The Story of Emma

Fiction4All

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 78,070
1 Ratings (1.0)

Working from the diaries and jottings that the woman who calls herself 'Emma' sent to Silver Moon, Sean O'Kane has recounted her extraordinary story. She was a successful journalist who found herself irresistibly drawn towards the world of BDSM. But as she explores the delights of submission and pain, her past life as a hard-hitting reporter comes back to haunt her. Just as she is at her most vulnerable her arch-enemy turns up to blackmail her. What follows is a searing and unmissable tale of treachery, revenge and at last, redemption.

This edition has a postscript by 'Emma' herself.

The Story of Emma
1 Ratings (1.0)

The Story of Emma

Fiction4All

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 78,070
1 Ratings (1.0)
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Reviews
I am struggling to read this. It is just violence.
No safeword.
No aftercare.
He 'raped' her the first time he took her 'behind'.
It is really hard to read, I don't recommend it unless of course you like it really, really heavy with no consent, no safewords & no care.
AussieGirl
Excerpt

A powerful man like Gerald Hardcastle is no joke to be around when he literally shakes with pent up fury, as he did then. Apart from any sexual treachery, for six months his every move had been known to his rivals and competitors. And all I had to protect myself was my desire to take my punishment once and for all and to give him what pleasure I could while he did what he had to.
“If it’ll give you any fun, I’ll fight you,” I told him as he advanced on me.
It came out all wrong, I meant it with heart-felt sincerity but he must have interpreted it as ‘fuck you’ sullen defiance because the dam of his fury broke instantly.
I was dragged by my hair, kicking and screaming in genuine fear from the office, down the main stairs, along past the pool and then down to the dungeon. We rolled and fought there for a while as he ripped my clothes off with a strength I had never encountered in him before, and to which I responded even through my fear. At last though, I lay in a tangled heap on the carpet, naked apart from laddered stockings. I looked up at him through a curtain of tangled hair, “Go on! Do it!” I urged him and then shrieked as he dragged me up and pushed me towards an upright rectangular frame; one that had a studded beam across it at breast height.
I managed another fight to make him exert himself before he could cuff and restrain my wrists and ankles to the corners. By then we were both panting for breath, but at least my master looked back in control of himself and had lost that drawn look I had hated to see. He was flushed and furious still, but at least he was where he liked to be. Sure he was going to take everything out on me — and why not — but at least he would enjoy himself now instead of just doing it as a duty.
Miss Dexter came in with a pile of folders.
“Right, you lying treacherous little bitch!” my master spat at me, “you’re going to tell me everything you told that bastard! Everything! Miss Dexter, find me the Grosvenor file!”
I just clenched my teeth and prepared to hold out as best I could, so he would enjoy torturing me.
He went behind me and I heard him go to the whip rack. I glanced at Miss Dexter and saw she was spreading out the folders and getting ready to take notes. It was going to be a long and very painful session. There were a lot of files I was to be interrogated about.
I was distracted from that line of thought though as my first flogging got underway. Usually in our dungeon sessions the whips were used to warm up and sensitise the area of the body the master wanted to work on later. But this time he set off at full punishment strength. He used one of the thin bladed floggers and worked it hard across my back and buttocks, making me jerk forward as each lash slapped into me. I welcomed the burn and bite of the leathers and had no trouble in experiencing it all as pure pain, especially when he finished off with three scything upper cuts between my legs. I was still recovering from the shock of that scalding pain when he came to stand just the other side of the studded bar across my chest, reached out, hooked my nipple rings with his fingers and dragged my breasts out across the studs, then pulled them down. I shrieked again as I felt the studs begin to dig into their undersides.
He left one nipple and held the other while he reached to one side of the frame and took down a length of chain with a hook at each end and attached it to the ring. Then he did the same with the other. I braced myself for what I was sure would follow, and sure enough he went to one wall and took down several of the long steel weights I had always loved to hate. He placed them on the beam in a pile and then picked just one up and hung it on the end of one chain. I sucked in my breath as one nipple was elongated and its breast was pulled down onto the studs even harder.
“Now, you slut! The Grosvenor project. What did you tell him and when?”
Before I could even frame an answer another weight was hung off the other nipple and he was reaching for more. Desperately I racked my brains, even as a third and fourth weight were added. I glanced down and saw my nipples extended into grotesquely long pink tubes with the holes the rings passed through clearly visible. They hurt with a sharpness I hadn’t experienced before and my stomach clenched in fear, but at least that freed my tongue. I began to babble out everything I could remember while remorselessly more weights were added until my breasts were stretched into almost flat wedges of flesh across the beam and the nipples themselves had all but disappeared over the far edge.
“Please! I don’t remember any more!” I screamed.
“Did you get all that down, Miss Dexter? Good. Then we’ll move on to the Pro-Con launch, in just a minute.”
Oh God! The launch of some industrial software which had been ‘mysteriously’ forestalled by another company. How much Guy made on that I never did find out but I tried to marshal my thoughts against the intensity of pain from my tortured breasts, then sobbed in despair when I saw him approaching me with a riding crop. I opened my mouth to beg but could only scream instead as he flicked the keeper down across each breast in turn, stinging the stretched flesh and driving the studs in even harder. He did it twice more before I was sagging in my chains and he was removing the weights and unhooking the chains. But then he turned his attention below stairs.
He ducked down and I felt the chains being hooked onto my labial rings. I didn’t wait. I began to mumble everything I knew about Pro-Con regardless of whether it was any part of what I had told Guy. But even as I gabbled the weights went on… and on. There was a searing pain from where the rings went through the flesh and panic was rising in my throat but I kept babbling faster and faster until I reached the end in a shrill scream.
“I got the bitch’s every word, sir,” I heard Miss Dexter’s voice call.
Slowly the pressure was released as the weights came off and I breathed out in relief as my ankles and wrists were freed. My master walked off then to prepare my next torment and left me to peel my own throbbing breasts off that wretched bar and marvel at the fact that I still had any. A quick exploration between my legs reassured me that I still had my vulva intact. But then my master was coming for me again.

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