Snuff

Never before had Khisara witnessed such splendour. Even in her distressed state the Great Hall made her marvel in utter awe. One hundred and twenty cubits the numberless columns reached into the air, and upon entering the hall, one’s eye could not fathom its far end. The palace guards marched her along, keeping the chain to her high gold collar free of slack, but felt no need or inclination to drag at it. Whither could she flee? How could she form the mere concept of defiance in such overwhelming manifestation of unquestioned power? ...

0:01:43….0:01:42….0:01:41…0:01:40, she watches as the timer sitting in front of her counts down to her demise, she’s been staring at it ominously for the past 2 hours hoping she’ll be able to stop the timer or at least slow it down from just staring at it alone, but that of course won’t happen. She tries to scream for help in hopes someone will come untie her but the ball gag shoved in her mouth stifles any chance of someone hearing her. The ropes lashing her wrists and ankles together are unforgiving and bite into her flesh with every move, the rope around her waist and around her breasts keep her held tight to the chair….but we’re getting ahead of ourselves here, lets look at how Sabrina got herself into this little predicament. ...

Chapter I The truth finally got Laura’s attention. She didn’t know how long she had been struggling with the damned handcuffs. She couldn’t get herself out of them! Why had she been doing such a stupid thing? They were too tight and she didn’t have a chance, making the key fit in the lock. Oh, what a misery! If it only had been the cuffs, she could have called 911 and made up a story about something, but she had gagged herself with a ball-gag harness before cuffing her wrists behind her back. She thought it would be easy to unlock them, but she obviously was wrong! ...

Author's Note: Some of you who read my first story “Game of a Lifetime” were revolted, upset, and disturbed. Others liked it. If you thought my first story was sick and gave you nightmares, please do not read this story. It is not my intention to expose anyone to material they do not consider enjoyable. For those of you who are just are not shocked easily, enjoy. For much of our childhood, Sarah and I were just like any other pair of identical twins. Our mother dressed us alike, we had the same hairstyle, and mostly liked doing the same things. I thought we were both pretty happy. Afterall, we had a lot going for ourselves. Our mother had raised us by herself and would have done anything for us. We attended first a private school in New York and then went to Boarding School in England. We had a good, catholic upbringing. ...

This story was submitted for the 2010 Winter Fetish Contest. Please be sure to rate read and rate each story. When you’re finished, visit our sponsor by clicking the banner above. (They have lots of cool stuff!). My name is Misty and I’m a 27 year old bi-sexual female slave. I’m Owned by Mistress Gwen Gwen who is strict and ensures that I keep my body perfectly fit and healthy to the extreme. I had recently disobeyed in a very severe way, Mistress Gwen has forbid all of her female slaves from having sex with any of the male slaves and she caught me doing just that one afternoon. She kept me chained in the basement cells for weeks and I knew she was mad, but did not realize just how mad she was. She came in one morning and finally released me, promising that she was about to give me a very unusual session. I thought maybe her anger had passed in the weeks I had been locked down here, but I was mistaken. ...

Author's Note: This is a story which embodies most of my fantasies; to be owned and humiliated by a mature woman would be heaven. Part 1 I had known from the word go that I could never completely satisfy her sexually; she was way above my league, a picture of feminine grace on the outside, and a virago on the inside. The few acquaintances I knew at the time of our swift marriage had said she was just after my money; I had inherited a fair amount and she had seemed so sincere. It had not taken her long to discover my submissive side and she had soon taken full control of me. Everything I owned was now signed over to her and she had soon tired of simply dominating me to attain sexual satisfaction. She had invited males of her choice back to our home and had me watch whilst they had sex, and now here I was, in the back of a car being driven by one of her favourites; a huge black guy who simply grinned and laughed as he listened to Cherie as she taunted me on this not un-significant journey. ...

Author's Note: Normally, SNUFF is one of those topics that I don’t care for reading. But ironically, this is the second story with that tag that I’ve posted on this site. “Playing Games” (as those who’ve read the story know) doesn’t actually end in death. I won’t give away the ending of this story, however, I think (like the other) it deal with the topic from an unusual POV. Personally, I don’t particularly understand the fascination with snuff–which is healthy. lol. But even as a fantasy, I just don’t get it. For me, it just seems like such a waste. To me, the point of kidnapping and torturing a woman would seem to be the gratification of watching her suffer. Obviously, that’s not something I would do myself, but I can at least understand a motivation. But if you’re going to kill her, you’re removing your ability to do that more in the future. That’s sort of like the Ebola virus that kills its victims so rapidly they often don’t have time to spread the disease, which causes the outbreak to falter and not spread very far. In much the same way, “snuff” just seems like fantasy suicide to me. ...

Amanda Night left the party like she had left almost every party since she had turned 13, completely drunk and wasted. She refused the offer of a ride home, telling anyone that would listen to her slurred words that she could drive better drunk than any of them could sober. No one believed her, as it was a well known fact that she was facing serious jail time for multiple drunk driving infractions, including an injury accident that promised at least a year in jail. She had not been expressly invited to the party, but she was a part of some reality show on one of the millions of channels on the tube and as such was always privy to whatever parties were happening. The network that broadcast her series secretly made every effort to get her into every Hollywood social setting it could, since her being drunk and spoiled and slutty were what made her show the minor hit it was. So no one tried to stop her when she slid behind her moms late model BMW, and screeched off. It was one of the few nights in the last few months where there wasn’t a camera crew following closely behind her, and that lack of supervision was about to cost her everything. She pulled out of the long driveway, and a bit confused about where she was, immediately took a wrong turn. Even in her inebriated state she knew right away that the scenery was all wrong. She was feeling sick to her stomach and just wanted to lie down for a couple minutes, when a turn came up too quickly for her dulled senses to compensate for. The car went straight over a mail box, then planted itself into a hedge, with Amanda shaken up badly, but otherwise unhurt. She could see she had come to rest outside of one of the countless mansions that dotted this side of the hills of Hollywood. Groggily she opened the door and threw up, barely able to keep herself from falling into her own sick. She groped around for her purse and phone, but could not find them under the seat of the car where they had fallen. Someone was coming towards her from the house, and Amanda waited patiently for whoever it was to arrive and fix things. A slender, late middle aged woman appeared in front of Amanda. ...

Author's Note: This is a relatively short and very mild story about a Vampire’s chattel. Most of the “bondage” element is implied or of a psychological nature. Mind-control because… they’re vampires! Bondage because… the main character IS bound, although I spend very little time describing it. You are forewarned. Marisa is hunting again. I can see that she’s surfing the Internet as I set the drink she requested down on the table beside her and wait to see if she’ll need anything else. I know she knows I’m watching her. It doesn’t take a psychic to figure that out. But I always wonder what it means when she doesn’t reprimand me for it. ...

Part 1 - Preparation I awake early, intrinsically realizing that today is the day. I have know that this day would come; planned a hundred times in my mind how it might unfold, seduced by the finality of it. Today is the day. A cup of coffee brings me to full awareness and my preparation begins. Everything that follows must conform precisely to a plan that is being dictated by a voice in my head, my companion self, present since childhood. ...