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From: worthlesspainslut@hotmail.com (e. wolf)
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Subject: {ASSM} Jazz's Toys Part One: The Red-Shoed Girl (M+/F, NC, violent, torture, rape)
Date: Thu, 15 Nov 2001 18:10:04 -0500
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This story is a work of fiction, and the author completely does not
condone any part of it. Anyone who imitates anything they read in this
story should spend the rest of their life in jail. Do not read this
story if you're under eighteen or are not allowed to read it for any
other reason.


Jazz's Toys Part One: The Red-Shoed Girl
M++/F rape, nc, violent, torture

by e. wolf

Nobody knew where Jazz had found the girl - where did Jazz ever get
his toys? But she was a lulu, a real upper-crust type, probably nabbed
from some suburban mall where she'd been shoe-shopping with her
girlfriends. And what a pair of shoes she'd found - real
fuck-me-pumps, bright red with four-inch heels, probably purchased
more for a joke than for everyday wear. She was regretting that
purchase now, wobbling in the centre of the room, her calf muscles
cramped from standing for three hours in the crowded bar.
Sitting wasn't an option for the girl: someone, it might have been
Jazz, had looped a length of chain around her neck and up over one of
the heavy wooden rafters. If she happened to lose her balance or pass
out, she'd be one dead rich cunt.
But since Jazz hadn't given the signal to touch her yet, the bar's
patrons milled about, drinking, playing pool, watching the
pornographic movie playing on the big-screen TV in the corner. Jazz
himself, a huge tattooed hulk of a man with cold, creepy grey eyes and
a scarred, shaved head, was finishing up a darts tournament on the far
side of the bar, seemingly oblivious to the girl he'd brought to round
out the evening's entertainment.
The girl herself was beyond panic. Through the course of the evening
she'd tried everything to convince the bar's patrons to let her go.
They were a rowdy looking lot, bikers and lowlifes, the sort she'd
never have thought of talking about ordinarily, not if they hadn't
kidnapped and tied her up in the middle of this sleazy tavern in the
middle of nowhere. First she'd begged: `Please, I won't tell anyone,
just let me go!' Next had come threats. `I'll have you know my
father's a judge. His brother's the police commissioner: he'll have
you all thrown in jail.' Now she'd begun to more fully appreciate her
situation, and she just stood wailing helplessly, her expensive
waterproof mascara dissolved under hours of tears. Her hands weren't
tied, but try as she might she'd been unable to slide so much as a
finger under the chain that pressed against her throat - her efforts
to do so, to loosen the chain, just made it more difficult to breathe.
Eventually she'd just given up trying to budge the chain and begun to
wail.
Jazz was in a foul mood as he threw his last dart. He'd been losing
all night, and there was nothing Jazz hated worse than losing.
"All right, that's enough," he announced at long last. "Time for a
change of gears."
There were cheers at that, people who'd seen him work before. Jazz had
been in here every Friday for the past five years or so, and he nearly
always had a new toy with him. Nobody knew much about where he'd come
from, but by the looks of him he'd done some time, probably for the
very hobbies to which he'd been treating the patrons of Sully's. Other
nights of the week the place was abuzz with men and women alike,
bikers and their chicks mostly, sometimes a trucker or a prostitute
would stop by for a beer. But Fridays were men-only at Sully's. Well,
men and Jazz's toys.
Jazz approached the girl, his narrow grey eyes fixed on her terrified
green ones, searing into her.
"So, you think you're pretty sexy in those shoes, don't you, hon?" he
said with a leer. The girl cowered and tried to pull away, the chain
tightening sharply around her neck. Jazz seized it, pulled her upright
with a slap across the face. "YOU ANSWER ME WHEN I ASK YOU A
QUESTION!"
"Y-yes, Sir," she managed. Never mind that she'd never called anyone
`sir' in her life before; somehow it just seemed appropriate.
"Yes Sir what?" he said, still holding the chain taut. Even in her
four-inch heels, Jazz still towered over her by more than a foot. She
was a tiny slip of a thing, dainty-looking and petite in her little
black dress.
"Y-yes Sir I think the shoes a-are sexy." She blubbered as she talked,
her full red lips quivering. Jazz slapped her again, and somehow she
understood it wasn't because of her answer - he just liked to slap
her.
"Let's see how that ass of yours wiggles in those pretty red shoes,"
he said, reaching up to unhook the chain from the ceiling. "You and
me, we're going for a walk."
Jazz gave the chain a tug and the girl stumbled along behind him,
shooting pains up her legs from standing motionless on tiptoe for so
long. He paraded her around the bar, between the tables filled with
patrons whose facial expressions ranged from rapt interest to
full-fledged drooling. One man, the girl noted with more disgust than
fear, had his hand down the front of his filthy jeans and was stroking
his cock, right there at the bar. Jazz stopped abruptly in front of
the man.
"Billy. You like this girl?" he said.
"She's nice-lookin', yeah," Billy said. "She gots good tits."				
"They are nice, about 36D if I'm not mistaken. Cunt, show Billy your
tits."
"P-please, don't."
Jazz frowned. "Don't what?"
"Don't make me."
He slapped her again, this time driving her lower lip up against her
front teeth, drawing blood.
"Cunt, get those tits out now," he barked.
The girl's hands trembled as she slipped first one shoulder strap,
then the other, out of the dress. Slowly she began to ease the front
down over her large, full breasts.
"Too slow," Jazz muttered, grabbing a handful of the fabric in one
massive hand and jerking it. The silky fabric tore like paper, leaving
the girl's lacy black bra exposed to the room. There were a few wolf
whistles and cheers, and the girl's pale white skin began to redden.
"Take it all off," somebody else called.
"In good time," Jazz snarled. He turned his attention back to Billy.
"So, friend, do the cunt's tits make you horny?"
"Yeah, Jazz, they do," Billy said. The girl shuddered. The man was as
disgusting as her captor, long greasy blond hair and bad skin, and
both his jeans and his denim jacket were as dirty as his hair. "I got
a real big hard-on for this bitch."
"All right, bitch," Jazz said. "You're gonna use your tits to take
care of Billy's hard-on. Why'ncha rub that pretty black bra up against
Billy's cock for him? I bet he'd like the feel of those nice big
mounds on his cock. I know I would."
This brought a few more cheers from the crowd, and with tears starting
anew the girl leaned forward between Billy's widespread legs, bending
so her tits brushed against his upper thighs. Billy pulled his zipper
down to reveal a bulging erection with a huge drop of milky precum at
the top. The girl began to rub against him, using her hands to press
his hard cock into the warm darkness between her tits. Billy let out a
groan and came almost immediately, spewing sticky spunk all across the
girl's chest. It pooled inside the bra, warm and slimy, and she
retched at the thought that this disgusting man had touched her with
his horrible thing.
"Now let's see what you've got under that fucking bra," Jazz said, and
pulled back the elastic to snap it hard against her back. The girl
squealed and scrambled to remove the offending garment. There were
more cheers as the bra fell to the floor, her large tits bobbing as
she was suddenly naked to the waist. Jazz yanked the chain around her
neck, pulling her past a few more tables to where a huge bear of a man
was ogling her.
"Murray, you're looking hungry," Jazz said. "Would you like to suck on
this cunt's nipples a while?"
"You know it, Jazz," Murray said. "Thanks, man." He leaned forward to
take the girl's right nipple in her mouth and began to suckle away at
it noisily. The girl sobbed helplessly as she felt the man's prickly
beard digging painfully into the soft white flesh of her breasts.
Worse, though, after a minute or two of suckling she suddenly felt the
man's teeth cutting into her nipple. She let out a shriek and tried to
push him away.
"Oww! Stop, that hurts!"
There were a few laughs at that, and Jazz slapped her hard again. 
"You think that hurts? You have no clue," he said. "By the end of the
night, you'll know what hurt's all about. Gus, why don't you have a
little nibble on the other tit."
"I'd love to," said another man, this one relatively clean-shaven with
a receding hairline and a wandering eye.
She could feel Jazz standing behind her, still holding her chain leash
tight with one hand as he gripped both her wrists tightly in his other
hand. The two men began to gobble away at her breasts, chewing at them
like apples they were trying to tear chunks from. She wailed in pain
and humiliation, helpless to move herself or them.
After a few minutes Jazz tired of watching the men and he hauled the
girl away. Her breasts were covered in saliva and ugly red weals from
where the men had bit her. The skin was broken in several places.
Jazz hauled the girl back to the centre of the room, where he pulled
an enormous hunting knife from his belt.
"Enough of this shit," he said, giving the leash a tug. "Time to see
what the cunt is hiding under this rag." And with that, he sliced
clean through the fabric of her dress and watched it fall to the floor
like tissue.
Through her sobs, he heard the girl saying something.
"Wun't arrg," it sounded like.
"What's that, cunt?" he said, leaning closer to her, curious.
"It wasn't a rag," the girl repeated sullenly. "That was an eight
hundred dollar dress."
This brought howls of laughter from the crowd. 
"Ooh, an eight hundred dollar dress. Oh la la!"
Even Jazz had to chuckle at that one.
"Well, it sure looks like a rag now," he said. He looked the girl over
as she stood in her white cotton panties, strangely conservative
considering the rest of her getup. He could see her ass cheeks pressed
enticingly against the tight cotton and he grinned. Seizing the
waistband of the panties, he yanked them upward into the crack of the
girl's ass, then reached around to her front and did the same,
effectively giving her a large and painful `wedgie.'
"Look at that ass," Jazz said, turning her around so everyone could
get a look. "So pale and white. I think it's time we added some colour
to that ass."
Everyone but the girl thought that was a fine idea, so Jazz dragged
her over to the pool table and bent her over the edge, pinning her
chest to the worn, smelly felt as her ass was exposed to the crowd.
"Danny, would you do the honours of tanning this slut's ass for her?"
Jazz said.
She couldn't see the man behind her, but from the feel of his hand he
was enormous. It came down across her left ass-cheek once, twice,
five, six times. The girl lost count, but it felt like he was smacking
her with a red-hot iron paddle instead of his bare hand. She roared
with pain as he slapped her again and again, her rich spoiled ass that
had never known an angry hand making up for a lifetime's worth of lost
spankings in one go.
After an eternity he switched sides, the cheer of the crowd like white
noise in her ears as the other side of her ass was coloured to match
the first.
The girl was dizzy from pain when the man stepped away. The crowd
applauded as Jazz hauled her back to her feet.
"Good job," Jazz said, and for a moment she thought he was talking to
her. But the man who had spanked her - he wasn't as huge as she'd
thought, but he was sturdy and strong-looking - smiled and took a bow
before he sat down.
Jazz circled around in front of the girl and stared down into her eyes
with contempt.
"Well, cunt, are you having fun yet?"
"N-no, Sir," she whimpered. "Please, please don't hurt me anymore.
Please let me go."
"Yeah, Jazz, let her go!" came a mocking voice. "The poor little
thing. Don't hurt her. Let me hurt her!"
Jazz laughed at that. 
"You'll get your turn, Mungo," he said. Mungo, from the looks of him,
was about seven feet tall and four hundred pounds. "But first I
thought I'd fuck her ass."
That got the loudest cheer yet from the crowd, and the girl nearly did
throw up at the thought of that - actually having this horrendous man
inside her, especially BACK THERE, where she'd never even contemplated
putting a cock.
Jazz whirled the girl around so hard her head spun, and marched her
over to the nearest table. He cleared the clutter of glasses and
ashtrays from the surface and bent the girl over it. The skin of her
wounded breasts clung to the sticky beer rings on the old varnished
wood as she felt him cutting off her wadded panties and yanking them
painfully away from her.
She could feel him pulling her ass cheeks apart, and moaned as his
fingers dug into her freshly-bruised skin. Jazz spit into his hand and
rubbed it over his thick, hard cock. The girl squealed as he lined the
head up with her tiny pink puckered hole, but as he thrust forward,
tearing into her, the pain was too much for her and she actually did
pass out for a second.
Jazz let out a roar of satisfaction as he plunged his cock into her
hole, leaning forward to grip her hair like reins as he fucked her
harder and harder. She came to as he was riding her, but immediately
wished she hadn't. It seemed to take him forever to cum, and it felt
like he was tearing her insides out with his turgid cock.
After an age, Jazz let out a groan and pulled his cock from her. She
could feel his hot seed dripping out of her ruined sphincter and
running down the backs of her legs. She gasped for air, whimpering
with the pain still throbbing inside her.
Jazz wiped his cock on the remains of the girl's panties and tucked it
back into his jeans. Then he seized the chain around her neck again
and gave it a tug.
"Come on, cunt, we're just getting started," he said. He led her over
to Mungo, the enormous man he'd talked to earlier. "I think it's time
we broke in this cunt's cunt, don't you, Mung?"
Mungo nodded with a lecherous grin. He was wearing sweat pants, and he
hauled down the waistband to reveal a huge purple cock, large even in
proportion to the rest of him.
"I bet this cunt's nice and tight," he said, grabbing the girl by the
tits and lifting her off the ground. She found her voice again,
shrieking and struggling and trying to kick him. Mungo laughed and
threw her onto the pool table. "Ooh, feisty," he said with a grin that
exposed several missing teeth.
"Please stop, please, I can't take any more, you're killing me!" The
girl's voice was breaking with sobs as she pleaded with him.
"Oh, girly, you don't have any idea how far we can go before we're
`killing' you," Mungo said. He stood between the girl's legs,
spreading them farther than she'd had any idea they could go, and
rubbed the head of his massive cock against her dry slit. "This is
gonna hurt you way, way more than it hurts me," he said with a
chuckle. And with that he plunged it in, grunting with satisfaction at
the way the terrified girl's muscles clamped around his hard pole. He
was in her a long time, ten minutes or more, gripping her tits and
using them to drive himself into her harder and harder.
"P-please s-s-s-top!" she wailed as he rode her hard, the pre-cum from
his cock finally beginning to lubricate her somewhat. She wasn't a
virgin by any means - in fact had laid half her high school by the
time she'd got to her senior prom, and now that she was in college
she'd slept with several of her classmates and a couple of teachers as
well. But that had been consensual, and they'd never hurt her - and
none of them had cocks the size of Mungo or even Jazz, who was no
slouch himself. This was just - well, it was disgusting. How could she
even look at herself in the mirror after she'd been had by such
horrible men?
After Mungo finally came inside her - had she remembered to take her
Pill that morning? She might have missed yesterday too, she thought
with something like nausea - he moved aside and Jazz pulled her to her
feet, running his huge callused hands over and over her bruised and
tortured body.
"Let's string her up," he said, pinching her nipples between long,
ragged fingernails. "I still see a few places without marks."
Someone produced a length of rope, and Jazz removed the terrible chain
from around her neck. Her relief didn't last long, though, as he
looped it down around her tits and wrapped them tightly before looping
the rope back up around her neck and tying it over the rafters. She
dangled from her tits, now swollen and purple, her sore feet only
grazing the floor if she stretched all the way to her tiptoes, which
was nearly impossible in the tortuous red shoes. The rope around her
neck wasn't nearly tight enough to choke her - just enough to keep
from her body's weight tearing her tits right off her body, although
it felt like that was going to happen anyway. She wasn't distracted by
that for long, though, because the next thing she knew Jazz and five
or six other men were removing their heavy leather belts and
approaching her.
"We'll take it in turns," Jazz said. "Five strokes apiece, anywhere
you want, then the next guy goes."
Wildly the girl did the math. They were going to whip her with their
belts - what, seven of them? That was thirty-five lashes. Could she
stay conscious that long? She hoped not. She prayed to pass out after
just one or two strokes.
She dangled for a few seconds before they started, feeling the cum
dripping out of her holes and caking on her legs, her tits in agony,
her calf muscles cramping desperately.
Jazz himself delivered the first blow, right across her belly. He was
good at this, knocking the wind right out of her and leaving a massive
red welt across her soft white skin. The next lash came across her
already-red buttocks, sending her swinging. The third fell over her
tits, the fourth across her upper thighs. For the fifth, Jazz had two
of the men grab her ankles and spread her legs, which gave her a
moment of respite as it took the pressure off her tits. But it didn't
last long, as his fifth lash came right up between her legs and landed
on her sensitive cunt lips. She yowled like a stuck cat, beyond words.
"Ooh, she liked that one," one of the men said, laughing. "Listen to
that singing voice."
The next man decided to use the buckle end of the belt, leaving huge
bruises on her tits and belly that felt like they went right through
to the bone. The third had a thicker belt than the first two, and just
when the girl thought the pain couldn't get any worse, the fourth had
a studded belt.
By the time the seventh man had finished - he used the buckle end of
his belt as well - the girl was teetering on the edge of
consciousness.
She didn't have time for the luxury of passing out, though, as Jazz
immediately cut her down and paraded her around the room again on
those impossibly high heels.
"Please, just let me go now. I can't take any more, please, it hurts
so much," she wailed.
The men laughed at that as she walked past them. Some of them put out
their cigarettes on her skin. Another dripped wax from the tabletop
candles over her swollen purple tits. They were all reaching to touch
her now as she passed by, groping, pinching, squeezing, trying to
reach between her legs. When she'd finished a complete circuit of the
room, Jazz stood on a chair, still holding the rope that bound her
tits and throat, and announced that the evening's formal program was
over.
"The cunt will stick around for the rest of the evening and offer her
services, but you can all go back to what you were doing if you like."
There was a round of applause that turned into a standing ovation.
Jazz stepped off the chair and looked the girl in the eye.
"If you want to survive this night, here's what's gonna happen now,"
he said. "Your task is to make every man in this room cum inside or on
your slut body at least once tonight. So you're going to crawl around
the room and ask every man in here if they want to use you. They can
do whatever they want to you, understand? And it's no good asking them
for mercy or to let you go, because I'll be watching, and besides,
there's no way any of these bastards are gonna risk going to jail for
a filthy cunt like you. If, at the end of the night, you've made every
single man in this room happy, I might consider letting you go.
Understand?"
"Y-yes, Sir," she managed. It was the most revolting thing she'd ever
heard - crawling around degrading herself for these - these - rapists.
But it was her last and only chance of survival. The girl dropped to
her knees and, shuddering, crawled naked across the sticky,
beer-stained floor to the first table. There were four men at it, one
of them the same man who had jerked off on her tits at the beginning
of the evening. She felt the bile rise in her throat along with her
voice: "P-please, Sirs, would you like to, ah, use my - uhh, body?"
They laughed uproariously at that, putting on fake British accents and
mocking her.
"Ohh, the cunt wants to know if we would like to use her body." One of
them kicked her hard, his steel-toed bood slamming up between her
legs.
"Sure, cunt," he said coldly. "We'd love to fuck your worthless slut
body. Get up on the fucking table."
He picked her up by the hair, threw her backward across the table and
pulled his already-hard cock out of his pants. She barely had time to
register the fact that he'd jammed it into her sore, stretched asshole
when a second cock slapped her hard across the face, a drop of precum
splashing into her eye.
"Open wide, slut." And the hard pole slid deep into her throat.
The night went on forever, it seemed. The sore, exhausted girl crawled
from table to table, offering herself to a seemingly unending line of
horny men. A few of them, she realized with horror, had recovered
enough to use her a second or third time - she'd had cocks in her
mouth, cunt and ass, and had jerked what seemed like an impossible
number of men off by hand. There was dried cum spattered across her
face, in her hair, her ears and eyes, and twice, when she'd choked on
a spurting cock in her mouth, cum had dripped out her nose. Several
men had wanted to fuck her tits, pressing her bound udders together
and cumming across her upper chest. And every time she managed a look
up, there was Jazz standing off in the distance, playing pool or darts
or drinking a beer, but always with one eye on the girl's progress,
making sure she was pleasing his friends.
Outside the bar, the sky was starting to get light, and the girl
noticed that some of the bar's patrons were beginning to drift away.
By seven in the morning there were only a handful left, and most of
them were passed out in various locations across the bar. Finally,
after her last rapist had relieved himself up her cunt, the girl found
herself alone with her kidnapper. He came over and picked her up off
the floor by the hair, untying the rope that bound her now dark purple
tits. She'd been in the bar for twelve hours.
"That wasn't bad," Jazz said, looking her over with a half-smile on
his face. "Come on, then, cunt, let's go."
He dragged her outside, holding her cum-soaked hair in his hand, but
she didn't struggle. He piled her into the trunk of his car and drove
for a couple of hours .

The dazed, nearly catatonic girl was found wandering in the woods a
few weeks later, miles from anywhere and naked except for a pair of
four-inch spike heeled red shoes. The hikers who found her brought her
into town, where there was nothing to be done but have her committed
to a local asylum. She was never identified - there was no way of even
knowing what part of the country she'd come from, and the closest she
came to speaking was babbling and screaming in her sleep.
The baby she gave birth to nine months later was adopted by a local
couple, who always said there was something strange about the boy -
something about the look in those steely grey eyes of his.

*the end*


This is meant to be the first part of a loosely-connected series of
stories. The author welcomes any insight, comments, questions or
suggestions related to this work: worthlesspainslut@hotmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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