The Terror of Silence

        Mistress Gentility invited him to her home. It was midnight. She instructed him to sit at her dining room table. “Read over this contract and sign it if you dare,” She directed. It read:  I, Rick Owens, am a masochist. Lydia Myles is a sadist. I do not hold her responsible for any physical, mental, or emotional damage that I may suffer as a result of our consensual activities.

        “You will suffer physically, mentally, and emotionally beyond your wildest fantasies. When you leave here tomorrow, you will never be the same. Be sure you want this before you sign,” She warned him.

        For Rick, pain was pleasure. Would Mistress Gentility truly bring his fantasies to reality? He hoped so. He signed without hesitation. Mistress Gentility took the contract, placed it in a folder, and placed it in a drawer.

        Mistress Gentility looked like a typical suburban housefrau. Totally non-threatening.

        She escorted him down a flight of stairs to the basement, and led him to a corner where she told him to remove all of his clothes and personal belongings and to  place them in a box.

        “Come with me,” She ordered. She led him to a large table. “Close your eyes,” She commanded. She taped his eyes shut with bandage adhesive tape. Then She had him fold his arms behind his back wrists to elbows. She wrapped his forearms together gently.

        Next came the earbuds. Each bud was coated with superglue and gently inserted into each ear. Bandage tape was wrapped around his head covering his eyes again and holding the earbuds securely in place. She ignored his erection.

        She had him sit down in a chair. Rope was wrapped around his chest adhering him to the chair. Another rope secured his lap to the chair. Each ankle was tied to a leg of the chair. A neck brace was place around his neck to prevent him from thrashing his head about.

        Now for what She considered the ultimate gag. She slapped him sharply across his face. Then she pinched his nose indicating to him that She wanted him to open his mouth. With his mouth open, She took a tin can lid, bent it in the middle, and inserted it into his mouth. She then gently straightened it out. His cheeks bulged out as the razor sharp edges cut into his flesh. She rubbed his cheeks back and forth insuring the edges firmly cut into his flesh.

        Mistress Gentility turned on the CD player and adjusted the sound level. Then, she gently inserted the end of the earbuds into the player. The sound of heavy metal pounded his eardrums. At various times, She turned up the volume. Rick grunted, barely audible. When the CD ended, there was silence, beautiful silence. Or, was it?

        She rubbed his cheeks again. Rick was sure the lid would cut through his cheeks.  And then, the pain! Slowly, very slowly, but gently, She drew the heated curling iron across his chest, again and again leaving beautiful crimson stripes. She moved to his stomach, then his thighs, and his calves.  She let the clamped iron linger on his right nipple, and, then the left nipple. They turned a very bright, rosy red. Mistress Gentility smiled at her artistry. Rick was in pain, much pain. “Oh, my God,” he thought. “Not my dick! Oh, God, not my dick!” But, She ignored his dick. “Why? Why?” And, then the noise began. Static from a radio assaulted his ears.

        What would happen when the noise stopped?

What happened next one could say could only be conceived by a sick mind, av very sick mind. A form of CBT  too horrible to describe