TheLostWriter
Virgin
- Joined
- May 30, 2016
- Posts
- 10
Dr. Grant Huntington was a mountain in his community. Though he stood at five feet ten and was a well-built man, it was rather the combination of his appearance, the way he carried himself, and his charisma, that enchanted everyone from his patients to business associates and anyone in between. There was also his charitable contributions to the city - a large park for kids and adults alike, a considerable donation to renovate the small town's museum, and the development of the small town's first golf course. From the outside, people saw an outstanding, upright member of the community: an accomplished physician who was loved by his patients, an accomplished businessman in the world of medical information technology, a philanthropist. And with all that, he was a single man, enjoying life, driving a nice car, living on a grand estate, etcetera, etcetera. The only thing that some of the women-folk he encountered (especially the older ones) wondered about was why he never settled down with a nice lady. Didn't he get lonely in that big home of his? At forty years old, with some "salt" coming through in his mostly still "pepper" hair, a wealthy, handsome specimen of a man loved by all for his good nature and sharp mind - he surely would have had his choice of women.
At dinner events and functions he would laugh the question away. "I'd love to, but I just don't think I'd have the time. Between the business and the clinic, I don't think I'd be able to give a wife her full due. It just wouldn't be fair."
Of course this kind of answer simply enamored further him to any women in the crowd, and as for the men, they snickered among themselves, figuring he most certainly enjoyed staying single, and likely reveled in the occasional unencumbered fling. At the end of the day though, no one really cared. They all lived their own life, and as long as the good doctor Huntington continued to be a stellar member of the community what did it matter?
But the good doctor had a deep, dark secret. This secret was a desire, a burning desire buried deep within the mountain that was Grant Huntington. The fire of this desire never went out. Always glowing embers they were, and sometimes they would ignite, and when they did, there was no stopping it. Grant Huntington's mastery over medicine, over business, were simply socially acceptable expressions of the one thing that drove him: complete mastery. Mastery was easy over ideas like medicine, over inanimate things like money, even over people in general through his philanthropy and good character. But there was something utterly special about the kind of mastery that a man could impose over a woman. There was nothing like that. Even mastery over other men was paltry, for all one could receive from them was loyalty. From a woman, a man could have loyalty and complete dependence. Complete dedication. To take an independent female mind and break it around the firm pole of steel that was a man, wrapping her completely to his will, was the greatest and most rewarding thing in the world for Grant. This is what he did. This is what his facade was all about. This was what he lived for.
Grant Huntington had broken many women before. In all cases he had purchased them from the slave trade. But he always liked his women fresh, new, totally unaccustomed to being broken and owned. That was the exhilarating part. He had broken younger and older, professionals and the uneducated. Once he had done so, and used them to his satisfaction, he sent them back to the traders. They'd gratefully pay him a hefty fee for the service he had provided. There was a big market for completely submissive sex slaves. But for Grant it wasn't just about the sex, though that certainly was central in getting the job done. It was their complete dependence upon him, their emotional need, their sense of self smashed against the mountain that was Grant Huntington, that was the goal.
It had been at least six months now since his last acquisition had been sold back to the market. On this particular day, at this particular moment, he was finishing with his last patient, and he was growing impatient. He had to be at the warehouse at the edge of the adjacent (major) city at 7pm, and it was already 5:45pm. He'd need to be driving off by six to get there in time.
With the usual grace and sagacity he inquired of his patient, a young 30-something who clearly blushed when he had entered the room. Grant loved the sense of vulnerability that radiated from a young woman dressed in nothing but a clinic gown, especially when she was confronted by the likes of him. His deep brown eyes smiled as he did, a dimple appearing atop his cheek, and, today, a five o clock shadow that gave him that rugged look that some women died for. Apparently, based on this woman's non-verbal cues, she was dying for it.
The appointment proceeded as it usually did. With a history, a physical, and then the prescription, if needed. During the physical Grant always made sure to let his warm, strong hands graze against his young lady's back and chest as he listened with his stethoscope, appreciating the subtle rush of breath as he did. Grant enjoyed these little things, as they were a constant reminder of his power over the beauty that was the female form and soul.
The patient eventually went her way, and Grant left his office. It was Friday - always the day he obtained his new acquisitions. He got into his BMW and started driving towards the warehouse. It was on the outskirts of the neighboring city, and had been long considered derelict. The traders kept their wares there for about a month, which allowed clients to come in one per hour, so that too many cars parked in the old, grass-ridden parking lot wouldn't attract any passer-bys' attention.
Grant always enjoyed this drive. He found his thoughts meandering now, instead of about his business or his work, to his home. He lived on an estate isolated from the rest of town. His home was essentially a palace. It was one of the many advantages of living in a small town. Property was dirt cheap, and for someone like him, it was no big thing to have an entire 100 acres all to himself. He had hired hands throughout the exterior to maintain the gardens, the swimming pool, the horse tracks and stables, the tennis and basketball courts, and the various other features he had designed around his property. But inside the home was just him. He refused to let anyone in for good reason. He couldn't afford anyone getting wind of his true nature. This meant, however, that he took care of everything within the home himself. He cooked for himself, and on the weekends, cleaned, did his laundry, and tended to general upkeep. Last weekend he had spent one of his days cooking and freezing food so that he wouldn't have to do so the next weekend, because on that weekend he needed to spend it taking care of other matters. Grant knew for a long time that he really could use help, but it simply was out of the question. Especially now, as he pulled into the warehouse's dusty, weed-strewn parking lot. He would be bringing home someone new, and she would take time.
And that would require privacy.
Grant knocked on the large, partially rusted white door on the backside of the warehouse. A burly man in a leather jacket stuck his head out, and recognizing a recurrent customer nodded and granted Dr Huntington admittance. After a walk down several lengthy, echoing corridors, each with its own armed grunt, they entered upon one with several rooms with locked doors. A man in a white suit stood next to one of them, and he beamed and raised his arms in welcome upon seeing Grant.
"The good doc! Welcome back!"
It was Frank The ring leader. He was that prototypical sleazeball salesman type. From the slicked back hair to the white suit with a Hawaiian shirt beneath the jacket - the top three buttons undone of course - Frank ran the trade in this part of the country. He oversaw all operations himself, and was the one that Grant was in touch with regarding his preferences.
"I got a perfect one for ya Doc, really. She's fresh as fresh can be." He fished around in his pockets and produced a ring of several keys, and started thumbing through them as he approached one of the doors. "I think she's probably a real virgin. Some crack-head of a brother sold her for the cash. Pity too. Seems like she came from a nice family." The right key was found, inserted, and turned. The door opened with an echoing ka-chunk.
"Our good fortune then, eh?" Frank beamed as he waved Grant to follow, stepping into the room. "We put her undressed in a hospital gown just like you like. I don't know why you don't just leave 'em naked like most of the rest of the clients do, but hell, what do I care, she's your slave after all, ha!" Frank stayed back by the entrance to the door, an armed guard taking position behind him.
Grant, who was dressed in a dark suit, stepped quietly into the room, completely ignoring the blabbering Frank who now stood quietly - finally - behind him. Before him stood a small little thing, cowering in nakedness only covered by a very draft hospital gown that had no way of being tied shut from behind. She had beautiful dark brown hair, with matching eyes. She was of petite frame. And her eyes, spoke of horror.
She was perfect.
Grant studied her, standing just a few feet away, and then slowly walked around her. The room was cold, and so she was shivering, and her small, pert breasts were making themselves known through the thin wisp of a hospital gown. The only sound was the echo of Grant's Italian shoes against the unforgiving cement floor. Her gown being open from the back afforded him the view from behind, though she tried to cover herself, he had seen what he had needed to.
"If you value your life, you will not move unless I explicitly say so." Grant said firmly, but calmly, as he approached her from behind. Took hold of the wrist that belonged to the hand that the girl used to try and hold her gown together from behind, and placed it at her side, allowing the gown to open up, revealing her entire body from behind. Grant then stepped forward and placed his warm palm across her back, and slid it down to her ass, and squeezed it tightly. He could feel his property stiffen with fear, and he looked up over her shoulder to Frank and nodded. Frank nodded back, stepped out of the room, and closed the door.
Grant leaned in from behind, just next to the girl's right ear, and spoke in a clear, but lowered voice. "You will call me 'Master'. I own you now. I own your life. I own your body. I own your mind. The sooner you understand this, the sooner it will be better for you." Grant shifted his hand suddenly from her ass to around her front, pulling her into him from her pussy, his fingers deliberately pushing firmly against her mound. His cock was firm, and he made sure that he pulled her firmly into the bulge in his pants.
"Do you have a name?" He said quietly, as he started grinding his fingers against the girl's pussy, and grinding his covered manhood against her ass. "Oh and before you answer, if you're wondering whether this is going to get worse." Grant used his other hand to unzip his pants.
"It is."
At dinner events and functions he would laugh the question away. "I'd love to, but I just don't think I'd have the time. Between the business and the clinic, I don't think I'd be able to give a wife her full due. It just wouldn't be fair."
Of course this kind of answer simply enamored further him to any women in the crowd, and as for the men, they snickered among themselves, figuring he most certainly enjoyed staying single, and likely reveled in the occasional unencumbered fling. At the end of the day though, no one really cared. They all lived their own life, and as long as the good doctor Huntington continued to be a stellar member of the community what did it matter?
But the good doctor had a deep, dark secret. This secret was a desire, a burning desire buried deep within the mountain that was Grant Huntington. The fire of this desire never went out. Always glowing embers they were, and sometimes they would ignite, and when they did, there was no stopping it. Grant Huntington's mastery over medicine, over business, were simply socially acceptable expressions of the one thing that drove him: complete mastery. Mastery was easy over ideas like medicine, over inanimate things like money, even over people in general through his philanthropy and good character. But there was something utterly special about the kind of mastery that a man could impose over a woman. There was nothing like that. Even mastery over other men was paltry, for all one could receive from them was loyalty. From a woman, a man could have loyalty and complete dependence. Complete dedication. To take an independent female mind and break it around the firm pole of steel that was a man, wrapping her completely to his will, was the greatest and most rewarding thing in the world for Grant. This is what he did. This is what his facade was all about. This was what he lived for.
Grant Huntington had broken many women before. In all cases he had purchased them from the slave trade. But he always liked his women fresh, new, totally unaccustomed to being broken and owned. That was the exhilarating part. He had broken younger and older, professionals and the uneducated. Once he had done so, and used them to his satisfaction, he sent them back to the traders. They'd gratefully pay him a hefty fee for the service he had provided. There was a big market for completely submissive sex slaves. But for Grant it wasn't just about the sex, though that certainly was central in getting the job done. It was their complete dependence upon him, their emotional need, their sense of self smashed against the mountain that was Grant Huntington, that was the goal.
It had been at least six months now since his last acquisition had been sold back to the market. On this particular day, at this particular moment, he was finishing with his last patient, and he was growing impatient. He had to be at the warehouse at the edge of the adjacent (major) city at 7pm, and it was already 5:45pm. He'd need to be driving off by six to get there in time.
With the usual grace and sagacity he inquired of his patient, a young 30-something who clearly blushed when he had entered the room. Grant loved the sense of vulnerability that radiated from a young woman dressed in nothing but a clinic gown, especially when she was confronted by the likes of him. His deep brown eyes smiled as he did, a dimple appearing atop his cheek, and, today, a five o clock shadow that gave him that rugged look that some women died for. Apparently, based on this woman's non-verbal cues, she was dying for it.
The appointment proceeded as it usually did. With a history, a physical, and then the prescription, if needed. During the physical Grant always made sure to let his warm, strong hands graze against his young lady's back and chest as he listened with his stethoscope, appreciating the subtle rush of breath as he did. Grant enjoyed these little things, as they were a constant reminder of his power over the beauty that was the female form and soul.
The patient eventually went her way, and Grant left his office. It was Friday - always the day he obtained his new acquisitions. He got into his BMW and started driving towards the warehouse. It was on the outskirts of the neighboring city, and had been long considered derelict. The traders kept their wares there for about a month, which allowed clients to come in one per hour, so that too many cars parked in the old, grass-ridden parking lot wouldn't attract any passer-bys' attention.
Grant always enjoyed this drive. He found his thoughts meandering now, instead of about his business or his work, to his home. He lived on an estate isolated from the rest of town. His home was essentially a palace. It was one of the many advantages of living in a small town. Property was dirt cheap, and for someone like him, it was no big thing to have an entire 100 acres all to himself. He had hired hands throughout the exterior to maintain the gardens, the swimming pool, the horse tracks and stables, the tennis and basketball courts, and the various other features he had designed around his property. But inside the home was just him. He refused to let anyone in for good reason. He couldn't afford anyone getting wind of his true nature. This meant, however, that he took care of everything within the home himself. He cooked for himself, and on the weekends, cleaned, did his laundry, and tended to general upkeep. Last weekend he had spent one of his days cooking and freezing food so that he wouldn't have to do so the next weekend, because on that weekend he needed to spend it taking care of other matters. Grant knew for a long time that he really could use help, but it simply was out of the question. Especially now, as he pulled into the warehouse's dusty, weed-strewn parking lot. He would be bringing home someone new, and she would take time.
And that would require privacy.
Grant knocked on the large, partially rusted white door on the backside of the warehouse. A burly man in a leather jacket stuck his head out, and recognizing a recurrent customer nodded and granted Dr Huntington admittance. After a walk down several lengthy, echoing corridors, each with its own armed grunt, they entered upon one with several rooms with locked doors. A man in a white suit stood next to one of them, and he beamed and raised his arms in welcome upon seeing Grant.
"The good doc! Welcome back!"
It was Frank The ring leader. He was that prototypical sleazeball salesman type. From the slicked back hair to the white suit with a Hawaiian shirt beneath the jacket - the top three buttons undone of course - Frank ran the trade in this part of the country. He oversaw all operations himself, and was the one that Grant was in touch with regarding his preferences.
"I got a perfect one for ya Doc, really. She's fresh as fresh can be." He fished around in his pockets and produced a ring of several keys, and started thumbing through them as he approached one of the doors. "I think she's probably a real virgin. Some crack-head of a brother sold her for the cash. Pity too. Seems like she came from a nice family." The right key was found, inserted, and turned. The door opened with an echoing ka-chunk.
"Our good fortune then, eh?" Frank beamed as he waved Grant to follow, stepping into the room. "We put her undressed in a hospital gown just like you like. I don't know why you don't just leave 'em naked like most of the rest of the clients do, but hell, what do I care, she's your slave after all, ha!" Frank stayed back by the entrance to the door, an armed guard taking position behind him.
Grant, who was dressed in a dark suit, stepped quietly into the room, completely ignoring the blabbering Frank who now stood quietly - finally - behind him. Before him stood a small little thing, cowering in nakedness only covered by a very draft hospital gown that had no way of being tied shut from behind. She had beautiful dark brown hair, with matching eyes. She was of petite frame. And her eyes, spoke of horror.
She was perfect.
Grant studied her, standing just a few feet away, and then slowly walked around her. The room was cold, and so she was shivering, and her small, pert breasts were making themselves known through the thin wisp of a hospital gown. The only sound was the echo of Grant's Italian shoes against the unforgiving cement floor. Her gown being open from the back afforded him the view from behind, though she tried to cover herself, he had seen what he had needed to.
"If you value your life, you will not move unless I explicitly say so." Grant said firmly, but calmly, as he approached her from behind. Took hold of the wrist that belonged to the hand that the girl used to try and hold her gown together from behind, and placed it at her side, allowing the gown to open up, revealing her entire body from behind. Grant then stepped forward and placed his warm palm across her back, and slid it down to her ass, and squeezed it tightly. He could feel his property stiffen with fear, and he looked up over her shoulder to Frank and nodded. Frank nodded back, stepped out of the room, and closed the door.
Grant leaned in from behind, just next to the girl's right ear, and spoke in a clear, but lowered voice. "You will call me 'Master'. I own you now. I own your life. I own your body. I own your mind. The sooner you understand this, the sooner it will be better for you." Grant shifted his hand suddenly from her ass to around her front, pulling her into him from her pussy, his fingers deliberately pushing firmly against her mound. His cock was firm, and he made sure that he pulled her firmly into the bulge in his pants.
"Do you have a name?" He said quietly, as he started grinding his fingers against the girl's pussy, and grinding his covered manhood against her ass. "Oh and before you answer, if you're wondering whether this is going to get worse." Grant used his other hand to unzip his pants.
"It is."
