Felice's first therapy

"I'll have you in a teardrop."

She looked up at him uncertainly, eyes wide.

"What's a teardrop?" she managed with much difficulty. Her voice was barely a whisper.

Her hands were bound together with padded wrist cuffs, and she held them over her chest in an attempt at protecting herself.

Underneath her, her folded legs pressed against the hard wooden floor. Ankle cuffs encircled her legs just above each foot. They were not fastened together or to anything, but had the ornamental effect of reinforcing her current status - whatever that was.

"A teardrop, dear Felice … is what I will have you in," he said, smiling at her with narrowed eyes.

Felice took in a sharp breath, looking at him, and then dropped her eyes, following his frame downward, taking in his sharp black shirt and blue jeans that came down to heavy leather shoes.

She blinked her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry. In her mind, she saw herself, deserted, alone, collapsed onto the floor, naked except for a baby blue baby tee and a pair of white brief panties. And then, she did cry, still clutching her hands to her breasts.

The sound of clinking metal jerked her out of her immobilizing self-pity. Felice turned her small round head up and looked with frightened eyes at Master. He held in his hands a steel cable ending in a spring-loaded metal hook. The other end of the cable ended in a complicated pulley system in the ceiling. Felice's small frame shook involuntarily at the sight of several other hooked cables descending from this contraption.

Master bent down, grabbed her hair harshly and snapped her head back. Then, with one hand, he freed the spring-loaded clasps that held her wrist cuffs together.

Disbelieving and afraid, Felice looked at Master with a glimmer of hope.

He held her right arm in a vice grip, from her perspective; to him, it was normal. He held the hook of the cable in front of her eyes, pressed it against her cheek.

"No, no," she pleaded, tears leaking over her closed lids like a just-overflowing bathtub. She shook her head, trying to escape the touch of the fearsome metal - fearsome for what it represented.

"Yes, Felice, Yes," calmly in her ear.

She was powerless to resist as he snapped the hook into a ring on her wrist cuff, though she tried desperately. Felice was just too small to resist. Master released the catch significantly, and it snapped shut with a sharp metallic clink.

Felice fought against hyperventilating, trying to steady her breath, as Master pressed a button on a remote that he produced from a pocket and her right arm rose slowly upward, pulled skyward by the receding cable.

When it was high enough that she had to kneel to take the strain off her shoulder, Master released the button and Felice felt a wash of relief. She was afraid he might dangle her from one arm, off the floor. Was that what he meant by tears? she wondered as her breast heaved up and down, still trying to breathe evenly and slowly, but failing at the attempt.

When Master reached down to her left hand and hooked that wrist cuff up to a second cable, all Felice could do was hang her head and shake it in resignation. How did it come to this? she wondered. What's going to happen to me? She blinked away fresh tears.

Master looked at her and he was pleased by her tears, the dignified way in which she expressed her despair. No wailing, no cussing. Just quiet, involuntary weeping. So far.

He bent down and grabbed her left ankle, yanking it upward. Felice yelled.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Her face was all agog, disbelieving. She scrambled unsuccessfully to her feet, falling over.

After many terrifying moments of struggling, all was still again. Actually, she was still again, for Master didn't waver from his position.

He held her left foot up, leaving Felice perched precariously on one crooked leg and dangling from the ceiling by her wrists.

Master looked at her, bent toward her face and kissed her hard. Completely off balance, Felice was vulnerable and confused and couldn't resist his advances anyway. All she could think of as he marauded her mouth was, Are my panties wet and will he notice it? She answered herself bitterly, Of course he'll notice it, you fucking idiot. He's got you splayed like a turkey.

When he was satisfied with ravishing her mouth, Master straightened up again, pulling Felice's leg higher. Then he brought her left ankle against her left wrist and snapped the two cuffs together.

"WHAT?! WHAT?! NO! PLEASEDON'TMASTERDON'TPLEASEPLEASE!"

He stepped back, smiling benignly at her as she hung suspended from the ceiling except for one deliciously smooth and trim leg that could neither fully straighten nor fully bend due to her position.

He waited till her vain attempts at breaking free ended.

Then he waited till her useless attempts at finding a comfortable position ended.

She hung suspended from the ceiling, with one trembling leg trying to support herself with a slender, curved foot pressed against the wooden floor by the toes.

And then he stepped forward again. And pressed his hand against her panty-covered vulva.

His hand was large and muscular and very, very violating.

"STOP! STOP! STOP IIIIIT!" Felice screamed, screwing her face shut, scrambling her pelvis around helplessly, trying to avoid the unwelcome touch to her private places.

"You're wet, Felice."

At this, she finally broke and started blubbering like a little girl.

She screamed when his thumb pressed hard against her clitoris and then began rubbing the sacred button in unrelenting circular motions, pressing wet cotton fabric against the terribly sensitive organ.

She arched her back and threw her head back as she felt the familiar sensations of impending orgasm radiate throughout her abdomen, starting from her clit and her pussy and spreading tentacles of warm electricity all over her lower body, around her navel, spreading over her belly, reaching around behind her buttocks and reentering her via her anus.

"Stop. Stop. Stop. Please, please, stop." Her voice was broken, defeated. But he did not stop. His touch was unrelenting.

Pushing her, pushing her up the hill to the edge of the cliff where her fall would be resolute. His fingers played her with certainty, for no matter who she was - virgin, queen, slut, whore, saint or cunt - cause and effect was the same for all who shared her sex. It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's just physiology, she said to herself over and over in her mind.

But it did nothing to assuage her feeling of violation in her body.

But worse was the violation of her mind, for along with involuntary arousal in her body, her mind began to turn, at the same time abhorring what was happening to her and at the same time wishing Master would finish her off that she might find relief.

Still her leg twitched beneath her, leaving her vulva open to Master's touch, albeit covered by a thin layer of soggy white cotton cloth.

Her leg twisted beneath her, then trembled, then stiffened, as the terrible need for release grew in her and the terrifying climax of sensation approached, like two runaway trains on a collision course.

"STOP IT, FUCK YOU, STOP IT!" she yelled, her voice hoarse now.

And then, he stopped.

Just like that, he was gone from her. A moment before, touching her everywhere - for so it seemed. And now, touching her nowhere.

Felice snapped her eyes wide open, disbelief of a different kind emblazoned on her features now.

"WHAT?! WHAT?! STOP IT!"

Stop what, little horny girl? I've already stopped. I think you're confused.

He left her at the top of the hill, within reach of the cliff edge, and left her. She could not even throw herself off the edge. Instead, she felt herself falling, falling, but there would be no resolution to this fall, just endless falling.

"WHY? WHY? Whyyyyy?" Her plea trailed off brokenly.

He leaned forward and kissed her hard again. This time she was angry but she didn't dare bite him, seeing as she was all trussed up and open to his cruelty if he wished revenge.

"It's an age-old answer, Felice. 'Because I can.'"

Then, he reached down to her right foot, lifting it up, causing her to fall completely off balance without support, hanging only from her wrists.

She screamed a long "NOOOOOOO!" as she realized what he was about to do. But he did it anyway, snapping the clasp of her right ankle cuff into the ring of her right wrist cuff.

She hung in the air, wrists and ankles together, spreading downward and outward on lithe limbs ending in a pleasing voluptuous round of flesh formed by her curved hips and toned thighs with the familiar crease in their sides.

"Teardrop," he said, leaving her crying and blubbering as she fell down the hill, without resolution, touching nothing, with nothing touching her. Just falling, falling into a teardrop, completely despairing except that her tormentor said he'd be back.

And faint hope or denial - she couldn't tell - commanded her to believe that a future torment might be kinder.