She was tied to the bed. Legs spread, fastened to a wooden post by a small length of chain attached to a black leather buckle around her ankle. She was sitting up slightly her wrists attached to her thighs by another set of black leather bracelets that connected her hands to her thighs, allowing her to only touch her pelvis and not being able to reach her pussy. Her small tuft of fur leading to her clit and opening that was already very moist. She had shoulder-length brownish black hair that fell in curls around her shoulder and neck. Round dark eyes with a narrow nose and full lips that were very moist and soft. Her breasts we round and hung slightly, pink nipples that were hardening, her breast heaved and she was getting excited, awaiting excitedly for what was going to happen. Her lightly tanned body was excited, her hips writhing slowly, she had curvy hips that gave way to slender legs, capped with toes that were washed in bright pink toenail polish.
The mistress
Standing next to the bed beside her was Georgia, wearing a black leather bra, panties, and black high heels. Her left hand was on her hip, her right leg slightly cocked, and in her right hand lightly tapping her leg was a black leather riding crop. She looked at Monique contemplatively, studying her body, looking at the swell of her stomach the patch of black hair that adorned her pussy. Monique’s nipples were hard and she was looking into Georgia’s eyes.
Georgia brought the end of the crop lightly onto the erect nipple, lightly tapping and sending Monique into a low moan and oohing. Monique arched her back jutting her breasts forward to enjoy the crop on her nipples. Georgia noticed this and teased the nipples mercilessly. Lightly touching them, barely touching the round pink flesh that protruded from her. Georgia slapped the nipples with her riding crop, Monique loudly exclaimed her delight, moving her hips and thrusting her pussy forward as if she was fucking an unseen cock.
Noticing her pussy swelling Georgia commanded “Don’t cum yet sweetness, I have a treat for you”
Monique moaned deeply, she was burning inside, wanting to let go, break through the wall that was holding her back. However, she didn’t want Georgia to stop either. The leather swatting her erect nipples was feeding her need to feel alive, feel every bit of everything around her. Being restrained only heightened her senses, she writhed against the bonds more, trying to exert some pressure on the sensation she felt between her legs.
“Trying to struggle are we” Georgia stated. A twisted grin on her face, she was running the crop in circles around the firm breasts and nipples. Georgia led the crop down her stomach to her belly button in between her thighs and along her legs. Monique squirmed and cooed.
“You know if you struggle you will only make this take longer”
Slap went the crop on Monique’s clit, a squeal emanated from Monique. Monique felt the warmth meeting the leather and wanted more. Monique wanted her pussy licked now, she wanted to feel naked skin against hers, she wanted Georgia to drape her nipples on her tongue.
Georgia continued “In fact, you have been a disobedient girl, you were flirting without me yesterday” Georgia continued to caress Monique’s nipples with the end of the riding crop, stiff, erect, and aching for touch. The firm round breasts heaved with Monique’s breathing, her dark eyes were fixed on Georgia, hungrily looking at her, Monique kept licking her lips, and turning her hips to feel something on her clit.
Monique saw Georgia turn and leave the room, Monique moaned, groaned, and writhed against the bonds, feeling the silk sheets beneath her, her pussy wet, dripping down to her ass. Monique heard some jingling of chains and could hear that Georgia was coming back to her. This excited Monique, she wanted to feel the crop, she wanted to feel the flog, the leather slapping against her body, the sensation of ecstasy that Georgia provided her. However, Georgia had a surprise for Monique.
Georgia entered the room leading a female by a chain that was attached to a collar around the neck. The female was bound behind the back, blindfolded and with a gag in her mouth. Her tits were supported by a black leather corset, large round breasts that bounced ever so slightly when she walked. She had light brown hair that was attached with a clip above her shoulders, just to make sure it didnt get in the way. Around her hips was a black leather thong, accentuating the long curvy hips. Attached to the thong was a large black strap on dildo, slightly curved it jutted out friendly in front of Georgia.
Her name was Constance, Georgia met her last week at the bookstore. She was younger than Georgia, not very experienced. As they talked, Georgia could tell there was a desire that was not fulfilled, a desire to experience pleasure, to have her body and mind pushed to the limits of pleasure. Georgia and Constance started talking about the health food-related books that they were browsing. Georgia commented favorably on Constance figure, Constance was wearing tight jeans that showed off her belly button ring, spiked heels, and a T-shirt that was two sizes too small, Georgia also noticed as they were talking that Constance nipples were erect, she wasn’t wearing a bra. Georgia saw the delicious opportunity to explore, to uncover this young woman’s desires and never hesitated. As they sat down for latte’s together Constance told Georgia about herself, her job(she hated it), her ex-boyfriend (jerk), and how she came to live in this town. After a while the conversation turned to sex, they began looking around at the people in the bookstore, how they thought the older guy in the fiction section looked like he had a hard-on, the two girls in the photography section giggling over the semi-nude pictures.
As they both took a sip from their latte’s, a comfortable silence come over them. Constance then said, “You know what my secret fantasy is ?”
Georgia looked at Constance and asked what it would be.
“Being tied up” Constance stated matter of factly, as a sheepish grinned crossed her lips.
Georgia smiled and replied “Just being tied up, or being tied up and having sex ?”
Constance paused for a second and stated “Tied up and having sex”
Georgia then described to her that she enjoyed that experience too, but said she found something deeper behind it all. She found a connectedness, and bond that forms between two persons, or three, when someone has to trust someone else completely and totally. Georgia related her own awakening to this realization, Georgia spoke of her first time being bound, letting someone else dominate and control her. Giving up control of herself and her physical safety to someone else. Constance was riveted, never before had she met someone such as Georgia, who had the answers to all her questions. They ended up talking for the rest of the day, then making out in Georgias car in the bookstore parking lot. After caressing her nipples and making her cum with her fingers Georgia told Constance to be at her place at 6pm tomorrow night. Excitedly Constance said “Yes mam”.
Constance couldn’t see anything, she could just feel. Her heart was racing, her body was almost quivering, she was excited. Blindfolded she had absolute trust in Georgia. She felt a closeness to her that she had never felt in life for anyone, she felt vulnerable and secure at the same time. Georgia’s smooth hands tingling her body, lightly skimming her round nipples, up her neck, and caressing her chin. Standing there with the gag in her mouth she was breathing slightly heavy, the anticipation of what was next was moistening her. She could feel the strap on dildo pressing her clit, exciting her more.
Georgia then went to the bed where Monique was squirming. Georgia unhooked her ankle straps and lifted Monique up so she was standing beside the bed. Monique’s hands still bound to her thighs, she was slightly stooped. Georgia then led Monique to the raised portion at the end of the bed and told Monique to rest against the soft leather on her stomach. As she did that, Georgia reattached her ankles to the two o rings on the underside of each bed post. Now Monique was bent over, hands to the sides securely attached to her thighs.
Georgia looked lovingly at Moniques ass, two round, supple pieces of flesh. She caressed them softly, squeezing each cheek gently. Georgia then ran a finger inside Moniques wetness.
“Ooh” Monique breathed “Please can I have more than just one finger, please, please”
“Quiet” Georgia cooed, “You will get your chance to cum baby”
Georgia then turned to Constance, she pulled the chain and led Constance to Monique. She guided Constance, and the strap on she was wearing up to Moniques ass. She was rubbing and stroking Monique, spreading her pussy, feeling her moisten and tighten around her finger. She guided the dildo into Monique. Monique groaned a long moan of pleasure, short wispy breathes belied her excitement and arousal. Georgia eased Constance into Monique filling her up with the dildo.
“Dont move baby” Georgia commanded Constance.
Georgia then crawled on the bed facing Monique, she grabbed the hanging nipples and lightly squeezed them.
Monique was moaning louder and more excitedly “Yes, yes, god it feels so fucking good” she gasped.
“Now Constance baby, slide it in slow” Georgia instructed her, “Slow, let the head stay there, allow her to really feel it” At this suggestion, Monique moaned and wiggled her ass to feel the firmness of the toy. She tried to lean into the strap on, but Georgia had her nipples firmly and wasn’t letting her move.
While Georgia was playing with Moniques nipples, Constance was sliding in and out of Monique’s wet pussy. Hesitant initially, Constance was getting quite wet herself, feeling the dildo against her clit, she increased her rhythm while maintaining her balance. Not being able to touch the body in front of her was creating more excitement than she thought possible. Constance began slamming into her, deeper with each thrust gyrating against Monique pushing her back and forth, swallowing the strap on. Georgia was playing with Moniques nipples, telling her what a gorgeous woman she was, how her body was similar to the Greek goddesses she was reading about all the time.
Monique was in ecstasy, her body shuddered, her moist, wet pussy was dripping down her leg, satiating the dildo, moaning, she begged for Constance to fuck her harder. She could feel the balloon filling, expanding, winding up like engines on a Boeing 747, takeoff was imminent. Taxiing down the runway, Constance too was getting ready to take off, she felt the floodgates getting ready to burst. In unison both Monique and Constance let loose a river of orgasm, both shaking, Constance knees buckling out from under her, Monique body, stretched and tight as a rubber band pulled to its extremes, released herself and became limp at the end of the bed. Constance stood back, breathing heavy, she exclaimed through her gag the muffled sounds “Oh god”.
Georgia got off the bed, walked over behind Constance and kissed her neck, rubbed her shoulders and leaned against her.
” You were excellent baby, just beautiful” Georgia then released the bonds that were holding her hands behind her, removed the gag, and a blindfold. She then turned Constance around, wrapped her arms around her, hands slid from lower back to her ass, cupping each cheek, lifted her ass up and said “Were just getting started, my baby”
I walk in the house, intending on finding My Girl. It’s been a long day, and my back is killing me, and I’m looking to unwind.
I had called her earlier that afternoon on my way home for her instructions. I smile slightly as I see her open the bedroom door, dressed as I asked her to. Her black collar around her neck, her curly redhead hair down, falling over her shoulders and back, wearing a white gingham dress and barefoot.
She gives me a radiant smile, and I walk up to her as she kisses my cheek. “Did you have a good day Mistress?” She asks softly, lowering her eyes and taking off my coat.
“It was fine, very long. Prepare the bath for us, I’ll fix dinner for us afterward. Did you thaw the chicken?”
“Yes Mistress, just like you asked me to. What else are we having, if I may ask?”
I smirk. “Besides the chicken, mashed potatoes, carrots, and…peas.”
She makes a face but quickly hides it as she turns to prepare the bath. I know she detests peas, but they are a favorite of mine, and I’m not about to do without them since she doesn’t like them. I can feed her the carrots anyway. I watch her prepare the bath, and I stand and wait for her to prepare it all.
She turns to me, watching me expectantly. I give her a slight nod, and she starts to unbutton her dress. The thin fabric slides easily away, revealing her white bra and knickers. She smiles coyly at me as she folds her dress carefully, setting it on the counter, then sliding her underwear down her legs.
I’m getting rather impatient now since I know she’s teasing me, and I turn her around forcefully by her shoulders and unclasp her bra. She sighs as I drop it to the floor at our feet. She’s a neat freak, but I like pushing her buttons. She turns around and meets my eyes as she starts to undress me.
She starts off by unbuttoning my shirt, then she kneels down at my feet to take off my shoes. I smile slightly, seeing her there, and she looks up at me, her eyes lighting as she sees my smile.
She stands again, setting everything properly on the counter, the room is filling with steam now, and the bath is getting full. I motion for her to get in, and I pull off the rest of my clothing quickly and join her.
The water is perfectly warm, just how I like it. I pull her closer and she starts to wash me. I sigh as I start to relax and unwind after the long day. Soon enough, it is her turn, and I wash her long auburn curls first, then sliding the soap over her shoulders and breasts.
She sighs in contentment as I wash the rest of her, closing her eyes as she leans into me. “Thank you, Mistress.” I run a hand over her cheek as I tighten my grip around her waist. “Thank you, baby.”
We get out of the bath and I towel her dry. I pull the white gingham dress on over her, forgoing the bra and panties. She giggles as I slap her ass. “I think you forgot something Mistress.”
I smirk. “Did I? Why, I don’t think I did…go set the table.”
She leaves the bathroom, and I grab my black dressing robe, throwing it on and going to the kitchen. I prepare dinner, and she comes in the kitchen. “I’m done, Mistress.”
I smile. “Go to your place at the table and wait for me.” She nods and leaves. I take my time finishing everything, bringing out the food to see her kneeling by my chair at the head of the table.
I sit down, and I prepare our plate. I give her a quick nod, and she settles in my lap. I put a bit of chicken on my fork and give it to her, watching as it is taken into her mouth. She chews and swallows, smiling at me. “Thank you, Mistress. It tastes good.”
I smile back, taking a bite myself. We continue on this way until we’ve had our fill. Afterward, we go into the kitchen, and I watch her clean these dishes. I can’t help myself but hold her tightly from behind, kissing up and down her neck as she washes the dishes. She shivers in my arms as I tighten my hold on her, pressing her against the counter. “Mistress?” She whispers.
I breathe into her hair deeply, sliding my hands up and down her sides. “How was your day today?”
I feel her swallow hard as I slide my hands down to her things, lifting her skirt slowly. “F-fine. I had some work to do in the greenhouse…” She trails off as I slide the skirt up to her hips.
“Yes?” I say, biting her neck teasingly.
“A-and I talked with my A-aunts today…” Her breath hitches as I pinch her thigh. “Mistress…do you wish for me to…to finish the dishes?”
I pull her hands away from the soapy water, toweling them dry. She meets my eyes with a smile. I put her skirt back down, patting her ass and motioning towards the bedroom. She giggles, running towards it. I follow her leisurely, pleased to see she’s already kneeling by the side of the bed.
I go over to the closet. “Get undressed.” She takes off her dress as I select a few things for play. She is already naked and kneeling once more by the time I return, and I admire her pale skin and gorgeous breasts.
“Get on the bed.” She sits on the edge quickly, eyes lighting up as she sees the toys in my hand. I smile and set them on the bedside table. I pull the tie from my dressing robe completely, letting it fall open, and I see her eyeing the tie with a smile. I move towards her, finally kissing her on the lips. She sighs as she relaxes in my arms. I put more pressure against her lips, sliding my hands up and down her back.
Soon, she’s shuddering and gasping as I kiss and nibble up and down her neck. Her legs have fallen open slightly, and I know she’s wet.
“What do you want darling” I whisper into her ear, making her pant and close her eyes.
“Touch me. Please. I’m so wet for you.” She gasps.
I just smile, pushing her to lie on the bed fully, using my robe tie to tie her wrists together to the headboard. I clip her leash onto her collar, and she smiles beautifully up at me. I kiss her gently, then pull off the rest of my robe.
I get on top of her, savoring how warm her skin is against mine, I feel her arch up into me just slightly, tilting her head back with a slight whine. “You want me to touch you, darling? Where do you want me to touch you?” I tease her by sliding my fingers up and down her arms and chest, in between her breasts. “Here?” She bites her lip, looking at me imploringly. Her breath hitches as my fingers go lower, sliding over her smooth shaved skin down below. “Here?” I whisper, delighted at seeing her nod needing, her legs just spreading a bit farther, exposing her sex.
“Please Mistress…please touch me.” She begs, and I start to trace my finger lightly around her folds. She shifts her hips with a groan, and I slap her thigh. “Now, now, don’t be impatient,” I say sternly. “Or I won’t touch you at all if you’re a bad girl.”
She nods, inhaling sharply as I slide a finger into her. I close my eyes for a moment, concentration on the feel of the warm wetness that surrounds it, trembling slightly as I lick my lips. She groans as I slip my digit into her channel. I move in and out slowly, teasingly, watching her face as it slowly starts to flush. I add another finger, moving a bit harder, putting a bit of force into it.
“Please…harder…faster, Mistress.” She groans, tugging slightly at the tie around her wrists. Her breasts are heaving now, and I take one of her nipples into my mouth as I start to move into her roughly. “Yes! Yes…fuck me, Mistress! I want you…I need you so bad…” She cries out, fucking herself against my fingers, moving her hips. I add another finger, making her inhale slightly, pausing the movement in her hips. I bite down hard on her nipple, making her cry out, moving her hips faster. I start to bite the skin around her breasts, down her stomach, leaving red teeth marks behind.
I move back up to pull on the leash, making her sit up slightly, harshly kissing her. She whimpers as I slip my tongue between her lips, our tounges meet, sliding against each other. I fuck her harder as I pull away, adding a fourth finger. I lick my lips as I press my thumb into her other hole, and she stiffens and gasps, eyes wide. I lean over and grab the vibrator, thrusting it into her ass, making her eyes roll to the back of her head as I turn it on. “Fuck!”
I move my fingers and the vibrator at the same time, she’s begging to cum now, but I wont let her, not until I know she’s at the edge. I’m close myself, but I’ve got plans for that later. I take my hand off the vibrator, leaving it there for now as I grab the leash once more, snapping it against her thighs, leaving a pink mark in its wake. Her legs convulse as she cries out. “Yes! Hurt me please!”
“Yes darling, you’re a little pain slut, aren’t you?” I growl, enjoying the satisfying snap as I strike her skin once more, crisscrossing the other mark. She arches her back, I go back to two fingers as I pump in and out of her, making her move up and down from the pressure, watching her breasts bounce and her arms tugging at the tie around her wrists, knowing she wants to touch me too…
“Please…please let me cum…” She begs finally, tears slipping out of her eyes. I kiss them away, licking my lips at the saltiness, then kissing her cheek. “You may cum.” I whisper into her ear, my lips tracing her earlobe.
And she does. Her cum shoots out onto my thighs as she cries out, making me groan and rub against her, reveling in her wetness, taking my fingers out of her and rubbing my own wet sex against her thigh. “Such a good girl, My Girl…” I whisper, moving my hands quickly to untie her wrists and turn off the vibrator, taking it out.
I pull her close, kissing her heavily as I am still rubbing against her, flipping us over so that she’s on top of me. “Get down there,” I growled, yanking her by the hair. She moves down, getting in between my legs, still trembling from her own orgasm. I set myself up on some pillows as I watch her start to lick my hips, stomach, and thighs, cleaning her cum from me. I twine her hair around my hands, my fingers running through her scalp as I pull her down to meet my sex. I groan as she works her tongue inside me, and I push her head a little harder. Her fingers tighten their grip on my thighs as our eyes meet. I smirk, tugging slightly on her hair.
She works me over quickly, I couldn’t last too much longer, and I cum into her mouth and face. I pull her up quickly to kiss her hard, tasting ourselves on each other’s tongues. She sighs as I wrap my arms around her tightly when we catch our breath. Our eyes meet, and I kiss her forehead, her cheekbones, her eyelids, and finally her lips gently. “I love you, My Girl,” I whisper, holding her tight.
Tears are still in her eyes as she holds me just as tightly back. “I love you, Mistress.”
She wore nothing but sheer white crotchless panties. She knew they contrasted beautifully to her golden skin. The girl was tightly bound face up on the bed– her arms were pinned to the sides of the bed with leather cuffs, and her legs were cuffed to the corners of the posts. She wore a white-feathered mask over her eyes. Her Mistress had told her that she would be tested this night, and her nipples were already swollen and hard with anticipation.
The Lady returned. The girl could hear her opening and closing the door. The Lady had brought someone with her. She strained to hear their muted voices as they whispered back and forth. A soft gentle music began to play and the girl felt someone’s hands on her. Warm and scented they began to glide down her chest. They circled around her breasts, down her stomach, and across the tops of her thighs. They removed her panties. The girl couldn’t tell if they belonged to the Lady or the other. As the hands continued to massage her, she decided that she didn’t care whose hands they were. The hands continued to massage lower and lower all the way down to her feet. They released tension and stress the girl hadn’t realized she’s been holding. As the hands moved up, they worked out knots in her calves. The warm oiled fingers moved back up to her torso. Unexpectedly, her nipples were pinched hard. They were plucked until the peaks were stiff and standing proudly!
The girl bit her lips and moaned as she had been told not to cry out loud or cum until she was given permission. The hands retreated from her breasts, massaging her as they had before. Over her stomach and down her thighs the hands oiled her, leaving a warm and scented trail. The hands moved closer to the open vee of her legs and the girl lifted her hips in invitation. A single oiled finger moved down the cleft of her mound. Again the girl lifted her hips but the finger moved away. The girl groaned in her frustration.
Something cold and wet touched her lips, a sliver of ice. As the ice slipped into her mouth a warm wet tongue followed it. The girl tasted and knew it belonged to the Lady. Their tongues dueled for a few moments, then the Lady’s tongue moved lower to the girl’s jaw and then her neck. The Lady nibbled and sucked the girl’s neck raising goosebumps. As the Lady nipped her, the girl once again felt hands on her breasts. They circled her nipples and tweaked them. The girl arched up hoping they would pull her nipples harder. They were pinched and pulled severely and the girl loved the pain it caused. Just as the girl was beginning to truly luxuriate in the pain, everything stopped. The hands moved away, the Lady left her neck, and the music stopped. The girl almost wept.
The girl was moved. She was rolled onto her stomach, her knees were drawn up and her hands were pulled forward. She has bound to the bed again. The music came on, this time it was harsher. Cymbals thundered and drums thrummed a primal beat. The girl squealed as she felt a tongue on her pussy. It moved from the base up to the top of her clit. As soon as it reached the tip, she felt the first whiplash. She didn’t know whether to groan because of the sting or moan due to the tongue. She tried to arch up into the sting of the whip, but she was bound too tightly. She could only wait. The lips had moved up to her nipples. They were sucked and nibbled almost too gently. It frustrated her. The whip came again, and she tried to move in such away so that it would last longer. She truly loved the feeling of the lashes on her back. She loved hearing the crack it made as it was lowered to her. She also remembered what the Lady had said about being tested. She reveled in proving her worth. The 3rd.the 4th…. the 5th lash fell…she wanted it to continue as every time the whip came down, either her pussy was fondled or her nipples were tormented. She wallowed in the sensations. The smell of the leather tips, the sting that they produced, the hands-on her pussy, the lips on her nipples. all combined into a frenzy of sexual heat. She wanted, needed the release of cumming. She knew that the Lady knew of her heat, she always did.. She began moaning. she was supposed to be quiet, but the yearning was too strong. The girl began to beg. she needed to cum..she needed to tell the Lady how good, how hot she made the girl feel. The Lady had told her that she couldn’t cum until she had permission. She needed to hear the words. the words that would make everything all right. The girl moaned louder trying to move..to jam her poor hot pussy against the fingers that slammed in and out of her. She squealed as the lips moved away from her nipples. but emitted a low deep cry as the fingers were replaced with a hot hard object. The girl wasn’t sure what it was that probed her so deeply but she didn’t care. All she knew, as she slammed her dripping wet pussy up and down on it. It filled the empty space that was so in need. The girl felt hands on her hips…aahhh it was the other that the Lady had brought. It was a man’s cock exploring her hot little cunny. She tried to slam herself back against the cock, but she was cuffed to the bed and couldn’t move enough. The hands that had held her hips just a moment earlier moved to cover her breasts. Finally, the Lady said she had her consent to cum. Luxuriating in her helplessness she was pumped and ground into a screaming orgasm. She arched her back as much as she could and felt the throbbing and clenching in her pussy. As she came, the hands moved again and pulled and pinched her nipples, further inflaming her. They brought her to a peak she’d never felt before. Quivering and shaking the girl collapsed as much as her bonds would allow. The hard cock withdrew from her. Her bonds were released. She was cuddled tenderly until she came back down to earth.
Once again, ice passed her lips. Warm and tangy, the same tongue followed the ice. The girl was loved and petted. The Lady was obviously not upset that the girl had not been quite as she had been told; she felt the happiness of the Lady. The girl realized that she was sandwiched between the Lady and the other. The cock was throbbing against her ass. The girl hoped that the test was not over yet, she still felt the need to prove her worth. She recognized that it wasn’t when the Lady told the other to move the girl back to her first position.
She was bound back to the bed, face-up, with her arms and legs cuffed firmly again. A weight was put on her chest. She recognized it….it was the other. He seated himself on her breasts facing her. She felt the hardness of his cock against her lips. He brushed it back and forth teasing her with the smell of it. The girl licked as much of it as she could reach. Up and down, she tasted him. She opened her mouth hoping he would give it all to her; he did. Sliding most of his cock inside her mouth, she tongued down the entire shaft. She delighted in hearing his moan as she sucked back up to the tip. As he fed her his cock, she felt her cleft being touched again. Her lips were spread wide and she could feel fingers being inserted. Her juices began to run again. She lifted her hips as the fingers slid in and out of her cunny. Between sucking the rock hard cock and having her pussy toyed with she got hotter and hotter. She began to make gurgling noises, all that she was capable of, with the cock in her mouth. The other moved and withdrew his cock from her straining mouth. He poured oil over her tits and shoving them together, started to fuck them. Squeezing her tits tightly, he ground his hard cock through the space that was left. The girl was downcast that he had not cum in her mouth, but the fingers moving in and out of her pussy canceled some of those feelings. As the fingers jammed in and out, her pussy started to throb. Once again, she needed her release. She moaned and bucked her hips, inviting the invasion of the others. Again, she begged the Lady to cum. This time the Lady wouldn’t give permission. The girl was shaking, needing to have an orgasm. Just as the girl thought she could no longer stand the pleasure, the other moved and slammed his cock into her. The Lady gave her the words she was so desperate to hear. Cumming hard, the girl screamed her fulfillment. One last time the cock slammed into her. One last time the other jerked and came. The man pumped her until she was spent. Again, the girl was loved and petted until she came back to earth. When she was capable of thought, she hoped she had pleased her Lady. The Lady speaking softly and tenderly assured her, she had
“Come here, bitch,”
`
The order is sharp and matter of fact. The girl switches off the water in the kitchen and immediately comes to her side. Although they are not usually so formal at home, the girl can hear in her tone that kneeling would be the appropriate course of action. She slips, gracefully, to her knees and looks up at her Lady, waiting to hear what she will be told.
Her Lady smiles at the gesture; Her slave, who listens intently to read her needs. Who seeks to please and give her what she wants, even in the smallest of gestures. She will have the chance to do so later. Her Lady has been plotting quite an evening of amusement for herself. A day really. She smiles to herself.
“Life is good,” she thinks as she leans back in the desk chair and listens for a moment to the birds. She looks down at the girl and raises an eyebrow, simply to see her blush and squirm. Instantly, the flush raises in her cheeks and her shoulders curl. Instantly, she’s wide open and an inch high. The girl giggles nervously. She can’t help herself. Her Lady knows the meaning of this giggle very well. She’s feeling tiny. Miniscule. Torn open. Exposed. Delicious, her Lady thinks. Her sweetness. Her vulnerability. The slight glisten on her olive skin.
“Finished with the dishes?” her Lady inquires.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Good, go upstairs and bathe. Shave. Scrub yourself, inside and out. I want you pristine. Got it?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the girl replies and instantly rises to do her bidding once the Lady offers an almost imperceptible nod of her head. But, the girl sees it and understands. She heads up the stairs, trying hard to make no noise, and enters the bathroom where she bathes herself thoroughly and shaves until she’s as smooth everywhere as baby skin. Because it is her will. Because she prefers her property, clean, bare, exposed to her, and pleasant to touch. When she’s finished, she steps out of the tub and on to the bath mat. She wraps a towel around her body and one around her hair to prevent any dripping on the carpeting. She brushes her teeth and makes sure her eyebrows are well-groomed. She looks in the mirror and is pleased with the results. Her skin has that after scrub glow and she feels smooth to the touch. She smells like black currant vanilla, one of her Lady’s special favorites. She applies lotion of the same scent to ensure the smell lingers, careful to rub it everywhere so that her skin remains milk soft for her Lady’s pleasure. As always, she wishes to appeal to all of her Lady’s senses. And it is with this desire for her Lady’s pleasure in mind that she completes the grooming ritual. She neatly hangs her towel up to dry, cleans out the grey porcelain of her Lady’s bathtub, and returns to the bedroom to dress.
To her surprise, her Lady is waiting, and she has laid out clothing for Her slave on the bed. This is unusual. Her Lady generally only selects Her slave’s outfits when She has a desire to play dress up or wishes her dressed a certain way when they are going out to play. However, according to her Lady, they will be going shopping. She needs a new red dress and shoes for the evening. Her slave is excited that they will be shopping for Her. She so rarely treats herself and She deserves it. She’s always thinking of others before herself.
The Lady smiles at her slave and arches an eyebrow. The girl squirms, once again. She’s certain her Lady’s eyes can see inside her heart and mind. Under her Lady’s hand, she has grown out of the urge to cover herself and the need for the carpet to swallow her whole. She still has to fight the urge to fidget, especially as she knows her Lady prefers her to stand still.
She is not there for a minute before a hold is taken of her hair and she’s taken down to her knees. Her Lady walks rapidly, and she has to crawl quickly to keep up with Her. Although the girl cannot see, the Lady smiles, amused by the way her hips wiggle as she moves, petlike, to keep pace. She’s led down the stairs and into the basement, where the couch has been covered by stretcher sheets and the table has clearly been prepared, with what the girl cannot see. Her Lady pats the couch and the girl obeys the wordless command. She climbs up and perches back on her heels. Her eyes adjust to the darkness; the white paneling of the walls comes into focus, and her nostrils fill with the familiar scent of Her, of that space.
She pats a spot on the floor and the girl kneels.
“Lay down, pet,” She commands, and, instantly, She is obeyed. The girl lays down and does not resist as her Lady pulls her legs apart.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Ready for what? The girl does not know, but it hardly matters. She is ready now. She is always ready. If it pleases her Lady, there is nothing she wouldn’t do. It does not even occur to her to think that these words frequently preface tremendous pain. And today will be no different. Still, pain seems inconsequential when compared to her Lady’s pleasure.
She is surprised to feel cold between her legs. It precedes the brief moment of painful insertion and fullness.
“No lube I felt was necessary, I knew my dirty little whore would take it for me regardless,”
“Yes Ma’am,” she replies. Take what? Clearly something has been inserted, but the girl has no idea what. All of a sudden she jumps as she feels intense vibration. It catches her by surprise as it stimulates THAT spot. She moans as the vibration grows stronger and stronger, edging towards release…
“If it pleases you, Ma’am, may your…” but as she begins to beg, sensation stops, and the girl is left to breathe through the pressure and fullness of unreleased ache. Everything has happened so quickly. Device inserted. Sensation applied. Sensation removed. She can’t even think about the hows and whys? What has she inserted? How has she controlled it? What is she going to do?
As her Lady uncovers the supplies on the table, the question answers itself. Medical supplies and a 3.0 suture have been laid out like surgical implements. And the girl’s mind comes to rest upon a threat her Lady had once made.
“I’m going to put something in you, sew you shut, and take you out like that.”
As with so many things, the threat is about to become a reality. The girl whimpers a bit in thinking about how painful being sewed shut will be. She finds any sort of pain inflicted on her delicate bits to be intense. Sutures will be…she shudders, but instantly lets go of the fear. It is Her pain, after all, Her will, and therefore not to be fought. She closes her eyes and tells herself that pain and fear mean nothing, all that matters is her Lady’s pleasure. She lets go of every thought but this. She closes her eyes and immerses herself in Her. In her pleasure. In the scent of her, that reminds the girl that she is home. In the twinkle in her eyes as her sadistic need is fed. In the way She hums as she sews and the blood begins to flow.
“Don’t forget to breathe girl, you know this will hurt.” With that, she begins, and the girl’s world reduces down to the stinging pain as the suture is inserted and slowly pulled through the flesh of her labia. The girl quiets and focuses her mind away from the intensity of the pain and towards Her pleasure. Relax. Accept it. It is her desire and her will. It hurts Intensely so. And she sews slowly. With purpose. The tears fall and form, but the girl does not resist. She opens herself to the pain, allows it to flow through her. She is Hers. Her property. Her toy. Therefor Her pleasure and to fill Her needs. At the moment, her sole purpose is to be stitched for her Lady’s amusement. To suffer at her hand. Suffer she does, and amused She is. She, indeed, hums softly as she sews, smiling as the needle dulls and the sting grows sharper. As the girl’s tears flow harder. As she sees her little flower close up its petals, hiding away the little jewel she has placed inside. As her glee becomes tangible. Oh the fun she will have today.
“Ok kitten, all set. Go on upstairs and get dressed. Your clothing is on the bed.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” she replies. Her voice a throaty whisper. Her Lady smiles to hear the pain She has inflicted manifest itself in her body. The girl’s cunt is throbbing. The sting of the needle has been replaced by the dull ache and stretching of the sutures as they pull. Soon she will feel a sharper sting as her own body betrays her, and the stitches fill with the acidity of her own wetness. Reminding her that she, her body, everything she is, everything she has is Hers. Her property. A toy to facilitate her further amusement.
“Hurry up now, I’ll be waiting for you at my desk.”
Quickly, quietly, the girl makes her way up the stairs. The stitches pull, a subtle reminder of her place. She cannot help but release a soft moan as she steps first her right leg, then her left, into the ruffled panties her Lady has laid out. Just stiff enough to be irritating to the tender bits that have been so thoroughly used. Her Lady’s clothing choice is equally deliberate. A restrictive pencil skirt hobbles her further, ensuring she cannot spread her legs too far. There will be no relief from the ache. She will suffer because it is her Lady’s will. For as long as she so chooses to have it so. Each step, each shift of her knees, each fidgit, each tiny motion will serve to give her Lady’s pleasure as the stitches will pull and her cunt will throb. Not so different from the every day, where each gesture, each though, each move she makes is executed with her Lady’s pleasure in mind. Merely externalized. And facilitated by her Lady’s fantasies come to life.
She finishes dressing, fixes her hair neatly, and quickly applies makeup as she wishes to represent her Lady well. She is loveliness incarnate in her dress and heels, and her slave wishes to ensure that she does her justice. However, her desire to turn her Lady’s property out well is balanced with the need for expedience. Her Lady is ready and the girl knows she does not like to be kept waiting. And there is still the business of readying her belongings and ensuring her Lady will have all she needs. She makes her way down the stairs, and gasps as she feels the strong vibration between her legs. Her senses flood with pain? pleasure? Both? All she knows is it is intense.
The stitches throb. Her pleasure button is pushed over and over again, thanks to her Lady’s strategic placement of the device. The combination is intense, and there is no relief for the sensations, save her Lady’s mercy. She begins to moan and pant, with pleasure, with pain, with the sense of what it is to be Hers. Her dirty little whore, so close to cumming for Her, even with her pussy sewn shut. This thought supercedes pleasure and pain. She is Hers. Her slave. Her toy. Her property. The realization once again brings her to the verge.
“If it pleases you Mi’Lady….”
And once again it is stopped. Pain floods her senses, just as both knew would happen. The vibration and her wetness are a potent combination. Her head spins, her eyes glisten with tears.
“Hush girl, there will be none of that today. I expect my slave to conduct herself like a proper young lady, regardless of the circumstance. We will be shopping in fine stores, perhaps having lunch or tea. You will not embarrass me today and you will reveal to no one that I am doing naughty things to you. What’s more, you will not cum without my permission. And of course, I expect to be served in a manner that befits a Lady regardless of what might be happening between your slutty little legs. Understood?”
“Y…y…es Ma’am,”
Her Lady smiles to hear the concern in her voice. Her slave is a responsive little thing. One of the reasons that tormenting her brings her so much delight. She will be able to focus and hold her reactions in check. Of this, the Lady is certain. But it will take every ounce of her will to do so.
The second piece of her command: “you will not cum without permission,” she has added to ensure the girl will fail. She knows that when the girl is in that headspace of surrender, she has no control over what her body does. Perhaps if her Lady said, “stop,” it might be another matter. Just as she can make the girl cum on command if she wishes it. But she will not. She enjoys setting her up to fail. Pushing that button and the need she has to give her Lady perfection. To constantly remind her that she will fall short. Mess up. Fail. Disappoint. It is one of her biggest fears in the context of her service. And one of her Lady’s greatest sources of sadistic pleasure.
As if reminding the girl of how difficult her task will be, she shakes the remote, carefully concealed in her right hand, and the device buzzes to life. The girl’s eyes open wide, but she bites her lip to keep from crying out. Her heart rate increases, her breathing, though quiet, grows shallow and quick. Delicious, her Lady thinks as she watches her slave carefully collect her things, attempting to focus solely on her service and on fetching the things her Lady will need for the day. She smiles, that sadistic catlike smile as she watches her poor little slave process through pain and pleasure and aches. She kneels and presents her Lady with her purse, and her cleaned sunglasses. With hands emptied and her task completed, there is nothing left to do but experience the intensity of sensations. Pleasure and pain are equally intense and equally dangerous given her Lady’s orders. She wills her mind to focus solely on her Lady’s needs. Her lips quiver. Her shoulders shake.
“Up you go girl.”
The order is given and the girl follows the Lady out to the car. The sensation does not stop its assault on her poor pussy until she has opened and closed the door and her Lady is situated in the driver’s seat.
She says nothing as the girl carefully climbs into the car, attempting not to wince as she is forced to take a wide step and sit.
“Off we go,” her Lady simpers and, with a smile pregnant with sadistic glee, she pulls out of the
driveway and into the road.
They soon arrive at the downtown boutique, small, but elegant, and situated in an old Victorian-style brownstone. Seas of purples and blues frame the doorway and the trees slowly rustle in the mid-morning breeze. A welcome fit for a queen, the girl thinks as they step inside. She cannot help but blush as she drinks it all in. The marble floors, the soft music, the abundance of sterling roses. The cases full of jeweled accessories, polished to streak-free perfection. The regal chaise, strategically placed in the center of the store immediately draws the eye. Its gilded edges and fine silk brocade taunt the girl, hyperconscious of her full and aching cunt, of her station, of her place. A little nothing, a mere piece of property, no different than the haute couture that her Lady currently peruses. How small she feels in contrast to her surroundings. Like the cinder girl at the prince’s ball, hyperconscious of her calloused feet and her dishpan hands; worried that someone will spot a speck of dirt beneath her nails or the hint of a low country accent.
Her Lady strolls by each display against the wall. And the girl watches as she isolates each piece, inspects each seam, each bit of beadwork, the quality of the fabric. The girl says nothing as she trails behind her and slightly to her right, watching to see if and when her Lady will hand back her purse or an item for her to hold up. Her attendant, her servant, her slave. There to care for her. There to provide her pleasure through the simple fact of her existence. There to suffer silently. Every so often she feels a quick jolt between her legs, which floods her senses with pain, reminding her that she has been stuffed and sewn, like a thanksgiving turkey for her Lady’s pleasure and amusement. But neither make mention of her state. The Lady walks, the girl attends, providing her opinion when it is requested of her, observing with the watchful eye of a 20th century bookkeeper.
“May I suggest something that would look lovely with your coloring,”
The saleswoman’s voice startles the girl. And a second startle follows soon. The girl’s eyes grow wide as she feels the vibration begin again in earnest. She bites her lip to keep quiet and stands stone still, willing herself with every fiber of her being to ignore the pain that has flooded her senses and the wetness she can feel gathering. She focuses on the pleasantries that her Lady exchanges with the woman, lest she be asked to contribute to the conversation. She shivers slightly as she thinks of her Lady’s casual menace. There she stands, listening intently, admiring the hand sewn and dyed lace and the intricate details of the overlay. Caring nothing for the girl’s mortification or her extreme discomfort. She is the very picture of serenity and poise. For a moment the girl is stricken with fear that her Lady has forgotten that her g-spot and her thoroughly used cunt are being assaulted with vibration at the highest setting. Little beads of sweat form on her hairline and above her lip. Her chest heaves. Yet she, too, maintains
maintains her composure and her poise, as her Lady has instructed and as she expects. She makes no noise. She does not fidget. If she were more obtrusive, a careful observer might notice her pain-glazed eyes, the little beads of sweat that have formed on her hairline or the shallowness of her breath. But the girl is careful not to draw attention to herself and, thus, the shoppers and sales staff alike pass her by without a second glance. She is shadow among substance. Far less interesting to regard than the rows full of finery in crimson, navy, and black.
Her Lady takes a backwards glance at Her slave and smiles at what she sees. Her slave, obeying Her to the letter of the law. She takes great pains to mask her distress. She stands still and, although not in position as she would be if they were out in the community, her Lady can see that she is at attention and her focus is on Her. She does not whimper or moan. She has not adjusted her gait to relieve the fire between her legs. But her Lady knows every atom. To Her, she is transparent as glass. She can see how hard the girl is working in the look of intense concentration that has come over her face. She can read her mortification in the flush of her cheeks and see how very concerned she is about her body’s ability to adhere to Her Lady’s command to avoid release. She can read the questions when they pop into her mind. “Do they know? Can they smell? Can they tell? Have I been a good enough girl to hide them as she expects?”
She has strategically ensured that the girl’s g-spot receives a steady stream of sensation. Just strong enough to fill her with ache without allowing release. Yet, intense enough to make the stitches in her lips twitch and pull. To ensure she feels the sting of irritation as the thread absorbs her moisture. She smiles, but does not relieve the girl’s distress as she follows the saleslady to a dressing room with a velvet curtain. Her attendant wishes Her well, hangs the clothing in a convenient spot and leaves the Lady and the girl in peace. They are alone.
“Poor pitiful little thing,” her Lady simpers as She smiles and turns up the intensity. Her teasing is barely audible, but the girl hears every word; experiences them in every fiber of her being. Her eyes widen as she notes the sadistic twinkling in her Lady’s eyes – the only outward sign She has, thus, far, showed, that Her hunger is building as Her slave’s condition grows worse.
How she is enjoying Her foreplay before the evening’s entertainment. How beautiful she is when she suffers so sweetly for Her pleasure and to fulfill her need. How sweet her doe eyes are as they become a window into her anguish. As her chest heaves and her breasts rise and fall. As her limbs begin to tremble slightly, almost imperceptibly. In Her mind’s eye, She sees an image of Her slave, both sets of lips dripping with blood. Tears streaming down her cheeks as she’s bitten, slapped, punched, taken to the edge of what her body can handle…and then beyond. To that place where she can no longer cry or scream. Where the little mews escape her lips as she lies broken at Her feet. Her property. Her slave. Her pomme de sang. Her every sense filled with Her. Aching to give Her everything She wishes. All that she is. Needing to give Her more, though her body is weary and bruised.
“Suffer for me, girl,”
“Yes Ma’am,” the girl’s whisper is just as throaty as the Lady’s own. In that moment Owner and slave are taken far away from the queue of dresses that await the Lady’s attention. But it’s only for an instant. Though Her need to ravage has been raised, the tiger must wait. Bide her time. Let the need build until it cannot be contained. Until they are in the privacy of her basement or her bedroom or wherever strikes the Lady’s fancy. Where the girl’s body can be stripped as naked as her soul. Where the goddess can be unleashed and pleased. Where She can visibly bind her and admire the fruits of Her labor.
With the tiger held at bay, the Lady switches off the device and turns Her attention back to the dresses that have been neatly arranged on a clothing rack. She tries on dress after dress and models them for Her girl who is touched by the sight of Her. She looks so beautiful, and too long She has waited to have the finery She deserves. The well-cut lines flatter Her beautiful body and accentuate the muscle on Her calves and arms. The red is a lovely complement to Her hair and eyes. The black hugs Her curves in all the right places. The silk on the purple is loveliness incarnate. The heels are heart stopping. The girl blushes and, momentarily, averts her eyes as she feels a second throb between her legs, independent of the vibration from the wicked little device. Even after all these years, the mere sight of Her Lady makes her wet. Can move her to tears. Reminds her that she is home. Arousal. Solace. Ache. Need. The same. Evidence that she is simply Hers.
After careful consideration, the Lady decides that all three are stunning and the heels are not to pass up. She takes a last look in the mirror and twirls a little to see the view from the back. She loves how the heels accentuate the elongated lines of her calves, and how the entire picture shows just the right amount of skin. She feels the goddess rise to the surface. It is good to have her there once again.
The Lady smiles as she catches a sideways glimpse of Her slave. She is smiling as she watches the Lady, normally so humble, admire herself in the mirror. The girl is captivated by Her beauty, true, but more by the totality of Her, as is evidenced by the renewed throbbing between her legs, but the sense of pleasure that fills her stems from the Lady’s own. From the way She carries herself. From the spring in her step. From the smile on her face. From the light in her eyes. She is reminded of an image from the last weekend they had spent at home. When her Lady had wished to be pampered and asked the girl to give her a facial and a massage. While they had casually chatted at first, the Lady soon fell quiet and immersed herself in the experience, and the girl quietly rubbed and stroked, willing her fingertips to convey every bit of relaxing energy and pleasure that they could to the Lady’s body. Tears formed in her eyes as the Lady slipped deeper into quiet and her body let go. As the stress melted from Her limbs and Dhe wrapped herself in a blanket of bliss. As she relished Her slave’s soft touch. Her occasional devoted kisses. The well-wishes for her pleasure conveyed in every brush of her fingertips.
“My sweet girl,” she thinks, and it raises the hunger within her. She wishes to cut, tear, and bite. She wishes to hear her little cries of agony. “Soon, soon,” she tells herself as the tiger stirs from slumber and gnaws at her belly.
She says nothing, but hands Her purchases to Her slave and walks towards the counter to pay.
The girl is careful not to allow the dresses to drag on the ground or to drop the shoes. Her purchases are carefully placed in garment bags, the shoes in an elegant gold and pink wrapping, reminiscent of the fine brocade. They are handed back to her and she follows her Lady out to the car.
Once the packages have been securely, her Lady arranges herself in the driver’s seat and her girl shuts the door behind her. She climbs into the car when instructed and quickly buckles herself in.
The road is bumpy and in need of repaving, and the girl whimpers as her stitched lips throb. She has been sewn for hours now, and the ache has only gotten worse. The sound is quiet, nearly imperceptible, but her Lady hears and smiles. Her slave, suffering for Her pleasure and at Her hand. In pain, but not complaining. Focused on her Lady’s pleasure and on Her needs.
Despite the pain, she has been on point with her service. In fact, it is almost frustrating. The Lady’s sadistic needs have been begging for release. The tiger, though quiet, is hungry and She can feel it. How She wishes to feed on her devastation. How She wishes to watch her as she struggles to control the tears that naturally form when she fails Her. She loves to torture her slave in this way, yet another form of reveling in who she is to the girl and the power she exerts over her. Oh, the ways She can play with the girl’s heartstrings. Just as the girl is Hers to build up and to teach, so she is there to be torn apart and fed on. To be the recipient of her Lady’s sadistic attention and of Her need to destroy. She is Her property, nothing but Her property, and yet it means everything to them both.
They drive in silence, neither one acknowledging the girl’s pain, though her Lady is intent on intensifying it.
“My god you are SUCH a slut,” she sighs without warning. Her Lady’s voice startles the girl from her reverie. Instantly, she is enveloped in a curtain of shame. Though she says nothing, the evidence is written in the crimson flush that now colors her cheeks.
“Seriously, the entire car smells like you,” She sneers. “I don’t know why I bother to take you anywhere. I should just leave you chained up in the basement like the little bitch in heat you are since you can’t seem to control yourself as befitting a young lady in public. May I suggest that before we sit down to lunch, you go into the bathroom and clean yourself…because if you embarrass me at the table, I assure you, you’ll regret it.”
The words hit the girl harder than a slap in the face. Harder even than the rubber strap that her Lady is so fond of. She whimpers in fear at the thought of causing her Lady even a moment’s displeasure. Her Lady is well aware that this is one of her deepest fears. She knows any consequences she would mete out pale in comparison to the actual act of disappointing her, and, yet, the threat serves as an incredibly effective way to raise that fear in the girl. She whimpers again and turns terrified eyes on her Lady, who is in the mood to destroy, and will offer no comfort to ease her suffering.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you, bitch, was that a yes Ma’am?”
Her Lady’s reply is cold and matter o’fact. She smiles, Her cat-who-ate-the-canary smile, as she watches the shiver travel from the base of the girl’s neck to her feet, leaving a trail of raised bumps on the exposed olive tapestry of her arms and legs.
“Yes, Ma’am.” she whispers, a bit louder, this time.
“Go on then,” her Lady points to the bathroom.
It is unlike Her to do so, but the girl does not even have the time to marvel at this irregularity. It’s meaning becomes instantly clear as she feels the intense throbbing begin once again. Once again, the Lady’s cruelty knows no bounds. She has been set up to fail as her Lady is so fond of doing. She begins to attempt to clean herself up, but as fast as she dries her glistening lips, so the vibration stimulates a new flow of her essence. And she is all too aware of how strong the scent of her sex is. Her Lady has informed her on more than one occasion, that it is powerful enough to fill a room. She, herself, has been left bound for hours, forced to confront this mortifying attribute first hand as her Lady’s ministrations have, in fact, filled the room with the scent of her ache for Her. Of her need. She begins to tremble as she worries, “have I cleaned up well enough…will she leave it running throughout the meal…will she permit me to go and clean up again? Will they all smell? Will I fail her…” the anxiety is far worse than the sting of the soap in her stiched lips. She takes a deep breath, squeezes her eyes shut, and bites the inside of her lip as she sprays her panties with the fine fragrance mist she keeps in her purse for emergencies.
She’s as dry as she’lll ever be…so she takes a deep breath and returns to find her Lady has been seated. She sips a glass of water as She calmly peruses the menu. She can feel Her slave before She sees her, and makes an almost imperceptible gesture with Her hand to indicate to the girl that she should sit. The girl sees and obeys, and has to fight the urge to cry out when she feels the hard seat make contact with her aching cunt. And, of course, her Lady, still in the mood to take, instantly turns up the vibration. The girl’s world is reduced to a whirlwind of pain.
“Decide what you’d like for lunch.”
Her Lady’s order is simple, and, yet, so pregnant with her cruelty. While she often takes pleasure in ordering for them both, today, She is going to make Her tormented girl carry on a polite conversation with their server while in a state of distress and wondering whether her body will betray her.
Soon, the moment she dreads is upon them, and, the server arrives at their table. Her Lady calmly places Her order, not revealing Her satisfaction. She knows her slave like the back of her hand, and she knows she has succeeded in her mission. Raise the fear of failing Her in her, add a splash of degradation and public humiliation and the girl has come unglued juuuust enough to give her what she wants.
“And for you?”
The girl hears the dreaded words. She offers a quick, almost pleading glance at her Lady whose own steely gaze is an effective message to the girl that she should hurry and do as she’s been told.
She looks up at the server and their eyes lock. And at that moment, as if planned, she feels the buzzing grow even stronger. The girl inwardly shudders. She can hear the buzzing….everyone can…she’s certain of it. She’s going to reveal the secret. She knows it. She attempts to focus on doing as her Lady wishes, and she does not lose her composure…but she feels her cheeks flushing crimson again.
“My dear are you alright?”
The question, so well intentioned, is like a death toll. She can feel her Lady’s look burning a hole right through her. Little does she know that despite the heat of that gaze, her Lady is high as a kite and all smiles inside. Finally, she has given Her enough ammunition to let the sadist fully out to play. The girl’s devastation is total, but she wills her strength to surface and forces her mind to push all thoughts but her Lady’s order out of her head.
“Yes, Ma’am, I am fine, thank you. May I please have…”
The girl does not even process the food on the menu. A choice comes out of her mouth and her eyes are already turned towards her Lady, silently begging Her forgiveness.
The server nods and smiles and walks away, and her Lady wastes no time. “Bad girl,”
Instantly the girl’s strength flees her. Her belly is full of ice water and there is a chill she can’t recover from flowing through her veins. The pain between her legs is nothing compared to the pain tearing at her heart. She wishes she could make it up to Her, right here, right now. Anything to make it right. Anything to be her good girl once again. The thought of giving her a moment’s distress is utter torture. And now, confronted with her worst fear, she must fight to compose herself to avoid exacerbating the situation and displeasing her Lady even further.
Such a simple torture her Lady has devised. Yet so intense. The girl will be well used mind, body, heart, and soul before this day is up. A sobbing puddle of devastated slave at her feet, just the way the sadist likes it.
“Your slave is sorry, Ma’am, she’s so sorry,” the girl begins to whisper, her need to make it right evident in her voice. “She’ll do anything to make it right, Ma’am, anything.”
“You will,” her Lady states. “Later.”
The word settles on her heart like an early frost. Later. Six simple letters. Two small syllables. So innocuous. Yet, so painful. She will be forced to carry the knowledge that she has displeased Her, disobeyed Her, failed Her until such time as her Lady allows her to release the pain in a flood of cleansing tears and profuse apologies. Until the slate is cleaned and she is her Lady’s good girl once more. Until she can curl up under her Lady’s feet, at peace in her place while her Lady revels in Her headspace. But this will not be until later. When, exactly, she does not know. Her appetite, slim to begin with, becomes nonexistent. But, once granted permission to eat, she forces herself to consume her lunch. She knows better than to add insult to injury and disobey her Lady twice.
Her Lady notes the girl’s efforts, and consents to allow her to be finished when the girl presents her plate for her Lady’s approval. She has eaten enough to carry her through the evening’s activities, and, while on a normal day, She might have instructed the girl to eat more, She is anxious to return to the house and put Her carefully laid plans into action. A simple nod of the head tells the girl all she needs to know. Her Lady takes care of the check and gives a wordless command for Her slave to follow to where they will retrieve the car. No words need passing between them. She knows her Lady’s meaning as clearly as if She had spoken aloud.
“Pathetic little whore,” her Lady sneers as soon as the door closes behind the girl and they pull out of the parking lot. She smiles as the girl’s shoulders curl and her face pales. “Useless girl, I warned you, didn’t I, I specifically told you NOT to embarrass me, and you couldn’t even obey the simplest of orders. I was right, earlier. I should definitely leave you chained up with a little dog bowl while I’m out as you are clearly unfit to accompany me into polite society. You’re just a filthy dirty girl who can’t control her filthy pussy…even when her Owner stresses the importance of proper behavior.”
How badly the girl wishes she could disappear into the seats. How badly she wishes she’d be struck dead right on the spot. Instantly, she begins to sob.
“Ma’am your slave is sorry, she’s so sorry.”
“What did I say?” her Lady hisses. “I told you later. You disobey me again…shows how sorry you are.”
And with that, the girl is simply beyond speech. She cries inconsolably. Success! Her Lady is positively delighted. She says nothing more on the short drive back to the house. She simply revels in the sweet music She has produced.
They pull into the driveway and, with that, her Lady spits, “good god, you are such a fucking drama queen. For the love of god, stop your crying. you’ll only make yourself ugly and disgrace yourself further by disobeying me a third time. Bad little girl or not, I want you looking your best tonight, just as I will be. Can’t have you embarrassing me…again, now can I?”
“N…no, Ma’am.” the girl stammers and the Lady smiles at the smallness of her in that moment. She is nearly defeated. Nearly. But not quite where her Lady wants her just yet.
“That’s right,” her Lady smiles, a knowing smile and the girl instinctively whimpers as she realises that her suffering is far from over. “A lady, such as myself, deserves only the best of everything. That was all I wished for today, fine clothes, a pleasing lunch, and an obedient slave to tend to my needs as is her job. Of course I’ll have to settle for two out of three. Go on and put my things away.”
“Yes Ma’am,” the girl’s voice has shrunk to the size of a whisper, but even in her misery, she reacts instantly to her Lady’s command. To the expression of Her need. Carefully, she takes the packages and the dresses and carries them upstairs to her Lady’s bedroom. It is HER space, her own private sanctuary, and the girl, too, finds it more peaceful than anywhere else in the large house, simply because it is Hers. The soothing purples, the elegant cherrywood, the scent that reminds her that she is home, as strong as it is when she is at her Lady’s feet. The scent is oddly comforting to her, despite her state of turmoil, and the act of tending to her lady’s finery is centering. She feels herself begin to relax as she neatly stacks the shoe boxes and organizes the dresses, taking care that they don’t wrinkle or catch on the hangers.
Without warning, she gasps. The buzzing has begun again in earnest. Her swollen lips ache. Her headaches. Her heartaches. The buzzing is a cruel reminder of her earlier disobedience. And to make matters worse, with all of her tasks completed, the sensation seems oddly heightened. Though as yet unnoticed, the sexual urge has been building between her legs all day. And she cannot help but notice that the pain of stimulation seems oddly charged with the sensation of a different sort. Her heart begins to pound as she feels Her presence, the strong grip at her throat, and the hot breath on the back of her neck. She’s pushed up against the edge of the bed and lets out a startled little cry as she feels her Lady’s hands at the button of her skirt.
She is soon divested and shivers as the cool of the room meet her flushed and slightly damp skin. Her legs are kicked apart and her eyes grow wide and glaze with the pain of her stitches pulling even further. She feels the knee strategically positioned before she sees her Lady’s cold grin. She trembles at the thought of what she knows is inevitable. “No, god, please no, let me exercise some restraint. Please, god, don’t disobey Her a third time.”
But her Lady is the maestro when it comes to plucking those strings as well. There’s not an inch of Her property She doesn’t know or can’t bend to Her will. The girl begins to cry in earnest before the thrusting begins. Though she dare not beg Her to stop, indeed the thought of saying no in any iteration is like poison to her, she cannot hide the terror and dread in her face.
“Your slave doesn’t want to disobey you Mi’Lady,” she sobs and trembles as her cunt instantly responds to the Lady’s teasing. The urge builds and builds, equal to the pain of the intense vibration. Over and over the little device assaults her g-spot. The girl’s eyes begin to roll back in her head. “Oh god, please, Ma’am, your slave really, really, really doesn’t want to disobey you.”
“Then don’t,” her Lady replies. Her desperation only adds fuel to the fire. The girl will get no pity here. Her Lady wants her broken. And third disobedience will accomplish this for sure. She smiles as she presses her knee strategically against the girl’s cunt. She can feel the throb. Feel the heat. Smell the essence of her. And She has no doubt She will soon win. She always does. There’s no way the girl can stop herself. Her body is in no way hers. Every inch of it belongs to red queen. Every centimeter is owned, every molecule, claimed. She has no more control over what her body does than she would a speeding train. And stopping either would be equally impossible.
She wails, utterly defeated as she feels the release shudder through her body. And with that her devastation is complete. Her Lady removes Her knee from between the girl’s legs and smiles as her little slave crumbles to the ground.
“What on earth is wrong with you today, girl? Disobeying me three times? Have you forgotten what you are and the unquestioning obedience you owe me? Clearly you need reminding of your place.”
Her steps are lively and light as she makes her way through the garage. Her arms filled with the packages she is excited to wrap, her nostrils with the scent of cinnamon, ginger and cloves, and her head with visions of familial harmony. Silent Night has been playing in the mall and she hums it as she walks. She is always happy this time of year and even though she is grown now, she has not lost her appreciation for the magic of the season. It’s not only her own family that seems to behave better in the weeks and months leading up to Christmas day. But the world just seems a little more festive. A little brighter. People seem to behave less ugly toward one another. They merge civilly and smile more. They seem…hopeful. It means something to her.
The hour is late and it’s cold even in the covered garage and her breath hovers cloudlike about her lips. This amuses her, enough to make her giggle. She is so like a child at times.
She reaches the car and opens the back door, still humming as she arranging her packages neatly on the floor. She does not notice the hooded figure quietly approach. Nor does she know that she’s been followed for hours. Having grown up in New York. She’s walked at ungodly hours in some of the city’s worst neighborhoods without incident or problem. She is generally street smart and knows to stay frosty when walking along in a covered parking lot…but at Christmas time she’s a sitting duck. Prone to a wandering mind and a happy heart she sees only the good.
She gasps and her brown eyes widen as a strong arm quickly covers her mouth. She feels the pressure of cold steel against her exposed throat. For a moment she is frozen in her fear…a split second, but long enough to feel pulled back against the body of the hooded figure and she whimpers and shivers as she feels hot breath wash over her left ear. It smells like peppermint and coffee, an odd realization perhaps but her senses are heightened in her fear. She feels dragged backward and she drops the last few packages as she attempts to pull away, biting and clawing frantically at the arm that holds her. Her struggle is ineffective. The figure is strong. Much stronger than she and her fear seem only to amuse her.
The struggle becomes desperate as comprehension dawns on her. They are headed towards a large box truck with a padlocked door and she fights her captor with increased vigor. Still, the figure says nothing, confident in her success, she merely presses the cold steel into the girl’s throat a little harder and the girl feels a small trickle of wetness run down her neck and pool in her cleavage. It’s warm. A stark contrast to the cold night air. She attempts to scream and feels her air supply cut off by the black sweatshirt. This quiets her enough to make it easy for the hooded figure to slam the back door of the truck shut.
“Now then, my dear, I’m going to release you, but if you scream I’m going to cut out your tongue. Understand?” the command is menacing and oddly emotionless and the girl does not doubt its sincerity, perhaps because the sharp blade is now tracing its way along the long lines of her neck, up towards her chin and to her covered lips. Tears fill her eyes and she nods frantically, desperate to show this person she will comply.
“That’s a good girl,” the praise is taunting but the girl doesn’t care. A moment of relief as she is released and she feels breath flood her nose and mouth once again. But relief is short-lived. She has been taken and locked in the back of this truck for god knows what purpose. She knows nothing apart from this. She has been taken, and whoever it is, she or he is in complete control of her fate. The hooded figure advances and the girl, trembling, cannot stop instinct from taking over. Frantically she backs away from the figure’s slow and casual advance. She however is utterly unconcerned by the girl’s ill fated attempts at escape. She knows she has her trapped, like a rat in a maze. Nowhere to go. No escape. No option but to follow the path that has already been laid out for her.
“Where you going sweet pea?” once again she is taunted. The figure’s voice is muffled by the hooded sweatshirt and the mask she is wearing to conceal her features and sounds oddly androgynous. She whimpers and freezes in terror once again as she feels herself trapped by the back of the truck. Instinctively she curls up into a tight ball, pressed tightly against the wall of the truck, silently wishing she could disappear into it. Her heart is racing. She trembles so hard she is positive she will break in two.
The figure stares down at her and though the girl can’t see it, can’t even see that she is a she, her eyes are dancing with hunger and her sadistic smile is wide. Sunglasses cover her eyes and her mouth is obscured by her clothing. She is dressed in black from head to toe and every inch of her body is covered. No distinguishing features. And the girl is too blinded with fright even to take notice of her stature. Is she tall or short? The girl isn’t sure. From her position on the floor, the figure seems eight feet tall.
“How kind of you, you’ve made my job much easier,” the figure sneers as she grasps her hair and shackles her around the neck in one quick, seemingly effortless move. Her wrists are then grabbed and she is shackled by the wrist and then the ankles in a similar fashion. The metal is cold. Like the knife blade. Her heart is beating so quickly she is certain it will explode.
Her terror becomes even more urgent and she is sure she’ll wet her pants when she sees a dark stain on the wood floor of the back of the truck that looks suspiciously like blood. Tears begin to sparkle on her eyelashes and drip slowly down her cheeks.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she begs. Her eyes wide and imploring. Her color pale. Her cheeks stained with tear tracks.
Once again that sadistic laughter. “Awww, how sweet,” and then a sharp pinch and a prick as a needle is inserted into her neck and though she tries to fight it her eyelids grow heavy and soon close. The back door is slammed shut and locked and soon “Silent Night” wafts in from the radio playing in the front seat. Indeed an odd sort of detail to take comfort in as her body surrenders to the drug cocktail that’s been injected into her jugular and she hears the motor purr to life, but it’s better of course than focusing on the alternative.
Introductions
Her head pounds as her eyes flutter open and light assaults her pupils. Her body is heavy. So heavy she cannot move her arms and legs. No. Wait. She knows that sensation. The bite of rough hemp around her wrists and ankles and the familiar tightness of plastic wrap holds her still. In another context this would be incredibly hot for her. Bound and helpless, dinner nicely wrapped and served bloody and rare for her Lady’s pleasure. But she has her bearings enough to see that she is not in safe surroundings. Not in the quiet sanctuary of her Lady’s home nor is she mummified to a pole at the club that has come to feel like a second home. No. Wherever she is, it is hostile and forbidding and sterile. Emotionless steel. The smell of decomposition makes her feel queasy. Perhaps it is all a big mindfuck. Her Lady after all has said she’d be abducted at some point, and of course they share an affinity for creepy and forbidding places, but a nagging voice in the back of her head tells her this is not the case. Perhaps it is the drugs that have been injected so unceremoniously into her neck. Perhaps it was the casual ease with which the figure has spilled her blood…
She wiggles a little, testing the strength of her bonds, and she has to fight back tears when she realizes that they hold firm. It seems a cruel irony—how she loves being helpless and vulnerable to her Lady’s will and whim but helpless here for the sake of an unknown stranger’s casual menace with her fate uncertain. ..she is no cherished slave here. No she is merely a piece of meat. An object. A means for whoever has taken her to get his or her sadistic rocks off before disposing of her lifeless corpse. The thought terrifies her. Holy fuck! Where is she? It is dark and the wet cold chills her to the bone. As she turns her head to the right she sees a silver tray lined with various implements for cutting and slicing. Knives, scalpels, and some she does not recognize. Some whose purposes she cannot determine. One or two still have dried blood on the blade. All of them seem menacing. The seriousness of her predicament sets in she begins to hyperventilate, and then to scream, as she pulls desperately at her bonds.
A leather-gloved hand is clasped firmly over her mouth and the scent of blood fills her nostril. That it terrifies her is an irony crueler than her reaction to the mummification. Her eyes widen and her body goes rigid as the bloody glove applies pressure to drown out the sound of her screams. Her breathing becomes more frantic as she erupts in muffled sobs.
The figure in black says nothing as she reaches over to the tray and retrieves an object that the girl is intimately familiar with: a curved needle with a trail of thread already attached. She removes her gloved hand from the girl’s mouth and runs the sharp edge of the suture needle along her bottom lip.
“Your screaming is growing tiresome,” the voice is cold. Eerily emotionless. The girl begins to struggle frantically, the rope bites her flesh and draws blood. “And since you can’t seem to shut yourself up, I suppose it’s up to me. Isn’t it?”
“P…please,” the girl begins to beg but she stops as soon as she starts. Even though the figure’s eyes and face are still obscured, she can see that whoever she or he is, she is utterly unmoved by her distress. In fact, it seems to excite her as she breathes like one aroused.
The proximity of the needle to her face prevents her from seeing exactly how it is done. She feels a sharp, stinging, popping sensation as the needle enters the skin above her top lip. The thread swims through her skin and exits through the skin under her bottom lip. The sensation in intense, far more so than pricking one’s finger with a regular sewing needle and fear makes her flinch.
“You’re going to want to hold still now, and I think perhaps you should rethink screaming. It will only be unpleasant for you.”
Her eyes water after every complete stitch and the process is completed five times until each stitch is in place but untied. The figure then begins working from the first stitch again, pulling the thread tight, tying each one-off in the middle. She works quickly and skillfully and after all five stitches are tied and trimmed the girl can no longer speak scream or move her mouth. She trembles and tears fall rapidly down her cheeks. The pain has been intense and without the context of pleasing her Lady to help her process, she has felt the intense agony of every single stitch. Her lips swell slightly and quickly become dry as she is unable to moisten them. There is only a minimal amount of blood. Stitched silent. Unable to speak, to smile or pout, to curl her lips or frown, she is reduced to pleading eyes in an otherwise blank face. She doesn’t even have the luxury of hand gestures. Her utter inability to communicate, to mitigate her fate if mitigation is at all possible is terrifying. She is forced to confront her utter helplessness. She can no longer beg, plead, or participate in the conversation at all. She is forced into passivity. Into helpless acceptance. In her Lady’s hands it is a state she would find comforting but here there is only terror. Deep and unsettling unease that shakes her to the core.
The figure approaches until she is standing at the edge of the table and strokes the side of her captive victim’s face absentmindedly. The girl shivers and tenses. Her instinct is to whimper and cry but she stops herself as soon as she feels the pull of the stitches in her mouth. Her eyes grow wide and her nostrils flare. Her breathing grows rapid and labored. Again she thinks of her Lady and how utterly bizarre it is that in another context she would probably be begging to cum…not exactly the release she thinks of begging for in this case.
“You know human beings are very funny creatures. We lead such privileged, sheltered lives. Cut off from our own pain. We seek to avoid suffering at any cost. It’s always seemed foolish to me. Suffering can be very instructive. “ She runs her thumb back and forth over the girl’s cheek as she speaks. “I’m going to give you a gift, a gift few are fortunate to receive…but you, darling girl, you are lucky. Today you’ll find out what your life is worth to you. How hard you’re willing to fight for it.”
The girl gasps and as pain floods her senses she instantly regrets it. Her captor breathes deeply, a satisfied smile spreading over her concealed face as she watches the girl’s face contort in obvious pain.
“Let’s find out, shall we?” the playful glee in her voice is as unsettling as the gentle petting which has now founds its way to her hair. Her captor speaks of torture as casually as one might discuss the weather forecast. “What are you willing to do to stay alive girl?”
“ You have no doubt noticed you’ve been stripped and bound and wrapped in plastic. I hope you’ll forgive me but I’ve given you a few more surprises in your sleep. In another minute or so you’ll begin to feel restless. Have you ever heard of Akathisia?”
The question is terrifying? And Wait…she’s…done things to her in her sleep? How violated she feels. Her body’s borders are no longer her own. Consent—a word rendered utterly meaningless. Choice and limits are not freely given up. They’ve been forcibly taken from her and she has no way to prevent it.
“Answer me bitch!” her captor’s playful tone grows instantly hard when she finds herself ignored and the girl whimpers and tenses in terror. She shakes her head vigorously no. Her compliance seems to soothe her captor for the time being, but it has taught her an important lesson. She has a temper and does not like to be ignored, nor does she want to give up any modicum of control. This is her show, her game, her rules. And the only option is to play or die.
“Well dear, akathisia is an intensely unpleasant feeling characterized by muscle discomfort, inability to sit still, continuous agitation, restlessness, and fidgety feelings. It’s a condition that often plagues psychiatric patients but, as is the case here, can be induced with anti-psychotic drugs. Often patients who suffer from it describe the feeling as a need to “jump out of their skin,” and in fact some have killed themselves by jumping or falling after episodes of behavioral hyperactivity where they ran or paced from door to door, tried to climb up walls and doors, tried to reach the nearest exit and get out through windows. Of course we’ve taken precautions against that.”
The girl tenses as her captor pats the tight plastic wrap covering her midsection. The touch is unpleasant and seems to linger on her skin. It begins to crawl slowly up her spinal cord and dances through the nerve endings on the insides of her arms and legs. She begins to wiggle and squirm. The crawling is unpleasant. Incredibly so. As if spiders are crawling through her veins and gnawing on her nerves. The need to get up. To get away. To go…anywhere…is overwhelming.
Her captor takes no notice of her victim’s increased distress. She continues with her speech, “others have complained of a screaming inside. Non psychotic patients have all of a sudden started clinging to their physicians while imploring them for help in what is best described as utter anguish….”
But the girl is no longer capable of ration thought or comprehension. All she can process is. “Get out! Get away! Get anywhere!” Sweat begins to roll down the sides of her face, stinging the little pin pricks where the sutures have cut through her skin, as she fights against her bonds. Her muscles strain and her captor shivers with pleasure as she watches the muscles and veins in her neck, arms and legs bupalge. Her torso tenses and contorts slightly. She is only able to lift herself about half an inch from the cold steel of the autopsy table.
Crimson stripes begin to appear In the natural hemp as the rope cuts deep into her skin. She claws desperately at her palms and drums her feet in the air. The need to run is consuming. The window, not so far away seems to taunt her with its inaccessibility. Bound as she is she can barely squirm for relief. Running is an utter impossibility. Begging too as she cannot speak without ripping the stitches from her lips. No relief, not even through screaming. No option but to suffer. Tears mingle with sweat and burn like acid in the corners of her mouth. She shakes her head vigorously as if to find some way, any way, to let the inexpressible scream out.
“So tell me sweetheart, is it as bad as they say?”
Through her delirium, she vaguely processes the question. But she cannot answer. She is beyond the ability to respond. All she can think about is getting up! Getting away! Getting out!
Beneath her sunglasses, her captor’s eyes growing stormy.
“It’s rude not to answer when you are addressed and questioned little bitch.
Clearly you aren’t paying attention. I’ll have to remedy that!”
The girl only vaguely processes the threat until she sees the knife. Her trembling intensifies and her need to get away increases tenfold.
“If I were you I’d stop your wiggling, dear,” her moment of anger has passed, she is the epitome of poised calm once again. She smiles as she traces the very tip of the knife slowly up the girl’s calf, up the length of her thigh and pussy, stopping at the girl’s hood. The girl’s color pales as she attempts to direct her energy towards staying still, a near-impossible task as every fiber of her being is screaming at her to run. Jump. Dance. Claw. Tear. Anything to take the anguish away. Her breath, rapid and shallow panting. Her nostrils flare. The whites of her eyes prominent. Her sweat is profuse and cold.
The girl’s obvious terror excites the shadowed figure and she feels herself growing wet. Fear turns her on. Her own. Her girl’s. Taking her pleasure and feeding her sadistic desires in the most visceral of ways excites her to fever pitch. She is a sadist in the truest form and sometimes she simply wants to hurt. To take. To force submission even when it would be willingly given. She feels the pressure of fullness and she thinks how good release would feel. For an instant she considers revealing all, freeing the girl from her bonds and commanding her to satisfy her hunger.
But there will be time enough for that and she has put much time and effort into the planning of this scenario. And it’s all going so well, it would be a shame to end it all now She wants to push her girl to the edge of what she can handle, emotionally and physically, and she has taken a great deal of care to ensure that her girl Is too terrified to realize she is indeed under her Lady’ hand and suffering for her pleasure. It is no small feat given that the girl is very much in tune to her Lady’s presence. Her scent. Her voice. Her touch. She has gone to great lengths to mask these things. But she knows the girl is in tune to her energy and once acceptance settles in, she will figure it out. She knows the knowledge that is has been she all along will soothe her when all is revealed and she knows her girl well enough to know that it will serve only to strengthen the trust bond that exists between them. For the moment, however, she wants her to feel unsettled. Pain. Terror. Uncertainty. She wants her helpless. Everything she is, everything she wants taken from her. No limits. No choice. Convinced that her options are to play or die. Confused as to why even though she believes herself in mortal peril her thighs are soaked and a puddle is rapidly forming between her own legs. The scent of the girl’s fear is intoxicating. She drinks it in heavily before slowly running the very tip of the knife along the terrified girl’s labia.
“You know in India, when a woman committed adultery, they used to punish her by stuffing her cunt full of hot pepper. While I liked the principle the image I think lacks a certain dramatic flair. I have remedied the problem by modifying it a bit. I have no doubt it will be effective in keeping your attention, bitch.”
Slowly she inserts the knife’s blade that she has coated in a cinnamon oil solution into the girl’s pussy and her entire body tenses as she processes the danger. One jump. One twitch. One ill fated attempt at escape and she will be cut to ribbons. Her terror is so intense she does not feel Her Lady slip the blade out, replacing it with a finger. Smiling at the evidence of her arousal. Terror has soaked her thighs. How easily she could fuck her to orgasm again and again, but of course that would ruin the scenario that she has so carefully constructed. Slowly. Meaningfully. She removes her finger and waits for the girl to process the new sensation. And it is not long before she does. The spiders are creeping and gnawing with increased vigor. Her lips throb. And now she is being burned alive from the inside out. She loses control of her scream and little droplets of blood begin to form where the stitches have pulled. Tears flow freely over her cheeks. She uses the knife to cut the plastic wrap and the rope that bind her to the table and takes a firm grasp of her hair as she pulls the girl off the autopsy table and drags her over to the corner where a small dog cage has been constructed. There is just barely room for her to curl up inside. Again in a different context this would be a source of great delight. But terrified and convinced as she is that she will jump out of her skin, that she needs to get up…get away at all costs, it is an additional source of agony to her as she is pushed inside. The door slams shut behind her and she hears the click of a padlock locked tight.
Suspended Animation
It seems incredible but even in her predicament sleep eventually finds her. Relief is sweet once the spiders leave her bloodstream and it lulls her into quiet. She is not asleep for long, however. Her eyelids soon flutter open and she’s terrified to learn that even though her eyes are open, she is shrouded in darkness. She startles when she realizes she’s wet…at least she thinks she does but her body does not move, even though she is no longer bound.
“Wiggle your fingers,” she gives herself a fright filled command and she is shocked when she discovers that her body refuses to obey. All she can feel is the knocking of her heart against her ribcage as it pumps furiously in her chest. It is confirmed. Her body has become utterly alien to her. The utter loss of control over even the simplest of movements makes her feel like a stranger in a strange land, a feeling that is exacerbated by the strange brackish dampness in the air. The silence is thick. Why is she wet? Why the fuck can’t she move? She trembles violently…at least she thinks she does, but she can’t be sure and the uncertainty is terrifying. She wants to cry again…can she cry? Is she dead? She’s not sure but she doesn’t think so. Why is this happening to her, why…and why does it feel as though she’s been flayed alive? A side effect of the drugs? Or has her skin in fact been removed? It’s very possible it has. After all she can’t see, she can’t feel. She feels a slight rocking and a gentle bobbing up and down. She is not in control of these sensations but they are at least, identifiable. Having grown up on an island the sensation is familiar.
She is floating in water, alone. Nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. She can’t move. She assumes its salt water as her lips are stinging something fierce. What is keeping her afloat? What if she tires? She can’t move. Will she drown in the brackish water instead of in the sea of her own terror. Her head and body are filled with an inexpressible scream. The inability to release her fear is driving her insane…she is certain it will eat her alive from the inside out. How long has she been here? Has it been hours? Days? How long will the cat and mouse game entertain her tormentor? How much longer does she have? How much will she be forced to endure and will she be killed or set free when all is said and done? How will s/he do it? Will it hurt? Will she be afraid? Will she plead? Will she fight? Will she simply accept the inevitable? Don’t think about that! She forces herself to push the thought out of her mind. How she wishes she could kick her legs or flail her arms. Hell at this point she’d even take the wiggling of a pinky. Anything to quiet the ghastly, creeping torment. But she can’t move. Her body has betrayed her. She is a brain in a bathtub. Nothing but her own terror to keep her company. How badly she wants to, needs to thrash, flail, free herself from this state of suspended animation but fate is cruel. She can’t. She tries to but she can’t. And Her body refuses to comply. And the searing pain. God it burns. It fucking burns. Agony and anguish are insufficient to describe it. Is something nibbling on her toes? Wait…what? Toes? She’s gone insane, she’s certain of it.
Suddenly a noise pierces through the emptiness, quieting the panicked voice in her head. It is the voice of her captor, but in the state of terror she’s in, any sort of interaction that gets her out of her own head is welcome.
“Horror vacui, have you heard of it? Since you can’t speak or shake your head I’m going to assume the answer is no. Literally it translates as the fear of empty space. In physics it refers to the principle that the universe abhors a vacuum and in art Mario Praz, used it as an explanation for the suffocating and seemingly cluttered atmosphere of Victorian interior design. It’s not surprising that many examples of horror vacui in art come from, or are influenced by the mentally unstable. Also not surprising given that a few hours confronted with the fear is said to be enough to drive anyone crazy. ..especially when they’ve been injected with prolixin and turbocurarine before being subjected to sensory deprivation.”
Prolixin? Turbocurarine? What are they? More drugs? What do they do? Is that why she feels as though she can’t move? As though she’s been chemically flayed alive? Is this in fact what been done to her…has she in fact been injected with psychotropic drugs? Where is she? What is happening to her? Why the fuck can’t she scream?! In her head she’s thrashing madly but her body remains eerily still. Will she be rescued in time or is she destined to die?
“And just so you don’t think me terribly cruel I’m going to give you something to think about while we wait for the drugs to wear off. I’ve got to go out for a bit but when I return we’re going to play a little game. One of my favorites, actually, fairly self explanatory. It’s called death or pain. Ta Ta deary, do try and enjoy your meditation time.”
And then there is silence…well save for the screaming in her head. Death or pain…what the fuck? Is this it for her? What will happen? She knows she has a high tolerance for pain but that is of course in controlled circumstances and at Her Lady’s hand. Here at the hands of a madman or woman whose only interest is in her suffering…can she withstand? She’s always wondered what it would be like to be really tortured…what would her response be? Would she beg for mercy and give in to whatever it is that they wanted or would she be stoic and brave? She knows that the human tolerance for pain in situations of distress can be quite high…but of course she’s only experienced this in controlled settings. And the circumstances here are different. This is not simply distress, this is mortal peril. Will she be mutilated? Does it matter if she is to die anyway? Is the game winnable at all?
“Oh God help…please, someone…anyone help!”
Death or Pain
Has it been minutes, hours, or days? The girl is not sure. She’s been floating in brackish water with no sensory input long enough for time to have ceased to mean. Left to ponder her fate the words death or pain have stuck in her head and they have turned her veins to ice. She’s freezing and terrified, even though the water is far from cold. Suddenly she hears a creaking followed by a loud crash. She jumps…OMG she jumped! Her body actually moved. She begins to kick and flail wildly in the water. With fear. With relief…she isn’t sure which but she doesn’t care. The release is powerful and she’s grateful for the ability to do so. The tears she’s wished she could shed stream rapidly down her face, and just as fast as they flow she blinks them away. Simply because she can. She feels herself lifted by the hair and thrown on the bitterly cold concrete floor. Instantly her nipples harden, her teeth chatter and her hair stands on end. The contrast between the water and the surface of the floor is astounding. Like an unexpected slap in the face.
“Okay sweatpea, let’s get you back on the table,”
That poised calm is unsettling and for a moment fear takes over. She flinches when she feels her captor grab at her hair and begins to back away from her. She knows she is simply prolonging the inevitable…she still can’t see and she doesn’t know the layout of the room and she can’t move very fast. Still, she can’t help herself. Once again she backs away. Her movements are cautious and uncertain. She is not followed. Her Lady stands still, a bemused smile playing about her concealed lips, the girls awkward, terrified crawling heightens her vulnerability, and whets Her Lady’s appetite to hurt.
“While I must say that’s adorable, my patience is growing thin. I’m beginning to grow angered by your resistance and I can assure you, my dear, you do NOT want to see me angry. Be a good girl now and stay still,” she advances towards the girl who can not stop herself from backing away, searching desperately with her hands for any nook or cranny that will put her out of harm’s reach. But fate is not on her side.
“Okay, have it your way,” her captor sighs as she grabs hold of the girl by the hair, pushes her down on the floor and steps down hard on her hair. She begins to slap her face repeatedly and hard. Her teeth Unexpected pain floods her senses as her teeth rattle and her swollen lips throb. A wave of nausea sweeps over her and she sees stars on the backs of her eyelids. Once again the girl’s abdomen and chest rise and fall rapidly and then her body goes limp. She is dragged along the floor by her hair and her body becomes a textured landcape of raised bumps as she feels herself hoisted up and onto a hard surface even colder than the floor. She hears the sounds of ripping and tearing.
Her eyes widen and her limbs go rigid as she feels pinching at her nipples and gentle stroking of her cunt. The touch reignites the unpleasant crawling on her skin. Reminds her of the ways in which she has been violate and the threat of things to come. She wiggles, a desperate attempt to pull away but once again her bonds hold firm. She can do nothing but accept the sensation. Please God, she thinks, please don’t let…
But before she can finish the fear in her head is given an external voice. “You know systematic rape has often been used as a highly effective subjugation technique. Armies have been doing it for centuries,”
The girl’s eyes flood as she feels sharp slapping where before there was gentle tracing. She has to bite down hard on her tongue to keep from attempting to scream and pulling at the stitches. Please let it be an empty threat, she thinks desperately. Please. Not here. Not like this.
“Funny. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were enjoying your predicament girl, how very odd. And here I thought you were suffering. I suppose we’ll just have to up the ante, won’t we?”
The thought disgusts her. It’s one thing to cum compulsively from the slightest brush of her Lady’s fingertips, the slightest inkling of her pleasure, but to be brought to arousal in these circumstances…she feels dirty. She shakes with shame and then breathes with relief when the sensation stops. But relief is only momentary. Who knows what could be happening? Not seeing , only feeling in this context is terrifying. She already knows her captor has “done things,” to her in her sleep. What else might she have done? What might she be doing that she isn’t aware of? And what might come next? Where has she gone? The sensation was bad. The lack of it is worse. It reminds her of the uncertainty of her plight.
Her Lady picks up the sharp blade and with one quick and confident stroke she cuts the stitches which have kept the girl silent. The girl feels a slight puff of air brush across her lips and gasps. Her success instantly clues her into what has happened. She has been freed. Her lips part and she sucks hungrily at the air, moistening her lips with quick, kittenish flicks. Relief is bitter sweet as she instantly recalls the name of the “game” she’s been told they will be engaging in. She begins to whimper and sweat. Another puff of air and light suddenly floods her pupils. Though she isn’t aware of it, she’s been hooded for days. She squints and squeezes her eyes shut. Light is painful. Her Lady smiles at the sight. The girl’s distress is intoxicating.
Searing pain in her left breast and then in her right elicits a piercing scream. Warm wetness flows down her torso. Her eyes eventually flutter open as she gasps at what she sees. A flash of silver, close to her skin. The glint of metal. Its shape indistinguishable. She cannot turn her head far enough to see what is missing from the tray of implements.
Casually her captor allows the blade to touch the delicate skin of her torso and she jumps. She has been anticipating torture and the slightest sensation terrifies her. She trembles as the blade is laid flat against skin. It’s cold at first but her body’s heat rapidly warms it. She trembles and cries as the blade is dragged along the edge along her stomach, barely grazing her flesh. Her breath quickens in terror and she screams as the point of the blade pokes playfully at her bellybutton.
“Please!” she sobs.
“Please what?” the response is cold and full of sadistic mirth, spoken as her captor traces the blade down towards her hips. The pressure is increased as it travels.
The girl tenses and sobs as she braces herself for the inevitable. She’s going to be cut. How badly how deep she doesn’t know. A white wall of fear paralyzes her. She has read countless stories of torture murder and the images flood her mind. Another cruel irony. How many dark fantasies have they inspired? In particular her special favorite—the Bathory murders. Will she suffer the same fate?
Her breath is heavy, her legs undulate and she grips the edge of the cold steel table for dear life as the blade is plunged into her skin. Fire floods her senses as her skin is split. The knife probes deeper into her scarlet flesh and she feels her veins opening . She cries as the metal rips and tears, forcing her open. She can not prevent the blade from swimming through her flesh. She simply lays there trembling. A sacrificial lamb. Ripe for slaughter…whimpering only encourages her captor. Her body quivers as she smells fresh blood. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the crimson slash which stretches from her left hip to her right. A spray of fluxive copper trickling playfully down her her inner thighs.
Although she cannot see it, her captor’s glee is tangible as she writes her pleasure in tiger like stripes on the girl’s bound body. Taped down as she is, she feels only searing lines of fire traveling the length of her torso, arms, breasts and legs as she is sliced and carved up, leaving rivers of blood to mark the places where her body has been carved like territories on a map. Sometimes her captor is methodical and slow. Sometimes it seems she slices and dices at random. The sensation is frightening in its intensity on the girl’s virgin flesh.
“Awww, you look like a candycane, how festive,” she taunts as she runs the blade along the girl’s cheek before tossing it casually aside. The girl trembles and tenses. Tortured little sobs escape her lips. They are ignored. Her captor smiles as silently she watches the girl bleed. She whimpers and pants attempting to calm herself by any means.
“You know in China death by cutting was a very popular execution method. In this form of execution, the condemned person was killed by using a knife to methodically remove portions of the body over an extended period of time. The process is a fascinating one. The condemned would be tied to a wooden frame, usually in a public place. His or her flesh would then be cut in multiple slices. And death was said to be slow and lingering, humiliating as it was done publically and damaging to the psychy as the body in pieces meant that the body of the victim would not be ‘whole’ in a spiritual life after death,”
The girl tenses and her mouth hangs open as the knife travels slowly up her torso and Her captor continues, “ the process begins with the torturer wielding an extremely sharp knife, much like this one, to put out the eyes of the torturer which of course means that the victim cannot see the remainder of the torture and, presumably, adding considerably to the psychological terror of the procedure. Afterwards rather minor but painful cuts are made to the face and body. Ears and noses are chopped off, tongues cut out, fingers and toes removed before the executioner proceeds to more severe cuts to thighs and shoulders. The entire process was said to last three days, and to total 3,600 cuts,”
As she speaks she casually runs the knife back and forth along the girl’s trembling lips and down the length of her damp left cheek. She screams as her captor takes a firm hold of the top of her left earlobe and tickles behind the cartIlage with the tip of the blade.
“Awwww you’re scared how sweet,” she simpers as she presses the blade into the tender flesh of her earlobe.
The girl’s crying becomes urgent.
“Awww princess I’m not going to cut it off…not now anyway. There’s so much fun to be had with my little dolly before I break her into pieces and throw her away,” her voice and her demeanor is gleeful as she steps away from the autopsy table and picks up an object that the girl is intimately familiar with. It’s a cane. Simple rattan and thin. A sob escapes the girl’s lips as the cane is slowly run up and down the soles of her bound feet.
“Foot whipping, variously known as bastinado is favoured as a form of torture because, although extremely painful, it leaves few physical marks, and of course unlike other areas of the body which become desensitized over time, the nerve endings in the bottoms of the feel continue to fire so that every stroke is as intense as the first. When used as a form of punishment, the prisoner may be immobilized before application of the beating by tying, securing the feet in stocks, locking the legs into an elevated position, or hanging upside-down. The Persian term falaka refers to a wooden plank which was used to secure the feet prior to beating.”
Each sentence is punctuated with a sharp stroke that makes the girl scream each time the cane impacts the tender flesh of her instep. She trembles and cries but her distress is ignored. Her captor continues:
“Foot whipping is effective due to the clustering of nerve endings in the feet, as you are no doubt discovering, it is particularly painful and take a long time to heal, rendering it a particularly brutal and cruel punishment. So many little bones in the feet too. So easy to break.”
She doesn’t cease in her whipping and the girl has to bite her lip to keep from begging her to stop. She remembers the name of the game and fears that to do so is to risk certain death. All she can do is struggle a little in her bonds and listen as her captor continues,
“This punishment has, at various times, been used in China and throughout the Ottoman empire and until recently, utilized as a form of corporal punishment in schools in the Middle East. It was convenient in that it could be employed on both male and female students in lieu of other forms of punishment considered inappropriate for females.”
The thud as the cane impacts the balls of her feet over and over sickens her. The pain is becoming intolerable. At the best of times the girl can barely stand impact or touch of any kind on her feet, at the moment it is worse than agony. How she wishes she could wiggle or kick, even a little bit, anything to help her process through…if she can wiggle and loosen her bonds a little bit, maybe she can… “dear god make it stop!” loosen her bonds enough to reach out and grab the bloodied knife that is just out of her reach…she’s broken out of duct tape bondage before and…her thought is interrupted by the piercing shriek that she is horrified to realize is hers. Afraid that her mind is drifting her captor has increased the force of impact and the girl instantly can’t comprehend anything but pain. She is a brain connected to the nerve endings in her feet which betray her in their constant firing. She screams again and begins to sob.
“Really my dear you’re being far too melodramatic, I’ve barely even gotten started with you and if you think this is painful, I’m afraid you’re likely to lose this game rather quickly. You don’t want that now do you?”
The girl can’t answer, she can only sob. Her captor has not paused in her ceaseless striking. The girl’s lack of response angers her. She deals her a blow that brings the girl’s screaming to fever pitch then grabs her hair, forcing her to look straight into her covered eyes as she brings her face inches from the girl’s own. The girl’s own eyes widen and Her Lady searches them for a sign of recognition, but all she sees reflected back is terror. She smiles inwardly. She has done her job well.
“Your rudeness is growing tiresome, bitch!” she snarls. “You best be careful, as I’ve told you before, making me angry is unwise. Look around you bitch, and make no mistake, I can be very nasty when I want to be. And if you continue to make me angry, I just might be inclined to show you that when it comes time to dispose of you. You don’t want that now do you?”
The girl’s nostrils flare and her face pales. Tears continue to stream down her cheeks as she shakes her head as vigorously as she possibly can. Her captors face is still inches from her own and the hot breath on her skin, still smelling of peppermint, reminds her of the ways in which she has been violated. Once again she feels the spiders stirring in her veins.
“We understand each other, then,” Her captor says as she deals her another hard slap, her hand, which has been resting in the pool of blood on the girl’s chest leaves a crimson imprint of her hand.
Defeated and a little dazed from the pain the girl weakly nods. Her captor smiles beneath her hood. She feels her stomach being to rumble and her mouth water as she looks at the girl. The sanguine rivers have flown freely where she has been sliced and she’s begun to look like a patchwork girl. Her little living dead doll. An image of the girl hours before, lips sewn shut, eyes wide and glassy, floods her mind and she smiles, “stitch bitch,” she thinks to herself. “Such a shame to waste it,” she thinks, but she can’t very well do as she might want to and lap and bite hungrily, slapping and clawing at her wounds until they pour forth life once more. She looks at the lines of crimson that trickled down the insides of the girl’s thighs and considers tracing just a finger in the girl’s blood and putting it to her lips. Her hand wanders, but she restrains herself, turning her attention instead, to the girl’s weary mind.
“So tell me, how do you like my little game, princess?” her tone is mirthful and light but the girl has learned enough not to be fooled. She cannot speak but looks at her, her feelings written on her face and in her eyes which are clouded with tears.
“Awww that bad huh?” she giggles and claps her hands together as she speaks. “I thought for sure you’d like it. I’ve been studying you for months and I’ve learned about your, shall we say alternative tastes. I think you’re lying to me. Your eyes say you hate it but your cunt suggests otherwise, you’re soaked, princess,”
She has been too frightened to realize that her captor’s hand has traveled between her legs. She tenses as she feels herself forcefully penetrated, but it is only for an instant, long enough for her captor to wet her hands in the girl’s juices . The act is as painful, but the comment is oddly familiar. If she didn’t know any better she’d swear it was something her Lady might say. And although she is mortified by the fact that she could grow wet in these circumstances, she feels for a split second oddly comforted. But the moment of peace is rapidly stripped from her as her captor forcefully smears her own wetness all over her face. “See?”
It’s true, she cannot deny it and she blushes furiously. Her face blushes, the crimson handprint no longer distinguishable from her skin as her own scent floods her nose.
“Open your mouth, you’re going to clean up your fucking mess,” she demands and the girl is surprised to find she obeys instantaneously. Perhaps because her mind has drifted to thoughts of her Lady and the bittersweet comfort has opened her to that state of unthinking obedience. She is not sure…but such questions of how and why don’t matter now anyway. Her thought process is interrupted as she feels her Captor’s fingers inserted forcefully into her mouth and throat, so deep she gags.
“Vomit on my hand and you’ll pay for it,” she warns and the girl fights to quell the nausea rising up from her stomach. She cannot and she fears she will disobey, she struggles to free herself, enough to give her room to swallow, even though she shudders at the thought. She is held firmly however and terror mingles with shame as she realizes she cannot prevent it from happening.
The hand is rapidly removed from her mouth and she is slapped hard once again.
“I warned you, bitch,” the hiss in her voice is menacing.
The girl begins to tremble. “I’m s…s…s..sorry,”
“You’re s..s..s..owwy,” she mocks, “awwww I’m sure you are but sorry isn’t going to cut it.”
The girl begins to whimper as her mind begins to contemplate the consequences of her disobedience.
“Will you shut the fuck up? You sound like a lost puppy,” she removes her gloves as she speaks and purposefully gives the girl a glimpse of something familiar. A delicate gold ring with pretty red stones.
The girl’s eyes widen. And instantly her mistake is forgotten as she attempts to process this new realization. What does it mean? Should she be terrified? Should she be relieved? She isn’t sure.
Her voice drips with incredulity as her voice forms a terrible question. A question she already knows the answer to but that she dreads just the same…
“Ma’am?”
Ma’am
“Hello pet,” Her Lady smiles and the girl gasps.
It can’t be…it just can’t be…the abduction…the things that have been done to her. The threat of death…
“You seem surprised to see me,” her Lady remarks as she removes her sunglasses and the layers of clothing that have been obscuring her face and masking her voice. She lets her beautiful curls out from under the hood and shakes them out vigorously. It is Her Lady in the flesh.
“Really love, does it come as so much of a shock…”
She pauses as she continues to remove layers of clothing, until she is wearing only a pair of black pants, black boots, and a black tank top that the girl is intimately familiar with. How often has she admired her Lady in these same clothes at the club. How many times seeing her dressed thusly has made her flush with arousal. Damn it why is she thinking of this now? What on earth is going on?
“I warned you a number of times, didn’t I?” her Lady continues. “I told you I had a serial killer inside, but you just…didn’t…believe me…well she decided it was time to come out and play.”
For an instant the girl’s heart stops. It can’t be. She’s toying with her head. She has to be. Her Lady though sadistic and even cruel at times ultimately loves her. She’s always said the pain she inflicts is an expression of that love. She wouldn’t. ..she couldn’t.
“You’ve said you’d die for my amusement girl, well, look on the bright side…now you’ll get the chance to prove it…”
The girl searches her face and her voice for any indication that she is toying with her but cannot find one. She is too stunned to react.
“But first things first I believe I owe you something for disobeying me,” she picks up the cane once again and runs it along the girl’s exposed thighs.
The cane? This is her choice after everything she’s done? Instruments of terror, of mortal peril at her disposal and she chooses the cane. For an instant it seems strange, but it instantly becomes clear once she begins.
“You know how this is done, girl, count and thank me.”
The strokes are intense and the rapidity with which they are delivered nearly makes her loose her count. And the girl is surprised to learn that ever here, even now, even under these circumstances, she falls into unquestioned obedience, counting and thanking her. And still no act of pain or torture that has been inflicted upon her up until this point has been nearly as bad as having marks of disobedience inflicted upon her. Her eyes fill with tears that spill rapidly over her cheeks as she counts. She can barely stand the pain of impact. Can it be so? has her mind and heart been so thoroughly taken over that her devotion remains unwavering, that even in these circumstances, no feeling, no torture is worse than feeling as though she has disobeyed her Lady, even if her intent is to torture her to death? The same question fills both their minds as the cane bites into her tender thighs over and over again.
“Do you believe me now, I’m not all flowers and fairies,”
and still she counts and thanks her, as she has been instructed to do.
“50 Thank you Ma’am…51 Thank you Ma’am,”
The moment is a surprisingly intense one for them both. Emotion creeps into her Lady’s face as she increases the force behind her blows and the girl’s voice begins to crack and fill with sobs as she counts and thanks her.
“75 t…t….thank you Ma’am,” the words are barely intelligible by the time they reach this point.
Her Lady lays aside the cane and absentmindedly strokes the girl’s hair while she waits for her to calm herself. She is still crying freely and her breath comes in heavy gasps that linger in the cool moist air. It takes her considerably longer to quiet. Confusion has only heightened her terror. Her eyes, wide and searching, look for her Lady and when she cannot meet her gaze, dart around the dilapidated room desperate for some sort of understanding. But the blue paint peeling off the crumbling walls and the exposed wires reveal no secrets. The smell of decomposition is strong. To her left, steel. To her right the table full of implements, equally cold and impersonal. Hot pain radiates from her thighs where the skin has already welted and began to discolor. More tiger stripes in purples and reds. Her feet throb.
“Well my dear, I am sorry to say our game has reached its end,”
The girl tenses and gasps as she feels the pinch and then subsequent burn of an IV needle being inserted into the vein on the inside of her left arm. The words tear through her chest and for a moment she’s paralyzed by a white wall of fear as their meaning hits her. She cannot respond. Comprehension sets in and she begins to sob with renewed vigor.
“Awww, kitten, no need for tears, it’s not as bad as all that. Since you’ve served me faithfully this past year I’m going to do you a favor and end it painlessly. A luxury most won’t get. I’m simply going to drain your blood and it’ll be quick and easy, just like falling asleep. I’ll even wish you sweet dreams. And the worst part is already over—the needle is already in, see?”
…In and attached to a catheter which is draining over an old basin even as she speaks. Endorphine and stress have had an unusual effect upon the hue of her blood. It’s bright. Eerily so. Nearly fluorescent. Like strawberry sauce being drizzled over cheesecake. Such an innocuous image…the juxtaposition is terrifying. She can’t look away.
Her Lady’s eyes glitter as she watches the girl, eyes wide as silver dollars, chest rising and falling like a ship bobbing in the shallows. She’s not crying now, she simply watches the blood as it runs…a macabre little waterfall. Unsure if time is moving fast or impossibly slow…had she told her husband that she loves him before she left to do the shopping? Perhaps she should have made more of an effort to see her sister before she left town… still how odd to think that soon it will be as if she had never existed at all. This is it. Oh god, it’s really it. She has tried to live simply, tread lightly…will there be a body for the family to bury? How she wishes she had her lamb to comfort her. Is there a god? Holy shit what if she was wrong? Has she led a good life? If there is a god, is there a hell? Has she led a good life? Will she see her grandfather and her loved ones on the other side? Can you feel the moment where the life force slips away? Her eyes close as her head begins to swim. Panic is setting in…
Her body is betraying her. Each pump, each contraction of her heart pushes the blood through her veins, into the cathether, and out. Each beat a step closer to her inevitable death. The faintly melodic plinks as her life force falls drip by agonizingly slow drip against the cold metal are almost tauntingly pleasant. So innocuous a sound. Like the faint humming in her ears. Plink. Plink. Plink. The drops of blood fall and splatter like rain drops. Plink. Plink. Plink. She is eerily alert. Catlike in her fear. She can feel the blood moving in her veins. Hear the dull roar and the frantic thumping. Her ribs are vibrating…
…. Her eyes close in weary defeat. She’s lightheaded. A million tiny fingers tap a gentle lullaby on her skull…an unlikely piano. She sighs as her eyes close and white light eminates from the backs of her eyelids. She is floating on a cushion of air. Too weak to fight or even to giggle at the funny little plinks, her pallid lips soften. The hint of a smile plays in the corners. Haemorrhagic shock is surprisingly painless. She might even find it pleasant…if she weren’t so cold…
Plink…plink…plink…they grow fainter as the bottom of the basin disappears beneath the warm crimson curtain. The smell of iron fills her. ..but her beast is sleeping, curled up quietly at the end of its tether. She can only acknowledge with a muted purr…
Thud…Thud…Thud…her eyelids flutter open. Does that happen when you’re dead? Can you blink? Why are her wrists crossed? How very odd? She stretches and she is surprised to find that her muscles respond; the hairs on her neck bristle as her toes brush against something soft. It startles her. She jumps and her head connects with wood. Pain floods her temples and fills up the space between her eyes, traveling down her chest, an electric shock to her heart. Torpid unease turns to blind terror as her nostrils are assaulted by the scent of earth. Although it’s dark, she can just make out the outline of a pentagon above her head. Comprehension dawns. She is most assuredly not dead…and yet…Thud…thud…thud…
…The air seems oppressive. A beat. Frozen in terror. She chokes on her fear. Then violently, involuntarily her arms flail. They connect with the hard surface, mere inches from her face. It reanimates her. Releasing her scream. The tinkling of church bells seems oddly out of place as, beastlike, she kicks and claws at the unyielding wood…
…Light floods her pupils. Instinctively she shields her eyes. She feel s strong and loving hands take hold of her arms and lift her upwards, helping her to the ground at her Lady’s feet. She sits in stunned silence for a moment, before bringing her lips to her Lady’s boots. Her hair is softly stroked. Solace floods her being and her eyes close in relaxation.
“Good girl,” her Lady purrs. nothing more need be said.
I love the wicked game of tease and denial. It amuses me to make you suffer deliciously and I can tell how much you want a reward for serving your Goddess and pleasing her in a myriad of ways. My personal favorite tease and denial is the CB6000 chastity device which locks up your cock and denies you any kind of release until I deign to release you from its grip. I can also arrange for it to have sharp points that will dig into your naughty boys if you become aroused without permission or inside the device. It locks onto your cock and, of course, I have the only key and you will be kept on lockdown until it pleases me to let you out. Of course, you will be restrained until you’ve pleased me in the manner to which I have trained you to do.
I will find creative ways to make you lust for me and enjoy your begging to be released which will only happen after you have served my need, and maybe not even then unless you persuade me in such a way that I have no choice but to release you for your own sanity. Imagine for a moment that your dick is locked up and you cannot touch it in any way. The CB6000 is designed to be work comfortably for months at a time and you will not have access to it for any reason unless I decide to unlock you. Attempting to masturbate will only be counter-productive; as the sharp points of intrigue will painfully remind you that an erection while confined in chastity will give pain a new meaning and I am able to put several different levels of points of intrigue–sharper and longer if you dare to try to thwart your device in an unapproved manner. If you displease me, I will mail your key to myself ensuring that it will be at least two days before you can be released.
I’ve got several slaves in semi-permanent chastity although I will milk your prostate to keep you healthy, you will be denied orgasm until I wish to grant you the privilege of a release from your chastity. Tease and denial increase your submission to my control because when I lock you in, you’ve had your last orgasm until I allow you to have your cock released from its captivity. I don’t play fair either. I will tease your mercilessly while you are in captivity so you will understand it is me who is the keyholder, the one who controls your pleasure.
It makes me wet to hear you beg me for release from confinement and it is ENTIRELY up to me when and where you are released from your device. It’s such a delicious thing to hear you beg and whimper while you helplessly watch your cock drool when I massage your prostate with my finger–or maybe I will pop in a butt plug and watch you bounce up and down in frustration while begging to release. You are my slave and your pleasure depends on my permission…which you may or may not get, depending on how much I decide to make you deliciously suffer for my entertainment.
I get off on seeing what you will endure for the pleasure of a mind-blowing climax I might let you experience–if you please me and I decide to allow you pleasure. I might just let you suffer for my amusement too; so that you know whose collar you wear and whose bitch you are. Nothing is as sweet to me as the sound of your voice begging me to touch you. It makes my pussy wet when you plead to be released and promise me anything–when you beg for my touch.
If you have served me well and I wish to have more pleasure from listening to your cries of frustrated lust, I might seduce you as part of your tease and denial. Imagine being tied to the bed and blindfolded. Your chastity device has been removed so that you are free to rise to the occasion. Of course, if you come without permission, there will be very harsh repercussions, so don’t even think about it. I will punish you severely for such a transgression, you wear my collar bitch, and don’t forget it. If you do, I’ll arrange it so that you won’t forget it again. You’ll think about how you displeased me every time you sit down for a week
You’ll feel my breath tickle your ear as I whisper to you about the unspeakably nasty things I want to do to you. I kiss you but you are not allowed to kiss me back as I tease your lips with my tongue, flicking just underneath and inside your upper lip because it almost gives you a little electric jolt when I hit the sensitive spot. It reminds you of how I react when you taste me in that secret place you’ve known so well and worship so magnificently.
However, for now, you are my little fucktoy bitch and I’ll do as I please with you and listen to you beg for release….God but I love it when you beg for pleasure and squirm trying to get free of the restraints that hold you firmly in your helpless state. I love the taste of your nipples. They are a little salty and their taste along with the clean scent of your chest makes my pussy wet. I rub my finger over my wetness and touch it to your lips as a special treat to you as a preview of the taste of my nectar that you’ve been wanting to taste for a long time. I run my hand down your body and your cock springs into my hand–hot, hard, huge and throbbing.
I like watching it strain toward me, the head beginning to glisten as your desire shows in your drooling, quivering member. I tease it with light scratches of my very long red nails as it shudders and I hear you groan in frustration and beg for release from the restraints that hold you firmly in place spread-eagled on the bed. I raise your blindfold just enough for you to see the large plug I am about to use to violate your tight ass. It’s a frighteningly large plug and you protest but I ignore it and pull the blindfold back over your eyes. I hear the fear in your voice when you beg me not to use such a large plug and I laugh because I secretly mind fucking you and the plug I’m going to use is much smaller than the huge one I showed to you. I lube the smaller plug and laugh as I stuff it into your formerly well-used but long-neglected hole and listen to you gasp as your cock jumps to attention and begins to bounce around.
However, it’s not time for you to have any release yet as I want to continue to tease you and deny you release while listening to you beg for me to let you come as you rub and hump the bed with your plugged hind end trying for orgasm with frustratingly inadequate stimulation. I love watching this. You are total without shame as you plead for me to stop teasing you and untie you….but it’s not time yet my beloved. Your goddess enjoys torturing you in such a deliciously cruel manner and your pleading is music in the air to me. The more you promise, beg and cajole, the more aroused I become and my hot pussy is dripping honey. I nibble the lobe of your ear and whisper to you that you must EARN your orgasm by giving me oral pleasure until I tell you to stop. With that, I straddle your face and allow you to taste my sweet pussy juices that are about to drip down your face.
“Is THIS what you want?” I ask you, knowing that you cannot reply while I am queening. Your reply is muffled and unintelligible as you feverishly lap up my juices that are flowing like water as I cum; trying not to tear you to pieces in the throes of the incredible orgasm I’ve just experienced. I remove the blindfold and kiss my juices off your face–you know how much I love licking my pussy off your face. Your delicious torment is about to end as I slide my hot and wet womanhood onto your bouncing, drooling, rock-hard rod and gasp as you fill me completely to the hilt with your throbbing dick. Slowly I slide up and down on your cock with maddening slowness and grind down so you can feel the butt plug massaging your prostate driving you to the edge until I cannot stand it for one more second. I can’t last long as I am so sensitive from the incredible orgasm I had sitting on your face and forcing you to pleasure me while I denied your release. I reach over and release your hands and, with a cry of pure animal lust you grab my hips and grind my pussy down on your cock with a force you didn’t know you possessed.
The pressure of the plug, the hours of being teased and denied spring forth and turn you to a wild animal, oblivious to anything but the feel of the plugin your ass and my dripping wet, hot pussy surrounding your cock as you explode inside of me with such intensity that I can’t stop the spasms of multiple orgasms exploding through my body and you have to catch me as I collapse into the bed, a spent ball of trembling flesh, blind with no feeling in my legs, making tiny mewling sounds and helpless as a newborn kitten. Of course, Tease and Denial is a game that two can play and you will have to have your revenge in a rousing game of “Beg for it, Bitch!”
I arrive home, exhausted and frazzled from another 10-hour shift. I tromp through the snow and force my legs to propel me up the steps, stamping the snow off of my boots as I go. Swinging open the apartment door, I set down my laptop bag with a heavy sigh and slam the door behind me. I take off my boots and walk over to the fridge, grabbing the carton of orange juice and pouring myself a glass, when I hear: “Slave!” the harsh, angry voice of my Mistress resounds in my ears like a slap to the face. “Why did you not present yourself to me as soon as you arrived?” She stands in the doorway from the living room, glaring at me. Immediately, I drop to my knees, “I’m sorry, Mistress. I forgot what day it was.” It’s true, I really had forgotten. Between the long hours I’d been working and the constant wetness of my pussy, everything blurred together and each day seemed identically exhausting, identically frustrating. I realize that it had also been exactly one month tonight since my last orgasm. Of all nights, this is not the night to make such errors.
Find kinky people around “I don’t want to hear your excuses, slave.” Her voice is quieter, this time, but she sounds deeply annoyed, which I sometimes think is worse than angry, and she twists an extra layer of disdain into the word “slave.” I wait, on my knees, eyes downcast. She walks across the kitchen, ignoring me, and grabs a measuring cup from the cupboard. She strides leisurely over to the 20-pound bag of rice in the corner and unclips the bag clips holding it shut. Without so much as glancing in my direction, she commands me, matter-of-factly, “Strip.” I rise to my feet and begin to remove my shirt. “I did not direct you to stand, slave.” The chill in her voice makes me shudder as I force my knees back to the floor. I unbutton my shirt, removing it and folding it beside me, then unhooking my bra and gently easing it off, trying not to brush the itchy, mesh fabric too much against my swollen nipples and the welts all over my breasts from last night. Then I awkwardly slip my pants and panties off, squirming on the floor to remain kneeling while pushing my slacks around my knees. I lean back, arching my back, to disentangle them from my ankles. As I’m bent over backward, nervously trying to finish removing my panties, Mistress walks over and stands in front of me, staring down at me as I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Hope wells up in my chest at seeing her smile for the first time this evening. “You look like you need some help, slave,” her voice takes on a sweet, musical, mocking tone. “Hold still.” She laughs lightly, but I know that it’s an order. I tense my muscles, pulling my body taut and forcing myself to look at the ceiling as I feel her hands grasp my left nipple and push it between the plastic jaws on the first bag clip. She quickly does the same to the other as I bite my lower lip, trying desperately to keep my muscles rigid and still. I can feel her eyes carefully inspecting her work, noting that the clip on my left nipple is biting into one of my welts as well as squeezing my nipple mercilessly. She grabs the handle of a clip in each hand and tugs them, “Stand.” I struggle to obey quickly as she pulls the clamps just a little faster than I can move my body, the warmth of pain emanating from my nipples over the whole of my breasts. “Thank you, Mistress.” She chuckles evilly, as I hear her dip the measuring cup, which I had forgotten about, into the rice and scatters it on the floor in front of me. She stares at the floor, idly playing with the clip on my right nipple. She decides to pour a few more scoops of rice onto the floor. “Now, kneel.” She tugs the clips on my nipples downward and I follow them, bending my knees until her hands stop with my legs bent at a 45-degree angle, and she holds them still. I pause, wondering what to do. “May I kneel, please, Mistress?” I ask. “I told you to kneel, slave. Why are you so slow to obey tonight?” “But, I can’t kneel with where you’re holding the clips, Mistress,” I protest, confused. “That, slave, is incorrect. You can kneel perfectly well. And you will, now.” Her tone was sharp, this time, and finally understanding, I let my knees drop to the floor, pulling the rest of my body downwards and yanking my nipples out of the clips. I grit my teeth as the pain shoots through my nipples and the grains of rice press into the flesh of my legs. “Stay there.”
Let the brush torture continue in the bedroom
She leaves the room. I wait, knees and tits sore, cunt dripping wet and aching. I don’t know for how long. Finally, she comes back into the kitchen. “Stand up.” I rise unsteadily, “Thank you, Mistress.” She smirks and grabs me by the hair, yanking on it and pulling me, stumbling after her, into the bedroom. I stare longingly at the silk sheets on her bed, but she releases my hair and orders me to lie on my stomach on the floor. The rough, itchy carpet chafes my sore tits as Mistress straddles me. “Keep your forehead on the floor. Your hair is a mess. It’s a good thing I just got a new hairbrush.” I hold my forehead obediently on the floor as Mistress begins to pull a hairbrush through my hair. I sigh contentedly and relax, grateful for the gentleness she shows me. “Thank you, Mistress.” Mistress pulls the brush through my hair again, this time pressing the bristles against my scalp, along the back of my neck, and down my spine. It tingles and I shiver a little. Mistress gets to her feet and tells me to lie on my back on the bed. I do as I am told and Mistress lies down beside me. “Keep your palms flat on the bed, slut.” I smile as she calls me a slut. She only uses words other than “slave” for me when she’s pleased. Slowly, she begins dragging the bristles of the hairbrush over the tops of my breasts. It tickles at first, and I press my lips together, holding back a giggle. Mistress notices and begins to press harder, though still moving the brush achingly slowly across my skin, now down the side of my left breast and along the underside, then up across the center of my chest, over the top of my right breast, down the side and under, then back across the chest. The tiny, light red lines traced by the bristles form an infinity symbol; the regularity of the pattern helps me to melt into the pain as Mistress gradually moves the brush harder and faster. The pattern breaks as she starts circling my left breast, spiraling the brush slowly inward. I grit my teeth as my Mistress rakes the bristles across my welts, getting closer and closer to my sore nipple. I brace myself against the inevitable, as she skims my aureole and she pauses, observing the strain in my face. She stares into my eyes, “Are you enjoying yourself, slut?” I gaze up at her and swallow nervously, “I’m enjoying your enjoyment of me, Mistress.” She flashes me a wolfish grin. The answer is the same every time, but she never tires of hearing it. She knows that it’s true. My eyes are still locked in hers as she drags the brush across my nipple suddenly. I let out a sharp cry and she smiles cruelly, scrubbing the brush back and forth across my nipple. I struggle to keep my palms flat against the bed and take deep breaths, punctuated by my occasional involuntary cries and whimpers. She stops, and I gasp for breath, trying to regain my composure. Then she moves her attention to my right breast, following the same intricate procedure, but the spiraling is slower this time. The memory of pain fresh in my mind muscles tense, I wait. Occasionally, she deviates from the routine to give a little special attention to my larger welts, grating the bristles against them and admiring her artwork, “This one is nice. Riding crops leave quite lovely marks, don’t they?” “Yes, Mistress.” A jolt of pain sears through me as she unexpectedly drags the brush roughly across my nipple. I scream; I wasn’t expecting it this time. The music of her laughter makes me wet, even as my nipple burns with pain under the relentless bristles. I am moaning and my shoulders twitch. She pauses again, “Are you ready for something different?” she asks. I am terrified and curious, “Yes, Mistress, if it would please you.” She drags the brush softly, lightly, down my belly and through my bush. “My, you’re wet,” she comments with taunting nonchalance as I feel the bristles catch, stuck near the end of the stroke in my cum-slicked pubes. Before I can respond, she yanks the brush free, pulling a bit of hair along with it. I yell, “Yes, Mistress.” She flips the brush over in her hand and smacks my vulva with the back of the head of the brush several times. I whimper as she smacks my swollen pussy lips with the brush, gasping for breath when she finally stops. “Do you like my new toy?” “Yes, Mistress.” “Then let me show you my favorite feature of it.” She clicks a small switch on the handle that had escaped my notice until now. The brush vibrates.
I really really need to cum now
She presses the back of the brush against my vulva and I moan in pleasure. She rubs it slowly back and forth against my aching mound. “Do you like this, whore?” I savor the edge of derision in her voice. “Yes, Mistress.” “Spread your legs wider, bitch.” I gladly open my legs as far as I can, my wet pussy lips parting, and she slides the quivering handle of the brush between my labia, running it softly up and down the length of my cleft, just fast enough that it doesn’t touch anyone points for too long. I shiver every time it glides over my clit, biting my lip and longing for the sensation to linger, but she makes sure that my craving remains unsatisfied. The pleasure makes me tingle all over. Maybe tonight. Maybe this time she will let me cum. I lie still, gazing at the intent focus on my Mistress’ face, trying to hold my legs still, so as not to irritate her. She rubs more slowly, finally letting the handle of the brush rest lightly on my clit. I can tell that she is listening intently to the moans, sighs, and gasps rising unbidden from my lips, calculating how close I’m getting. My clit throbs as I approach the edge, expecting her to pull the brush away, but she doesn’t. Maybe tonight. “May I cum, please, Mistress?” I ask meekly. “Not yet, slave. You must wait. I will tell you when you may cum.” “Yes, Mistress.” I force myself to hold still, wanting desperately to grind against the brush. I’m getting steadily closer and she shows no sign of stopping the stimulation, and I can tell that she does not intend to give me permission to cum yet. I feel myself reaching the edge and panic begins to tighten in my chest. I’m terrified that I might cum without permission. “Please stop, Mistress. I can’t hold back much longer.” “But slave, I’m so much enjoying this new brush.” She purses her lips in thought, “I suppose I could go back to using it on your tits if that’s what you’d prefer.” She presses down on my clit, bringing me to the teetering edge of orgasm, seconds from the climax, and I pant desperately, “Yes, please, Mistress.” She pulls the brush away from my aching clit, savoring the expression on my face, contorted with fear and frustrated desire. “Very well.” The bristles go straight to my nipples, first the left and then the right. She rubs them viciously as I scream at the sudden onset of pain. I grip the sheets reflexively, seeking an anchor to keep myself still. “Palms flat!” she snaps at me, rapping my knuckles hard with the back of the brush. I immediately straighten my fingers and gasp, “I’m sorry, Mistress.” Without comment, she drags the bristles leisurely across my breasts in a long, meandering design, never lifting the bristles off my skin. Gradually, she increases the pace until she is scouring my breasts roughly. I wail in pain, “Please, no more, Mistress, please.” She pauses and smiles, clicking the switch on the hairbrush and beginning to rub the handle along the length of my pussy again. I take long, deep, ragged breaths, trying to calm my arousal. I love and dread the sensation, craving it and fearing its power to push me into disobedience. I try to think of something, anything other than the vibrator moving back and forth over my clit, sending pulses of pleasure through me. I try to ignore the sensation and begin to count the Fibonacci series in my head. 1, 2, 3, 5…it feels so good. 8, 13, 21, 34…I’m craving, I desire, I love. 55, 89, 144, 233…want it so much. 377, 610, 987, 1597…desperation. 1597…1597…desperation, desperation, desperation, desperation. I can’t keep count and this word is becoming my new mantra. I’m getting too close. “Please, may I cum, Mistress?” I plaintively ask. Her lips wrap slowly and cruelly around her response, “No.” She pauses, smiles sweetly, and adds, “And stop asking for it. I will tell you when you may.” I quickly stammered, “Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.” She nods in approval. “Then will you please stop teasing me, Mistress?” I glance up at her, hoping that she will show mercy to me. “Are you sure, slave?” I know in an instant that she does not plan to be merciful. “If I take the brush off your wet cunt, it will have to go back to your sore tits.” Continuing to rub the brush against my clit, she lightly pinches my left nipple with her other hand. I yelp. “You only have two options, slave: pleasure or pain.” “Pain, please, Mistress.” I force the words from my throat, voice shaking. “Please, hurt me, Mistress. I can’t hold myself back anymore.” She pulls the brush away from my crotch and moves it back to my breasts, scraping the bristles against them as I wince and shudder and scream. My throat feels almost as raw as my breasts. I have lost all sense of time, but I know that the length of time I can stand either form of stimulation is growing shorter. I struggle to endure the grating bristles of the brush on my tender nipples for as long as possible, but I soon must relent. “Please, no more pain, Mistress. Please tease me instead, Mistress.” Back to the wonderful, tempting warmth of pleasure. I know I won’t be able to stand it long this time. I stare at my bright red tits, my skin raw, and then glance up at my Mistress’ cruel, deeply amused smile. She moves the vibrating handle of the brush back and forth gently, slowly across my clit. Even this light stimulation has me nearing the edge in what feels like less than a minute. I’m terrified of having to endure more pain and I am terrified of displeasing my Mistress. The tension of conflicting fears and conflicting desires torment me and I feel tears beginning to trail down my cheeks. I’m so close to orgasm, “Please, hurt me, Mistress” I whimper. “Please, I’m on the edge, Mistress. Please, hurt me.” She holds the brush against my clit and leans over me, whispering into my ear, “Cum for me.”
Looking for a mistress near ?
I am awash in pure joy as I am finally allowed to let the pleasure surge through me. I feel weightless, overwhelmed by bliss, and it seems to go on forever. I realize that my eyes are closed and I open them. Mistress smiles down at me and softly strokes my hair. I don’t have words yet, but she can read the gratitude on my face. She kisses me lightly on the forehead and folds her arms around my still trembling body. I am exhausted, and happy, and very much in love.
After years of trying to control my nymphomania and countless thousands of dollars spent on psychiatrists, I still was no better than when I was 16. You see, for me, it’s not a need for attention or a desire for companionship that drove me to have sex – it was the sexual release – the orgasm – that I craved. I seemed to constantly crave sex. After I would reach orgasm, I was only satisfied for about an hour before I would begin to feel the strong urge to have sex again. The urge would become more and more powerful until I again satisfied it. Even at work, my lunch breaks usually included a trip to the restroom for a quick orgasm using a vibrator. Masturbation was okay and satisfied the urge, but it never compared to the feel of a real man inside of me. I fucked men every chance I had, and I hated myself for it. I couldn’t keep a boyfriend because no one man could fuck me often enough to keep me satisfied. Because of this, my life became an endless cycle of men who cared nothing about me.
One day, after a particularly excessive weekend (6 different guys in 2 days), I went home and had a message on my answering machine from my friend Sonja. She said that she hadn’t heard from me all weekend and was worried that I had “fallen off the wagon again”. I called her, and she could immediately tell by my voice that her suspicions were true. As usual, I cried and told her that I felt so bad about what I had done, and about how much of a slut I was, but that I just couldn’t control myself. This is when she first suggested it. She said, “Well if you can’t control your sexual desires, have you ever thought about giving someone else control of them for you?” I had no idea what she was talking about. I asked her to go on.
She continued, “I saw a special on TV about alternative sexual lifestyles. One of the subjects they talked about was the use of chastity belts. In the TV special, they discussed how chastity belts have really made a comeback in the alternative underground. They are relatively comfortable, secure, and can be worn under clothing without detection. Most of all, they prevent all contact with the genitalia underneath.” I had heard of chastity belts, but I thought that they were just myths from medieval times. Sonja continued, “The article showed how couples used chastity belts to enhance their sex lives. They would wear the chastity belts for days, sometimes weeks at a time, to deprive themselves of sex. They said that the sex was much more intense and gratifying after being locked in the belt for weeks at a time.” “Well, what has this got to do with me? Intense sex is not a problem with me, quite the opposite in fact,” I asked. Sonja continued, “Well if you were locked in a chastity belt you would not be able to”
I told her that her suggestion was very interesting and that I would research it. I got off the phone and finished the handjob that I had started. As I lay awake in bed, all I could think about was being locked up in a belt, unable to be fucked, unable even to touch myself. I came five more times that night while fantasizing about being locked in a belt.
I spent the next several evenings researching chastity belts and decided that I would like to give one a try. I decided to buy a Tollyboy model FGA/200. It has an all-steel waistband and front shield, with a wire that goes from the bottom of the front shield to the back of the waistband, following the curve of the crack of the wearer’s ass. It looked very secure. After reading about the importance of proper measurement, I decided to ask Sonja to help measure me for the chastity belt.
Fitting time
The next evening, she came over to measure me. When she came over, I was wearing blue jeans and a tube top. She laughed at me and said, “We’ll never get an accurate measurement of you in that!” I decided to change into some spandex tights, but she said that the spandex would prevent her from getting an accurate measurement of the crack of my ass. Although I have seldom had a problem being naked in front of a man, I have always felt uncomfortable about being naked in front of other women, even my best friend. She assured me that this was the only way, and so I reluctantly agreed. I removed my blue jeans and noticed that much to my embarrassment, my panties were visibly wet from my excitement. I hoped that she would not notice; I was afraid that she would get the wrong idea and think that I was excited because of her, not because of the thought of being locked in a chastity belt. My fears came true when she said, with an evil grin, “I can see, and smell, that this excites you very much.”
I tried to explain to her that it wasn’t how it seemed, but I don’t think she believed me. I removed my panties and tried not to think about it as I allowed another woman’s hands to explore my most intimate areas. “Raise your hands over your head – it will make your waist smaller”, she said. I did as she told me to. Using a paper template, she measured my waist and the distance from the front of my waist, down across my pussy, around the crack of my ass, and back up to the back of my waist. I complained that she was measuring too tightly, but she assured me that she was measuring the way the instructions said to. After she was finished, I put back on my clothes and thanked her for measuring me. I couldn’t help but notice that her face was very flushed and her nipples were erect. She had experimented with lesbian relationships before she got married, but I hadn’t suspected until now that she was attracted to me. After she left, I was so turned on by the thought of being locked in a belt that I couldn’t pull my little rocket pocket and use it.
The next day, I placed my order and prepared to spend the next couple of weeks waiting for the belt to arrive. Sexually, the next couple of weeks were a blur. There was a man after man. I seemed to be at an even stronger pace than ever. The thought of being locked up and unable to orgasm made me hornier than I have ever been. I fucked like I was never going to be fucked again. After two weeks of this, the belt arrived.
The pleasure of getting a new toy
The day the belt arrived, I was very, very excited. I immediately tore open the box and inspected the belt. It was very well made and looked very secure. I thought to myself “I could never cut through that steel”. I threw off my skirt, pantyhose, and panties and put the waistband on (without the lock). I was a little concerned about how tightly it fits. I couldn’t take a full, deep breath with it on.
Next, I spread my legs slightly and pulled the front shield through, from the back. I took a sharp breath when the cold steel from the shield contacted with the warm flesh of my now soaking wet pussy. I attached the front shield and noticed how tightly it fit, and how far up the crack of my ass the rear wire went. I could feel the wire pressing against my anus. Most of all, I could feel the lips of my labia pressing through the small slit in the front of the shield. I put the optional front shield in place and then even the lips of my labia were covered. Next, I found the lock and keys (two of them), making sure that the keys actually worked, and then secured the lock on the belt. As I suspected, the “click” of the lock excited me on more than I had ever been. It took all my will to keep from removing it right then and there and finger fucking myself on the living room floor.
Instead, I walked around the room a little. It was uncomfortable, but not unbearable. I thought to myself, “this is going to take some getting used to, but I think I can do it.” I reached down between my legs, and, strangely, was a little surprised to find that I couldn’t feel my pussy at all. With the optional front shield in place, no part of my pussy was visible, or accessible. I slid my hand around to the side of the shield and attempted to slide my index finger in, underneath the shield. I was able to push it under the shield, but not far, and I couldn’t bend it to touch myself. I tried the same experiment with my little finger, with the same results. I could touch the outside of my labia, but not the inside. I couldn’t touch my clit at all, and pushing a finger deeper into my pussy was clearly impossible. My hand continued to explore, and wound up behind me, attempting to access my sex from the back. At this angle, I could touch the very bottom of my pussy but would have had to be double-jointed to get to my pleasure spot.
Although it is not my favorite, I have in the past let men fuck me in the ass. I decided to attempt to insert my finger into my anus, to see if anal sex would still be possible. I could touch my anus with my finger, but couldn’t insert it more than about three-quarters of an inch. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I got out my favorite vibrator and decided to try to play with it. I turned it on and pressed it against the metal front shield. I would feel the vibrations on my waist, and on my thighs, where the front shield touched, but I couldn’t feel anything in my pussy. I tried to push it into me from behind, but this clearly was impossible. Next, I found my smallest vibrator and tried to push it into my asshole. It wouldn’t fit around the bar. I tried to insert a pin, and it would only fit about 1 inch – not enough to do anything with. By now, I was so horny I could barely see straight. I took off the belt and quickly fucked myself to an orgasm. I put the belt back on and decided to go over to Sonja’s to show her the belt.
When I got to Sonja’s, she could see from the excitement on my face that I was wearing the belt. “Well?” she asked. Fortunately, Bill, her husband, was working late so I could tell her all about my evening. As I was telling her about wearing it and attempting to touch myself, I could sense she was getting aroused. She asked, “Well, who are you going to have to keep your keys?” “What?” I asked, rather alarmed by her question. She explained, “Well dummy, if you have access to the keys, then a chastity belt doesn’t work because you can remove it any time you want.” I don’t know why, or how, but I hadn’t really thought about that. I said, “I don’t know, maybe I can just keep the keys at home.” She lifted her eyebrows, saying, with her facial expressions and without having to speak, “You know that will never work”. I told her that I didn’t know anyone who I could trust with the keys. I mean, any male that had my keys could just turn me into his own personal sex slave.
She said, “How would you feel about me keeping your keys for you? I’m a female …” I immediately objected. I told her it would just be too weird to have to ask her to remove the belt. She tried to convince me, but I would hear none of it. After I left her apartment, I still had what she said on my mind. I decided to stop at a bar, but just for a drink.
At the bar, I felt like I had this huge secret that I wanted everyone to know about. I was so horny just wondering if anyone noticed my belt. I met a man there and took him back to my place. When we got there, we began to kiss. I reached my hand down and rubbed his crotch. He reached down to rub mine, and I could tell from the expression on his face that he was surprised by what he felt. I took off my pants and could tell by the bulge in his pants that he liked what he saw. I asked him “Do you want to fuck me?” He, of course, replied “Yes”. I wanted to fuck him too. I was so horny that my hands were shaking as I was trying to unlock the lock. When I got the belt off, he fucked me till we both came. After he was finished he left and I felt empty again. I knew that I couldn’t keep control of my own keys.
The Relinquishing of the Keys
The following day, I thought a lot about who I should give my keys to. Someone, I work with? No way! I didn’t even want them to know about the belt? My parents? Again, there was no way I could let them know I was wearing the belt. Sonja was the only logical choice; plus, she already knew about the belt and she already told me she was willing to do it. I had known her since we were sixteen and I trusted her with my life. I called her that evening and asked her to come over so we could talk about my belt. She came over and I told her that I was considering giving her my keys. Again, she said she was willing to hold my keys for me, but she said that there would have to be some conditions. I asked her what the conditions would be.
She said, “First, we would have to set a time period for me to hold your keys, second, we would have to agree under what circumstances you would be released from your belt, and third, you would have to abide by my control of your keys.” I asked how long she thought we should try this for. She suggested a month, but I was afraid of not having control of my sex for that long. I told her I only wanted to test this for a week. She accepted the time period of a week. Next, she suggested that she have complete discretion over when I was released from my belt, with the exception of medical emergencies. I told her that I didn’t feel comfortable with that and I wanted to be released daily. She said that she would not agree to that and would only hold my key if she had complete discretion for the entire week. Reluctantly, I agreed to a week of denial.
Next, she said “Listen, if I am going to do this, I don’t want to lose you as a friend because of this. You have to understand that anything I do during this week is because you are my friend and I care about you. You can’t get mad at me if I don’t release you from your belt during the week.” I agreed with her terms, knowing that she would release me early if I really, really wanted her to. She asked if I was wearing a belt. I wasn’t, so she told me to go put it on. I went into the other room and prepared to put the belt on. I pulled my pants off. I was excited, nervous, and extremely horny. My breath was short with anticipation. I could tell that my panties were becoming very wet. I considered getting out my vibrator for one last orgasm, but I knew Sonja was waiting and I didn’t have time.
I removed my panties, relishing the way they felt against my bare skin. I knew that I wouldn’t feel anything except cold steel against my skin for the next week. I secured the waistband, then pulled the front shield around in front of me. Before positioning the shield in place, I slid my finger over my soaked clit one last time and lied to myself when I said: “you can do this; it’s just for one week”. As the cold steel of the shield touched my pussy, I gasped and bit my lip. I secured the shield, along with the additional front shied, then attached the lock and locked it. I could feel the shield pressing tightly against my pussy, pushing the lips of my labia through the slit in the shield, keeping my pussy securely positioned in the center of the shield. My hands were shaking and my knees were weak at the thought of losing control of my sex for a week. I put my panties back on (I have no idea why I even bothered) and then my jeans. I went into the other room, where Sonja was waiting.
She asked, “Well? Did you put it on?” “Yes”, I replied. She asked me for the keys, and I gave her one of the keys. She said “Cindy, I know that this belt comes with two keys… Where’s the other one?” I sighed, knowing that I was caught, and went into the other room and got the other key. As I was about to hand the key over to Sonja, I began to have second thoughts. Sonja held out her hand and assured me that I was making the right decision. I reluctantly handed over the second key – I now had truly lost control of my sex for an entire week – how was I going to make it? Sonja clutched the keys in her hand, and, with a smile, announced that I had made the right decision.
She told me that given my past record she wanted to inspect the fit of the belt. She told me to pull my pants down. I did as she told me to. First, she inspected the lock to ensure that it was secure. Next, she pulled on the waistband and tried to slide it down, up, and to the side. She told me to put my hands over my head and keep them there. I did and she again tried to shift the waistband. Satisfied, she turned her attention to the shield. She pulled on the shield, ensuring that it was secure. Next, she tried to slide her fingers in underneath the shield. She began up near the waistband, where she could fit two fingers in under the shield. She slid her fingers down, under the shield, until it was too tight for her fingers to continue down any more. They were still several inches away from my pussy. Satisfied, she told me to turn around and bend over. I did and she again pulled on the shield to make sure that it was secure at the bottom. She tried to slide a finger in under the shield from the back and seem
A Week-Long Belting
About an hour after she left, I was hornier than I had ever been in my entire life. My clit ached to be touched and my pussy yearned to be filled. I decided to try again to defeat the belt. I removed my clothes and laid down on my bed. I spread my legs apart as wide as I could, and tried to fit any finger underneath the front shield. It was no use. Next, flipped over on my bed, got on my knees, spread my legs apart, and tried to reach my pussy from behind. I couldn’t get my finger in far enough to do any good. I knew I could touch my anus, so I began to wonder if I could make myself orgasm by rubbing my anus. I got a little baby oil and put it on my asshole, then began to rub it with my finger. After 45 minutes of rubbing my asshole, my pussy was soaking wet with excitement, I was very stimulated, but I wasn’t close to reaching an orgasm. I tried to rub my nipples with the baby oil, but again I was unable to reach orgasm. I was so horny I knew I absolutely had to cum. I got dressed and rushed over to Sonja
Much to my dismay, Bill answered the door. I was hoping that he had not made it home yet. I told him that I needed to talk to Sonja. He let me in and showed me into the living room, where Sonja was sitting on the couch. Bill said that he was really tired and was going to bed. I was relieved that I would be able to talk to Sonja in private. After he left, I spoke. “Sonja, I’ve made a terrible mistake; you have to give me the keys back.” “Why?” she asked. “I can’t make it a whole week. I just can’t do it. I have to get this off of me tonight!” I said. She said “A deal is a deal. Cindy, this is what you agreed to; this is what you wanted. If I gave you back the keys, you and I both know that you would just regret it tomorrow.” “Listen”, I said, ” I have to cum. Just let me out for twenty minutes; I’ll go into the bathroom and take care of it.” “Cindy, my husband is here and what you have just asked me for is inappropriate. I just can’t let you out tonight” she said. “But… You have to. I just can’t wait” I pleaded
That night, I didn’t sleep for hours. I couldn’t stop thinking about the cold steel barrier between my legs. I wanted that damn belt off more than anything in the world – no, I take that back, I wanted to cum more than anything. I kept reaching down between my legs, hoping that I would somehow be able to touch my sex; I couldn’t. This was the first time since I was fourteen that I didn’t have at least one orgasm before I went to sleep. The next morning, I got up and went to work. At work, I could barely do my job. I was so distracted that I couldn’t think about anything except for the damn belt. My clit needed to be touched so bad that it was tingling. I decided that I would go over to Sonja’s right after work, before Bill got home, and demand that she unlock me. The day lasted an eternity, but five o’clock finally arrived. I left work and rushed over to Sonja’s.
Sonja answered the door. “Sonja”, I said, “You have to unlock me. I have to get this belt off. I have to cum.” She replied, “Cindy, don’t you remember agreeing to abide by my decisions on the belt? Don’t you?” “Well… Yes… But…” I mumbled. “Well…”, she interrupted, “This is my decision. The belt stays locked.” “LISTEN, YOU BITCH”, I shouted, “LET ME OUT OF THIS GOD DAMMED BELT RIGHT NOW!” I immediately regretted what I said. Sonja looked shocked. She could see that I was desperate. She sighed and agreed to release me. She said “I will open the shield, but the waistband stays locked. You can have the shield off for thirty minutes, then I am locking it back on you. You can have some privacy in my bedroom. That’s the most I am willing to do.” Relieved, I accepted her terms. I knew that she would break if I could convince her how urgent my need was, and I was right. I unzipped my pants, exposing the lock to her. She excused herself and went into the other room to get the key. She came back and unlocked t
Quickly, I stripped my pants off, then my panties. I couldn’t wait to “take care of business”. I only wished that I had thought to bring my vibrator; oh well, my fingers would have to do. Laying on the bed with the front shield hanging between my legs was awkward and a little uncomfortable, but I wasn’t going to complain. I reached down between my legs and was delighted to feel my cunt. I slid two fingers from my left hand into my pussy and used two fingers from my right hand to rub my soaking wet, swollen clit. I came almost immediately. I was convinced that Sonja could hear me in the other room but I didn’t care. I came one more time and was building up to what felt like was going to be a huge orgasm when Sonja barged into the room. There I was, naked, legs spread, with two fingers in my pussy and two more on my clit. I was so close to orgasm, but as soon as I heard her open the door I scrambled for the covers. I was so embarrassed that she had seen me that way.
“Thirty minutes is up”, she said. “Ok, I just need a few more minutes”, I replied, hoping that she would agree. “Cindy, a deal is a deal. Pull the front shield back up”, she demanded. “I was just about to cum. I was so close. I have to finish”, I pleaded. “You came twice; I could hear you all the way in the living room. Pull the front shield up NOW!” she insisted. I knew it was no use, so I reluctantly reached down and pulled the shield up. She unlocked the lock, secured the front shield, and locked the lock back in place. After she was convinced that the lock was properly secured, she left the room and allowed me to get cleaned up and dressed. As I was leaving her apartment, I thanked her for releasing me and apologized for leaving a wet spot on her bedspread. She told me that this was the only time that she was going to cave in, but I knew that if I convinced her once, I could do it again – she’s always been sort of a pushover. I went home and slept much better that night.
The next day, I knew I had to have another orgasm that night. I went to Sonja’s that night and again convinced her to unlock the belt. This became my routine that entire week. Each day I went to Sonja’s, and each day she caved in and released me from my belt. At the end of the week, I was pleased with myself for not having had sex with a man the entire week. That was the first week since I was sixteen that I had not been laid at least once in a week. I felt a real sense of satisfaction, even though I knew that the belt was the only reason why I hadn’t tried to get laid. On the last day of our agreement, I rushed over to Sonja’s to be released from my belt. I got there and announced that the week was up. With a disgusted look on her face, she went and got the keys. “What’s wrong?”, I asked. “You have made a complete mockery of this whole week. You learned nothing, and you accomplished nothing” she announced. “What do you mean, nothing? I haven’t had sex for a whole week…”, I reasoned.
That weekend, I fucked more men than I can count. I know I slept with at least eight men, probably more. At the end of the weekend, I again felt more empty and alone than I could bear. I knew that just one week in the belt hadn’t helped me any at all. I knew I needed to wear the belt longer; I just didn’t know if I would be able to convince Sonja to hold my keys again.
The Contract
Monday morning, I put my belt on under my clothes and went to work. After work, I went over to Sonja’s. It was the first time I had spoken to her since she gave me back my keys. She answered the door and looked at me with a hint of displeasure. I could tell that she knew what I was going to ask her to do. She invited me in and we went into her living room. I told her that I wanted her to hold my keys again. She refused, saying that I had made a mockery of the entire week. I told her that I would do better and I pleaded with her to hold my keys for another week. She said that she would think about it and then she asked me to leave. I left and headed for home. On the way home, I stopped by a bar and picked up a guy. We went back to my house and fucked like madmen. After he left, I cried. I hoped and prayed that Sonja would decide to hold my keys again.
The next day, I called Sonja from work and asked her if she had reconsidered. She said that she had, and would hold my keys, but only if I completely agreed to her conditions. She told me to come over that evening, wearing the belt, with both keys. Excited, I rushed home after work, put on the belt, got the keys, and hurried over to her apartment to hear her conditions. On my way over, I realized that I had been in such a hurry that I had forgotten to masturbate. I wondered when my next opportunity to cum would be. I considered going back to my place for a quick orgasm but I decided to continue over to Sonja’s. When I got there, she asked if I was wearing a belt. I lifted my skirt and showed her that I was. She led me into the living room, where a piece of paper was laying on the coffee table. The title of the paper read “Chastity Belt Contract”. I was uneasy, but I sat down. She pushed the paper towards me, and I picked it up and read it. It read as follows:
Chastity Belt Contract
I, Cindy, agree to give complete control of my genitalia to Sonja for an unspecified period of time to be determined solely by Sonja. I agree to wear a chastity belt to prevent all contact with my genitalia for as long as Sonja deems necessary. I accept that Sonja may, but is not required to, allow the removal of the chastity belt for any of the following reasons: medical emergencies, hygiene, masturbation, and sexual intercourse. Furthermore, to help discourage annoying behavior, I explicitly agree that Sonja can not release me for at least 24 hours after any time that I request or demand to be released. I accept these terms freely, and with full knowledge, and hereby forfeit any rights to challenge this document in the future.
Signed, _________
I, Sonja, agree to accept complete control of Cindy’s genitalia for an unspecified period of time deemed necessary by myself. I agree to hold the keys to Cindy’s chastity belt until I feel that Cindy’s behavior has been adequately modified. I agree to allow Cindy to be released from her belt at least once weekly, for thirty minutes, under terms and conditions to be determined solely by myself. I agree to allow her to, if she wishes, have sex through stimulation of the clitoris in a manner to be determined solely by myself until an orgasm is achieved, at least once weekly. This sex will be without a partner or with a partner of my choice, at my sole discretion. To help discourage annoying behavior, I agree that, under no circumstances, shall Cindy be released from her belt for at least 24 hours after any time that she requests or demands to be released.
Signed, _________
“I’m not signing this”, I exclaimed. “Well, that’s the only way that I will agree to do this”, she smugly replied. “You want me to give over control to you indefinitely? I can’t do that; I won’t do that”, I replied. “Okay, suit yourself. But, if you read my part of the contract you will see that I will allow you to have sex at least once weekly if you want to”, she answered. I thought very hard about it. I knew that I brought this on myself with all my whining last week. I knew that her bark was worse than her bite and that if I really needed to, I could convince her to release me. Besides, most women I know don’t even have sex once a week. If they can do it, so can I. “OK, OK, I’ll do it”, I sighed. She handed me a pen and I signed the document before I could second guess myself. She signed it too and asked me for my keys. I held out my hand with the keys in my palm. She took the keys from my hand, looked at me with a slight grin and said, “This is going to change your life”. At the time, I had no idea how I’m going to survive.
The First Strict Enforcement
I didn’t sleep at all that night. The next day, after work, I went over to Sonja’s house to convince her to release me, as usual. When I got there, I asked her to let me out. She said “Cindy, not only will I not do that, but according to our contract. I now can’t let you out for at least 24 hours.” I argued, “Look, I know what the contract said, but I really need to…”, she closed the door in my face. I couldn’t believe it. I rang the doorbell and she just shouted through the door, “Cindy, go home, we’re not going to go through this again”. “GODDAMMIT, YOU LET ME IN RIGHT NOW SONJA” I screamed, “GIVE ME MY FUCKING KEYS, YOU FUCKING WHORE CUNT!” She never did answer the door, but the apartment doorman came by in a couple of minutes to “escort” me out of the building. I couldn’t believe what that bitch had done. I was pissed.
That night was a long night. I regretted what I had done and hoped that Sonja didn’t take it personally. I decided to go back there the following day and try a nicer approach. My pussy ached to be touched – it had been over 48 hours since the last time I came. The following day, after work I went back to Sonja’s. When she answered the door, I apologized to her for my behavior the following day. My apology wasn’t sincere, but I really wanted to be released from the belt and I knew that I would have to be nice to convince her to do it. I would have told her anything to let me out of that belt. She let me in and we sat down on the couch.
“Well?” I asked. “Well, what?” she replied. “Never mind,” I said in a dejected tone. “Oh, so that’s what this is all about? Do you think that if you are nice to me I will release you? Dream on sister. I’m still a little pissed about being called a whore cunt. You had better learn fast to be a little more respectful of me – after all, I decide how long you wear that thing. It could be a week, or it could be years…” she said in an angry tone, with a wicked smile on her face. I was speechless; Sonja had never spoken to me that way. “Come back Saturday night for your weekly release and sex, if you want” she seethed. At that, she dismissed me. I cried that entire night. I didn’t dare disturb her for the rest of the week. By Saturday night, I was so ready to cum that I couldn’t think straight. My clit felt like it was swollen to the size of a d-cell battery and it tingled so bad it hurt. It had been five days since I had last had an orgasm and I needed to feel something inside of me. I made sure not to forget to pack
The Secret Revealed (lesbian bitch!)
When I arrived at Sonja’s, I was surprised by the way she was dressed. She was wearing a black leather mini skirt, black leather vest, and black patent leather thigh-high boots. The boots came up to about two inches below her skirt, and I could see from the skin exposed that she was not wearing pantyhose. “Did I come at a bad time?”, I asked. I didn’t want to piss her off, so I decided to be on my best behavior. “No, no, come inside” she replied. She led me into the living room, and we sat on the couch. “Where’s Bill?” I asked. “He’s out of town on business this weekend, we’re all alone” she replied. “Why are you dressed like that, are you going out tonight?” I asked, puzzled at her intentions. “Maybe”, she replied. “Well, you told me to come back Saturday night for sex, and so here I am. I brought my favorite toy and I have been really looking forward to this” I said in an excited tone.
“Well… First, we need to talk” she said in a mischievous voice, “I don’t know if you know this, but Bill and I have been having some marital problems. He cheated on me last year, he had an affair, and I have been unable to forgive him for it. We haven’t had sex since then and, honestly, I am only still with him for the financial support”. “Oh my God Sonja, I’m so sorry to hear that”, I gasped. “It’s okay Cindy, it really isn’t as much of a loss as you might think. Before we were married, the sex was okay, but after a couple of years of marriage, things began to change. I don’t know if I have ever told you this, but the only way I can have an orgasm is with stimulation to my clit. I really don’t even like vaginal intercourse – it hurts me – and I only let my husband fuck me for his pleasure. Well, before we were married he would at least eat me out before he fucked me. After a couple of years of marriage, he wouldn’t even do that. Do you remember my lesbian phase back when I was younger?”
“Yes, I remember, but I never understood why you did it. You never seemed to love your girlfriends, and the whole thought of being with another woman is disgusting” I replied. She answered “Well, I don’t think I was ever really a lesbian. I really felt the same way you do, but a lot of men won’t go down on a woman, and even the ones that did could never do as good of a job as any woman who ate me. The fact is, I prefer the feel of a woman’s mouth. They know what feels good, so they know how to make me feel good. I didn’t like returning the favor, but I knew that if I didn’t they would never eat me again. It was disgusting, but I ate them so they would eat me.”
“What has this got to do with me?” I nervously asked. She answered “Well, I’m getting to that. Remember when I said that Bill had an affair? Well, I know that he had it with you.” All the blood drained out of my face. What she said was true, but I just couldn’t believe that she knew. “No Sonja, that’s just not true” I pleaded. “Oh, shut the fuck up, you little whore,” she said calmly, “I followed him to your little meeting place. That was when I vowed to get you back. I didn’t know then how I was going to do it, but now I do.” My heart was beating like a rabbit, and I was truly scared. I was afraid of what she had in mind, but I didn’t want to think about it. She continued, “I know you fucked him at least 20 times, and you are going to tongue fuck me at least 100 times for each time you fucked him. You are going to get so used to eating my little cunt that you will dream of it in your sleep.” “Give me my keys, right now” I demanded in a firm voice.
“Shut the fuck up and listen to you whore”, she sneered back. “You can’t make do this. I won’t do it. The contract said nothing about having sex with you.” I said. She replied “True, but if you ever want to feel that nasty pussy of yours again, you will do what the fuck I say, when the fuck I tell you to do it.” I replied “Fuck you. Give me my keys now or I will go to the police.” “You can do that if you want, but let me show you something first”, she replied. She reached over and picked up the remote control for the television. She turned on the television and then pressed play on the VCR. The image that appeared on the TV shocked me. It was me, on her bed, with my fingers in my pussy masturbating like the end of the world was coming. “You taped me?” I asked. “It sure looks that way, and if you don’t want this to go to everyone you know – your friends, your coworkers, your boss, and your parents – you won’t go to the police, and you won’t try to remove the belt. Understood?” she asked. I was caught. I couldn’t
“Well Cindy” she replied, “I will honor the contract, but re-read the contract. It says that you will be released once a week, and it says that you can have sex at least once a week, but it doesn’t say that you will be released to have sex. If you want, you will be restrained and I will remove your belt for 30 minutes once each week.” “Well, what about the orgasm? How am I supposed to have an orgasm with that damn belt on?” I demanded. Sonja smugly replied “It said that you could have sex through stimulation of the clitoris until an orgasm is achieved if you wanted. It didn’t say what kind of sex or who’s clit was going to get stimulated. I, unlike the President, consider oral sex to be sex. If you want, you can have sex, in other words, pleasure me with your tongue, at least once a week. If you do a good job, I might occasionally let you pleasure yourself. Rest assured, however, that it will be a very long time before you will feel a hard cock inside that nasty fuck hole of yours.”
I began to cry. “Sonja, you can’t do this, you just can’t” I begged. “Oh, I can, and I will” she replied. I could smell the strong scent of her sexual excitement from the other side of the couch. This was exciting her tremendously. “This is how the game works”, she continued “You will be held in that belt at least until you repay me with 2000 orgasms; that’s 100 for everyone that you gave my husband. If you do a good job, and you are an obedient little slave, I might allow you to buy an orgasm for yourself by selling me back ten of mine. For example, if you have a tongue fucked me 20 times, you only owe me 1980 more orgasms. If you have done a good job and I choose to allow you to pleasure yourself, it will cost you ten of the orgasms you gave me and you will then owe me 1990 orgasms.” At that, she lifted her skirt and spread her legs to reveal that she wasn’t wearing any panties. Her pussy was freshly shaven, with a large mound of pubic hair above it. It was also very wet.
“Get on your knees” she demanded. “I’m not touching that” I replied. “Fine, then get the fuck out of my house, and don’t come back until you have learned to respect my orders” she shouted. At that, she grabbed me by the hair and dragged me outside. She slammed the door behind her and I laid there, on the ground sobbing. I couldn’t believe that this was happening. This time, I left before the doorman could get there. I went home and cried. I tried like hell to get that damn belt off. I tried to pick the lock with a paper clip, like in the movies, but it was useless. I had to feel my pussy, but I couldn’t. I hated Sonja for what she was doing. I cried myself to sleep.
The next morning, I decided to call Sonja. Maybe this was all just a joke. Maybe she just wanted to teach me a lesson. Maybe she would release me today. I called her, but when she heard my voice, she asked only one question: “Are you ready to obey my orders?” I said “Sonja, can’t we talk about this? Will you please let me out of this belt?” Sonja replied by simply repeating “Are you ready to obey my orders?” I pleaded “Sonja, please. I can’t do that, I just can’t. I’m not gay and I don’t think I could bring myself to do what you have asked me to do.” The phone went dead – that bitch had just hung up on me. I seriously considered calling her back and telling her that I would do it, but I just couldn’t. I am not gay and I couldn’t bring myself to touch another woman in an intimate way.
The First Submission
By the next Saturday, my pussy hadn’t been touched in twelve days. I knew that if I ever wanted to get feel it again I was going to have to do something. I decided that I would give in to Sonja’s demands. I would rub Sonja’s clit with my hand until she came. That would probably be enough for her and maybe she would let me out of this damn belt. I called her and again asked, “Are you ready to obey my orders?” “Yes”, I whispered. “What did you say? Speak louder” she demanded. “YES!” I said, “I’ll obey your orders.” I couldn’t believe that I had said it. I didn’t know how I was going to go through with this. “I want you to pleasure me with your tongue. Say you will pleasure me with your tongue,” she demanded. “I will pleasure you,” I said in a timid voice. “How will you pleasure me?” she asked. “With my hands” I replied. “No, you slut, you’ll do it with your tongue. Do you understand me?” she snapped.
I was hoping that using my hands would be enough, but it looked like Sonja had other plans for me. “Okay”, I whispered. “Okay what?” she demanded, “I want to hear you say what you are going to do and how you are going to do it.” Defeated, I replied “I… I will pleasure you… I will pleasure you with my tongue. Are you happy now?” “Look you, little whore, you had better lose that attitude quick. Leave your door unlocked, I’ll be over in thirty minutes. I want you to be on the floor, kneeling, waiting for me, wearing only your chastity belt when I arrive. If you don’t obey all of these conditions I’ll walk back out the door and we won’t talk again for a month.” she demanded. With that, she hung up the phone before I could reply. I drank a glass of wine, removed my clothes, and knelt down on the floor, and waited for her to arrive.
As I knelt there waiting, all I could think about was how I could get out of this situation. Thirty minutes passed and still, Sonja had not arrived. Forty, then fifty minutes passed. I was afraid she wasn’t going to show up but I didn’t dare move. After a full hour had passed, the door opened and Sonja came walking in. She was wearing a black overcoat. Before I could say a word she spoke, “The only thing that you are to use your tongue for this evening is to give me pleasure. You are not to speak unless I tell you to. Nod your head if you understand.” “But Sonja…” I began. She cut me off and said “You stupid whore, you don’t get it. I said you are not to speak. I’ll give you another month to think about it.” She turned around and began to leave. “No! Wait! I’ll be good, I promise I won’t say another word! Please don’t go!” I pleaded.
She walked to the door, locked it, and turned back around. Without saying a word, she walked straight up to me, took my hair in her hands and led me into the bedroom on my knees, by my hair, forcing my nose close to her ass. When we were in the bedroom she threw her overcoat onto the floor. She was wearing the same outfit as last Saturday night – a black leather mini skirt, black leather vest, and black patent leather thigh-high boots. I could smell the strong scent of her pussy and could tell that she was very, very aroused. I could not say the same for myself. I was so nervous that I was sick to my stomach. How was I going to do this? I couldn’t bring myself to lick her, but I knew that is what she expected me to do. For the first time since I put on the belt, I wasn’t horny. I wanted to be anywhere except in that bedroom.
Sonja wasted no time. She sat down on the edge of my bed, facing me. She spread her legs and lifted her skirt to reveal her pussy to me. As I expected, she was again wearing no panties. “Crawl over here on your hands and knees and get to work on my pussy” she demanded. I mouthed, “Please…”, not really saying it, just moving my mouth to form the word. “Do it, you little whore!” she barked. I did as I was told and slowly began to crawl towards her. With each foot I moved forward, I frantically tried to think of some way out of this. Maybe I could still just use my hands. Maybe she wouldn’t notice. The closer I got to her, the stronger the smell was from her cunt. When I got to her, I paused and then began to kiss her thigh-high boot. I looked up at her and she seemed to be enjoying the moment, but I knew that she would quickly grow impatient with me kissing her boot. I moved up and began to kiss her thigh. Maybe if I kissed her thighs I could get away with just giving her a handjob. I reached my right hand
She gasped when I touched her pussy with my hand. I looked up and she had tilted her head back. I could tell that she was really enjoying this. I slid two fingers into her pussy and began to rub her clit with my thumb. She began to moan and I began to think that I might be able to get away with using my hands and not my mouth. After about a minute, she lifted her leg, placed it on my shoulder, and pushed me away from her. “Stand up and turn around” she commanded. I did as I was told. I heard as I felt something metal clasp around my right wrist. Before I could react, she had pulled both wrists behind my back and I felt the same clasp around my left wrist. I immediately knew that she had just locked me in handcuffs. “You were cheating,” she said smugly. “You know that you are to serve me with your tongue, and you were trying to get away with not doing it. This is what happens to the bad little slave – they get handcuffed. Get back down on your knees and put your tongue where your thumb was. NOW!” she demanded. Sl
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tried to kiss her clit, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. “Please don’t make mmmmphhhh!” I sobbed as she grabbed my hair with both hands and forced my mouth onto her waiting cunt. I closed my lips tightly but I could feel the wetness of her cunt against my lips and face. My nose was buried deep into her thick mound of pubic hair. “LICK!” she commanded. My first impulse was to bite her hard, but I thought about my situation and decided that it would be a mistake. I was terrified. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I felt like I was going to throw up. “LICK!” she again ordered, this time pulling my hair so hard that I wanted to scream out in pain. I had no choice but to do as I was told. I opened my mouth, put my lips around her clit and began to lick her with my tongue.
Ugh, I hated the taste of her cunt. She began to moan loudly. “FASTER!” she commanded. I rubbed my tongue up and down her clit as quickly as I could. Her grip on my hair eased up slightly but I continued to lick furiously because I was afraid of what she would do if I stopped. I tried to think of something else – warm beaches, shopping, anything – but all I could think about was the fact that I was being forced to lick another woman’s pussy. I wished more than anything that I hadn’t had the affair with Bill. All the times he fucked me was not worth even one second of being forced to eat Sonja’s pussy, and I feared that this was only the first of many, many times. After twenty minutes of sheer hell, I could tell that Sonja was getting close to having an orgasm.
“Thank God” I thought to myself, “This will all be over soon”. As I continued to lick, she began to moan louder, and then to scream. She forced my mouth onto her crotch even harder and began to grind her pussy up and down my mouth as she screamed “Oh God! I’m going to cum! Make me cum you, little whore!” Her legs began to quiver violently and I could tell that she was beginning to orgasm. Then, I felt something warm and wet squirt out all over my chin and neck. Her entire body went into convulsions and she screamed “Oh God yes! Oh God yes! Oh God yes!” Next, she pulled my mouth away from her pussy but forced my face into her pussy and rubbed her pussy all over it, covering my face with her wetness.
Next, she forced my nose deep into her slit and held me there while she recovered from her orgasm. As I knelt there with my nose inside her pussy, waiting obediently for her to allow me to pull my head away, I felt more humiliated than I ever had in my entire life. After a minute, she looked down at me and said “That was barely acceptable, but I will let it slide because it was your first time. You had better learn quick how to do a better job or you will never feel your nasty little pussy again. Look at the mess you’ve made. You let my cum get all over my legs and ass. Lick me clean.” The warmth that I had felt squirt against my chin when she came was actually ejaculation. I had heard that some women did actually ejaculate when they came, but I didn’t think it was true. The fluid was thicker and had a much stronger taste and smell than her regular juices – and there was a lot of it, at least as much as any man I had blown.
Already defeated, I swallowed hard and did as I was told. I licked all the juices off her thighs, and then off her ass; taking care not to lick her anus. “You missed a spot” she purred, as she pushed my head down to her asshole. I licked the juice off her anus. “Very good, my slave”, now swallow” she ordered as she lifted my head from between her thighs. I swallowed her cum as I was told to do. “Just think, one down, One thousand nine hundred ninety-nine to go” she said with a wicked smile. I cried as she got up and put on her coat. She walked over and unlocked the handcuffs and put them in the pocket of her coat.
“Please, please, I’m begging you, please release me from this belt. I promise that what happened with Bill will never, ever happen again. Just please, set me free” I sobbed. “You’re right, it will never happen again. You made your own bed, you little slut when you fucked my husband. Now you’re going to lay in it whether you want to or not. Expect to do this all again tomorrow” she said as she walked out the door.
I ran to the door and locked it, and then ran to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth for ten minutes, then jumped in the shower and held my face under the scalding hot water until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I scrubbed and scrubbed to try to get her juices off of me, but I just couldn’t seem to scrub enough to feel clean. After about an hour in the shower, I dried off and went to bed. This had been the worst day of my entire life, but I feared that it was only one of many, many to come. I knew that Sonja would expect the same thing the following evening.
My clit ached to be touched the way that I had touched Sonja’s earlier, but I feared that it would be a long, long time before Sonja would let me have an orgasm. I cried myself to sleep, wondering how I was going to bring myself to do it all again the next evening.
You had read in books about a stare that saw right through you, but you had always thought it a cheap metaphor. Now, as Adrienne Shaw trains her ice-blue eyes upon you, you feel the truth of it like a punch in the gut. You tighten your grip on the arms of the chair to keep from squirming under her gaze, feeling distinctly like a butterfly pinned to a board.
“Let us understand one another,” she says in that cool patrician voice that speaks of exclusive finishing schools and unquestioned authority. “This is not The Devil Wears Prada. It is not Working Girl. It is not any of those absurd movies where a plucky girl from nowhere succeeds through a good idea and sheer homespun idealism.”
You watch, galvanized, as she runs a manicured fingernail lightly over her ear, pulling a stray lock of her dark hair back into place. You could not look away from her cold, flawless beauty if you tried. Your eyes fall to her full lips, done in a red that is somehow both tasteful and severe, as she continues, “The good ideas in this firm come from me, idealism has no business here, and pluck will get you thrown out a window.”
She stands up behind the desk, taller than you imagined, in a cream-colored silk blouse and a black pencil skirt that frames a figure honed by years of horseback riding. According to her profile on the firm’s website, she is an accomplished equestrienne – it actually says “equestrienne” – and as you waited for her arrival you stared at a framed photo of her, in jodhpurs and high black boots, smiling calmly beside a prize stallion, its reins and a trophy held in her gloved hands. It was all you could do not to touch the picture.
She picks up the resume over which you slaved for an hour, choosing every word, the paper, and even the clip so very carefully, and holds it up with a sneer of contempt. “This was a lovely piece of fiction. I’ve not seen this kind of padded and inflated sophomoric bullshit in years. You are grossly unqualified, barely experienced, and full of the kind of pie-in-the-sky self-delusion that makes me want to hire you for the sole purpose of firing you and watching security frog-march you out of the building.”
You can feel your cheeks growing hot and tears beginning to well as she speaks. It’s all you can do not to whimper as she tosses the resume onto the floor like something riddled with disease. Your lips part as you fight to find the words to express your shame and humiliation – you don’t know whether to apologize for wasting her time or beg her to stop.
“Shut your mouth,” she snaps, and your lips close tightly. She points at the useless scraps of high-grade paper on the carpet. “That is of no interest to me. This, however,” she picks up a thin sheaf of papers from the leather desk blotter. “This interested me very much.”
Your brow furrows slightly as you have no idea what the papers are. You hang onto the armrests for dear life, fighting the trembling that threatens to wrack your body from head to toe.
“You were asked to provide your Facebook password, which you did with amazing alacrity,” she trains that gaze upon you again, and you feel chills and heat coursing through you in waves. “It’s a patent violation of your privacy and if you had an inch of backbone you’d have refused, but you did it anyway. No doubt you felt that there was no harm in revealing the details of your perfectly ordinary life, and perfectly ordinary it is. Full of favorite TV shows and outings with children. Boring. Drearily pedestrian.
“The thing is that I pride myself in being a student of human nature, and in my experience the more ordinary one’s public face is, the more likely it is that there is a private persona that acts out all those darker impulses we keep inside.” Her gaze sharpens, like icicles. “I have an entire department full of homely men who live with their parents, whose job it is to pry people’s secrets from the wilds of cyberspace. I set them on the trail of your other activities on the Internet, and that’s where they found your alias. All in lower case. On a site with black pages and absolutely filthy advertisements. You, my dear, are quite the little pervert.”
If it were possible for you to spontaneously combust into a pile of ashes and shame, you would do so at this very moment.
She watches you as the tremors come, unbidden and unstoppable, and as the tears blur your vision you swear you can hear her purr low in her throat. “Quit your sniveling,” she says sharply as if her tone could command anything but. “Stand up.”
You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and look down at yourself. You’ve stood without realizing it. You begin to raise your eyes but get only as far as the knee-high boots with stiletto heels she is wearing as she comes around the desk. They stop before you, transfixing your gaze with their dark gleam, and you hear her voice again, soft but resounding through you like a thunderclap. “Were I confronted with a person of any ability or worth whatsoever, I would administer an aptitude test at this point. Since I am instead burdened with you, I’ll make it very simple. All you have to do is bend over the back of that chair, hold onto the armrests, and don’t let go.” She lifts your chin with a knuckle, penetrates you with her eyes. Her voice drips with condescension as she says, “Even a stupid little cunt like you can manage that, can’t you?”
Your mouth opens, soundless with shock, both at her words and the sudden flood of heat and moisture between your legs. It only takes a moment of searching her eyes to realize her deadly seriousness, and then you are fumbling like a marionette with strings cut to navigate around to the back of the chair. You lean forward, your hands gripping the arms of the chair so that your head is down and your ass elevated, and you try to remember how to breathe.
“Obedience. Good,” she murmurs. You hear a desk drawer open and close, and then you can sense her circling slowly, like a predator. “But with more hesitation than I’d like.” Suddenly there is a swish of cut air and a sharp thud and the backs of your thighs are burning. You cry out in startled pain. Whatever she’s just used to hit you, the trousers of your pantsuit were little proof against it. You clench your teeth and hold on tightly to the chair arms.
“You see, what I value most in a subordinate, and what I need in an assistant, are competence and blind obedience. I should only have to give an instruction once and expect it to be followed to the letter. Usually I hire my assistants for their abilities, and usually, they’ll do for a relatively short time before the thought occurs to them that they somehow deserve better than this job.” You feel her hand moving slowly over your raised ass and a fresh wave of wetness rushes into your panties. “But that’s not likely to be a problem with you, is it?”
Swish thud and a second line of agony scorch across the globes of your bottom. You whimper, your hips pressing hard against the back of the chair. “No, Ma’am,” you gasp.
“This is a place of business, girl. My name,” she snaps, laying another burning stripe across your ass, “is ‘Miss Shaw.’ Try again.”
“No,” you breathe raggedly, “Miss Shaw.” Your knuckles are white as the grip the chair arms.
“Better.” You feel her slender hand sliding over your left hip and around to the front, and your breath catches in your throat as her fingers work the fastener of your pants. “I should have been combing that website of yours for years. The moment I read your profile and your sick list of fetishes, I knew that you were just what I needed: a submissive lesbian who craves humiliation and pain, someone who not only will do exactly what I need to be done under the threat of my displeasure, but who will allow me to express that displeasure physically.” She yanks your pants down hard and they fall in a black puddle around your ankles. The cold air from the wall vents wafts across your naked legs, raising goosebumps. You’ve never felt so exposed, inside or out, in your life.
You feel the caress of braided leather up the back of your thigh and you realize what she’s holding – a riding crop, probably the same one tucked under her arm in her photo. You shudder, your hair sweeping the seat of the chair as your head hangs between your arms. The thought of letting go, standing up, saying “no” is as far from your mind as another galaxy.
“Understand this,” and she calls you by your alias, her voice only with contempt, “I am not a lesbian. I am not a fetishist or a ‘kinkster.’ And while I’ve been called a sadist behind my back, this is not how I get my gratification. But you wish I was all those things, don’t you, you twisted little bitch?”
This time the crop lands with a sharp crack of leather on flesh, and you scream as the searing on your thighs sends fireworks exploding behind your eyes. “Yes, Miss Shaw!” you sob. “God, yes!”
Suddenly you feel her hand clamp hard between your legs, pressing against the soaking crotch of your panties. “Pathetic,” she murmurs and peels your underwear away and down until they’re a rolled, sopping bunch around your knees. Your ass and drenched pussy are exposed to the air and your hips roll involuntarily, aching to be touched and used. “Weak.”
And then the crop is a storm, lashing across your ass and thighs again and again furiously, her whole body behind each blow as it lands, stripping skin, scorching flesh, a symphony of pain that you match with your screams. Your hands and arms ache from holding on as your backside becomes a wildfire from your ass to your knees.
And then just as abruptly it stops. You collapse over the back of the chair, unable to feel your fingers on the armrests, gasping for breath as your bottom and legs throb. Behind you she is breathing hard as well from her exertions. She steps back, surveying the mass of welts crisscrossing your flesh, and tosses the crop onto the desk. Then she is moving, back behind her desk. You raise your head slowly, blinking through your tears and peering through the ragged, sweat-drenched curtain of your hair to see her standing before her bay window with its magnificent view of the city. She is composed and cool and, as she turns her head slightly to reveal her profile, achingly beautiful.
“I arrive at the office promptly at 9 in the morning,” she says. “I take my coffee black and expect it on my desk when I sit down.”
You pick yourself up slowly, every movement pure agony, and begin pulling up your panties.
Me: She’s pretty, I like her.
Him: What do you want to do to her??
Me: I don’t know.
Him: Sure you do. Tell me. What do you want to do to her??
Me: I don’t know.
Him: Do you want to bury your tongue in her cunt??
Me: (this thought makes me wet, and leaves me squirming) I don’t know.
Him: You find her attractive…surely you must have some idea of what you’d like to do to her, so tell me.
Me: (whimpering) ummm…but…
Him: pushing me against a wall, growling in my ear TELL ME!!
Me: FINE….you want to know what I’d do to her. This is what I’d do;
I’d drag her by her hair across the floor and throw her in the corner. I’d tell her to take those god damn fucking rags off her body before I did it for her, and if she didn’t comply I’d be more than happy to do it not so gently with a knife, not caring if she got minor cuts in the process. (All the more fun to play in her blood) With her naked body cowering on the ground, I’d force her to lick my boots, kicking her if she refused. I’d beat her body with my fists; I’d punch her in the face.
Asphyxiation buy a pussy
I’d suffocate her with my cunt, forcing her to bury her tongue in my pussy. To taste me, to see how wet she makes me. I’d continue to grind myself all over her face till I squirted all over her, to reward her suffering with my pleasure.
She is but a trash can, a cum deposit, my source of morbid pleasure. At this point, I need to take a moment to catch my breath and so I light a cigar, I inhale a deep breath and blow smoke back in her face. I continually use her mouth as my ashtray and when I am finished, her tongue to butt the stub of my cigar out on.
Now back to work, seeing as how these sick little scenarios have been playing through my mind since I first laid eyes on her.
Now let’s have some fun…..I grab her by her hair and toss her on her back on the ground….using my boots to spread her knees, I can see her cunt is glistening…..”The filthy little whore” I chuckle to myself. Even now, behind all those tears and begging, her body defies her.
I kneel down, so I’m looming over her, and I whisper in her ear as I slowly drag my index finger through the folds between her legs; bringing my finger to her lips…”Me thinks…you are protesting way too much” I’d gag her, but I love the sounds she makes. Tears rolling down her cheeks, face covered in snot.
My hand still firmly planted between her legs, I slowly massage her cunt. Spreading her lips wide, first slipping in one, then two, then three, then five fingers……feeling her body tighten around my hand. Her eyes open wide as she looks at me and she shakes her head rapidly in a “NO” motion. I smile at her as I continue to push my fist into her cunt. She is so tight and so wet, just the thought makes me almost cum again. As I pull my hand out rapidly, her screams give me goose bumps. I force my fist back in to her cunt pumping away violently punching at her cervix. I feel her body start to tighten and spasm around my hand and wrist. It won’t be much longer now. “Cum for me, my pretty little whore” I’d snarl at her.
The floodgates would open. She’d soak me. Those that know me well know that I won’t be happy, as I have an aversion to body fluids on me. Therefore the little cunt must be punished.
Strapon time
As she lay quivering in a pool of our combined cum, I drag her to knees, slapping her across the face for good measure. I order her to sit on her hands and not to move. I reach into my bag for my harness and pull it on over my hips, as I reach back down to the bag; I look back over my shoulder at her and casually mention that “she probably won’t like what’s coming next”. And I pull out “Big Ben”….a slightly larger, fairly realistic looking cock.
“I’m going to fuck your ass with this.” As I hold up “Ben” for her to see, “But first, I’m going to fuck your throat with it so the wetter you can make it with your mouth, the more lube I promise to use on your ass. Understand??”
I slip Ben into the harness and start walking towards her, “And if you throw up all over me, there won’t be ANY lube…..got it??” She starts to backpedal away across slipping in the fluid that has just started to dry up. I lunge for her, dragging her back towards me, skinning her knees on the cement in the process.
“I said sit on your hands, and don’t fucking move, Cunt”, as I slap her across the face, snapping her head back. I’m pretty sure she saw stars, there’s a nice handprint on her right cheek.
She’s really crying hard now. I grab her by the chin and force her mouth open, and start to shove “Ben” down her throat, she gags and I back off slightly, but only to remind her of my warning. She nods her head slightly. I start to push my cock back in her mouth and she puts her hands up on my hips to control my thrusting and I slap them away and tell her to sit on them. I’m in control of this fucking joyride, not her. I grab the back of her head and start to thrust away at her mouth. Her gags are making her mouth so wet, that the drool is running out of the corners in rivers down her chest to the floor.
I’ve become bored with her mouth; it’s too pliant for my tastes now. It’s time to move on.
I grab her by the hair and start to drag her across the floor; she scrambles to keep up with me. I find a low stack of skids in the corner. This will have to do I guess. I force her on her hands and knees with her ass presented to me in the air. Such a sweet, perfect ass. I find a small stick leaning against the wall and start swatting her with it. Her yips and yelps excite me. I see the color blossoming across her cheeks. As my swings become more firm, steadier, the welts on her ass rise higher and higher until one by one, they start to split and blood starts to splatter across her, across me, across the wall beside us and over the floor. I drop the stick and reach between her legs, her cunt is slick with moisture again. Who knew the waitress from the restaurant was a kinky fuck. I grab the lube and squeeze some on to my fingers and start to massage her puckered asshole. It’s so tight and I’m so tempted to go back on my word. I generously lube “Ben” and nudge the head of my cock against her asshole. “This’ll only hurt for a moment” I chuckle. And I plunge full in her ass, to the hilt, stealing her breath away. I hold still for a moment, letting her screams subside, letting her body relax. And then I pull out completely and drive all the way back in again. I do this over and over and over. I continue to do this until there is nothing left of her ass but a gaping open hole.
I’d push her off the skids with my boot. Once she has landed on the floor, I’d wipe the soles of my boots off on her body. If she can handle a little minor playtime with me, maybe she’ll earn a chance for some major playtime with Clown and me.
Me: So yeah……that’s what I do to her…..am I fucked up??
Him: I love you. So what was it about her that you liked so much??
Me: Her eyes…..she had such beautiful eyes. I think she’d cry beautiful tears, and I wanted to know what they tasted like.
Him: And what about the nurse at the hospital the other night??
Me: Nurse?? Oh, her!!
Him: LOL……you’ve forgotten her already??
Me: I’m forgetting a lot of things lately….don‘t hold it against me. The nurse…well…I wouldn’t come out of that scenario unscathed. I think she’d be a fighter….but I’d love to be the one to break her.
Him: You’ll always be my girl!!!
The girl was moved. She was rolled onto her stomach, her knees were drawn up and her hands were pulled forward. She has bound to the bed again. The music came on, this time it was harsher. Cymbals thundered and drums thrummed a primal beat. The girl squealed as she felt a tongue on her pussy. It moved from the base up to the top of her clit. As soon as it reached the tip, she felt the first whiplash. She didn’t know whether to groan because of the sting or moan due to the tongue. She tried to arch up into the sting of the whip, but she was bound too tightly. She could only wait. The lips had moved up to her nipples. They were sucked and nibbled almost too gently. It frustrated her. The whip came again, and she tried to move in such away so that it would last longer. She truly loved the feeling of the lashes on her back. She loved hearing the crack it made as it was lowered to her. She also remembered what the Lady had said about being tested. She reveled in proving her worth. The 3rd.the 4th…. the 5th lash fell…she wanted it to continue as every time the whip came down, either her pussy was fondled or her nipples were tormented. She wallowed in the sensations. The smell of the leather tips, the sting that they produced, the hands-on her pussy, the lips on her nipples. all combined into a frenzy of sexual heat. She wanted, needed the release of cumming. She knew that the Lady knew of her heat, she always did.. She began moaning. she was supposed to be quiet, but the yearning was too strong. The girl began to beg. she needed to cum..she needed to tell the Lady how good, how hot she made the girl feel. The Lady had told her that she couldn’t cum until she had permission. She needed to hear the words. the words that would make everything all right. The girl moaned louder trying to move..to jam her poor hot pussy against the fingers that slammed in and out of her. She squealed as the lips moved away from her nipples. but emitted a low deep cry as the fingers were replaced with a hot hard object. The girl wasn’t sure what it was that probed her so deeply but she didn’t care. All she knew, as she slammed her dripping wet pussy up and down on it. It filled the empty space that was so in need. The girl felt hands on her hips…aahhh it was the other that the Lady had brought. It was a man’s cock exploring her hot little cunny. She tried to slam herself back against the cock, but she was cuffed to the bed and couldn’t move enough. The hands that had held her hips just a moment earlier moved to cover her breasts. Finally, the Lady said she had her consent to cum. Luxuriating in her helplessness she was pumped and ground into a screaming orgasm. She arched her back as much as she could and felt the throbbing and clenching in her pussy. As she came, the hands moved again and pulled and pinched her nipples, further inflaming her. They brought her to a peak she’d never felt before. Quivering and shaking the girl collapsed as much as her bonds would allow. The hard cock withdrew from her. Her bonds were released. She was cuddled tenderly until she came back down to earth.
I spent the next several evenings researching chastity belts and decided that I would like to give one a try. I decided to buy a 
