I hated the way I was crying, the way I was losing my shit, but the whip hurt so bad, and unlike the dowel, he crossed strokes over other strokes, compounding the stinging. My ass felt like a tic-tac-toe board of pain, and he was still playing. Begging wouldn’t stop him, and I didn’t have a safe word, but I was glad, because I would have used it a million times already and I wouldn’t have been able to reach this crazy, maddening place where my pussy was as alive as the whip against my flesh.
That didn’t stop me from begging “Please, please stop” over and over until he finally lowered his arm. My ass was wrecked. I cried out when he grasped my cheeks and smacked them. “Am I bleeding?”
“No, Sparkles, you’re not.” Not an ounce of pity or tenderness, just pure sadistic sarcasm. He left me to sob for a few minutes, my tears falling onto the lower bench as he crossed the room. When he returned, I heard a cap opening, and felt the cold drip of more lube on my ass.
“It’s time for you to get fucked in your asshole,” he said, jamming a finger inside me. “You want that, don’t you? A woman your age should have had tons of anal by now. You should let men fuck all your holes. That’s what they’re there for, aren’t they?”
“Yes, Sir,” I bawled.
He took my hips and held them hard. “Don’t try to pull away. Don’t clench or squeeze to impede me. Let me in the way you’re supposed to. It’s high time you learned how this feels.”
I clenched my hands into fists as he pressed the head of his cock against my ass. I’d hoped it might still be a little stretched from my time in the butterfly chair, but it felt like I was being pried open all over again, only this time, he was so much thicker.
“Oww, owww!” I jerked away on pure instinct, and was punished with a yank of my hair. He twisted his fingers in my curls and leaned over me, pushing his cock a little deeper. My ass ached with dull, stretching fire.
“Let it happen,” he said, as gentle as his cock was brutal. “This is what happens to masochistic sluts like you. You like this. You want it. You deserve all this pain, don’t you?”
When I didn’t answer, he squeezed my hair until I squealed, “Yes, Sir.” His cock slid in me another couple of inches, and I tensed, praying for him to stop before he split me open. It wasn’t hurting as badly as when he started, but I still didn’t think I could take any more inside me. The impalement I felt in the chair was nothing. This was a hard, thick shaft of Fort’s flesh pulsing inside me, sliding through lubrication that eased the way even when I didn’t want any more inside. I clutched at the bench as he drove the rest of the way in, until I felt his balls dangling against my pussy lips.
“That’s more like it.” His low, feral voice communicated sexual pride. He let go of my hair and bumped his hips against my punished ass cheeks, holding my waist so I couldn’t jerk to the side. “This is submission, Juliet. Hurting and straining to get away, except that you can’t, and you like that.” His fingers crept up my sides and around my breasts to torture my nipples as he withdrew his cock and thrust in again. He started a rhythm, in, out, in, out, moving along sensitive walls with so much girth I could feel the crown of his cock sliding past my entrance, along with the pulse of his veins.
“Do you like this?” he asked. “Do you like getting your ass fucked?”
I said no, because I needed it to remain a struggle. I needed to not like it, even though it was feeling hotter by the second. I squirmed, trying to get away. He chuckled and withdrew from me, leaving me empty and scared. Going back for the whip?
Instead he returned with another bottle of lubricant, this one runnier and thinner. He squeezed some into his hand and sluiced his fingers through my dripping pussy folds to my clit. The burn started at once, a hot, nagging sting that felt the same as getting hot sauce on your tongue.
“It’s a form of ginger oil,” he said. “Specifically cooked up for submissives with cocks in their ass, to show that things could always be worse.”
I wiggled against the tingling, and clenched as it intensified, but nothing helped, and he wasn’t done. He went to the chest of drawers and returned with a wooden clip a couple of inches in length. He coated it with the oil and held it up to my face. “Sometimes this goes on bad girls’ tongues, but tonight it’s going on your clit.”
“You can’t,” I said. The wood was sturdy, and the spring looked hardcore. He was going to break me when the burning oil already had me bucking in agony. “Please don’t.”
“Please don’t,” he mimicked in a high voice. “Be a good girl, Sparkles. Let it all work. You’ll be coming like a banshee three minutes from now.”
I shook my head as he crossed behind me and yanked up my hips to get at my pussy. He pinched the fold of skin protecting my clit, tugged it back and applied the wooden torture device to my sensitized flesh. The pain was immediate and unbearable. I tried to jiggle it off, bouncing on my toes, but it held on tight.
“I can’t. I can’t!”
He came around to look at my face, his eyes hazy with perverse satisfaction. I stared at this man, so beautiful, so deviant, with his gaze fixed on mine. I blinked and cried, and gritted my teeth as my pussy tingled and ached. I wanted him inside me more than anything in the world. I needed him inside me. I needed him to finish this, to take me wherever it was he could take me. Our eyes held, then he let out a soft breath.
“You can come whenever you like now,” he said, “but only while my cock’s in your ass.”
After those words, he stepped behind me and positioned his cock against my asshole again. This time he slid steadily in, not leaving time for me to accustom myself to the invasion, but my body had knowledge it hadn’t had before, knowledge about relaxing and floating along with the stretch and ache. It felt as tight and scary as before, but now I wanted it because it felt right. It felt right to be fucked there. It felt right to be hurt.
After a couple minutes of steady, firm thrusting, I found myself pressing my ass back against his cock rather than trying to shrink from it. I found my legs bracing rather than trembling, and my fingers spread wide in pleasure rather than clenched in a fist. The clip on my clit still hurt like hell—he jogged it with his balls each time he buried himself inside me—but it was a hurt that made my body soar.
I felt stretched in every way, stretched over the bench, stretched around his cock, stretched in my arms and legs as I tried to withstand his assault. My scalp smarted where he’d pulled my hair, and my pussy was still on fire, but an orgasm started to build inside me, firmly centered around his cock.
Each inch inside made my pleasure flare, and each pang as he withdrew fanned the need higher. I felt things happening all over my body, but what I felt the most, and what finally tipped me into climax, was his hard, thick cock deep inside me, taking me where no one else had ever gone. Taking me without care, as if it was his right, his Dominant prerogative. No gentleness, no allowance for my needs or sensibilities. It drove me wild with perverse sexual energy.
And then everything let go.
I’d been crying for what seemed like an hour, yet I cried some more through the intense orgasm as it spread through my ass and pelvis, and up to my sore nipples and breasts. The orgasm I had in our last session had been my strongest to date, yet this one put it to shame. I flailed over the bench, squeezing my ass around his cock as the waves overtook me, zinging sensation screaming along e
very nerve and vein.
He’d told me I could only come with his cock in my ass, but as I lay there shuddering I thought to myself, how did I ever come any other way?
And that scared me. I dropped my head between my arms, going limp as he rode my ass a couple more minutes and banged a growling climax against my tic-tac-toe emblazoned cheeks. As my orgasm’s pleasure ebbed away, the clip on my clit hurt more than ever, but the burn in my pussy had finally calmed down. I must have washed all his evil, stinging oil away with my pussy juices when I came.
After he pulled away, he gave the clit clip one last, ruthless flick before removing it. I let out a sigh I hadn’t realized I was holding. When he reached to undo my arms, I looked up at him, anguished. “Not yet,” I said. “Please. I can’t. Not yet.” I only meant that I was still stuck in our scene, that I didn’t feel safe enough to be released yet. His expression darkened with concern.
“Are you okay?” He wiped my tearful eyes. “Too much? Too far?”
“No.” My tears increased, not dungeon-sex tears, but confused, overemotional tears. “It wasn’t too much. I loved it.” I tried to pull myself together, but I couldn’t. “I loved what we just did,” I said in a higher voice. “What does that mean?”
“It means you shouldn’t be upset, because I enjoyed it too.” His voice was kinder now, the way it hadn’t been before. He ran a hand up and down my back, steady, warm pressure. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to let you go.”
He meant the physical bonds, but I was thinking of emotional bonds. They were forming despite my best efforts, and I couldn’t seem to keep them in check. He waited ten minutes for me, stroking his hand along my spine and between my shoulders until I calmed and came back to wherever I’d been before I left. He took me to the guest room shower and stayed with me this time, cleaning me up when I was too spooked to touch my skin.
“I left a few marks,” he said, turning me around to inspect my ass. “Good ones. But nowhere they’ll show.”
I wasn’t even sure I cared about that. What if the world saw the marks?