Cristina by Italian Sadist
Chapter One
The Lover
There is no way I could ever forget the date: it was on the day of my
eighteenth birthday. I had spent almost every day during the past two
years fighting with my folks, who never once missed an opportunity to
remind me that "as long as you live in our home..." But at long last, I
was free. Adult, and free. At long last I was in a position to do
whatever I wanted to, without any interference from them, and that is
exactly what I did. On the previous night, I had locked myself in my
room and I had stuffed two big suitcases with my things: some clothing,
letters, keepsakes... The bare minimum. I bore no affection towards
that house or any of its inhabitants. At that time we had only just
moved to Verona, so I had no friends and no considerations which could
have prevented my decision to leave everything and start a new life. I
moved out early in the morning, and after a stop at an automatic teller
machine to withdraw some money, I headed straight to the station. I
stayed for some time in Milan with a friend of mine: a lot of people
would call at his house, most of them North Europeans from the
underground scene. One of them was a Dutch photographer, a woman named
Katja, who at 25 was a firmly committed lesbian, with a beautiful face
and a sex drive of almost nymphomaniac magnitude. I had never made love
with a woman before, but it took her less than one evening to convert
me. I was not in love with her, but she succeeded in getting me aroused
from the first minute, and then to make me come in ways i had never
suspected. Every time she touched me or she made me do something I just
melted away, and when she went back to the Netherlands, I needed only
one instant to make my mind I would accept her invitation to follow
her.
The flight to Rotterdam was an incredible experience: as soon as we has
gone through the metal detectors of the airport, Katja led me to the
ladies' room, locked us in a booth and fitted me with one of those
unbelievable sex toys she seemed to pack by the dozen in her large
shoulder bag. This one was an object fashioned from soft pink rubber,
molded in the shape of a heart. A cylinder about 7" long and more than
1" thick protruded from its center, also molded in pink rubber, and
studded with small bumps in soft rubber like the heart. Katja spent a
brief moment making my juices flow, so as to be able to insert the
whole device between my legs: she had backed me against the wall, and
while she swirled her tongue to the inner depths of my throat, she
blindly rummaged with the rubber heart, until she was satisfied it was
in total contact with the skin of my cunt. These strange studs were
massaging me like minute fingers. One of them was pressing itself
exactly against my clitoris; still others had insinuated themselves in
the fold between my bigger lips and my inner lips, and I had an
overwhelming sensation of being licked everywhere by thousands of sharp
tongues. However, Katja let go of me before I could reach a climax. She
put my panties back on, and she managed to thread an electric wire,
which I had not seen before and which protruded from the external face
of the device, so that it ran under my clothes, going out of my panty
hose and running inside my left sleeve, where it eventually was let out
at the wrist. A small white box was hanging from its end, and my lover
told me not to touch it. We brought some order to our clothes, and we
went out together in the airport, like two good friends, holding each
other's hand. In this manner, Katja was able to conceal the white box
in her right hand, and I felt quite strange, with that device deep
inside my cunt and with that wire which felt like a leash.
It's only when the plane started its engines that I got wise to my
friend's little game. Katja looked straight into my eyes, and toggling
a switch on the box, she made the device inside me start vibrating. It
was all I could do not to scream my lungs out under the sudden
sensation, and she kept grinning her perverted smile, which I had
already learned to know. I abandoned myself to her capricious whims,
and for the whole trip, the vibrator was quiet for only the briefest
moments. Katja made me come innumerable times, while I sweated
copiously and uttered sounds which could not leave the passengers in
the adjacent seats in the slightest doubt as to their origin. A middle-
aged gentleman thus stood up from his seat to ask a question from my
friend. The question was in Dutch, but I had no difficulty in
understanding the answer: Katja showed her command box to the man, and
she turned the regulating switch to its highest setting. I blushed, I
tried to turn away towards the window, but there was nothing I could do
to stop squirming and thrashing about in the most incriminating manner,
until the man went away, his curiosity satisfied. I could not bring
myself to be angry with my friend though, since she had succeeded once
more in making me come, tabling in this occasion upon my exhibitionism.
Once in Rotterdam, I went out of the plane with vaginal juice all over
my inner thighs, and leaving my seat sopping wet. Before going out of
the airport I succeeded in obtaining Katja's permission to remove the
vibrator and to clean myself, even though she first had intended to
make me pass through customs in that condition. I was exhausted, but
also curious to the extreme about what other surprises the girl had in
mind for me.
The answer was provided as soon as we entered her flat in Rotterdam.
The walls were decorated with large-scale erotic photographs, obviously
her own work. Their subjects were girls in fetishist attire, or in
various, complicated bondage. One of these girls, who could be seen in
several photographs, wore rings through her nipples and smaller cunt
lips. "Do you like these?" asked Katja. I nodded, overcome by a strange
sensation. "Maybe some day you'll pose for me too, no?". My answer was
out before I could control myself: "Oh yes, thank you!". My friend
began laughing. She most certainly had already noticed my latent
masochism and submissiveness, but she had not expected such an
enthusiastic response to the prospect of being bound and exhibited.
That night I slept soundly, but certainly not quietly, as my dreams
were full of ropes and chains, and of the visible satisfaction which
Katja's face would show every time I abandoned myself to her games.
During the following days, I gradually, yet ever more intently entered
Katja's perverted universe. I was tied up in dozens of positions which
were as uncomfortable as they were exciting, there to be photographed
by my friend and to lend my body to her games. I was depilated, both on
my cunt and around my anus, and I really felt quite naked and exposed;
I was penetrated fore and aft by the huge collection of dildoes and
plugs maintained by Katja, who obviously took particular pleasure in
this whenever my mewling of pleasure, despite the generous amounts of
lubricating cream she made use of, gave way to howls of pain; I was
shown to all the fetishist shops of the town, where my sex teacher
melted away my cash reserves by making me purchase obscene clothing in
plastic fabric, skin-hugging leather apparel and a whole collection of
shoes with incredibly high heels.
I learned, with time, how best to reward my naughty friend. Beyond
keeping myself at her constant disposition to make her come with my
tongue, my fingers and her own sex toys, I had understood how best to
excite her. Katja liked to see me in a position of submission, thus I
saw to her needs by licking her feet and her asshole, expressly asking
her to bind me up, and generally fawning upon her like upon a lady of
the nobility of yore.
The big change came around after about three months in her flat, when I
eventually found in myself the courage to beg her to inflict pain to
me. We had just finished dinner. I had gone into the bedroom, where we
stored all our little toys, and I had come back stark naked, on all
fours, wearing a leather collar and clenching in my jaws a cat o'nine
tails which Katja had been using for some of her photographs. I had
dropped the whip before her feet: "Are you going to whip me, Katja?" I
had whispered, and I could see her face radiate an expression of the
purest joy.
I was bound to a hook in the ceiling, hanging from my wrists, in such a
position that I was constrained to remain on the tips of my toes,
exposed and utterly defenceless. Before beginning with the game, Katja
had dressed herself as a dominatrix, with black shiny high-spiked boots
that went up to mid-thigh, a leather bodice and long black gloves. She
was incredibly beautiful, and more exciting than ever: even though I
was shivering in fear, my sex was dripping wet, and I could not help
begging her to give me a kiss. My friend had come near me, her lips had
brushed mine, then she had slowly stepped back, compelling me to strain
forward in order to follow her. It went to the point when I found
myself with my neck stretched forward, my tongue sticking out, my whole
straining body trying desperately to reach Katja's mouth, while she
obviously found my helplessness vastly amusing.
The whipping was terrible, an incredibly painful, unbearable and
seemingly never ending torment. Katja did not spare one inch of my
body, and the only time she allowed me some moments of respite was when
she went briefly away to pick up a gag so as to stifle my screams. The
lashes of the whip kept hitting my nipples, my vagina... even my
asshole, making me swing like a crazed puppet dangling from my
uncomplicated bondage. The pain was much worse than whatever I could
have foreseen, but nevertheless, on that evening, I climaxed even more
than usual. My arousal naturally had nothing physical about it: it was
the idea of my undefended body, of the marks on my skin, the idea of
TORTURE which made my cunt cream. I took pleasure in seeing my nipples
growing ever stiffer and harder, thus laying themselves open to the
fury of the whipping, I took pleasure in the feeling of being
dominated, and above all I relished the incomparable pleasure I was
giving to my tormentor. I had gone past the boundaries of convention
and hypocrisy, I had vanquished my fear and the very image I had of
myself. All the time the cat o'nine tails lashed my flesh without any
mercy, I was no longer the eighteen years old Cristina who had dropped
out from school, or the Cristina who had a taste for horror movies and
Mozart music. I was only a body, an animal without a name or a
consciousness, with no past and no future, an animal which only lived
to its utmost the feeling of being alive. Yes, while I was tormented,
my strongest and most overwhelming sensation was not that of pain, but
of being alive. I was looking at my body as it spent itself screaming
and thrashing around, bathed in sweat and throbbing with pain, and the
spectacle sent me to heavens.
When I was pulled down, I collapsed on the floor, shaken by deep sobs
which came from the depths of my belly; sobs not of pain, but of bliss.
I was to have many more opportunities to sample pain during the
following days, but even on that occasion my sensations markedly
differed from what I had been expecting. Every time I tried to sit down
and the angry welts on the skin of my ass made me leap up in anguish,
the pain was not a burden for me, but rather a pleasant recollection of
the pleasure I had given Katja and myself by submitting to such an
obscene treatment as a whipping. During the days that followed, we
busied ourselves with ever more complicated and fantastic games: molten
wax, clamps, spankings... I was masturbated with a glove coated with
ground pepper, and I even went so far as begging my Mistress to torment
me with an enema, after I had seen it being done it in one of the
specialized magazines which I had purchased in quantity, only to find
myself struggling to decipher a language I did not understand.
The other important change in my life happened a few months later, on
the evening of my nineteenth birthday. By that time I was already quite
certain of being a masochist: my relationship with Katja now was an
exclusively sado-masochistic one, and I was tortured almost every day.
I had guessed that something was in the works, as for the last few days
my Mistress had restrained herself to sexual games in her use of my
body, but I had been careful not to ask any questions. Then, one
evening, Katja suddenly ordered me to dress myself to go out: she
already had selected the clothing and laid it down on the bed. They
consisted in a leather bodice, silk stockings with the stitch on the
rear, and black pumps with extra high spiked heels. The only other item
of clothing was a long dark raincoat, which completely covered my
nakedness. I thought it was a game we had already played a few times:
Katja would get me into the car in that state of undress, then she
would order me to expose myself to the other drivers while we drove
around, or else she would make me pee in public parks when nobody was
around, making sure I squatted and lifted the raincoat high enough to
uncover my intimate parts.
That time, however, I also had to put on a collar and a leash, and we
used a taxi rather than our own car. It was given the address of a S&M
club: the first I had ever been in. The door was open by a man dressed
as a butler, who invited us to leave our overcoats in the cloakroom.
Katja curtly ordered me to comply, and I was concerned rather than
aroused when I made my entrance into the main room of the club. I had
already grasped the fact that, in the Netherlands, I could walk around
naked and nobody would rape me, but the situation was a very
embarrassing one. Katja dragged me by the leash to a small table, and
she made me kneel down at her side. There were about a dozen other
people in the room, and they all closely observed us as we went in. All
the tables were disposed around a small theater stage, which for the
time being supported a TV set which showed a S&M flick. A few minutes
later the movie came to an end, and the lights went back on. A leather-
clad girl carried the TV set away, and Katja whispered in my ear "Happy
Birthday".
After which my Mistress suddenly got up and pulled on the leash,
dragging me to the scene. I immediately realized what was happening: my
birthday present would consist in being tortured before all those
strangers! My embarrassment went away almost at once, even though the
punishment session was quite heavy. First Katja tied me upon a low
bank, with my legs well spread, so as to utterly expose my two holes to
the audience's gazes. Then she began fucking me with ever bigger
dildoes, so as to ready me for a fist fucking of my two orifices which
made me scream in earnest, especially when she pushed both hands in at
the same time. After Katja had me clean her hands with my tongue she
abandoned me to the care of the place's dominatrixes, who roughly
amused themselves with my body while the audience laughed and applauded
at my agony. Weight-loaded clamps were applied to my most sensitive
parts, I was dilated again and again, and of course I was whipped: I
was whipped long and hard with a lot of different instruments, which
made me suffer and climax right under my friend's amused eyes. In fact,
I kept trying to meet Katja's gaze between my irrepressible tears, and
her expression of arousal led me to forget any feeling of fright. The
hired tormenters' hands were only the extension of Katja's, and I fell
down into an abyss of pain and pleasure perfectly similar to those I
enjoyed within the sound-proofed walls of our flat.
When the spectacle of my torture was over and I went back to our table,
after having cleaned myself, I found Katja in the company of an
attractive woman of about thirty-five years, with long black hair and a
resolute expression. I would have liked to run to Katja and give her a
kiss to thank her for the gift I had received, but I reflected that it
would be better to kneel down silently at her feet. The two women kept
talking a few more minutes in their tongue-twisting language, then the
newcomer got up, greeting Katja with a quite satisfied smile, and she
left after giving her a visiting card.
We stayed in the club for a few more hours, witnessing another torture
show which starred a woman not really beautiful or even young, but who
obviously was able to sustain the harshest treatments.
Back home we made long, leisurely love, and I collapsed in Katja's
arms, totally exhausted. When I opened my eyes the following morning,
she had been up for a while, and for the first time in months she had
fixed breakfast, thus fulfilling a chore which had been made an
exclusive part of my duties as a slave.
"A few days ago I was offered a job," she said while we were eating
breakfast. "It consists of an extensive series of photographic sessions
in Japan. The pay is very high and I cannot afford to turn it down.
Which means that I'll have to spend a long time abroad, at least five
months, and you will not be able to go with me". I almost fainted
hearing her words, and I felt as if somebody had dropped a big lump of
lead right on my stomach. "I don't want to leave you either," she said
seeing my expression, but there is nothing else I can do. Moreover I
have been such a selfish bitch, I should have helped you to find work
and instead I did not even start teaching you the Dutch language, so
that I cannot even force you to stay here and wait for me". I was
speechless and I felt only despair. "Until yesterday I was afraid I
would have to send you back to Italy, but today I have a way out. The
lady I was talking with yesterday at the club is called Fiona Martens;
she's the widow of Anton Martens, the millionaire, who has left a huge
inheritance to her". I had already started crying, and I did not
understand what she was driving at: "Lady Fiona is a very perverse
woman, she lives in a large mansion where she enjoys her own real harem
of slave girls. You have pleased her, and she has offered to buy you...
for a lot of money".
Katja leaned towards me and shook my shoulders, trying to make me fully
grasp what she had said: "Stop crying! Did you hear? I've asked you an
important question! Do you accept her offer?"
"I don't... I don't know, I haven't heard you... What offer?" My
atrocious despair at the very thought of losing my lover certainly did
not help my understanding of such a bizarre situation. "The offer to
become Lady Fiona's slave," Katja said again, with some emphasis, "If
you agree you will become her property for a full year, but when you
get out, you can return to me. That woman is very cruel, but I have
seen that you like to be used by others than me, and maybe it won't be
so terrible after all". At long last I began to understand: "But you
will not be able to visit me?" "No". "You'll wait for me, though?"
"Certainly, Cristina, certainly I'll wait for you". "Then it's all
right. I would do anything to be allowed to stay with you".
I spent the remaining of the day crying in Katja's arms and making love
with her. Immediately after dinner, my lover gave a phone call and
ordered me to put on the same clothes as the previous night. "Why do
you want to go out?" I asked. "I do not want to go out, Cristina," she
answered in a disconsolate voice. "They're coming to take you to Lady
Fiona. I'll be going tomorrow." That news made me fall in an almost
catatonic state. I cannot recall anything of what went on afterwards
until I found myself in the street, being shoved by a blonde girl into
a large black Mercedes. I kept crying during the whole trip, and when
it ended I found myself in a large courtyard, right in front of a huge
mansion's palatial entrance. I was dragged inside, and showed to a
spacious study where I made the acquaintance of Lady Fiona.
