations for the trauma you’ve suffered.”

“And maybe you’d also enjoy having some more… control in your workplace?”

Greg’s screams have stopped.

Victoria: She doesn’t answer right away. Sylvia knows well enough that Chakras prefers to keep out of the eyes of the law, but the thought that she would be bribed didn’t even occur to her until that moment.

“Con… control? What do you mean?”

She leans on the woman. Her knees shake. Her legs hurt. Her jaw is sore.

GM: “Well, let me just ask… if Greg never bothered you again, after this, and never came inside Chakras again, would that seem fair?”

“Or not so fair?”

“Would that not seem like enough?”

Victoria: She nods.

“…won’t turn down a raise, but… yes.”

A pause.

“And something to prevent that happening again.”

“You’re going to ban him, then?”

GM: “Oh, of course. But he’ll go somewhere else, after he gets his penis reattached, and the police won’t care, if we file a report. They’ll just say he got frisky with a sex worker, because that’s all we are, in their eyes.”

Victoria: She grimaces, looking down at him and his unattached member.

“He’s not a good person. He… he forced me to blow him.”

“Probably not his smartest life decision.”

GM: The domme has since ushered her away from the bloody scene.

“So not fair, then? He gets a painful memory, and then just walks away?”

Victoria: She shakes her head.

“I don’t want him to hurt someone else.”

A pause.

“…but I won’t tell the cops. I know it’s bad for business.”

“What are you trying to say? Be direct.”

GM: “Don’t worry about the police,” smiles the domme.

She wraps an arm around Sylvia and shepherds her to the front entrance.

“Go home and shower. Pamper yourself. Have a cry. Hug a pet, or someone special. We’ll have someone give you a lift, if you don’t want to drive right now.”

“Be back tomorrow, and we’ll discuss… avenues of justice.”

“Ways to keep him from doing this to any more girls.”

Victoria: She nods. She won’t tell the police. Sylvie is a good girl.

“I think I can use a drive, yeah. I… I can take myself. I’ll be fine.”

Because she’s the only one she can rely on, and I’d Sylvia St. George doesn’t have the strength, then Sylvia St. George doesn’t deserve her life.


More assured, “Okay.”

She nods.

“I’ll be back.”

Saturday evening, 28 September 2011

GM: The next day, Sylvia’s back at Chakras. The domme greets her at the front entrance, then takes her to a room upstairs. Tied spread-eagled with his hands between the posts, blindfolded, collared, and grinning like a shit-eating possum, is Greg. He’s got his dick back. It’s hard as a rock while a naked girl behind him eats out his ass. Greg looks in complete bliss.

The domme smiles and gestures at a wall of wicked implements, many of them made by Sylvia’s own hands.

She says something. Sylvia doesn’t remember.

It doesn’t matter.

“Aw, YEAH!” shouts Greg.

“After this, I wanna put HER ass in chains, and teach her a lesson! Come on, kitty kitty, come and play!”

Victoria: Sylvia didn’t go home that afternoon. Not right away. True to her word, she took a long drive, with no particular destination or direction. Lefts became rights, rights became lefts, and she wandered around the city until she almost ran out of gas. She knew what would happen if she went home. So, she didn’t.

With time, she ended up at Audobon Park, where she sat on the grass, eating a pretzel.

She didn’t want a hotdog. Not that day.

She didn’t sleep much that night.

Thoroughly caffeinated and with a few hours of sleep, Sylvia returns to Chakras, unsure what she’ll face—though she has a few guesses in mind.

She jumps at Greg’s outburst, shaking. No.

Sylvia St. George, stop being a pussy.

And then she notices his cock, and something inside her knots.

“How? How is he…?”

GM: “His brother-in-law’s a highly-placed administrator at Tulane Medical Center,” says the domme. “Turns out, that gets you some pretty swift attention from their best surgeons.”

“He’s probably going to damage it using it again so soon, but what does he care.”

“He’s just overjoyed to have it back, I’m sure.”

Victoria: “Impossible! He… he… no swelling. No bruising. Full function…?”

GM: The domme laughs.

“I’ve not inspected it up close, but swelling and bruises wouldn’t surprise me one bit. Full function would surprise me.”

She smiles, takes Sylvia’s hand, and lays it against the implements on the wall.

“Maybe you’d like to try some of those things on it, and see how full a recovery it’s made?”

Victoria: Sylvia looks to the implements, then the domme.

“Be frank. I know that consent and safety aren’t always paramount in the privacy of these walls.”

She drops her voice.

“How far does this go?”

GM: The domme smiles widely.

“As far as you’d like it to.”

Victoria: She lofts a brow, uncertain.

“You mean that.”

It’s not a question.

GM: “I mean that,” comes the answer.

“Come on, kitty kitty, come out and PPLLAAAAYYY!!!” roars Greg. His voice heaves with laughter.

Victoria: Sylvia offers her a kind smile.

“I appreciate you. Everyone here.”

They protect their own. Just like her own family. That means more to Sylvia than anything. Even the new girl is given protection.

Sylvia walks up to Greg.

“What do you want, hmn?” she asks, dragging a finger up his chin.

GM: Greg freezes.

Maybe he recognizes her voice.

He doesn’t say anything.

Victoria: She gestures the ass licker away.

“Tell me. What. You. Want.”

GM: The girl hops off the bed.

“Get the fuck away from me!” shrieks Geg, tugging at his restraints.

Sylvia can see the cold sweat that’s broken out along his skin.

Victoria: “Shhh… shhh… sh… there are no hard feelings. You raped me, I bit you. We’re both fine.”

She grips his cock.


GM: Up close, Greg’s dick does not look fine, or feel fine. It’s colored an unhealthy shade of purple. It’s swollen, but in a way that makes it look more fat than truly large. It’s neither fully soft nor fully erect. Just sort of a sad in between.

Greg squirms and tries to pull away from her hand.

“Look, just… lemme go, and you’ll never see me again, I swear.”

“I can’t even fuck girls! Just get my ass licked!”

Victoria: “Oh, come on, Greg. That’s no fun.”

She disappears from his side, moving to a nearby cabinet. She’s only been in this room for installation, but…

There it is. She retrieves a bottle of Viagra, and a gag.

“Don’t you want to fuck me? If you’d been nice yesterday, I’d have let you.”

Probably untrue, but stranger events in her life have happened, and it wouldn’t be the first she’d regret. Certainly not the last, either.

She shakes the bottle.

“Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to cum. Didn’t you want kitty to play?”

GM: “I… please, the doctors… they said I shouldn’t…!” begs Greg.

Victoria: He hears the bottle open.

“You were so eager yesterday.”

GM: “Yesterday I hadn’t my dick fucking bitten off! PLEASE! I could… I could lose it! For real!”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry! I got too frisky! I’m sorry!”

He tugs against his restraints some more.

Victoria: “Mmmn.” She cants her head back and forth, sounding uncertain.

“I suppose there would eventually be something we agree on.”

She drums her fingers on his thigh.

“Is that all the mast you can muster? You told me you were huge.”

GM: Greg starts actually crying.

“Please. Please don’t fuck me. Not now! I could lose it!”

Victoria: “Let’s fix that.”

She reads the bottle.

“Aha… between one and half a pill.”

She shoves ten into his mouth, then the gag.

“Swallow. You know very well it’ll be worse if you don’t. You get me if you obey, and you get her if you don’t.”

She leans in to his ear. Paint the picture, Sylvie.

“She wanted to kill you. I made her promise we’d just scare you a bit. They’re placebos.”

They are very much not placebos.

GM: Perhaps he wonders if she’s lying.

About the placebos.

About the other domme.

It’s the prisoner’s dilemma, in a completely warped context.

Cold sweat beads his skin.

Sylvia can watch him literally sweating over this.

Then, finally.

He swallows.

Victoria: She begins to shake, and is thankful that he’s blindfolded.

You fucking do what you have to do, Sylvia St. George, and you do it with a straight back and a smile.

The gag is removed.

Good boy.”

It’ll be a little while before it takes effect. Oh, when it does…

“Are you sorry for what you did?”

GM: Greg nods raptly, feverishly.

“Yes! Yes! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry! I won’t ever—you’ll never see me again! Ever! Never!” the man babbles.

Victoria: “Mmmn… close, but no.”

She reaches over, gently pumping his shaft, testing.

“Maybe you’ll take my apology better than I take yours.”

GM: “N-no? What do you want!? What do you want me to say!? I…”

It’s like watching a half-rotted eggplant solidify in her hand. The veins along the purpled flesh already look red and angry.

Sylvia can’t see his eyes behind the blindfold.

But she has no doubt they’re as wide as dinner plates.

Victoria: She beckons one of the subs over silently.

“It’s not an apology if I tell you.”

GM: The sub obediently approaches.

PPLLLEEAAASSE!!!!” Greg wails, full on sobbing now. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m SORRY, OKAY!? I’m SORRY! I CAN’T LOSE MY FUCKING COCK!”

Victoria: She gestures the nameless sub before her, front to back, and speaks to him as if they are one.

“Shhh… crying isn’t appealing. You’re not going to lose it. You’re going to use it.”

She nudges the sub up onto the bed, guiding her with gestures to mount him.

Always, when she speaks, it’s head to head with the sub, preserving the illusion.

As the sub takes his penis, pressing it against her sex, Sylvia breathes.

“Don’t you want me? This is your chance.”

GM: The naked girl obediently guides his swollen, purpled, and throbbing cock into her pussy.

Greg recoils from it like someone’s pulling his dick into a paper shredder.

“Nnnno—nnnn-NNNN-OOOO!!!!” he wails.

“Please! Please don’t fuck me! Please let me have my, have my di, lemme have my….!”

He breaks down inarticulately sobbing.

Victoria: “Fuck! You’re right. It is big.”

The Viagra should be taking effect soon.

“You can have it, silly. Once I’m done with it! You never really got to enjoy this yesterday, so why don’t we make this first one good, hmmn?”

GM: “No! NO! I don’t want to, I don’t want to, please, don’t…!” Greg wails.

Such strange words to hear from a man’s mouth.

Victoria: “Words I’m all too familiar with. I said them yesterday, while you invaded my throat.”

She sets her hands to the sub’s shoulders, pressing her all the way onto his shaft.

“Doesn’t that feel good?”

GM: “NNnnooooo!!!” Greg sobs as his throbbing cock fills the girl.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I invaded your throat! I take it back!”

Victoria: Her fingers clasp around his sack, squeezing gently. The bruising may have spread, but at least those weren’t so severely injured.

“That’s the thing about rape, Gregory. You can’t take it back. You can never take it back.”

No matter what those greedy men do, no matter how charitable they are, no matter how much they beg and plead and offer their lives, they’ll never take back what they did to Sylvia and her foster siblings.

“You can only repent, and repentance. Takes. Time.”

She squeezes the girl’s shoulder, loving, and offers her a smile.

“Squeeze him. Milk him,” she murmurs in her ear.

GM: Greg’s balls, at least, look healthier than his shaft does. He still whimpers as her fingers snake around them.

“Please! Let me repent another way! Any way! Don’t take my…”

The sub obediently smiles and starts riding him back and forth. His rock-hard shaft easily fills her.

Greg screams and impotently thrashes against his restraints.

“PPppllleeaasssee! Sssttoooooppp!!! I’ll do anything! I’ll pay anything…!”

Victoria: She pads quietly back away, whispering to the dominatrix.

“…would you get a cutting board from the kitchen?”

Her heart is pounding so hard that she feels light-headed. She shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t be doing this, but she needs to. She couldn’t save herself as a child, and she couldn’t save her siblings. She couldn’t save herself as an adult!


She winces. Her own mental voice is stinging, as if her mother caught her hand in the cookie jar.

Her mouth is dry. So dry.

She swallows, licking her lips, and dons the mask again as she comes to the riding sub’s side.

“You can’t take back, Gregory, but you can give. You gave me your cock yesterday, didn’t you? I figure it’s mine to have when I want. I want it now.”

GM: Sylvia swiftly finds a cutting board pressed into her hands.

Greg sobs and chokes and blubbers.

It’s a pathetic sight from a middle-aged man.

“It doesn’t work, okay!? It doesn’t! The docs, the d-docs s-said, OH GOD PLLLEEAAASSEE!!! Doooooon’t!!!!” he wails.

The sub continues to obediently thrust back and forth against his rock hard shaft.

Victoria: That was fast. It’s almost as if the domme knew.

She presses the board beneath his scrotum.

“Greeeeg…” she whines. “I’m fucking horny, and nothing gets me off more than knowing I’ve pleased someone! Won’t you finish for me? Come ooooooon…”

She opens a drawer beside him. No, not a flog. Nope, not the whip. Not this, not that. Not the other thing.


She retrieves a claw hammer.

GM: Greg gives a shrill, girl-like scream and tries to recoil.

His restraints hold him fast.

Victoria: “Oh, relaaaax! Don’t you want to finish? I could have her finger your ass while I fuck you! Come on, Gregory! I want you to pop!”

Thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump.

She’s a little girl living a naughty fantasy, and the sheer adrenaline and taboo of it gives her a high like no other.

It’s wrong.

It’s terrible.

It’s horrific, and she should be thrown away for it.

Sylvia is a bad girl.

And in that moment, she loves it.

GM: That makes one person who enjoys Gregory’s climax.

It sure isn’t two.

Gregory’s screaming face is tomato red when he cums. Hot, wet spunk shoots into the sub’s cunt.

NNN-NNN-OOOO-OOOOO!!!!” he wails, tears streaming down his face.

The sub looks towards Sylvia, as if to see whether she should slide off. His rock hard cock is still throbbing inside her, even as his jizz seeps out.

Victoria: As she did the day before, she watches him, drinking in his expression. She watches him pant. She watches him fight his orgasm. She watches him lose, and the moment she sees the fight overtake him, she sends the head of the hammer down onto his left testicle, supported by the cutting board.


“See?! I made you pop!”

GM: Greg can’t see the hammer approach. But he feels the cutting board, and as he realizes, he screams,


It doesn’t literally pop like a grape.

First, the testicle squishes as the skin rips, exposing Greg’s bloodstream and testes. Sylvia can hear ‘splodge’ and ‘crunch’ as the hammer comes down on the man’s exposed testicles. Blood gushes out. Less than she’d actually think, but it’s hard to tell.

A ruptured, ruined testicle really does look just like a red grape.

Greg throws up. Bile leaks down his chest and all over the sub. Piss leaks from his throbbing, blackened cock.

But he screams no more. He hangs limply from his restraints.

He must have fainted from the pain and shock.

The domme straddles up behind Sylvia and runs her hands down the other woman’s shoulders.

“Exquisite,” she breathes.

Victoria: The hammer clatters to the floor. Sylvia planned so much more. She planned it all in her head: him finishing inside the nameless girl, the smashed testicle, the claw tugging what remained further, and further, and further, and further he while writhed and begged. He would scream as she screamed while she takes more than he took.

It remains a dream. A fantasy. Even if he didn’t pass out, Sylvia is done.

Her body gives up.

She can’t do any more.

The purr in her ear brings her a soothing chill. Silently, she looks to the woman.

GM: The woman’s face is proud.

Proud. Aroused. Hungry. There’s something hot kindled in her green eyes. Her voice is a breathless whisper in Sylvia’s ears.

“You should be a mistress.”

“You have what it takes.”

Victoria: Anna is going to die if she ever hears those words.


Her heart rocks against her ribcage, fluttering up her throat.

“I’m not sure I do.”

GM: Wordlessly, the woman holds up the bloody hammer.

Copper wafts up Sylvia’s nose.

Victoria: She takes the hammer, staring at its sanguine-splotched head.

“This… isn’t what every client wants.”

Even this one didn’t.

GM: “Yes,” the woman laughs. “They usually want… less.”

Victoria: She knows she’ll be good at it.

She isn’t sure she wants to be good at it.

GM: Greg hangs uselessly in place, covered in blood and bile. The smell is overpowering.

Victoria: “What will happen to him?”

GM: “He’ll live. I suppose. And go through life without use of his precious cock, and never touch another girl again.”

The woman strokes a hand along Sylvia’s face.

“None of this will ever come back to haunt you. We look out for our own.”

“You are one of our own.”

“You are one of us.”

“You love this. Everything about this.”

“Don’t you?”

Victoria: She bites her tongue, thinking.

“He still has one left, and his cock will recover otherwise, unless the stimulant ruined him sufficiently.”

She hands the woman the hammer while she leans into that stroking hand, closing her eyes.

She is one of them. She’s been one of them since her interview. She loves this life, even though she couldn’t admit it to Anna.


GM: The woman takes the hammer, positions the cutting board, and then does exactly what Sylvia just did.

Victoria: She winces. A fleck of blood lands on her glasses.

GM: She sets down the twice-bloodied implement, then wraps her arms around Sylvia and softly kisses her cheek.

“Welcome home… Mistress.

Victoria: Sylvia chews her lip, thinking.

“I’ve a thought.”

Oh, the sound of that word. So crisp. So frigid, yet warming; a mother’s embrace from a statue of ice.

GM: “I’ll bet it’s worth more than a penny.”

Victoria: “He’ll remember this, but he won’t think about it every day. He’ll miss fucking, but over time he’ll miss it less and less.”

GM: “People can get used to anything, it’s true,” sighs the woman.

Victoria: The dregs of adrenaline are fading. Uncertainty plagues her, but the reassurance of this woman pushes her forward.

One more. Just one more.

Her crumbling foundation holds.

“Help me turn him over?”

GM: The woman undoes his cuffs, then turns over his fat, blood- and bile-smeared body.

Victoria: “Got a knife?”

GM: Just as swiftly, Sylvia finds one in her hands.

Victoria: “You are boundlessly prepared.”

She scores the ring just deep enough to weaken muscle, then seats the knife directly into his asshole.

“There. Now he’ll remember daily.”

Saturday night, 28 September 2011, PM

Victoria: Two days in a row, Sylvia leaves Chakras trembling. Two days, with tears welling up behind her eyes. Two days, with blood on her face.

She shouldn’t be driving, but she is despite three separate people offering to take her home.

“It’s only a five minute drive,” said one of them.

“It’s really no trouble,” said another.

She wanted to accept the ride, but not as much as she needs to be alone; to let herself break down, and to allow the skyscraper of roiling guilt and emotion to come crashing down.

The door to her ancient Civic barely clicks closed before she punches the steering wheel hard enough to bruise her hand.


GM: Her hand hurts.

But that pain will fade.

Greg is never going to use a bathroom the same way again.

Victoria: Greg deserved every ounce of pain that he received. His punishment was justify.

It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Sylvia drives home, running two stop signs, nearly hitting a pedestrian at one. The angry, Asian man swears at her in an unfamiliar language. She feels more guilty about the corgi that leaps off the sidewalk, but it manages to run between her tires before she passes.

Lucky dog.

She makes it home, both her and passing people in one piece, and she presses a key to the front door of her apartment. Never has she had so much trouble opening a simple door.

Stupid, fucking Greg. If he hadn’t locked the door. If they hadn’t installed a locking door…

GM: Or a soundproofed room.

Or such reliable restraints.

She’d know there, after all. She made those cuffs with her own two hands.

Victoria: She shaped his fate, in a way.

She hadn’t forced him to come in.

She hadn’t forced him to rape her.

GM: She remembers his laugh.

How he said he’d tamed her.

How much he loved taming dommes.

Taking strong and assertive women and bringing them to heel.

Victoria: Now he’ll never bring anyone to heel again.

He’s lost his purpose.

He is weak.



She took everything from him, and wounded him beyond that.

And she reveled in it.

And she hates herself for it.

GM: He was a monster. He’d have preyed on other women.

So she hurt him, until he can’t hurt anyone again, and now she feels like the monster.

Was there a right thing to do?

Victoria: She’s no better than the men of her childhood.

And she liked it.

Likes it.

Likes it a lot.

Is this why they did it to her?

To feel overwhelming power over the helpless?

GM: She remembers how it felt with the chair.

The fear in her eyes.

The sense of a defenseless life completely with her hands. Within her power.

Victoria: She wonders where that chair is now. Chakras is bigger than it’s given credit for, and she is only one small component of the machine. So many dommes. So many subs. So many support workers, just like her.

GM: Wherever she is, she’s probably happy so long as someone is sitting on her.

Victoria: The door clicks closed, and Sylvia St. George crumbles like an overcooked cookie, with none of the sweetness. Her bag falls to the floor, and she barely makes it to the sofa before she’s sobbing, screaming into a pillow.

She’s a broken toy. She’s a toddler with a tantrum. She’s both the uncertain child with a hand down her pants, and the rapist, eyes glinting in the dark.

She is both halves of everything she hates, and everything she swore never to be, and never to be again.

She embodied them both, and what’s worse? She likes it. Even there in her blind rage, she likes it. There’s more she would have done if he hadn’t passed out, and there’s more she wishes she could go back right that moment and do to him. She wishes she could have an auditorium of young men to watch, to broadcast to the world exactly what happens when you take what you don’t deserve, and she wishes she could comfort every last one of them and tell them it’s okay.

Sylvia St. George is a bad girl, and she doesn’t know what to feel.

The very worst part?

They offered her a job for it.

They offered her a job for it, and she already knows she’s going to take it the next morning.


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