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How come assholes always have all the best women? It was an interesting philosophical question for the good part of my youth. It bugged me, it hurt me, I was so easily driven to tears those days. I used to wear glasses. I masturbated like hell. I wanted all those girls and they all seemed to fall for guys who were not worth any respect. I thought they weren't. I was such a child. I wasn't worth any respect back then.

Anyway, one matures with time. Providing time doesn't kill you. I matured. I grew up to be an asshole, just like those I hated in school. I worked really hard, it took me decades of effort. I practiced being insincere and slick. I am pretty good at it right now. My haircut is excellent and I wear extremely fancy shades.

I am not saying I am getting all the best women, though. Come on, let's be realistic, being slick and reasonably famous within a specific social circle helps, but we are talking real life and real people here. But I can't complain. I did well over the years. I was even able to sense more than few jealous glances drilling their way through my skull trying to melt my feeble brains and leave a smoking puddle inside.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel flattered. Because I understand now. I am not a better person than anyone. I am just ready to do more than many people to get sex, it's as simple as that. I want sex. I need it. It's my obsession and hobby, it's a way to pass the time. It can be magic sometimes. I need magic sometimes. I am grown up now but I do. Most important, I do not fool myself. I have been with quite a few women knowing that it is just sex I am looking for. It was clean and neat as far as I was concerned.

I sometimes look at Clarissa when she is not aware I am watching. Those are rare moments because she puts in a lot of effort to be at my service whenever she is around. But sometimes she is busy with whatever it might be at the moment and she is so devoted to the task that I can play my little voyeuristic game, knowing that she is not conscious about the way she presents herself to me. I try to detach myself from all knowledge I possess. I try to look at her as if I have never met her before.

To look at her, consciously, not just see her as an object I have grown accustomed to in my environment. Those are rare moments and I try to soak myself in them, not just devour her with nervous, hungry looks. I try to be the other guy. Not the uninvited, confused one who has clumsily torn through Clarissa's innocence and shyness and found himself as surprised and frightened as her.

I try to be the outsider, the one who was never aware of her nature, I try to look at her and imagine how it would be to have sex with her. I try to feel "proper" sexual desire towards her, try to push dark and violent movements and pulsations of my mind as far into the corners of my skull as possible. I try to look at her as at a girl I have barely just met, I try to understand what I'd feel towards her.

Because, you see, she is different today. She is not the way she was back when we met. I have shaped her. It is scary. I never thought I'd shape a human being before. Not me, not Nick. Not me, I could never have a puppy when I was a kid as my parents told me I wasn't responsible enough. Fuck, I wasn't, I kept losing stuff, forgetting promises and appointments. And I shaped her. And, yes, I was shaped by her too. This is the strangest aspect of our relationship, I stand back and witness myself being someone else. I sometimes wonder if the guy in the mirror understands that I am not sure about him any more. She has changed me. Deeply.

And I have changed her. She was a handful of silent sighs and nervous glances and she was white embraced by black. That much I could understand and work with. Black was always the colour to dream in and wander through. It was the colour of people who made their choice, the colour of mystery and threat and promise and all those concepts you find goths of this world waxing lyrical about in their journals and online blogs.

Quite predictably, I have always had an affinity towards black. I make no apologies for that, the colour has always been so widespread through the spectrum of fashions that I never felt like my cover will be blown and everyone will find out I was always after looking like heroes of my youth in all those comic books and films...

So it was not a great departure after all. She used to wear black before. The black that concealed and made the edges softer, the black that was polite and somewhat rigid. I made her wear black that is obscene and sharp, the kind of black that is mysterious but suggestive, shiny and piercing.

The black that marked the change in our relationship, the change in her and, yes, the black that painted the thoughts and images in my head for so long, the black that matched my new face, my new name, my new eyes and ears and tongue and liver and hair and fingers. It matched my clothes as well.

It was an effort, a matter of passage of time, a part of the development of our relationship, a portion of her training. She dreamed of it. I made her say it loud more than once.

"I am a slut... I always dreamed of being a slut... someone's slut. thank You, Master, thank You for forcing me to be what I am, a slut, a whore for Your pleasure."

The soft yet dedicated voice. The words that make my skin crawl.

She did, she accepted it. I have always had a thing for sexy clothes. I guess decades of conditioning by porn have had an effect. Clarissa just slipped into the role. Not overnight, of course. Consider this: she was only searching for her true self. Searching, looking for directions. And I knew that there is much more to be gained from a series of small victories rather than one huge violent takeover. I guess there must have been some guilt there too, following the circumstances our first lovemaking went under. My problem IS that I am still not sure about any of this. So I took it slowly, step by step. Making her accept it one step at a time.

Clarissa, my Clarissa... I look at her and I see the black in her hair, the silver in her ears, the white and black contrast on her face that I have imposed on her. Her eyes and eyelashes. And lips. I have always found black lipstick to be extremely sexy. Sadly, few of my girlfriends thought it is more than a joke and those who did usually put me off by taking about inner energy and preferring vampire over zombie films. Clarissa's lips are black whenever I want them to. I shiver just thinking about burying my cock into her warm mouth, seeing her black lips stretched around my flesh, her black fingernails on my skin, caressing my balls, my inner thighs...

She accepted it all: stockings and suspenders. Just for me. High heels. My slut. She made my fantasies come true and, unlike paid prostitutes every one of us has to deal with from time to time, it made difference to her what it did to me. She put in an effort, she wanted my reality to be better than my fantasies. She made sure she is a slut for me, a whore to make all whores of before pale in my memory. She transformed. The clothes transformed her. Her lust augmented by her slut clothes. Her character shaped around her looks. Her poses, her movements, her voice and looks and the words she spoke, everything.

When I bought a tiny silver chain for her ankle she nearly fainted from excitement. I explained to her that this was to be a symbol of my dominance over her. The chain to mark her as my property. The collar for my bitch. She understood.

"thank You, Master. I will wear it always. I will sleep with it and shower with it. I will never take it off. I will never ask permission to take it off. I will always remember who my Master is. I will never take it off"

And, yes, she was so frightened when she was having her belly button pierced but she accepted it as yet another symbol. And she was brave throughout, and when the woman asked her whether she is getting other ones soon, she blushed and couldn't look me in the eyes.

There haven't been many women in my life who'd do these things for me, without demanding so much in return. Clarissa always had in mind only one thing: my pleasure. It is selfish being aware of this and reveling in it. It is selfish, I am selfish. And when it's the middle of the night and she is crawling in front of me, her soft mouth working on my genitals, all dressed like a whore in her stockings and high heels and her black make up and her chains and silver rings, when she is humiliated and hurt and described as worthless and when she is denied pleasure, when she is denied orgasm, despite the fact that she has been pushed near the limit with dildos and balls and my own flesh and whips and bottles and harsh words, when she is craving to cum and yet she knows that she mustn't, I know that is when she needs me the most, when she is most grateful to me for giving her what she needed so much. My selfishness... noble and selfless. It is not easy to understand even now...

It's like a scene from a dream...

She is only in her stockings, standing on her toes. I find it incredibly sexy, her feet and her legs strained from the effort to keep her body as high in the air as possible. There are small details that I take time to revel in. The silver ring on one of her toes shines the light back into my eyes. I bought it for her and made her beg and offer me her anus before I let her have it. She was pleading, begging to be whipped and fucked in the arse, begging to be humiliated and used so she could be marked with another symbol. The silver ring... The silver chain on her ankle. Her feet are curved, it's so sexy... Her toenails are black and shining.

Her body shivers from the effort. It glistens with silver of her sweat. It trembles and pulses. I am not sure how much more she can take. I am a bit scared too, but I'll be damned if I let her see that.

Her breasts are red and swollen. Her nipples are huge, purple in colour. I used the black rope to tie her hands behind her back, really tight. The arms are in an uncomfortable position, but I am guessing that right now this is the least of her worries. I have used another pair of her black stockings to tie her breasts up. I made her kneel when I was done tying her arms and I made her bow forwards, so that her breasts hung down. Then I encircled both breasts with one stocking each and tied them really tight. The stockings went around three times. It must have hurt her, but that was only the beginning.

I left it like that for a couple of minutes until they grew really large and red. I told her she looked like a slut. She was in pain and my insults were adding to it. I made her beg me to fuck her breasts. She was in pain and she begged me to stop and let her off the hook, she promised to grant my every wish if I make the pain go away, but... I knew what to do. I knew what it is she really wanted. And I didn't give in, despite her begging and despite her eyes giving my belly spasms.

I made her beg. I pinched her nipples and pulled her hair. She moaned and I laughed. She begged in the end, she begged me to fuck her tied and swollen breasts, she begged after being forced to beg by use of pain and threats. I fucked her breasts and she was instructed to open her mouth so I can dip my cock in with every thrust. She obeyed and her breasts... they were so hard and so hot.

Then I took another piece or rope and tied her already hurting breasts together. And, ah, then I tied another long piece of rope to it and looped it over the roof bar. Yes, I did, I swear I did. And I pulled. She begged. She knew. She understood what it was I was doing. She saw what was coming. She begged me not to. Her voice was cracking with fear, cracking with pain. She begged to be let go, she was panicking, she was begging. And I pulled, forcing her to stand on tip toes, to avoid pain, to avoid damage. And I left it like that, securing the rope, so that she had to stay in this position.

"This will definitely keep you on your toes, Clarissa."

I was waiting to use this punchline all night. Ahh, surely, somebody else would have come up with something better.

I listen to her scream. "nnnnnoooooooo" and "pleeeeeaseee". It is heartbreaking. It is so fucking exciting. I have such a fucking hard on. I am such a bastard. I hated assholes when I was a kid. But I am an asshole now. More than that, I am a bastard, a piece of scum who tortures his girlfriend with sadistic efficiency and, God help me, I find it so arousing. She is helpless and in tears, her body trembles, her legs are so beautiful, strained and hurting, her face, the mask of pain, the face I love.

"Be still for a moment, slut", as the camera goes off, clicking and clicking. I want her to wait a bit more and, more importantly, I want her to be aware that the moment of her pain and disgrace is being caught on film, preserved. Yes... The moment of her humiliation and agony, the moment of her beauty, the moment of her utmost femininity... Clarissa. You have given me things I never dared imagine.

Her shame and her pain go on. And on. She is crying, the thick, black dildo in her anus shoved deep in. She is crying. Her words are a series of sighs and choked exclamations. Breathing in between cries.

"please... please, Master, please, I can't take it any more... please, sweet Master, please, let me go, I can't take the pain... I will do anything... I will be the best slut my Master ever had, just make the pain go away, please..."

Cry, Clarissa. I can not feel your pain, I can but stand breathless and watch you in your agony, pleading to be saved, listen to you beg. I am listening very carefully, but the word doesn't come. I am half expecting, half hoping she will use the word. Because I am scared. I am scared she will allow me to hurt her, to damage this sweet, this sacred body in front of me, rather than use the word and admit that this is just a game.

This is just a fucking game. I am putting her through hell. She is going through hell. This is her hell designed for her, custom made and delivered with attention to detail. She needs it, she sinks deep into its fiery pits. She never uses the word. You fucked-up, silly girl, you fucking unbelievable creature, please be brave, please hold on to your sanity as the worst is yet to come.

In this nightmare she is the victim.

"This is what you deserve. This is your punishment."

This is her punishment. This is her nightmare. This is her fucking dream come true. This is her dream of fucking come true. This is her nightmare. This is her award.

I whip her breasts. I place nipple clamps on her already unbelievably swollen nipples. I taste them first. I have to, they are something from beyond this world. I taste the very flesh of sin itself. It's hot and throbbing. I can taste the pulse of her heart.

I whip her breasts as she stands on her toes, helpless and crying, hanged by her breasts, her hands tied on her back, her nipples cruelly crushed by metallic clamps. Designed to hurt.

My Clarissa.

The word. She never says the word.

I shove my fingers up her cunt. No. nononononono. God. God. God. After all the pain, after all the torture. She is leaking, her cunt is dripping with juices. Clarissa, how can you? Clarissa, what made me the one to deserve this? What made me the one?

"You are dripping with excitement, slut. You fucking whore, what do I have to do to break you?"

She is on the edge, her body can not take much more. I am sure about this, it has to be true. She is in agony, clutching at the last atoms of strength. And she begs. And she never once says the word. She...

"please... please, Master..."

"What? What is it, whore? What is it you have to say that I could be possibly interested in hearing? You fucking slut, you just need cock, that's all, you bitch, you'd fuck anyone, anywhere, just to have your fuckholes filled. You disgust me."

And her legs are now trembling, visibly. It's a matter of minutes. I have to be careful. I can't have her collapsing. No, I won't think about it. I can't have her hurt like that. I have to end this soon.

She has the word to use. To use it the very moment when she is aware she can not take any more. The word is not a usual word, it's not something she'd say just like that, something she'd spit through her lips when pain is inflicted upon her. The word is special and the word is intimate, it's just between the two of us. She has to make the conscious effort to use it. If she was to use it, I'd stop whatever it is I am doing at the moment. I, her master and tormentor.

She has this power over me, the power of one tiny, two syllable word. And her gift to me... her gift to me is her decision never to use it. She never used it. She is not using it right now. She is placing her body, her body and her spirit into my hands. She surrendered everything. She gives it all to me. To use it as I please, to hurt or mutilate her if I please. She is giving her self up to me. She is not using the word. I have to end this soon, Clarissa, I have to end this soon to save you, Clarissa. To justify your trust, your surrender, to demonstrate I am worthy of your gift.

But not too soon.

"So, slut? What do we do? You have any suggestions? Try and tell me why is it I should stop punishing you for being such a whore."

And she is on the brink. I can only imagine the agony she is going through.

"please... please, Master, please, Sir Nick, please, punish me, I deserve to be punished for being a whore, I am unworthy of You, I am a cheap, no good slut, unworthy of my Master."

Oh, God, oh, fucking, fucking God... Fucking Jesus Christ, can it be you're saying this after all I already did to you ?

"Unworthy? Yes, you are, because you'd fuck anyone, you don't care as long as your dirty cunt is filled with cock."

And she takes the cue. God, thank fucking heavens.

"please, Master, You know it is only You who I want... You are the only one this slut needs..."

"Fucking prove it slut. Tell me what it is you want."

And then I whip her breasts in the sadistic encore, I whip her breasts, I'm sure they hurt beyond the threshold my imagination dares not cross. I whip her breasts and listen to her begging me to fuck her.

"oooooh... yes, please, oh, hurt me, I deserve it, oh, yes, please Master, fuck me, fuck this whore right now, fuck me like only You can, give me Your beautiful cock, please, fuck my unworthy cunt, break me with your hardness, I need Your flesh inside of me... please, fuck me and bathe me in your cum, make me swallow and choke on your cum..."

The lashes are equally nasty, regardless of what she is saying. But I stop, mercifully. I stop and tell her: "So, you want it? You want me to fuck you right now, you whore?"

"yes... please, I can't take it any more, I need you so bad right now"

God.

"God. You're such a slut. I can't believe you. I'd like to fucking whip you until you shit yourself, slut and then fuck you in your own filth, if only you weren't disgusting me so much. I'd like to have a gang of fucking niggers right here now to let them fuck you in your shit while I watch you, I bet you'd love that BITCH!" The last word is screamed with very convincing rage. I scare myself even but I play it to the end. I can only give her few more seconds.

"I'll do anything You say, my good Master, just fuck me, please, I am begging You..."

She is speaking through tears, her legs probably burning with unbearable pain, her breasts going darker every minute.

"You'd fuck anyone I tell you?"

"...yes..."

"...you'd fuck a gang of black men with monstrous cocks?"

"...yes, Master... for You I would..."

"You'd swallow their cocks and drink their sperm? Would you?"

"...yes, just for You..."

"You'd fuck a dog, wouldn't you?"

"...yes... I'd do anything for You..."

"Because you belong to me. I own you."

"You own me, Master... You are my Master, I am Your property... do anything You want with me..."

Anything..... Clarissa

"I think I will have my name tattooed on your tits, just to make sure you never forget. You'd love that wouldn't you?"

And her eyes go wide. And my heart goes fucking boom boom boom boom. She looks into me, deeper than ever before this long evening. She whispers. It's scary.

"...yes."

You. I... I don't believe this... I... I believe you. I do.

But no. No, it's not happening. No, I can't do it to you. I can't. I still may turn out to be your biggest disappointment ever.

And I cut her down. I'd love to kiss her gently but that will have to wait. I force her head down and her arse up. I slam into her with my erection from fucking Babylon and her moan sinks everything in red.