Ah. Rough anal every week.
I shook off the fantasies and returned to my bound penitent. I decided she should spend a little time straddling the bad-girl sawhorse to really drive my point home. I put a new, even larger plug in her ass and unbound her so I could turn the top of the horse to the peaked side. The rounded edge would dig mercilessly into her girly parts and make her very sorry for her crimes.
I positioned her on the horse and bound her hands up over her head so she couldn’t slouch or squirm away from the discomfort. Her feet didn’t quite touch the ground. There was no more pleading in her gaze when she looked at me, only exhausted submission. Her face was a mess of tears, and her chest was a mess of drool. I took off the gag and cleaned her up as she struggled on top of the sawhorse.
“Don’t be a baby,” I said, ignoring her mewling cries. “You earned this. Ten minutes.”
That caused more crying. I grabbed her collar and kissed her, taking her sobs into my mouth. “Everything hurts, doesn’t it?” I asked as I pulled away. “Your ass hurts, your nipples hurt. Your thighs hurt.” I traced one of the five pink welts on her straining legs. “And it hurts inside you, doesn’t it? That big plug, just after I reamed you with my cock? And of course, your pussy hurts.”
I slid my fingers between her pussy and the structure digging into her labia. I found her wet, engorged clit. “It hurts, doesn’t it, baby? You can answer me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Her voice sounded weak. She was ninety-eight percent done now. Maybe ninety-nine percent. Edging her would be too much. I stopped stroking her clit and shoved my finger in her mouth. She sucked it clean so prettily that I kissed her again. There’s something about kissing your slave when she’s crying and going out of her mind…
The last five minutes, I just stood back and watched her, this gorgeous, masochistic woman who’d transformed my life. I admired her chestnut curls, gazed into her striking brown eyes, and adored every pale freckle on her face. Why didn’t she understand how much I loved her, how much it would take to make me leave her? Her self-destruction, nothing less. I had to keep that from happening, even if it took extreme punishment sessions like this.
When the ten minutes were up, I helped her off the horse, took off her pretty manacles, and led her back into my bedroom. I turned on the shower and pulled her under the water to clean her up. She was trembly and melting, clinging to my shoulders. I love you, she whispered over and over. I’m sorry. I hushed her and licked a trail up her neck, and kissed her hotly and deeply with water running down between our lips.
When we got out of the shower, I dried her off and studied the damage I’d wrought. Nothing permanent, but she had some garish marks. I stroked her pussy and asked if it was sore from the horse, only because I wanted to listen to her soft, sad voice say “Yes, Sir.” We went back into the dungeon to straighten up the toys and put them away in their respective drawers, and the hurting part was over.
You survived. Good girl.
I threw on some jeans and a tee shirt and led Chere out to the living room. I had her sit at my feet while I ordered takeout from a local Italian place. She rested her head against my leg, exhausted. I played with her curls and read a book until the food arrived.
It was a good night for a quiet dinner in. Chere cried through most of it, unable to sit still in her chair. I drew her into my lap instead, and fed her Chicken Parmesan from my plate while she sniffled and trembled.
“That’s enough now,” I said. “Eat a little more.” And she did, because I was her Master, and I had power over her for as long as we played this game.
After dinner was cleared away, I sent her to her bedroom and went back into the dungeon, over to my evil chests of torture instruments. I opened the drawer with the harnesses and chastity belts, and took out the one without the butt plug attachment. She’d probably endured enough anal punishment for one night.
When I brought the chastity belt into her room, Chere paled, but made no protest. She whined a lot less these days. She was a lot less self-protective. She used to cower when I presented shit like this, and cross her arms in front of her. Now, even after all I’d put her through, her arms rarely left her side.
I studied her, fingering the metal plate that would lock away her clit and pussy and prevent any stolen pleasures. “You probably don’t need this tonight,” I said.