“I know,” he said. “I know this makes you horny. You’ll get my cock, I promise. I’m not sure you’ll like where I put it, though.”
I whined, but it wasn’t a real whine, because it felt kind of fun to be this scared. I heard the soft metallic sound of nipple clamps clinking together. Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit. Even when I was turned on, the clamps were torturous.
“Don’t move,” he warned me. “Don’t you dare struggle or back away from me.”
He applied the first clamp, and my whole body tensed at the searing pain. I huffed out breaths and tried not to move. As I stood there, I felt him tinkering with the front of the collar. The chain connecting the nipple clamps was lifted from my skin, and I realized he was threading it through some ring on the collar, probably the same ring he kept yanking to remind me it was there.
“Please, no,” I said through the gag. It sounded like aww aww. I could picture the sadistic smile on his face as he clamped my other nipple. Ow. Shit. My fingers dug into my thighs as I tried to process the pain. I didn’t dare try to pull away, in case I fell down. And of course, every time I moved my neck, the chain made the clamps pull tighter.
“Please,” I said again. Aww. I squirmed and then squealed at the resulting agony in my nipples. I could hear his chuckle through the curse words in my brain.
“You’re a helpless little piece of shit, aren’t you?” I felt his hands on my waist, and heard the scissors again. “You know why I’m cutting up your pretty dress, Chere? Because I can. Because you can’t do anything to stop me.” He cut away the bottom half, up to my waist. When he finished pulling the skirt off, he thrust rough fingers into my pussy. “Right now, I can do anything in the world to you, and you don’t have a say. It’s called slavery. It’s called being my pretty set of holes.”
I went up on my toes, angling my hips, trying to get him to touch my clit. I was so wet and horny, a fact he was happy to exploit.
“You want it bad, don’t you? You want some cock.”
“I want your cock,” I said through the gag. Of course the words were unintelligible, just a garbled series of moans. My nipples were killing me, but I arched to touch him wherever I could.
“No, you’re my toy. My sex slave,” he said, slapping my ass. “You’re here to please me, not the other way around. Let’s take that gag off and put you to work.”
I was shoved to my knees. When I pitched forward—ow, my nipples!—he caught me by the hair and righted me. He removed the gag but not the clamps or blindfold.
“I want to see you,” I cried.
“Shut the fuck up. You don’t get to see me right now. Nothing I show you is real anyway.” He slapped my cheek. “Open your fucking mouth.”
He drove into my throat until he choked me, and then he stayed there while I coughed and struggled to get away. I couldn’t use my hands to support myself, or seek any leverage. I was powerless, controlled by his palms on either side of my head.
“Just suck me,” he said. “Don’t be all dramatic.”
I tried. I really tried. I drew air through my nose and tried not to throw up as he banged the back of my throat again and again. He gave you an apartment, I told myself. You owe him. But that just made me feel like a whore.
Not a whore. His slave. I felt his hand tug at the collar, circling it, reminding me of my place. The blowjob got easier after that. Be a pretty hole, Chere. Yes, for now I’d be his pretty hole. For the orgasms. For the poetry.
He finished with deep, urgent growls of satisfaction, coming partly in my mouth but partly on my lips, so I had to lick it away.
“Don’t say anything,” he said, letting go of my face. “Don’t say a fucking thing. Sit back on your heels and wait until I’m ready to fuck you again. You’re getting it in the ass next.”
My whole body clenched, imagining him taking my ass in this heightened mood, with all the gear, the blindfold, the collar, the cuffs. At least he took off the clamps. My nipples throbbed as the blood returned, but I couldn’t rub them or soothe them in any way. All I could do was sit there and stroke my thighs with my fingers. If my hands were free, I would have masturbated to orgasm seventeen times in a row without stopping. The fact that I couldn’t touch my clit made me agonizingly aware of how turned on I was. I wondered what he’d do if I started humping the bed, or the floor. I was too scared of him to find out.