Henry's Gift Ch. 01

The woman in the leather outfit now slipped one hand down her stomach and started rubbing herself between the legs. 'Hello, lover!; she said in a smoky voice and the crudeness of the scene jerked me out of a trans-like state. I found myself sitting on the very edge of the armchair, my mouth open as if waiting to catch a fly, my eyes wide and bulging to the limit. I closed my mouth and was hit by a sharp sting of whiskey. As I looked at my hands, I realized I was literally squeezing an empty crystal glass as if trying to squash it with my fingers. I had just downed a double whiskey in one long gulp without even realizing.

I slumped back in a chair, grabbed the remote and pressed Stop button. The room was plunged into silence, but the screaming and whimpering that I had heard only seconds before still echoed in my head.

I got out of the armchair and wobbled my way to the VCR. I ejected the tape with trembling hands. Plopping it back into its case and dropping it to the floor, I reached for the other tape.

Did I really want to see more? It was disgusting and perverted. I knew things like this happened, after all, I was not a child. I even fantasized about it somewhat. But I didn't know it could be this brutal and realistic. Why did this disgust excite me so? Why did the perversion to which I had just been a witness excite me to the point where I realized my pants were constraining my cock and I felt the need to unzip and relieve my manhood of its restrains.

So I found myself standing in the middle of the study, feeling my mind turning into the direction that I did not want it to turn to, nevertheless, excitement rising in my head and my pants. I was brought up in a conservative way, as I supposed most people are. I had never come across any true violence, sexual or otherwise. Years earlier, I remembered, when kids were still very small, Claire and I saw a porn video together. It was just your standard cock sucking, pussy eating and all in all juicy fuck film, but that night, I was so turned on that I made love to my wife in a very rough way, making her weep in fear and astonishment. I know I did not hurt her physically, but the side of me which she had never seen before seemed to unnerve her. I was ashamed and apologetic afterwards and I believe she understood. After that, the only time I would watch porn was on my own. If I needed to relieve myself, I would either do it in the bathroom, or by paying a visit to whomever I was seeing at the time. I have to admit that on a couple of occasions, I have even used the services of escorts.

And of course, there was that thing with Donna.

However, this was different. The sight of the grail body wiggling under the brutality of its tormentor excited me beyond belief.

I poured myself another drink before gathering the courage to take a peep at the other video. I did not bother to read the title. This time, I managed to watch more of the film. I fast-forwarded, watched for a while. Fast forwarded again and watched some more. I got through 2-hour film in about 30 minutes. My mind was continuously assaulted by images of weeping and screaming men and women, being whipped and spanked; broken skin, bleeding gashes, tears mixed with runny make up and sweat. Incredulously, those same sounds of pain-induced horror were music to my ears. A woman tied to an overhead pulley sat on a wooden pony with weights strapped to her ankles, the pointy edge cruelly pushing between her labium; a man handcuffed to the bed was wildly fucked by a woman using a strap-on, who was - not surprisingly - again dressed in black leather; a young man was tied to a metal X stand, his nipples pierced with safety pins, his testicles tied with a rope so tight, they looked like two oversized marbles, almost black from the lack of blood circulation, making my own hand reach between my legs , cupping my balls through the pants, as if afraid the pain from the screen would surface in my own body at any moment; another woman in the same position had her breasts roped just as tight, and they looked like two small, deep purple desert bowls glued to her body.

The last image that I remember seeing that night was of a skinny, long-legged man, again tied to an X stand, being brutally whipped across the chest, stomach and front of the thighs. As the camera zoomed in on his wailing face, to my horror, I realized that the acne spotted visage could not have been more than 15 or 16 years old.

Bloody hell! I actually yelled and shot out of the armchair. I forgot all about the remote control and ran to the VCR player, wildly punching the Stop and then Eject buttons. I was sweating profusely. My knees buckled and I could barely support my weight, preventing myself from falling over like a drunken fool.

I carefully put the videos in the back of my desk drawer, took a shower, ignoring the hard on twitching between my legs and crawled under the covers of my bed. I wished Claire were at home. I wished we could talk about the insignificant events that happened to us during the day. I wanted to hear her gossip about neighbors and discus the trivial events in our children's lives, which she was so good at blowing completely out of proportion. I wished my cock was not hard and my hands did not itch to grab it and wank it into oblivious pleasure until I blew my load off right there, in our warm bed. I wished for many things that evening, but eventuality of the circumstances made me get out of bed, return to the bathroom and do what my body wanted and despite my mind wishing I did not, while the still frames of images that I had seen that evening flashed behind my tightly shut eyes.

The following Monday, as my secretary brought in a stack of mail, most of which was already opened; I noticed a khaki green envelope, smaller than your standard one. Christmas was just around the corner and many envelopes that found their way to my desk at this time of the year were of motley colors, but for some reason, this particular one drew my attention. When I held it in my hand, I noticed a sticker with Henry's address in the upper left corner. I smiled, the bugger sent me a Christmas card, how thoughtful.

I opened the envelope and extracted a card that was undoubtedly Henry's own work of beautiful snowy hills in watercolors. As I opened it, something fell out and landed at my feet. It was a plain white business card. I picked it up and on under the name Terry, there was a pager number, underneath that, in bold red letters it said: WE'LL BOND YOU WITH PLEASURE.

The awkward discreetness made me snicker and I turned to Henry's card. Christmas present for you. Don't worry about the cost. Call Terry. Ask for Evie, you won't be disappointed.

It took me a good couple of weeks into the New Year before I finally gathered enough courage to send a page to Terry. Videos, pictures and conversation with Henry weighed heavily on my mind throughout the holidays and I could not think of much else. I found myself dialing Terry's number more than once, but then I chickened out, slammed the receiver down and tried to rationalize with myself that this was probably not a good idea.

However, the can of worms was opened. Or was it Pandora's box? Simply, my curiosity has been stirred beyond the point of return and finally, the day came when I completed dialing the number and it has taken three long hours for Terry to finally return my call. We chatted for a while, and I had a feeling that he was testing the ground so to speak. When I mentioned Henry's name he knew immediately who I was talking about, and for some reason, I had a feeling that Henry's art did not have all that much to do with the recognition. Terry asked me quite a few personal questions and as before, I wanted to slam the phone down, forgetting about the whole thing. But, now I was actually talking to the man and there was no going back.

Questions came as an avalanche, and sometimes I did not even have the time to think of the answer properly before it spilled out of my mouth.

Which dungeon did I normally use? Dungeon? Oh, none, this will be my first time.

Did I want to dominate or be dominated? Neither. I just wanted to watch.

Would anybody else be accompanying me? No, I will be alone.

Was I a copper? No, I was not.

Did I have any preferences of what the dominatrix was to wear? In my nervousness I laughed and said, pink and green polka dotted dress.

Was I serious about the dress? No. Anything would be fine.

Did I have any specific preferences about the punishment to be administered? No.

Did I have any specific preferences about the sexual acts to be performed? No.

Were there any particular tools I wanted to be used? Not really.

Was there anything I didn't want to see? Yes, no teenage boys please.

Was I sure I was not a copper? Yes, quite sure. After all, Henry must have explained that we worked together. Yes, he did.

Did I understand that he would have to cross-reference with Henry about me, as this is how he worked? Yes, that would be fine.

Did I understand the imperative importance of keeping this conversation and anything that might follow a secret? Absolutely!

Was there anything else I could think of? Yes, I would like to see Evie.

There was a long pause. For a moment I became afraid. Did I say something wrong? Was I too bold? Did Henry exercise his sick sense of humor again and Evie was Terry's mother's name? Or maybe his wife's? Or, God forbid, his daughter's?

'You do understand that it might take a while if you want to see Evie, mate?' finally Terry spoke. 'She does not perform with any of the girls from our little business here. She only does the real thing and there are not quite that many customers who like to be watched by a stranger.'