Ahriman: The Evolution of a Serial Killer 1 - Sex Stories

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Ahriman: The Evolution of a Serial Killer 1

Date: 7/20/2015, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Bondage and restriction, Cruelty, Drug, Extreme, Horror, Male/Female, Masturbation, Rape, Torture, Violence, Written by women, Author: gl0771, Rating: 87.5, Source: sexstories.com

wears off, I want her to feel every lash." He walked over to the old woman and kissed her dry cheek. "I brought you here because I know how much you like screams, dearest Mother." Again, she didn't answer him, but that didn't bother him. He unstrapped Liz and told her to stand. She did, her eyes glassy and uncomprehending. He pointed to a chain hanging from the ceiling. "Go and stand under that." She nodded, and before she could take a step, he grabbed her chin and dug his fingers into her cheeks as he glared at her. "Every single time you are given an order you will answer correctly, bitch!" "Yes, Ahriman," she said dully. "Better," he snarled, shoving her toward the chain. She slowly walked toward it and stood underneath, not moving a muscle. He took her arms and pulled them above her head, wrapping the rope around and over a hook at the end of the chain. Then he tied the ropes on her ankles to large eye bolts in the floor. He walked behind her and trailed the whip down her back. "Beg me to whip you," he sneered. "Beg me to make you bleed." "Please, Ahriman, please whip me. Please make me bleed." Her voice was monotonous, and it made him furious. He raised the whip and brought it down on her back with all his strength. Even with the deadening effects of the drug, she let out a small scream as small beads of blood welled up along the red stripe. "Beg me like you mean it!" he roared, bringing the whip down again and again drawing blood. "Whip me, Ahriman," she screamed. ... "Please, make me bleed, Ahriman!" The words and her screams caused him to harden again, and he laid the whip across her back again and again and again. The drug wasn't enough to keep away the pain anymore, and her screams grew in volume and duration until she could barely take a breath between them. After twenty or so lashes--he lost count--each one drawing more blood from her body, he was so close to cumming that he held the whip in one hand while he stroked himself rapidly with the other. He shifted to be sure Mother could see what he was doing as he roared out his ecstasy. Stream after stream of white spunk hit the welts and cuts, mingling with the blood and dripping, tinged pink, down her back and legs. Twice more the process repeated itself. The sounds of the leather contacting flesh, her screams, and the knowledge that Mother was watching and could do nothing brought him to climax. Each time, he shot his load onto her back, watching with intense pleasure as the pool of blood and cum grew around the drain on the floor between her legs. Finally, after many, many more than fifty lashes that had landed on her back, her ass, and her legs, he walked to the sink in the corner and carefully washed himself and the whip, sterilizing the leather so that the next time he used it, it would not transfer any germs to her. After all, if she died, he couldn't breed her. He carefully hung the whip back up on the wall. He moved back to her, and held his hands up, framing her like a salesperson ...