Competition Breeds Excellence in Captivity

At a glance, Zarina’s physical condition did not seem to be improving much by the end of her first month, however it was no longer getting noticeably worse. The most grievous of her injuries were at least slowly healing, and no longer visibly causing her additional pain. She could bear to put weight on her previously broken bones. I liked to think that halt of the decline was because she now could fuck or otherwise work her way out of some torture, and I was also becoming more efficient as a torturer. While Zarina’s body was no longer deteriorating in extremis, her psyche was still being beaten down.

  Zarina was crying almost all the time, even when I wasn’t actively hurting her. Most worrying to me was that the light in her eyes seemed to be fading. Upon being woken up, she recoiled away from me and tried to cower as far as her restraints would allow. Then during the day Zarina no longer displayed any reaction when she saw or heard that she was about to be tortured. I really missed that. Zarina could reliably repeat the rote thanks for raping or torturing her. But needless to say, Zarina’s heart audibly wasn’t in it, no matter how I beat her for the unconvincing masquerade. 

I had no doubt that Zarina was still giving everything she had during sex and the challenges I set for her, but her energy level and strength had dropped precipitously since I had kidnapped her. This meant less fun for me. After a while, even I could not bring myself to punish Zarina further when she was obviously pushing her body as far as it would go. 

Unfortunately for Zarina, I did not want to rein in my sex drive or sadism. So I thought it was time to start testing out the second part my hypothesis: that mental well-being required me to occasionally treat Zarina like a normal person. I wished to begin building an uneasy kind of rapport. Yes, we had been speaking to each other for almost half her time now as my slave, but our communication had been confined to me ordering her to do things that she hated.

As you read, this was my working assumption from the outset. However, I had been waiting until Zarina’s spirit was sufficiently broken and that she would not try to escape or harm me. I only took a couple of psychology classes in college, but I was sure that there was such a thing as a person being too badly broken. FBI agents and detectives have been driven to seek counseling and even commit suicide from just listening to audio tapes the likes of what Lawrence Bittaker and Roy Norris did to Shirley Lynette Ledford. Imagine how being the victim can warp one’s sanity.

The final sign that Zarina’s depression was becoming our biggest problem was how she had gone from exclaiming that the torture was killing her, to quietly pleading for me to kill her. The first time I heard that, I felt the need to immediately responded by telling her: 

“I don’t want to kill you. I want a pretty sex slave to fuck and torture.” 

Zarina wailed and could not bring herself to look at me the rest of the hour. But once her mind resorted to this terminal solution, she began to repeat this entreaty almost daily. Through her tears I could see now that Zarina had accepted there would be no other way out from the pain and misery of this life. Thus, now I believed I had to start giving Zarina hope and a measure of control over what happened to her each day. It would not be much to live for, but she could not go on being a helpless victim with no agency forever.

For this initial conversation, I did try to avoid referring to her as ‘Throatfuck,’ to hint that I saw her as a human being too. More broadly, I chose to speak to Zarina differently than before, especially since most of our prior communication had been one-way. My expectations were low at the beginning: I was realistic enough to presume not much would change after one conversation. Building her will to live back up and to accept the life of a sex slave would be a gradual process that would take some time. 

The morning began, as usual, with me raping and hurting her. A counterproductive setup for any change—I know—but I still wanted a sex slave. Just not a despondent one who was slowly dying inside. During our first break of the day, I slowly introduced the change up to her: 

“Hey, you know you can talk to me, about anything. Not just when I want you to act like a slut or beg me to start, and then stop, hurting you.”

Zarina glowered at me. 

I prodded her, “For example, I’m sure you have questions.”

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME???!!!”

It was a start. My fundamental belief was that all good relationships are built on honesty, though of course only a sadist would ever describe our relationship as ‘good.’ Zarina’s question deserved a genuine answer:

“I know I’ve said it, and I am guessing you realized this long before that, but raping and torturing you is erotic for me.”

Zarina collapsed into a puddle of tears on the floor, barely holding on to my shrunken member. I let her sob there. My lust and sadism had been temporarily satiated just prior, so I held back from punishing her during this talk. 

She whined, “Please, just let me go….”

“But then I wouldn’t have a sex slave.”

Of course we had been over this many times before, so I was just reinforcing the principle. The conversation was going nowhere, but at least we were talking.

“I know from all outward appearances you must think I don’t care about you at all. But I want to understand you and hear your thoughts sometimes.”

Zarina sneered, “What do you care?”

“Just curious. We’re going to be spending all this time together.”

Zarina would not meet my gaze and silently tugged at my shaft for a little while. Finally, she said: “Ok, fine. What do you want to know?”

“Look, this cannot be construed as an interview. I don’t think it makes a difference to either of us right now if you tell me that you like long walks on the beach, or what your favorite movie is. I’m just trying to establish the principle that I am open to your feedback, as long as I can believe that it is honest.”

“Feedback?! On being raped and tortured you mean?! It’s the worst thing you can do to a woman!!!”

I let her shout at me, and then calmly responded: “That’s fair. I know that. But let’s use this as an example of the guidelines I am pointing out. I want you to trust that I won’t punish you for being angry with me. Now, I know this may seem to contradict what you’ve learned about how I enjoy you acting like a whore and a masochist, but that’s during sex. I know it’s an act, and that’s ok, because it’s still enjoyable for me. Just like how I presume that real actors have completely different personalities from the characters they play. But during breaks like right now, I will sometimes ask you for your thoughts on what we just did.”

Zarina looked up at me quizzically, “Wait, so you do want me to tell you how to better rape and torture me…?”

Then she added, “Let me put this in common English: fuck you.”

I shrugged it off, “It’s good for you to vent.” 

Zarina’s hatred was well-founded. People have begun campaigns of genocide for less. It also occurred to me that this was the first time she cursed at me when she was not in the throes of pain. An unintentional and tiny stepping stone towards truthfulness, in that she was willing to risk punishment?

“It would be unreasonable to expect you to ever stop hating me for what I have done to you. But listen for a minute: things are about to change for you, albeit just a little bit. Recognize that I am giving you the freedom to have some say in what happens to you. You are still my sex slave, but I’m defining your role here and the limits of our relationship, if anyone could call it that. Specifically, if you are honest with me about how you are feeling, then I will let you bargain with me and suggest an alternative or counteroffers. Of course I feel no obligation to accept your counteroffer, and you must know that you’re never going to be able to avoid pain and rape.”

“Hell of a deal,” Zarina scoffed.

“True. It’s not much. Let’s just see how this goes. Again, I know this only works if you can trust me. If I accept what you propose instead, I want you to believe that I will keep my word. Think about all the times I have offered you a choice of instruments or methods of torture. Have I ever broken my promise to only use the one you select as less painful?”

Zarina did stop to shuffle through her memories for a second, “No.”

“Ok. Good. Now it’s also apparent that you’ve picked up on the twisted things that excite me. So you should be able to come up with acceptable alternatives for how to make me climax or be punished. I may be delusional, but I really want this option to help you improve your own condition here, while still keeping me happy.”

I knew that being able to choose one’s own torture did not make it much better.  In real terms, I had modest expectations for how much this would improve Zarina’s mental state. Occasionally choosing torment that was easier to bear might let her body recover marginally more, but that was probably it. Eventually I suspected she would take advantage of my offer, as it was better than the nothing that she currently had. It was a chance to get what any torture victim ultimately wanted: to suffer less.  

Zarina was mulling over what I had been saying, “So my body’s ‘condition’ is the reason you’re offering me some say in how you’ll rape and torture me? This is all SO wrong.”

“Yes. I’ve said it before, but I hope you follow my logic that it’s in my long-term interest to keep my slave girl healthy and looking beautiful. What’s more, you being depressed like this is bringing me down too, and that makes it harder for me to enjoy the sex. I don’t expect you to be a great actress, and I have to imagine it’s hard for you to fake enthusiasm when you’re crying all the time. I think we both know your lack of eagerness and energy recently has been leading me to punish you, even more than I wanted to. So it’s in our mutual best interest to figure out how to improve your mental state.”

“Well, you know what would really improve my mental state?” 

I think Zarina was being sarcastic with me, but, if so, it was the first time. Another kind of progress I guess.

“I don’t mind you being sarcastic with me either. It’s a kind of honesty.” 

Zarina did not say anything. She stared up as if she was trying to see inside me. She would always be a victim here. But by granting her this slightest independence, I wanted her to begin feeling like she had some agency in this new life. She was not just a set of pretty holes and nerve endings that bad things happened to. Being able to talk to me about the only thing that mattered to her now would be just the start. I gathered my thoughts before continuing: 

“I know this is no consolation, but I think you have suffered enough. I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t enjoy it, but the cons in terms of what it’s done to you are starting to outweigh the pros. Besides, I’ve already tested out all of the different torture methods and equipment I have down here, a few times over, though you should expect I will come up with more. It doesn’t have to be as bad as it’s been. Allow me to adjust your expectations appropriately. I’ve admitted you that I think you’re suffering too much damage. I know this is fucked up, because I could simply stop doing these things to you. But since that’s not going to happen. Know this: simply put, I can only cum so many times in a day. Give me less reasons to punish you, and now you can occasionally suggest challenges and punishments of your own. Let’s see if this helps you at the margins, though I expect it will be at a glacial pace.”

Zarina muttered something under her breath in Azerbaijani. From her point of view, I doubted that it was much of a concrete change in her day-to-day life. She was still going to be raped and tortured several times a day. From now on, though, I wanted Zarina to realize that she had a voice. I hoped she would seize that small measure of control over her life. It was unrealistic to expect her spirit to improve immediately, but I hoped this was a start to getting her on a path to a sustainable state.

I kneeled down so that I was at eye level with her:

“Let’s try this out. What do you propose we do next?”

The hatred burned in Zarina’s eyes, but there was thinking. Her jaw slackened about as fast as it could.

“….I don’t know…anything but my breasts. They’re really sensitive—and not just because of what you’ve done to them—it’s a time of the month thing….”

“Ok. Deal. You come up with a suggestion or I’ll consider your breasts off-limits as long as you come up with other ways to keep me entertained.”

Zarina closed her eyes and nodded.