Too Much, Too Soon

Dian had yet another drink paid for. That was why she came to bars; not for the drinks, but for the control her beauty gave her over men. And she knew well of the effect, as she had developed it over many years.
The child of a strict religious upbringing, Dian had walked away from her family and faith at 18. She had been Class President, Head Cheerleader, Valadictorian, and Team Mascot. She had also been voted by her female peers as the "Girl Most Likely To", but by her male classmates as "Class Tease". Although she acted and dressed the part of most likely to, she never had.
That changed, of course, when she struck out on her own. Her six-foot frame carried a mane of red hair which shifted on the breezes down to her waist. Her vivid green eyes looked with disdain at the men appreciating her 42C-25-38 figure, especially when she wore the leather outfits she preferred. They attracted men; men who thought they could control her.
She was 25 now, and nobody had ever controlled her. She invited them to her home, tripped them and slid on the cuffs and gag. Teasing them with her body, pulling the zippers down just so far, she would display her deep cleavage and a whisp of red curls while she spanked them and cropped them, promising the moon, but never delivering. Then, when the victims were hard-cocked and begging, she would film them masturbating in front of her, laughing all the time. Concerned about the videos, the men would never return.
Dian would venture out again the next night, to once again get her jollies teasing the men. But tonight she made a mistake, for she had played the game once too often. She walked into the bar, and it fell silent. Preening herself, thinking she was in the spotlight of a room full of anxious men, she inched the zipper down yet again, ready to engage in her personal diversion once more.
The bartender flipped on all the cleaning lights, and began to close the shades. Near the door, the lock was flipped and two men stood to block it. All the other exits, even to the toilets, were blocked as well.
Her victim from the night before, a broad-shouldered blonde giant with a beard who she had said looked like a goat stood in mid-room, facing her. Other men gathered, and she realized with a start that all had been her victims in the past.
"Hello, Dian," he said softly. "Tonight it will be the men who direct the game, not the tease. We're ready to make you finally pay up on all the promises you've made with your words, and with your body. Now strip!"
Odd, she thought. The "Now Strip!" had been echoed in unison by the rest of the men, just the way she said it to her victims. Not that they would see her, of course, tonight or ever. Nobody ever did. She turned and tried to leave, but the two men at the door grabbed her by the upper arms and made her turn around. Another, one she had especially humiliated because he was sunken chested, weak chinned, and had a tiny cock, reached up and pulled her jacket zipper to the waist. She tried to kick him away, but he had expected that and danced out of range of her feet.
A dozen or more grabbed her by the leathers and tore them from her. Her underclothes were torn away and she was taken over to a table where several ties had been used to make bonds for Dian. Bound quickly on her back, her arms were bound straight out, while her legs were tied so her heels were against her bottom cheeks, then spread widely. All the intimate secrets she'd hidden since menarche were displayed for all the lusting, angry men she had victimized.
The little man who had unzipped her was given first crack at her, and he was shocked to find his cock red with virgin blood. He was followed by all the men in the place, raping one hole or the other until they were played out.
By this time, Dian was deep in shock. She'd never experienced intercourse before, and certainly not anal! Hoping that it was over, she held still as the men lifted her from the table. But no, they retied her hands and hung her from the hook they used for the punching bag or tackling dummies that decorated the place for sporting events.
Two men approached her; one with a heavy whip, one with a stiff cane. They began to beat her with it, continuing until their arms were tired, and turning the weapons over to another pair who kept on, and so forth. Repeatedly asked if she surrendered to them, she said, "Where are the real men who want to hurt me? You weaklings just tickle!" Her attitude stayed with her to the last, eventually she could answer no longer, as the damage from the rapes and beatings had killed her.
Dian's soul, of course, spent no time waiting for St. Peter: her lifetime of cruelty had long ago condemned her to become a minion of Hell, suffering all the torments of the damned.
The Imps and Demons enjoyed their work with her, as she had brought her attitude along and sassed them without stop. Finally, the Chief Tormentor was called to make this soul suffer, and he presented her with the worst he could imagine (far too evil and horriffic to describe, gentle reader; you must use your imagination).
The deeds were done, and yet she resisted. Satan was summoned himself.
King of Liars, Eater of Souls, he approached her soul in all his fearful glory. Even the Chief Tormentor fell back, awed by his terrible visage.
"How do you resist the surrender you must make here?" he asked.
Her response? "Where's the real torment? This just tickles!"

Copyright 2005 chksng19