I don’t often keep my slaves for very long. A few months is pretty much the longest they survive. Either I get tired of them and they no longer bring me pleasure, which insures their death in a slow and painful fashion as punishment for displeasing me in any way. Or they simply can’t stand the torture inflicted upon them for my pleasure and they wither away. Weakness tends to take most of them and yet this too makes my pussy wet, knowing that I wore them down physically and emotionally. Demonstrating my dominance and superiority yet again. However Val was with me for almost nine years. She was in her late 20’s when I “obtained her” I won her from a friend who had enslaved her a few months before she became mine. When I first won Val I inflicted as much pain as I could upon her to test her will. Each time she surprised me. Torture that had caused others to pass out, cry, plead and beg for mercy, she took with a glassy look in her eyes, rarely flinching and never, ever crying out. She challenged me each and every time to push things further, to find more ways to inflict more pain. The constant challenge she presented brought me earth shattering orgasms and spawned more deviant ways to torture her. Yet each time she withstood my abuse, and I would cum not only from the pleasure of torturing her but from admiration of her resolve. After having her for about a year she happened to get pregnant when a close friend won the chance to fuck her in a poker game one night. Fuck I was pissed when she started showing and I stepped up the torture for the rush of watching her loose the fucking thing at my hands. But true to form Val didn’t loose it, she had that little fucker and to my delight it was a girl. I made sure it was well cared for because if this little fucking thing had half of what her mother did in guts and fortitude she would be an excellent second generation slave. Over the years the mother/daughter duo has provided me with many hours of pleasure. Val died last week and I have to say I felt a slight twinge of sadness, but knew I still had her offspring. As a slave she certainly was not getting buried or getting any type of ceremony honoring her life or service. However I did feel like I wanted to keep a piece of her. So I gutted and skinned her, feeding her flesh to her daughter over the last week. I bottled her blood and stretched and dried her skin. I have cut her skin into pages creating a book bound by her dried intestines and using her blood as ink. I have begun to pen some of the most horrific moments of our time together to enjoy in the future. I am naming it “Valley of Death”
Angie
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