The Crimson Killer Part 3
               The Crimson Killer

                            Part 3 stories
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poemsaboutlife
poemsaboutlifepoet/writer/thinker/dreamer
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What do you do when the desire is just too much? (Warning contains sexual themes)

The Crimson Killer Part 3

Two weeks had passed since the night of the party. Madeline sat quietly in the ground floor study engrossed in another book by her favourite author, Marquis de Sade. A glass of wine glistened in the soft glow under the table lamp next to the armchair where she was reading. The light from the lamp drifted behind her slightly illuminating a wall draped in books of all kinds.

Just then the phone rang. Not the normal chiming of her usual cellphone, this one was the sound of echoing bells in a church and that only meant one thing, it was her private number. Whoever called this number had only one interest in their mind and she knew exactly how to react.

After a brief conversation she put down the phone and resumed reading her book in the tranquillity of her study. Before she realised it an hour had passed and it was very nearly time to get ready for work. She finished her wine, put the book down on the table next to the armchair and made her way down to the basement where she kept all her various outfits for any type occasion.

Right on schedule came three consecutive knocks on the front door. Fully prepared, Madeline made her way up from the basement to receive her guest who had been standing outside the front door looking up at the impressive building that was segmented by trees from all the other houses around it.

The trees were large enough and thick enough to make the house and the courtyard secluded and out of sight to any of the neighbours. This one fact of privacy was very comforting to her guest as they waited to enter for a night full of debauchery. She grabbed hold of the handle and opened the door to a face filled with shock and delight and amazement.

“Good evening Mr. Penrose”, she said with a hint of authority. “Good evening Mistress”, Malcolm replied nervously as he starred at the extremely tight red, leather outfit that Madeline was wearing.

Her ample bosom exaggerated by the tightness of the all-in-one outfit that displayed an array of curves that did more than please the eye. “Please, do come in”, offered Madeline, as she scoped the courtyard noticing there was no vehicle present except for her own.

Once inside she closed the door and escorted Malcolm to the drawing room and offered him a drink. “Did you have any trouble finding the house?”, she asked inquisitively.

“No no, it was fine. The taxi driver new his way so it was no bother finding your house”, said Malcolm politely as he took a sip of his drink. He took a taxi, Madeline thought, which makes sense if he does not want his wife or anyone to know where he is and what he likes doing.

She made a point of discreetly checking his wedding finger again, this time there was a ring on it. The thought crossed her mind that there was no need to hide it now. She seductively started to walk up to Malcolm with a slight wiggle in her hips and placed her face inches from his.

“It is time to adjourn to my dungeon”, Madeline commanded. “Yes indeed Mistress Crimson!”, Malcolm replied with intense excitement.

She lead him downstairs to her lair. A room filled with an assortment of whips, clamps, hooks, chains, ropes, swings, array of gagging devices and a multitude of things designed to stimulate the senses. Malcolm’s eyes could not believe what he was looking at.

He moved his head from left to right repeatedly as he scanned the entire room, it was as if all of his Christmas’s and birthdays had come all at once. The Mistress grabbed hold of his hand and took him in to the centre of the room and gently placed her fingertips under his chin and with no warning thrust him back to the wall that was behind him.

With a hand on her hip she stepped towards him and began grinding her pelvis against his manhood. Malcolm quickly rose to the occasion and she looked at him and gave him a knowing smile.

He flung his head back as she pulsated her hips against him and at that same time she grabbed his hands and raised them above his head and then out to the sides where she attached them to the handcuffs that were dangling in the wall.

The excitement of what the Mistress was doing was too much for Malcolm to resist and she started kissing his neck while simultaneously strapping a belt around his waist and pulled it tight, pinning him to the wall.

She looked Malcolm square in the eye and started to unbutton is pristine shirt, a Hugo Boss shirt that was clinging to his torso which displayed the muscular contours of his body. With gentle precision she moved the garment to the sides exposing a chiselled chest and tightly packed abdomen.

Just as Malcolm was enjoying being controlled the Mistress stepped back and slapped him across cheek playfully but hard enough to leave a red mark. “How powerful are you now?”, she asked sinisterly as she stepped back reaching for her trustee riding whip. “Do you know what this is for?”.

“Yes Mistress”, said Malcolm softly. “This is what you came for is it not?”, she said with a little glint in her eye. This was what she loved to do, dominate a person in a position of power, making them bow to her will.

Without a single warning she lifted the whip and with one swift, speedy movement she cracked the whip on his chest. The skin split instantly and blood started seeping out of the wound. A huge scream released itself from Malcolm’s mouth that echoed off the walls on the dungeon.

“You like that you sick man!”, her words became sharp daggers now. “You are a twisted freak aren’t you”, she said with another crack of the whip, slicing his skin some more accompanied by another shriek of pain. “Yes Mistress!”, answered Malcolm as his manhood grew even larger.

She lunged forward and grabbed hold of his genitals and squeezed them tight with one hand and placing the other hand over his mouth muffling his screams of pain. She could feel him throbbing through his trousers. She let go of her grip and sigh of relief washed over his face but before he could relax she started slapping his genitals from side to side.

The slaps were far from playful now, they were done to inflict pain. Malcolm was at her mercy and she knew it. She pulled back and took her hand away from his mouth and took down his trousers leaving them wrapped around his ankles. The only thing now that was concealing his enjoyment was his black boxers, but the Mistress had no intention of letting that thing out.

“You want me to see how big you are don’t you?”, she asked provocatively. “Yes please!”, Malcolm responded enthusiastically. “Please let me show you big I am”. “No!” “But!”, he protested.

“I said NO!”, she said as she stepped back and cracked the whip once again but this time landing the whip on his thigh causing it to bleed. She stood there watching the blood come out and creep down his thigh drop by drop. Another crack and another slice on the opposite thigh and another scream. “You are mine you silly little man”.

She came up to him again and grabbed a chunk of his hair pulling his head to one side and licked the side of his neck. As her tongue caressed his soft skin she suddenly felt a surge of desire run through her entire body, a desire that heated her to her core.

“You do what I tell you to do. Know this and understand it!”, she whispered harshly in his ear. “When I want to see it I will take it out and not a moment before! Do you understand?” Malcolm nodded his head slightly in agreement.

“That’s a good boy now”, said the Mistress mockingly. “You might be the powerful owner of a huge company but in here you are my possession!”. The Mistress let go of him and went back to the centre of the room and stood there facing Malcolm. No words left her lips, her presence was enough for him to bow down in submission.

She watched him looking down at the floor shamefully and the delight built up inside her that resulted in a little smile. “That’s right, you are a pitiful excuse for a man”. Her words made him even more shameful and at the same time excited. Again her desire came back looking at his bleeding cuts and his shameful posture.

She turned around went to a cabinet on the opposite wall. Inside it she picked up a chain that split in two with a clamp attached at either end of the chain. She clamped each one on to each of his nipples causing Malcolm to shriek and then she pulled the chain tight. Adrenaline rushed around his body as the feel of his nipples being clamped tight was both pleasing and painful.

She tugged on the chain slightly making him scream in pain repeatedly, all the while she kept fixating on the blood that was seeping out of his cuts from the whip. She could sense and uncontrollable urge building up inside her. That desire from watching the bleeding was getting to much for her. She had to fulfil her desires.

The chain dropped out of her hands and Malcolm relaxed as the level of pain he was feeling died down a little. The Mistress walked over to what you looked like an operating table and reached for a small shiny metal object. She carefully picked it up and turned to look back at her slave.

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