Sydney POV
Harry has made up my eyes using natural colours but lashings of mascara and winged liner. It's actually not too terrible, he's clearly been practicing his skills.... last time he did my make up I looked like the joker from Batman! I worry about who he has been practicing on, and find myself hoping that he has been using a dolls head.
The large mirror I sit before reflects the entirety of the room, allowing me to not only regard my own reflection but also what is behind me.
My eyes lock with Harry's. He is standing beside me, just staring at my naked and displayed reflection. My stomach lurches but I have nothing left inside me to bring up. My brain is pleading with him to decide that this isn't what he wants but I will my eyes not to show that desperation.... my distress gets him off after all, I'm not going to help with that!
Lowering my eyes from his lust filled ones I am not surprised, but am as usual terrified to find that he is palming himself through his trousers, his arousal very clear, my true torment to begin just as soon as he has me dressed.
This is where the extortionately expensive customisation of the shower chair becomes incredibly useful to a control freak perfectionist like Harry. A man who has shared my body with, and fed pieces of my soul to many others, but has never once allowed anyone to assist him in getting me prepped for play. That was his pleasure, and his alone. The only time he had me to himself. I have long suspected that one of the reasons he likes this alone time is because it is something he has that 'THE SIX' never will, but would all give their right testicle for!
Another possible cause of his need for this one on one time is because he still views me as his property, property that he is generous enough to share with his partners in crime, but keeping a little something back from them to prove his dominance and superiority over them. He is a very vain and self important man.
This brings my mind to the third possible, and in my mind the most satisfying reason why he prefers to have me alone during prep. I think it is because he suffers with premature ejaculation.
He gets himself so worked up that after the briefest number of thrusts he is exploding like geyser, panting like a dog in July and screwing his face up into the ugliest mask of release I've ever seen, and I've seen a few thanks to Harry and his inferiority complex.
Inside I am laughing like a maniac, AT HIM, for being so pathetic. The way he can't admit he has a problem, one that can be assisted with help for fear of embarrassment is pathetic.
His ego so vulnerable he has to beat, degrade and humiliate, torture, rape and pimp out his wife to feel powerful, masculine and valid os pathetic.
Harry is pathetic!!
So concerned by the views of others and the need for their approval and respect he became the most cruel, abusive, angry tormentor ..... of a woman who had loved him. One who believed initially that she could help him, but after a few months of progressively severe beatings and derogatory comments about her inability to arouse him, her appearance and lack of sex appeal being the cause of his very pathetic lack of control, realised that she would never be able to help him. He didn't want to be helped.... the thrill he felt at inflicting ever increasing levels of pain and suffering was too much to give up. He had found his calling....thats the way he described his descent into evil to me during one pre-play prep time.
So inadequate that he punishes me for his shortcomings with an intensifying anger, an escalation of the violence and hatred, and an increase in the pain and suffering he will cause me at every new 'play party' he hosts.
PATHETIC!
I watch as he presses a button on a key pad that is connected to the chair and it begins to move, the seat raising me into a standing position, allowing him to dress me far more easily, although not without its challenges.
My weight is basically being supported by my arms, suspended as I am in an upright position as of being crucified, with my feet a small distance away from the footplate. This makes it possible for him to slide the underwear up my legs, tucking it tightly into the narrow thigh gap to prevent it from falling down while he rolls the silky hold ups onto my small feet and up my calves, his touch lingering over my knees before snapping the rubber backed lace at my thighs, finally putting on the cute ankle boots that in any other circumstance I would love to wear.
The chair begins to move again, lowering me the few inches required for my feet to touch the footplate before lowering my arms to my sides. He unstraps one wrist and places it through the bra strap, running it up my arm until it sits on my shoulder, then cups my boob and sits it inside the cup of a very sexy and far more demure bra than I was expecting from him. Another item I'd love to have discovered in different circumstances.
He re-secures my wrist and repeats this process for the other arm before securing the bra behind my back using the large cutout seat back, and pulling the knickers up fully, spending a few moments adjusting all the leather straps that hold them together. It amazes me that I can see all this happening with my own eyes, can feel every touch, but can't move a muscle. I instinctively attempt to move to illustrate this fact to my brain and am stunned to find that I did manage a flicker of movement at the tip of my fingers, so small that I worry it was a hallucination! I also worry that Harry noticed and will give me a tip up of the juice. I don't want that so concentrate on remaining still, although I'm desperate to try again and see if I really did move a little!?
It could be useful.
The final part of the outfit is all that remains to put on me. The item that caused my eyes to widen in horror upon seeing it, and my stomach to knot into a ball of pain. The item of clothing I feel sure I will be dying in tonight....
.... a beautiful strapless, corset style bustier with a very understated decoration. A row of small ruffles trim the edges of the bodice, a simple satin bow at the cleavage and one on each hip. A very short, stiff tulle skirt barely covers me, the underwear tantalisingly close to being visible.
I loved this dress when Harry bought it for me... but it has undergone some changes since I last saw it.
It is now the palest baby pink colour rather than the virginal white it was, the tulle skirt had been floor length before being bastardised into a 'Porno princesses fairy tutu'.
I'd never have walked down the aisle in it looking like it does now.
Harry has put me in my wedding dress!!
Stepping back and admiring his work he exclaims loudly, "Oh Dolly!! You are perfect! Absolutely perfect! It's a shame though that you can no longer wear pure white, after all, dirty sluts should not be able to wear such a pure and unsullied colour. Your spoiled goods now Sydney. First you cheat on me with that poxy journalist Mark Weedon, and now you're getting dirtied up by that Australian! How many more cocks have you bounced on between those two Sydney, hmm? How many more cookie munchers are out there? How many times have you dirtied yourself without me? I don't think I will ever be able to fully purify you Dolly darling, but I promise you, I will try my best, just for you!"
He smirks at my reflection before turning around and standing directly infront of me, bending slightly at the waist until our eyes are level and putting his hands on my shoulders sending a cold chill down my spine and another ball of pain to hit my bowel! His touch is repugnant to me, despite his perfectly manicured and clean hands.
"Dont worry Darling Dolly, I'll help you break up with him... your current 'dick of the day', it's the least I can do, as your husband!" He drawls the final 3 words before pecking my nose and straightening up, turning to walk towards the door to the hallway.
As his hand reaches the knob he turns back towards me and places two fingers up to his lips, closing his eyes and tilting his head in contemplation before he brings my world crashing down around me.
"You know Noah? Of course you do, silly me, you've been living with him! Well, Noah is on his way here now and he is bringing a little gift for you..... you'll love it!
We are going to party harder than we ever have before your little gift will have a front row seat! Dolly!! Noah is bringing Yanni here.... isn't that great!?" he enthuses while the loudest silent scream echoes around my skull.
Nobody gets to attend these play sessions other than Harry and 'THE SIX'. This rule was discussed extensively at the first party Harry ever hosted, everyone in agreement that outsiders who hadn't signed the contract would be a risk so would not be welcome, other than with prior agreement of all other involved parties, except me of course, I had no voice.
It happened once! What appeared to be a very young man was brought along by one of the others and I presumed all the permissions had been given, but I was wrong.
He was ushered forward first to my restrained body, strapped to the legs of a table and forced over it, my naked behind red and bleeding after a particularly hard spanking with a needle spiked paddle, red wax hardened all down my inner thighs, white wax drying on my lower back. I can no longer see him as he has taken up position behind me and is fumbling around between my legs, opening me up and looking at me.
Cheers and shouts egg him on, ranging from "He doesn't know how to fuck her!" and "Come on kid, fuck the shit out of the little slut" to "best 18th ever right boy? Getting to be the first to ruin this bitch tonight! What a way to lose your V card eh?!"
The most chilling words coming from Harry himself as he entered the room and calmly took in the scene before him.
"18th birthday? Congratulations! What a shame though!" he says as he passes my head, trailing his fingers over my curves as he goes.
"Why a shame?" the boy asks, stilling his hands, one of his fingers inside me.
"Well, it's a shame that you are going to die a virgin!" Harry laughs.
"W-w-what?" Chuckles the boy nervously.
I hear a collective gasp and then a gurgling sound, before what sounds like a heavy item fall to the floor. I become aware of a metallic smell in the air and feel a warm wet pool encircling my feet as Harry tells the others in the room that THIS is the reason why we don't have outsiders here.... there can be no witnesses that have nothing to lose.
No witnesses!?!
Oh my god!! He's killed the boy!!
He is going to torture Yanni by making him watch my humiliation and degradation before killing him too!
No witnesses!!