Free at Last

INTRODUCTION: I wrote this story for a BDSM site elsewhere on the web, but decided to post it here, also. I tell you up front it is not for everyone. The beginning describes some of the most disgusting, perverted, and vilest acts imaginable, but it also shows how Jonathan, who suffered through a living hell at the hands of his wife and her lover, receives a big piece of heaven from a most unexpected source.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

I was supposed to sleep, but who could possibly sleep after the beating I had endured? I was sure they had tried to kill me. I didn’t want to sleep; this was the night I had waited for—the night I had prayed for–after more than eighteen months in captivity.

It was still dark—dark as pitch– and very early. I leaned up from the floor to try to see the clock—3:27—perfect, or so I prayed. Rebecca and Mark were drunk after their celebration when they went to sleep last night—maybe passed out would be more accurate. They’d made a huge mistake. Hopefully it would prove fatal—their last in this lifetime. It was the first night in more than eighteen months that I hadn’t been locked to the bed frame or handcuffed behind my back, or in a cell in the basement. I struggled to my feet, the impact of last night’s lengthy whipping driving the pain through my body. It was all I could do to remain silent as I tiptoed out of the room, another big mistake–not locking the door–and down the hallway to what used to be my study. I was absolutely forbidden to enter this room, but what could they do to me? I knew they planned to kill me. What difference could a week or even a day possibly make? I felt my way in, afraid to use the light. I found my way to the shelves and ran my fingers along the top. It was still there, thank God!

The key slid in easily, the locked door opened, and I felt inside for my pistol. A minute later the 9 mm my wife didn’t know about was loaded. I had bought it only two days before my torment began, not mentioning it to my wife who I knew would be opposed. I’d only need four shells in the magazine if everything worked out the way I planned. I racked the slide as slowly and quietly as I could and slid the safety off. I knew my arms had atrophied over the last year and a half from constantly being in an arm binder or handcuffs, but I was sure I’d still be able to aim and pull the trigger.

Back in the bedroom I leaned over the bed, my left arm resting on the headboard, placing the barrel an inch from Mark’s head and pulled the trigger. BLAM!! The explosion reverberated as the smoke and odor of cordite spread throughout the room. His head shook violently as blood and brain spattered against the wall and when Rebecca responded by sitting up suddenly I rammed the pistol into her mouth, cocking the hammer so the least effort would send her on to oblivion. “I HATE YOU! YOU’RE A FUCKING BITCH. I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL. THE ONLY THING WRONG IS THAT YOU’RE NOT GOING TO SUFFER ONE THOUSANDTH OF ONE PERCENT OF WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH.” I fired again, BLAM!! She fell back to the pillow, the blood oozing from the hole in her skull. I placed the gun against her forehead and fired again. I repeated with Mark. Free at last, free at last; thank God almighty I was free at last!

Now all I had to do was find one of their cell phones. There were no phones in the house. I couldn’t ever contact the outside world for help in the unlikely event I ever had an opportunity. The doors were locked with built-in combination locks so I couldn’t open them and escape either. The windows were covered with thick bullet proof polycarbonate. The past eighteen months had been a nightmare of pain and anguish, but I was still alive—barely—and it was going to get better. It had to because I knew from experience that it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

I looked in Rebecca’s purse, but no phone. I dug through Mark’s clothes, but no luck there either. I checked under the bed—nothing. I found a locked cabinet in Rebecca’s closet, but repeated efforts with my weak arms got me nowhere. I had to find the key. I thought she’d keep it close and I was right—she had it under the mattress. Her phone and wallet were in the locked compartment along with her jewelry. I figured out how to turn it on and dialed 911. I spoke when the operator answered.

“I want to report a double homicide. My name is Jonathan Keller and I live at 731 Mayfaire. That’s where I am now. Tell the officers who respond that I cannot open the doors or the windows. They have special locks that I can’t open. No…it’s a very long story. I’ll explain to the officers when they come. I had to do it. They were going to kill me and there’s another life at stake, too. Please send some EMT’s. I have some severe injuries. No…there was no fight. I shot them while they were sleeping. I was tortured and whipped last night. I was whipped and tortured every night, but last night was the worst. They tried to kill me, but I got them first.

“Tell the officers that the gun is empty and on the coffee table. I’m sitting on the couch and that’s where I’ll be when they get here. Please remember to tell them that I can’t open the door. I mean them no harm. Yes, I’ll stay on the line….”

I could hear the sirens in the distance growing louder as they approached. Finally, they stopped and I could hear the policemen yell for me to come out with my hands in the air. I spoke to the 911 operator, “Didn’t you tell them that I can’t get the doors open? There’s going to be an incident here and if they kill me an innocent kid will also die. No, I’m not going to kill him. He’s in the dungeon without any food or water. They’ll never find it without my help. Please tell them I’m not a threat to them. They need to break down the door. Please.”

The “stand-off” continued for another fifteen minutes before I figured out what to do. “Operator, can I speak directly to the officers?”

“Hello, is this the man in the house?”

“Yes, sir, it is. I tried to explain that I can’t open the doors. Believe me I would if I could. I’ve been a prisoner here in my own house for the last year and a half. I need help. I was whipped—my back and legs, and chest—for hours last night. I’m losing blood and the pain is terrible. I’m in an extremely weakened condition. Please break down the door and help me.”

“What’s this about some kid?”

“They kidnapped him off the street last night. I was tied up in the van when they jumped him. Rebecca was driving and Mark grabbed the poor kid. You’ll need my help to find him. Please hurry. The gun is unloaded and broken down on the table. I’m on the couch. In the name of God…please.”

I heard some noise outside the door about ten minutes later. I was warned not to try anything and they broke down the door minutes later. I sat calmly on the couch in my housecoat, the only clothing I was permitted, indeed the only clothing I owned. “Thank God you’re finally here. The ones I killed are down the hall on the right at the very end—two shots to the head for each of them, may they rest in hell.”

A detective came and sat next to me. “Want to tell me what this is all about?”

“Sure…it all started almost two years ago. Rebecca was…still is…my wife. She was a surgeon. I was an attorney. She started to get a little kinky, you know—tying me up before sex and stuff like that. I didn’t mind right up until she handcuffed me downstairs and whipped me for more than an hour. I hung from the rafters for hours afterwards and that was when she introduced me to her boyfriend. That’s him in there, too. She gave me a shot to knock me out and when I woke up I looked like this.” Standing up I dropped the housecoat. He gasped—they all did—when they saw my breasts. “Yeah, she operated on me and gave me breasts. These are bigger than the initial ones, but imagine the shock on my face when I saw them.

“I was handcuffed into the bed, not that I could have done much after the surgery. I lay there helplessly while she locked this cock cage onto my genitals. It’s solid stainless steel and she used super glue on the threads. It hasn’t come off in all that time and then there’s my back.” I turned around so they could see.

“Dear God! What the…?” My back looked like a city road map, covered with scars and cuts and scabs in every direction from the whippings and beatings I had received. My skin tore every time I twisted or moved. I was bleeding badly and the surface of my back was raw. The EMT’s tried to put me on a gurney, but I stopped them.

“The kid—we have to find him.” I led them into the pantry explaining that I had never done this before. Mark was always in front of me and I couldn’t see what he did. I told them I thought the shelves moved or slid back out of the way. We tried everything for more than twenty minutes until one of the officers accidentally tripped the lever. The rear panel of shelves pushed back revealing a hidden walkway. It led us down below the ground. There were all kinds of torture devices there. I ought to know—they were all used on me. I walked past them to the cells—small rooms made of poured reinforced concrete with steel bars over the doorway; the only furniture was a basic bed with a thin mattress and no pillow or blanket. I’d spent many an uncomfortable night naked in one of these. The kid was in the last one, blindfolded, handcuffed, and ears stopped up with beeswax. I told the police that I didn’t know where the keys were or even what they looked like. They’d have to cut the steel to get in. Some firemen came in a half hour later with a heavy-duty saw. The startled young man was released half an hour after that. I was relieved.

I finally allowed myself to be lowered onto a gurney. I cringed when they laid me on my back. They apologized and helped me roll over, not that that was much better. A pillow under my head and chest was a big help. Minutes later I was in the hospital’s emergency room. My vital signs were a mess. My pulse was 42; my blood pressure was 74 over 40. I weighed 97 pounds, less than half my original weight.

“How long did you say you were a prisoner in your home?”

“A year and a half, I think, at least that’s what they told me.”

“I’m surprised you survived. What did they feed you? It obviously wasn’t very much.”

“Actually, they gave me plenty—all the piss I could drink and all the shit I could eat. I’m not kidding. I refused to eat it so they forced a big ring gag into my mouth. They poured their piss into a funnel. I almost drowned a few times. They ground up their shit and forced it down my throat. Somewhere in the house is a big jar of antibiotics they fed me every day so on top of everything else I went for months with diarrhea. You’re right—it’s a miracle I survived.”

They treated and bandaged my back before addressing the wounds to my tits. Now that I was free they were definitely going and as soon as possible. I was sent to a room where the IV was replaced. I was also given protein drinks and Gator Ade to help with my bodily fluids. I lay back to sleep, noticing the police officer standing outside my door. I called to him, “Would you like a chair? There’s no reason why you should be uncomfortable? Please take one of mine. Nobody will come to visit me.” I lay back on the pillow and was asleep seconds later.

Well, I was wrong—I had visitors and plenty of them. The first was an inspector from our local police. He read me my rights and I signed a form that stated he had. He asked if I wanted an attorney. “No, I’ll speak with you. I really have nothing to hide, plus I’m an experienced attorney.” Then he asked me to tell the whole story. “I was once a very happily married man. I thought things couldn’t get any better. I had a great career and a beautiful successful wife who loved me. We had great times together. About two years ago she wanted to do some kinky things as part of our sex life. First, she had me tie her to the bed and make love to her. Then we switched. It was pretty incredible. I had no idea at the time where she was getting these ideas, but I found out one night when she said she wanted to tie me up in the basement, tease me, and fuck my brains out. That’s what she promised me so I went along.

“She surprised me when she handcuffed me to a chain around the steel I-beam in our basement. I told her I didn’t want it any more and she just laughed, ‘Too late for that. You’re my prisoner now and that’s how you’re going to stay.’ I never imagined I would be her prisoner for more than a year and a half. She beat me for the first time that night—my back and chest with a cane. When I screamed she filled my mouth with a leather ball gag. The beating went on for more than an hour and when she was done she told me, and this is a quote, ‘I am so hot now…so ready to fuck. Unfortunately, it won’t be you I’ll be fucking.’ She turned away and opened a door to one of the store rooms. This big guy, even bigger than me, walked out with a huge smile on his face. He kissed Rebecca and she kissed him back. She stripped and fucked him right in front of me. When she was done she walked to me and lifted my head. ‘You know, Jonathan, I really enjoyed hurting you. That’s what Mark and I are going to do. We’re both sadists. I didn’t know that when I married you, but I know it now. We’re going to beat you every night and during the day you can rest and build up your strength right here in our lovely basement while Mark and I enjoy ourselves and your money. But first, I need to leave my mark on you.’ She swabbed my elbow and stuck me with a hypodermic. I fell asleep hanging from my shoulders.

“When I awoke I was still in the basement in a hospital bed, my wrists and ankles secured to the frame. ‘Lookie, lookie,’ she called to me. When I did I saw she had operated on me and given me breasts. They were only C-cups then, but she did it two more times, getting me all the way up to double-D. Don’t ask me why she did it; she never did tell me. I can only assume she wanted to humiliate me. I recall falling asleep again and when I woke up she put the chastity cage on me. I remember what she said to me then, too. ‘You’re going to give me tons of pleasure with your pain and suffering. You, however, will have none. This cannot be cut off without killing you and I’m sealing the threads with super glue. This is never coming off you.’ And then she laughed like a maniac. That was more frightening than anything else she’d done until then. I didn’t realize how sick she was. If I had I probably would have taken my life given the opportunity.

“After a few days my wounds had begun to heal, but I was terribly weak from lack of water and food.