Damien and Corinne
by Michael Elk
A purse snatcher gets more than a purse


1. (Damien)

I don't consider myself to be evil, though the world would no doubt judge me
more severely. You see I'm 19 and have been surviving by shoplifting and
snatching purses for about 2 years now, ever since I voluntarily left a very
unsatisfactory foster home - the last of several since my parents were killed
in an auto accident when I was 11.

I'm not a career delinquent, but a delinquent only from necessity. I'm looking
for a job, and even have plans to get a degree by correspondence once I've
established some stability in my life. But until then, I manage through crime
to keep a small apartment and to survive day to day. My needs are few and I
prefer to pay my way legally whenever possible, only stealing when funds are
depleted. And I try to harm others as infrequently as possible. The elderly
would be easy pickings for purse snatching, but I know that broken bones would
result, and so I work with a more youthful clientele. And I always return the
person's identification and credit cards to their address, even though stuff
like that is worth a fortune on the streets.

However my life of crime came to an abrupt halt exactly 3 weeks and 2 days
past my 19th birthday, and in a manner that I would never have anticipated nor
believed possible.

2.

I'd been walking the streets for a several hours, looking for a suitable
target with no success. Women with purses had been abundant, but were always
too elderly, accompanied by a man or other women, in too populous a location,
or as in one case, the target was just too athletically looking and attired.
Athleticism could be a problem even though I had no doubt I could outrun any
woman. An athletic one, wearing running shoes, and screaming at the top of her
lungs, might be able to stay on my tail long enough to call up assistance from
passerbys. We purse snatchers are great fans of high heels.

On this particular day, I finally spotted a potential target, walking on a low
traffic street, and dressed satisfactorily "to the nines". She was a black
woman however, but of the correct age - I would have guessed 35 - and, by her
expensive looking blouse and skirt, likely to have substantial funds in her
wallet. Normally I might not have robbed a member of a minority, but I was
frustrated with my lack of success all that afternoon, and saw no reason to
discriminate against a target just because of race. She was about 5' 10ཁ,
nearly my height, with long, ebony legs, solidly built, even a little chunky -
certainly no anorexic fashion model with a wafer-thin waist. I followed behind
her, debating the wisdom of an attack, and only caught an occasional glimpse
of her face whenever she glanced to the side. She appeared comely enough, with
an attractive profile. Another reason that I might not normally have hit on
her was the confident stride and demeanor. I much prefer the timid, who are
easily shocked into passivity, and whose reaction under attack is to cower
rather than defend. But I was tired and hungry - it was the supper hour - and
I was so frustrated by my lack of success that I abandoned my usual caution.
So when she turned down a short, dead-end street, I knew she was nearly home,
and that I had only seconds to decide.

The purse was large and slung over her right shoulder by two thin parallel
straps that were long enough to allow the purse to rest against her hip. We in
the business prefer smaller purses that are easier to run with, but the long
straps are ideal for slipping off shoulders. I noted that I would have to be
careful to seize both strands of the double strap, lest one catch on her
shoulder as I attempted to confiscate the purse. So after a quick glance up
and down the street to insure privacy, I quickly and silently covered the
short distance between us, grabbed the purse straps, and slipped them quickly
off her shoulder.

Whether she had been aware of my presence, I don't know, but as I turned to
run, she closed her hand quickly enough and firmly enough on the strap to keep
herself attached to it. However I had jerked so swiftly and so hard, that she
sprawled full out onto the concrete sidewalk. With success so close, I renewed
my efforts to dislodge my victim, pulling with a determined and desperate
energy. My opponent managed to keep her grip, and rather than dislodging her,
my efforts resulted in dragging her to her knees. I was shocked to see the
results of my villainy, her expensive dress ruined, scuffed beyond repair, her
nylons ripped, and her knees bleeding.

At that point, I should have abandoned the quest, and saved my criminal
activities for another day. However I gave one more massive wrench on the
purse and broke the strap. With the sudden lack of resistance, I flew
backwards, landing heavily on my butt. I must have been stunned by the fall,
or at least slower to react than my victim, because by the time I started to
get up, she was already on her feet. As I struggled to recover, she swung the
purse by the broken strap. I saw it coming, but had my arms back, still
supporting my weight, and was helpless as the purse took me fully in the side
of the head. I don't know what she transported in that ruck sack, but it must
have been loaded with large and full bottles, or with something similar. It
might as well have been bricks. The force hammered me sideways, and pain
roared through my head. I was stunned, but managed to throw myself back flat
on the concrete in time to miss a return swing of the purse that just missed
my head and might have finished me for good.

Then, while I was down, the woman charged in at me and straddled my body,
landing heavily enough on my stomach to drive the air from my lungs. It took
me a moment to recover enough to fight back, and by then she had both my
wrists pinned to the ground. At first my struggles were futile. Her strength
was surprising, and she had the advantage of being able to use her weight to
keep me in place. She said nothing, but the grim, determined look on her face
made me realize that escape wasn't going to be easy.

She was mashing my hands into the sidewalk, and as I wriggled about, trying to
break free, the skin on the back of my hands rubbed painfully against the
concrete. Surprisingly, I found that I didn't have enough strength to force my
arms off the sidewalk - she was pressing straight down and had the advantage
of gravity on her side. However I eventually tore my left wrist out of her
grip and quickly rolled onto my side, still under her, before she could
capture it again. Now I struggled to turn beneath her in order to get to my
knees, and felt the woman's legs tighten against my body in her effort to stop
my progress.

Suddenly the weight on me lessened, and I thought I was breaking free. In fact
I was more than half way to my knees, completed defenseless, when she drove
her own knee hard into my back. The blow was agonizing, but worse,
debilitating. I sprawled face first into the concrete sidewalk. The breath
left my body, and I couldn't move. All my efforts were suddenly directed into
finding a way to reacquire oxygen, and by the time I eventually did, the woman
was firmly seated on my butt, and my right arm was behind my back and being
viciously wrenched high up against my shoulder blade. With super-human effort,
I actually managed to lift my body (and the entire weight of my tormentor) a
couple inches off the ground, then felt those long black legs once more
tighten against my body, before she trust violently forward and used her
weight to drive me forward, off balance, and flatten me painfully against the
concrete once more.

3. (Corinne)

I'd never been mugged before, nor assaulted in any manner. I've always assumed
I could take care of myself and I also use care when walking the streets.
Nevertheless, I wasn't expecting the purse snatcher's move. I had been aware
of the young boy's presence behind me, and should have been a little more
wary. Still he didn't catch me completely by surprise, and I was at least
prepared enough to thwart his attempt. I would have expected to be afraid
under such an attack, but my reaction was one of anger, and therefore I fought
back. Perhaps it was my attacker's youth, but he didn't appear to present much
of a threat, and that gave me courage.

My response had been sudden and unplanned, but had turned out better than I
could have scripted. I wound up on top with the mugger on the bottom, and I
had his arm twisted up behind his back as far as I could force it. He began to
struggle, pushing with his feet, but with the downward pressure I exerted on
his arm, all he could do was revolve his body awkwardly on the concrete.

I was still angry, and delighted to hear his cries of pain whenever I added
pressure to my hold. However he was just a young boy, perhaps 20 or so, and
when he began to plead for release, my anger quickly dissipated. You see I
make my living as a dominatrix, tying and gagging men for their pleasure and
(depending on the psyche of the client) beating them when required. It's an
extremely lucrative profession, and one that many women practice exclusively
for the money. I enjoy the remuneration for sure, but I also love my job. I
love being the one in charge, and I love to bind a man, rendering him
completely helpless. It is exhilarating to know that I have complete power and
that I could do anything I want to him, even to the point of killing him if I
wished. Of course it would not be productive to decrease my client base in
such a manner, but I love to take my control a step or two further than my
client's instructions. For example, should a client requires binding and then
spanking with a paddle, I certainly will comply. However I will also add a
strike or two to his back with a whip that will raise welts, and then judge
his reactions to determine how far to go. Invariably I enjoy forcing my
domination beyond his comfort point so that we both experience his complete
helplessness and my utter control. And most men do enjoy that loss of control
while still feeling safe. And I usually get their repeat business.

This was a different situation, and it felt different. For the first time, I
had a male under constraint who was completely unwilling. I'd often fantasized
taking and dominating an unwilling victim, but the opportunity doesn't
normally arise. One doesn't just jump on a male on the street, pound him to a
pulp, tie him up, and then drag him home to one's lair.

Suddenly here was the chance of a lifetime. The anger that had dissipated
because of his pleadings and his youth, was being rapidly replaced by new,
intense, and erotic sensations. My breathing quickened, and it wasn't from our
brief struggle because I kept myself in excellent shape and had barely exerted
myself. But as my sex press firmly into that young body between my legs, I
experienced a delightful stirring in my loins; and my nipples stiffened
against my bra, and became deliciously sensitive in my ever growing aroused
state.

I had to have this young boy, and I was determined to get him inside my house
and into some of my detention hardware. But although he wasn't going anywhere
with his arm in a hammer lock and with me sitting on him, it would not be an
easy task to get a strong, young and unwilling male into proper bondage. And I
had to act fast. It also wouldn't do to have a passerby chance upon the scene
and to volunteer to call the police. I was thankful that I lived on a short,
quiet street and that our position was somewhat blocked from view by my
neighbor's hedge. I wanted him so badly that I was debating the pros and cons
of dislocating his shoulder (which would have been easily done), when I fixed
on the broken purse strap within easy reach. The strap was thin leather,
double-length but attached at only one end and running through a loop at the
other. I realized that if I pulled the strap all the way through the loop that
I would have a cord (with the purse attached) several feet long. Tying up my
intended victim would be infinitely preferable to injuring his shoulder. It
would be much more fun to dominate a male who was strong and healthy and well
able to attempt resistance. So I stretched out my foot and dragged the purse
within reach of my free hand. Then I gleefully worked the strap out of the
loop, and reveled in my resourcefulness and ingenuity.

4. (Damien)

It had been bad luck to get a woman who was strong enough to resist
effectively. It was worse luck to get one who was also aggressive and vicious.
She was going to break my arm, I was sure, and I found myself crying and
pleading like a helpless girl. I tried drawing my knees up under my body in an
effort to get to my feet, but that resulted in a violent reef on my arm that
caused me to howl in pain, and to rediscover the immense advantage of
passivity. So I ceased struggling and awaited my adversary's next move. I
expected her to begin hollering for help. It's strange what goes through one's
mind in such a situation. I'd always been philosophical about being captured
by the authorities and had never feared it. It was always a risk of my
criminal occupation. However now that it looked like I would be turned over to
the law for real, the thought terrified me - not the imprisonment, but the
humiliation of being subdued and captured by a woman - and a black one at
that. How would I ever hold my head up around the other inmates?

"Lie still if you know what's good for you." she hissed, her lips inches from
my ear. "I can break your arm if you make a move. Do you understand me, White
Boy?"

"Yes." I said weakly, knowing she meant what she said. The pain in my arm
lessened slightly and I became more aware of the suffocating weight of her
body as she leaned forward to deliver her instructions. She wasn't light and
it might have been difficult to get out from under her even if she didn't have
my arm out of commission.

Then I felt her weight shift, and her knee slide up against my arm to hold it
in place. That would free her hands but also make it easier for me to break
away. The pressure on my arm decreased measurably, and I took the opportunity
to test the continued effectiveness of her control by trying to wriggle free.
Immediately both her hands were again on my wrist, wrenching my arm
mercilessly back into place. I screamed in agony.

"Apparently you didn't believe me the first time. I promise you I will break
the arm if you merely twitch again. Understood this time?" And she continued
to reef viciously on my arm, until my hurried affirmative was delivered - this
time with real conviction so that the pain might finally stop.

With her knee keeping my arm in position, I felt her wrapping something around
my wrist that suddenly tightened painfully. Only when the thin leather had
bitten cruelly into my flesh did I realize that she was using the loose end of
the purse strap to bind my wrist. However I was too frightened to resist, and
remained passive while she knotted it firmly and securely. My only response
was to wriggle my free arm under my body in order to protect it from a similar
fate.

I didn't think she could tie both my arms without some help from me, and made
a decision to resist any effort to capture the other arm. However her next
move took me by surprise. My face was jammed against the concrete of the
sidewalk, and suddenly that thin strap was against my cheek and nose and being
pulled downward between the concrete and my skin. I reacted automatically to
the unpleasant sensation by lifting my head. This allowed her to complete the
loop around my neck more easily. A repeat of the manoeuver put two loops of
leather around my neck, which she tightened enough to make my breathing
difficult, and to insure that my arm would no longer require her attention to
keep it firmly affixed to my back.

The rest was child's play. Fingers were dug brutally into the soft tissue of
my neck, and when my left arm ventured forth in defense, it's wrist was
quickly seized by her two free hands, and that arm forced to join its twin
behind my back. Soon it was positioned and harnessed the same as the first
one. The only problem she had was the size of the purse. It was still attached
to the strap and too large to fit under my arm in order to secure a knot on
the purse end of the strap. She solved that dilemma by emptying the purse
contents onto the sidewalk to lessen its bulk so that it would slip easily
under and around the arm. I was now trussed completely and effectively (and
somewhat painfully with arms too uncomfortably high and leather too painfully
tight), and her front lawn looked like a very disorganized cosmetic counter.

5. (Corinne)

This was precious. The boy was so well bound with the purse strap that his
helplessness worked on me like an aphrodisiac. As he lay there beneath me,
arms harnessed far up his back, held there by the chord around his neck, so
that he could never bring them lower without garroting himself, I felt a
sensual and erotic rush. Roles were reversed. It was victim surmounting bully,
female conquering male, the gentle vanquishing the barbaric, right over wrong,
black beating the crap out of white. I love control. I could have choked the
life out of this boy merely by twisting on the strap, or just as easily turned
him over and raped him. Raw female power surged through my veins, deliciously
hardening and sensitizing my nipples. His body was warm and solid between my
legs, and I considered tickling his ribs so that he would squirm and rub his
buttocks against my sex. I wanted to ravish my captive right then and there,
but that would have to wait. It was far more crucial to get him inside and
away from outside interference. Then I could take my time and enjoy my
prisoner at my leisure.

My captive was about my height of 5' 10ཁ, not heavy, but solidly built with
the type of buns that turn women to mush. His hair was a sandy color, and just
the perfect length to grip. So I made use of that handle to force him to his
feet and to drag him up the four steps on my porch and into my lair. Trussed
like he was, and with my fingers entwined in his hair, he was easy to control.
This one didn't like pain, and whenever I felt any resistance at all, I would
give his locks a vicious twist, and enjoy the yelp of pain that would result.
He followed along easily and quickly, bent at the waist, with my deflated
purse bouncing off his back with every motion. I had grabbed my wallet with my
free hand, but I would retrieve the rest of the contents of the purse after I
had tended to my captive. Any loss of cosmetics would be a minor price to pay
for the future pleasure that I could envision.

6. (Damien)

God but the woman was brutal. She gave me no chance to resist, but dragged me
by the hair into her house. And she was strong. I tried to hold back at first,
but she wrenched so hard on my hair that tears came to my eyes and I foresaw
the possibility of premature baldness.

I assumed she would call the police, so while I was being dragged further into
the house, I was also desperately trying to come up with a reasonable
explanation of how I'd got into this situation, and one that would portray the
woman as the villain instead of me. It's not likely that I could have found a
suitable rationale in 10 years that would have convinced even a dolt of a
judge, but I was suddenly distracted from my scheming as my persecutor pulled
me to the left, through a door, and began to drag me down a flight of stairs.
Our progress was not fast. Had she rushed me, I most certainly would have lost
balance and fallen. So I had lots of time to contemplate my evil ways and to
consider what fate awaited me down below. And I didn't like the options I came
up with. Suddenly I knew that I was going to be murdered and my body cut up in
little pieces. I was terrified. At that point, I would have readily accepted
the baldness and stood my ground, but on the stairs that was no longer
possible, and I was ushered slowly but surely, step after frightening step,
towards my doom.

"Please. Please." I whined. "I'll do anything you say. Please don't kill me."

Her laugh was harsh and (to my frightened ears) bestial. "You pathetic whimp"
she sneered. "Not very tough after all. Not only are you licked in a street
brawl with a woman, but I scare the be jesus out of you as well. You're a
despicable little coward. Wish you'd stuck with attacking old ladies?

"Don't worry. I likely won't murder you. But you soon might wish that I had."

At the bottom of the stairs, she pulled me along a short corridor and into a
darkened room. She hit the light switch, and I saw that I was in a carpeted
room with only a few pieces of machinery. It reminded me of a weight room at a
gym, though I didn't recognize the equipment.

Releasing her grip on my hair, I was able to stand erect for the first time in
quite a while. It was the first time I got a look at her from the front when
my concentration wasn't entirely devoted to fighting her off. When I'd first
observed her from behind, I'd noticed how solidly built she was. Then I'd
experienced her strength and athleticism all too well. Now, I could see why.
Her shoulders were broad and her arms solid. Short black hair framed a face
that was a bit too wide for her ever to be a model. Her nose was broad and her
lips thick and dark, almost blacker than red. And the very deep brown of her
eyes nearly matched the color of her skin. None of her features were
outstanding, but together they worked OK. However it was the personality that
was exceptional. She was one of those people from whom confidence oozes like
oil from a sinking tanker. She had a strong personality, an aura, and would
always be a leader, the one in charge. And I found that I couldn't meet her
gaze.

I stood there feeling like a school boy being disciplined by the teacher. I
tried once again to look her in the eyes but was far too ashamed of what I'd
done, or at least of being caught. I had to look down but didn't wish to be
seen eyeing her breasts, so directed my focus on her feet, like a naughty boy
being scolded. However the woman solved my embarrassment by immediately
slipping behind me and seizing my bound wrists, reefing upwards on my arms,
and steering me across the room. I tried to resist, but she was far too
strong. We stopped near what looked like two large, ankle-high boots that
appeared to be anchored to the floor. "Move and I'll cut your balls off."

Then while I stood passively, contemplating potential loss of my masculinity,
my tormentor bent down, seize my left ankle, pulled off my runner, and steered
my foot into the rigid shoe-like device. Then I heard an ominous 'CLICK' when
she closed the tongue part. I did resist the similar treatment of my right
foot, but meekly submitted after receiving a painful blow to my unprotected
groin area that doubled me over and reaffirmed the wisdom of cooperation.

I felt the woman wrapping something around my left wrist above the leather
purse strap, and heard the velcro claws take hold. Then she untied the purse
strap from my wrist, and began to unwind it from around my neck. Oh the
relief, as blood flowed back into my hands, and as my arms flopped down to my
sides and some comfort was restored to my aching shoulders. But my contentment
was short lived. The velcro strap, attached to my wrist, was also connected to
a wire that went up and over a pulley on the ceiling. And my arm was far too
weak from its recent confinement to resist as my captor pulled on the wire and
drew the arm slowly upwards until it was stretched as far as it would go.
Experience told me that resistance was useless, so I remained docile as she
attached the velcro strap to the other wrist and drew that arm upwards as
well. With both feet locked to the floor and arms stretched to the ceiling, I
was helpless and vulnerable. She could have killed me, had she wished, but I
no longer feared that particular fate. That could have been accomplished
twenty times over in the past. My impotence was the most frustrating feeling
I'd ever experienced. But because I was being dominated a woman, the
frustration was of an erotic and sexual nature, and I found myself suddenly
becoming erect. That was humiliating and I desperately feared that my
tormentor might discover my shame.

7. (Corinne)

I forced my new young friend into the Bondage Boots as quickly as possible,
before he realized what they entailed. Once his feet were locked in, there was
no escape without my say so, and I could relax, take my time, and do whatever
I wanted to him. Then I untied his arms and repositioned them over his head
with a system of ropes and pulleys that I had invented for clients who enjoy
bondage and beatings.

"What's your name?" I asked, as I moved around to his front, and took his chin
in my hands. "And don't think about lying, because I'll check out your story,
and lies will be dealt with in a manner that you won't enjoy."

"Damien." he said meekly, not wanting to look me in the eye. But I held his
chin so that he couldn't drop his gaze.

"Well, Damien. Looks like you lose your shirt for not giving me a full answer.
Most of us have a surname." And I slowly began to unbutton his shirt. Now he
was free to drop his gaze, and he refused to look me in the eye.

"Damien Scott." But he said it so quietly that I could barely hear him. Of
course it didn't matter whether he told me his name or not, because I was
going to take most of his clothes eventually, and the shirt was a nice start.
With the shirt open, I observed a delightfully youthful, hairless, but
reasonably muscular chest. This young man would be stronger than me if I ever
gave him the opportunity to fight. However I had a bit of kick boxing,
wrestling, and Tai Kwon Do in my past and a contest might prove interesting.
That wasn't going to happen any time soon because I was in control and had no
desire to relinquish command to any white person, especially a male.

I reached inside the shirt and ran my hands gently over his smooth skin, up
and down his sides, and over his delicious pectorals. He squirmed under my
touch, and I was aware of the increasing bulge in his trousers. But such
pleasures would have to wait. I took a pair of scissors from the medicine
cabinet and cut his shirt up both sleeves so that it fell to the floor in a
ruined heap of cloth. Then I left my young playmate to stew in his own juices
for a half hour while I changed into something more comfortable.

8. (Damien)

"I'll need to ask you a few questions, Damien." she purred as she reentered
the room. My back was to her, and she caught me by surprise. I'd been hanging
from the wires for what seemed like an hour, and with my feet locked to the
floor, I could barely move. It wasn't the most comfortable way to spend time.

"First your address. And be advised that answers will be checked and incorrect
ones harshly dealt with." She stepped into my field of vision with a pad, pen
and clipboard, but what she wore took my breath away. She was dressed all in
leather, like a black sorceress or something. Black leather vest, tight black
leather pants that caressed her long thighs, and high leather boots with heels
that gave her an inch of height on me. The uniform, although an obvious stage
prop, reeked of power and authority and suited her masterful personality. I
was too stunned to answer.

"Your address, Damien. I won't ask it again."

Several other questions followed, though I could barely keep my thoughts
straight, and don't remember all that she asked. I've always been shy with
girls, and don't have much experience that way, and having her run her hands
over my body earlier (and while helpless) had been the most erotic thing I'd
ever felt. My terror had suddenly been displaced by an intriguing, yet still
scary desire, and I'd felt a real letdown when her hands had left my body.
Then I'd experienced a feeling almost of disappointment when she had left the
room. I suppose terror is a necessary condition for the Stockholm Syndrome,
where the captive begins to empathize with his captor, but I was also quickly
becoming infatuated with this woman, and my mind was in kind of shocked mode.

She needed my parents (none), recent past (foster home), job (none), roommates
(none), etc. I sensed that I was giving away far too much information and that
it might come back to bite me, yet I couldn't bring myself to lie to her. A
fear of being discovered helped keep me on a truthful tack, but I was also
spellbound before her demeanor and authority. I'd never experienced anything
like this. I found myself wanting to please her, and while my interrogator
recorded my answers, I kept sneaking fascinated peeks at her.

"My name is Corinne." she said as she set the clipboard and pen aside. "But I
will require you to address me as 'Madam or Mistress." Her face was inches
from mine, and she was staring me straight in the eyes. I couldn't meet her
gaze, and looked down. "I'm a dominatrix by trade. Do you know what a
dominatrix is, Damien?"

I think I could have guessed by then, but answered in the negative.

"Well, Damien. You are going to find our first hand. I make a pretty fair
living dominating men. Most men enjoy being tied up by a woman. But then you
know what that feels like already, don't you? My regular clients realize that
they aren't in any real danger, that its all fantasy. But that doesn't apply
in your case. You aren't going to enjoy my talents willingly, and you have no
idea what I'll do to you, do you Damien? According to your answers, and they
had better be correct, there isn't anyone who'll miss you for a few weeks,
isn't that right, Damien? So you'll be able to experience my services fully,
and we won't have to worry about a search party or the calvary coming to your
rescue. Oh we're going to have fun these next few days - or at least I am.
You're going to find out what its like to be helpless and dominated, and
completely at my mercy. But at least you won't have to pay like my other
clients.

"Some men like me to hurt them a little, Damien. Would you enjoy that?" She
was directly in front of me, her body inches from mine, and her face
uncomfortably close, forcing me to avert my gaze once again. I wasn't sure if
I was enjoying this domination or not - there was too much uncertainty and
fear - but I was rock hard and amazingly aroused.. Her hands reached out, and
she began tweaking my nipples with her fingers, and the sensation was
electric. Suddenly I was on the verge of ejaculation. However my antagonist
quickly quelled my ardor by pinching and twisting on the nipples. I screamed
in agony, my body unable to recoil from the pain because it was held so
securely by its bonds. Just as quickly, she returned to the gently tweaking,
but the nipples were now injured and sore, and the pleasure was gone. Then she
laughed gently and placed a quick kiss on my lips as if to make up for her
brutality.

"I can kill you, Damien, if I want to. You're mine to do with as I wish. Or
perhaps I'll castrate you. That would be a proper punishment for wrecking my
clothes and my purse, don't you think? Pain and pleasure, Damien. I can
administer either or I can administer both."

She placed her hand on my chest, and slowly began to circle around me. And as
she moved, her hand maintained an electric contact with my skin, passing
sensuously over my ribs, up over my shoulders, and then intimately across my
back. Behind me, her progress came to a stop, and I held my breath for fear
she was about to hurt me. Her arms suddenly encircled me, her hands flat on my
naked stomach. She pulled back aggressively, and pressed our two bodies
forcibly together, her leather tunic rough against my bare skin. With her
boots, she was taller than I was, and her lips pressed against my ear.

"Pleasure Damien?" she whispered. "Is that what you like?"

Suddenly there were knots of desire and anticipation deep in my abdomen,
churning and heaving my gut in such a delicious manner. To have this mature
woman teasing me so physically and so sensually was the most erotic thing I
had ever experienced. Then her hands were undoing my belt, and then drawing it
out of the loops of my jeans. A faint hint of her perfume reached my nostrils.
My heart was racing a mile a minute, and I thought I might swoon..

I gasped as she unsnapped the top button of my jeans and slowly began to lower
the zipper. Then her hands slipped inside my shorts and began caressing my
lower abdomen, brushing against my erection, and moving lower. I was in erotic
heaven. My knees gave way, leaving my body supported by the cords around my
wrists. Her fingers finally found my sex and surrounded it. I was so aroused
that I would have exploded in seconds had she not dug her finger nails
viciously into my tender organ and squeezed down painfully. My magnificent
erection and that sensuous moment both vanished with her brutal attack, and my
cry of agony once more filled the small room.

"Pain, Damien?" she whispered, her lips still pressed against my ear. "You may
grow to like it just as well as the pleasure. But we'll have to try it, to
find out, won't we, Damien?"

Then those wonderful and horrible fingers withdrew, leaving me both aroused
and hurt. She grabbed my loosened jeans and pulled them all the way down to my
ankles, so that I was left clothed only in my boxer shorts.

9. (Corinne)

"First things first, Damien. You've been a naughty boy. You need discipline."
I circled the helpless boy, his belt looped in my fist, dragging it's leather
seductively over the more sensitive regions of his torso, making him aware of
its potential, and letting him contemplate my intent. I had several small
whips that would be more effective, and certainly more painful than the belt,
but the latter would provide adequate pain, and there was a certain poetic
justice in its use.

"Well, Damien. I think you'd agree that you need punishment for your crime. I
could call the authorities, but imprisonment with hardened felons would only
teach you further corruption. Besides there's no telling what might happen to
a good looking young man like yourself in prison, and I wouldn't want
something like that on my conscience. No, its best if I take on your
discipline myself, and I tend to favor corporal punishment. And you'll receive
enough to convince me that you're truly remorseful. I won't spare the rod,
Damien, so how many strikes do you think it will take to cleanse your sins?
Your opinion will be taken into consideration. After all, you know yourself
better than anyone.

"Five?" he said. It was only one word, but it was the most uncertain, hopeful
word I'd ever heard, and my heart melted . What a rush to have someone so
utterly under one's power, and so very terrified. I think I fell in love at
that moment. However I am too much like the Black Widow spider, who devours
her mate. For me, love comes with an intense need to dominate and humiliate,
and with a certain desire to bludgeon. Aroused and lustful, I could hardly
wait to get started. My breathing was coming in quick sensuous gasps, and my
nipples hardened delightfully in anticipation. I'm not exactly proud of my
sadism, but its part of my personality, and with such an opportunity to vent
my perversions, I couldn't stop myself. I would just have to be careful not to
get carried away and hurt him too badly.

"Well that might be OK if your transgression was breaking your curfew or not
doing your homework, but you actually tried to rob me, and you caused a lot of
damage to my clothes. Also I will have to decline customers while I work at
your rehabilitation over the next few weeks, and that will cost me thousands
of dollars. I was thinking that 20 blows would be a minimum to start with, but
perhaps we could compromise with 10. That is very generous on my part, don't
you think, Damien? What do you say?"

"Thank you, mistress."

The boy might be a fast learner. I was intending to strike him immediately if
he either lacked gratitude or forgot to say 'mistress', but he successfully
avoided the extra blow.

Unfortunately for Damien, his belt was well made and heavy. Using about three
quarters strength, I directed the first blow across his shoulders, and was
satisfied both with the resulting cry of anguish and with the large red welt
that began to rise where leather had met flesh. Five more strikes over his
back and shoulders produced similar outcomes, and resulted in tears and pleas
for mercy from my unwilling guest. I was accustomed to flogging men who needed
and wanted the beatings, so it was delightful, for the first time in my life,
to take one against his will. And Damien really didn't like pain, and took it
badly. I've lashed other men twice as hard and had them asking for more. But
Damien was such a baby, a real little coward, and I loved him even more for
his weakness.

I lowered his shorts down around his ankles to bare his plump, attractive
rear. I couldn't help myself running my fingers ever so gently over the
sensitive skin, and watching him squirm. I lifted the leather at the front of
my skirt and drew his body back against mine, so that my sex was pressed hard
against his buttocks, and wished that I'd not worn underpants. I grabbed his
flaccid penis in my hand and brought it back to life with a few gentle
strokes. Then a few more until I discerned the heavier breathing of his
arousal.

"Oh, Damien. You are such a little slut." I whispered lecherously, my lips to
his ear, then for good measure briefly traced the curves of his inner ear with
my tongue. Then back to the breathless, sensual (I hoped) whispering. "Here I
am administering your correction, and all you can think about is your carnal
appetite. Instead of accepting punishment and working hard at reform, you can
be seduced and your concentration completely destroyed by a little sexual
innuendo. I would have been so proud, had you begged me to stop playing around
and to get on with the whipping. Well, in any case, that is what we'll do now,
and some day you'll thank me for it. However you have taken your punishment
quite stoically {I shamelessly lied} and so you will only receive 2 more
strikes, and to your derriere where it won't hurt nearly as much. What do you
say to that, Damien?"

"Thank you, mistress."

10. (Damien)

That woman, Corinne, had hit me viciously with my own belt, eight times, and
my shoulders and back would be sore for days. She had suggested flogging me 20
times, but I couldn't have stood that many. I've never felt such intense pain,
and by the end of my ordeal, I was nearly ready to faint.

After the beating, she pulled up my shorts (but not my jeans), and released my
arms from their velcro prison, all the while apologizing for the necessity of
the flogging. It felt so great to finally lower my arms after having them
elevated over my head for so long.

"Place your hands behind your back, Damien. I need to tie them so that I can
get you upstairs to bed."

Since I was angry about being beaten, I refused.

"OK Damien. To cooperate or not will always be your decision, but you must
learn to live with the consequences. Those boots you're standing in have a
combination release at the back. Even if you could reach the release, it
likely would take you several years to chance upon the right numbers. Those
boots are high top and rigid, and not particularly comfortable. You'll find
that you won't be able to sit down very easily either. I'll be back in about
an hour and a half, when I'll ask you again. And I guess you won't have any
need of light."

And with that the bitch snapped off the light and left the room, leaving me
trapped and standing in complete darkness. I guess it was an hour and a half
when she returned, but it felt like 6 hours. I had been angry over the beating
she had administered, but rage has a strange way of dissipating when one is
scared and uncomfortable and hungry - I'd attempted the purse snatching during
the supper hour; and by the time my antagonist finally returned and switched
on the lighting, I was not only ready to cooperate, but actually glad to have
her back in my life.

Rather than conventional handcuffs, she used some kind of thin plastic
strapping to bind my wrists behind my back. It was particularly effective,
because it kept the wrists in contact with each other, and gave no freedom of
movement whatsoever. I did try to snap the plastic, but there was no way to
get leverage, and one attempt was enough to convince me of the futility of the
effort. She released me from those imprisoning shoes, and as she did, pulled
my jeans off my feet, one leg at a time, leaving me clothed only in my boxer
shorts. Then she led me up the basement stairs, through a corridor, and up
another set of stairs to a second floor bedroom. The first thing I noticed was
that the window was boarded over, denying me any chance of contacting the
outer world by that means.

She snapped some form of ankle restraint, attached to a thin chain, on my left
ankle. The chain was about 25 feet long. A set of regular handcuffs were
secured to the end of the chain, and I watched as she locked the open cuff
onto a rung of the headboard of an iron bed. Only then did she cut the plastic
from my wrists with a pair of scissors.

"I think you'll be comfortable enough here tonight, though I expect you'll
want to sleep on your stomach for a couple of nights. If you behave yourself,
I won't have to resort to physical beatings any more. The chain is long enough
to allow you to reach the bathroom next door. Feel free to shower if you wish.
I hope you had supper, because I'd already eaten when you attacked me and I
don't cook for delinquents. Meals will be your responsibility starting
tomorrow morning. Good evening."

I'd considered attacking her while my hands were free, but decided that such a
move wouldn't be wise with me firmly attached to the bed, and with no key to
my shackles in sight. So I sat passively on the bed clothed only in boxer
shorts, and watched her depart, leaving me with a very sore back and a very
empty stomach.

11. (Corinne)

It's now been three weeks since Damien came into my life. But oh what a
delightful, if hectic, 3 weeks I've had with my young captive. From that first
evening he became the entire focus of my existence. When I'd left him in the
'exercise' room attached to the floor by the Bondage Boots, I'd raced upstairs
to prepare his confinement. I doubt that many women are faced with the sudden
need to incarcerate a male, but at least as a dominatrix, I already possessed
some of the basics such as handcuffs and chains. Fortunately I'm also handy
with tools and had scrap pieces of wood available. Within an hour the upstairs
bedroom and bathroom windows were covered with 3/4 inch plywood and set with 3
inch screws. The wood wasn't a perfect fit, and it wasn't a pretty sight, but
it would require tools to remove and it prevented Damien from getting
assistance from outside.

Over these past 3 weeks, I have become more and more infatuated with my
captive. He settled into his submissive roll easily, and his personality
seemed to meld with mine like cheese in an omelet. I soon began to plot how to
hold on to him much longer than I had originally intended. I couldn't easily
check on all the information he had supplied, but I had the key to his
apartment from his jeans, and went to search his rooms. I was delighted to
discover that things checked with what he'd told me. That meant that there was
absolutely nobody likely to be looking for him. My next step will be to make
him sign a letter giving his two months notice to vacate. That will allow
enough time for me to remove all of his possessions and clothes (and garbage
most of them). A charity organization can be counted on to pick up the
furniture and other large items. Otherwise if his possessions were left
behind, it might sound alarms.

I have good instincts as a dominatrix. There are no manuals on how to properly
subjugate a young male, but I believe I could write one. For the first few
days, I forced Damien to work hard (cleaning, ironing, preparing meals etc)
while keeping him chained by the ankle. However I also followed him about and
directed his work while verbally making his life miserable. I have a vicious
tongue that can be effective in intimidation and bullying. I also carried a
short cat-of- nine-tails, and used it liberally on his back at the slightest
indiscretion on his part, or excuse on mine. It was necessary to be mean and
sadistic (not entirely an act) to keep him in a constant state of terror in
order to insure his gratitude once I eventually eased up. In fact, we are just
now past the punishment stage and into the 'let's be friends' part of the
program. I have not hit him in over a week and he is finding me progressively
more pleasant.

From the second day of his captivity, I have been giving Damien a powerful
muscle relaxant. A half teaspoon added to his food each day will result in a
25 percent reduction in muscle efficiency, and make it possible for me to
dominate him physically as well as psychologically. Only yesterday, I
challenged him to an arm wrestling match, and managed to beat him 3 times -
twice right handed, and once left, so it appears to be working. Boy was he
shocked. The average male is sure of his strength advantage over the female,
and removing that notion from his head will not only be satisfying but also
vastly strengthen my hold on him. Soon, when my dominance is secure, I will
free him of any restraints and challenge him to actually wrestle - perhaps
even with the promise of freedom should he win. I anticipate that as a fun
time, and can hardly wait to wrap my long, ebony, female arms and legs around
his young, muscular, white male body, forcing it to submit to my power. My
wrestling experience from high school will aid the cause, but I also expect to
be stronger than my drugged opponent by then.

And what of the future? Well there will be sex in our relationship. You can't
imagine how erotic my domination of this young boy has been. Beating him
physically is an amazing turn-on, once or twice leaving me almost on the point
of orgasm. But just the power and the control alone is a strong aphrodisiac,
and I go about most of the day in a state of constant arousal, requiring a
self-administered form of release at the end of every day, and sometimes more
often than that. I have an amazing libido and require sex more frequently than
most. I'm sure I could keep up to a nymphomaniac if required. Perhaps I am
one.

Why would I settle for an inferior form of relief when the obvious answer was
living with me, only feet away and often bound and helpless? It all goes back
to those instincts of mine. I just sensed that beating and bullying this boy
to first terrorize him and then to bend him to my will, just didn't meld with
giving him pleasure. I suppose I could have forced him to pleasure me, but one
never knows with males - their sex drive is often warped and in overdrive -
and he might just have enjoyed the action as much as I would have. But his
time is coming, and I will use sex to first enrapture him and then to cement
the bond between us. He isn't expecting sex, and when it comes first, it will
be a surprise and will come in the form of rape. His wrists will be tied to
the bed posts and I will take him fiercely and aggressively, just to prove to
him that I can. It would even be nice if he would resist (though I think it
unlikely. I expect him to be tamed and compliant by then). If he were actually
unwilling and I forced him, that would be the ultimate in erotic pleasure for
me.

After that first carnal episode, sex will, for a time, become the center of
his universe. He will be required to perform many times each day, and always
at my command. Any initiative attempted on his part will be met with anger on
my part, and firmly discouraged. However I doubt that will happen, because I
intend to place enough demands on his inferior white male body that he will be
begging for relief instead.

Yes, the really pleasurable phase of Damien's training (for me) is quickly
approaching. He will be taught, because no 19-year old can be expected to
start off competent in sex. But he will have plenty of opportunity to learn
and to improve. And the goal he faces is the complete satisfaction of his
benevolent new black mistress. And I just know that he will soon perform
splendidly. Otherwise consequences would of necessity follow, and I doubt he
would find them enjoyable.