She realized that all she had on was a torn slip, torn in some previous encounter she could only vaguely remember, but it had been horrible.

Then, slowly the man came down the stairs, one step at a time, pausing at each one. In the shaft of light, he could see her, but still he was only an outline in the darkness to her. He reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Well, my little girl, have you recovered?" he asked in a menacing voice.

He put a light on and she blinked. He was wearing an open shirt and tight leather pants. Pants that outlined clearly the most enormous cock, standing up, reaching to his waist, straining to get out of his pants.

He walked up to the chair, stood arrogantly in front of her. She pleaded for him to let her go, but he just chuckled softly and reached out, pulling the ripped fabric of her slip away from her tits and taking one of her nipples between two of his fingers. She sobbed and then screamed as he twisted her nipple hard, writhing against the ropes until they held her and threw her back. Without any hurry, the man moved to her other tit, running his hand gently over it, pushing the ruined slip out of the way. She wept and pleaded, staring all the time at the huge cock level with her face. The pressure on her nipple increased until she was weeping, her body thrashing in the chair. She was utterly vulnerable to anything he wanted to do to her.

On the bed, Sally rolled, one hand in her mouth where her teeth bit down, holding in the screams of orgasm she knew would otherwise reach John in the bathroom. The other hand worked at her nipple, squeezing it, pinching for all she was worth. She hated herself for this, but she couldn't stop it. At the point of orgasm, the vision always took over. Always the man in leather, always the huge cock about to violate her. Always.