“Yes. I think every time I go, I’ll get better at it.”
I couldn’t tell if he w
anted me to go, or if he wanted me to plead out. I couldn’t read him on a good night, and tonight he seemed especially closed off. Once we arrived at The Gallery, we were greeted by Rene and ushered into the echoing elegance of the clock tower, where the hiss and swish of punishments surrounded us, along with whispers and moans. As I looked around the room at busy hands and busy mouths, I realized how much trust mattered, and how much I’d come to trust Fort during our acquaintance.
No, it wasn’t trust. It was love.
I didn’t want anyone else to touch me, because I loved him. I didn’t look around or preen like the other submissives, eager for any Dominant’s attention. I only wanted one man’s attention.
A groan of pleasure made me turn to the left. I saw Michelle, my costume fitter, on her knees, giving her Master an ardent blowjob. She was here for sex and fulfillment. What was I here for?
To spend time with him.
I realized then that I should have agreed to the movie. Hell, I should have broken things off with Fort a couple weeks ago.
“What are we going to do with you tonight?” he said. “Where can I take you next?”
“Somewhere awful,” I replied, avoiding his gaze. “Somewhere painful.”
I wanted to get away from the emotional part of me that kept rearing its ugly head. I wanted to be like Michelle, a willing, open vessel eager to be used. I hoped my “sponsor” would be able to get me there.
After another moment of scrutiny, Fort led me to an area near the middle of the main floor, to a padded beam lowered nearly to the ground. It was around four feet in length, with a threaded socket set into the center of the vinyl top. I had an idea what the socket was for, an idea that was confirmed when he opened a drawer to the right of the beam. It held an array of packaged dildos that graduated in size from average to ridiculously massive.
I’d asked for awful and painful, which must have been why he selected one of the larger ones. The solid, black shaft matched the black vinyl padding on top of the beam, creating a daunting vision as Fort screwed in the dildo. As much as the thing scared me—it had to be three inches or more in diameter—my pussy had grown more than slick enough to take it. In a few short weeks, he’d trained me to equate fear with lust, and pain with pleasure.
“Time to take a ride,” he said, nudging me toward the beam. I eyed the tool that would soon impale me. I thought it must be made of silicone or rubber, until he had me straddle it and sink down. The dildo felt cool and smooth as stone, a hard, unyielding phallus wedged inside me. Even with my sensitive clit and dripping pussy, I felt uncomfortably full. The beam was low enough that my knees touched the ground, allowing me to squirm and twist. I could have stood up again to relieve myself of the intrusion, but I didn’t dare.
He left me to accustom myself to the shaft. I rose gingerly up and down on it by squeezing my thighs as he crossed to get some nipple clamps from his cabinet of pain. I’d developed a love/hate relationship with those clamps. I shuddered in dread just to see them in his hands, but at the same time, I knew I’d almost come when he applied them. There was something about his face as he did it, the stern brows, the pursed lips, the gleam of sadism tempered with curiosity. How much will this hurt her?
How much do I love him?
I moaned as he approached. He made a shushing sound and held out the first clamp. “Hold up your tit for me, Sparkles. Offer it to me for punishment.”
The cupless bra already framed my breasts for his pleasure, but I obeyed and pushed up first one breast, then the other, so he could clamp my nipples. We stared into each other’s eyes as he did it, the tormenter and the tormentee. The biting pain quickened my breath and made my pussy clench on the shaft inside me. It was, of course, impossible for me to close my thighs.
“Arms up,” he commanded. He cuffed my wrists to a chain hanging over my head, so I was on my knees, stuffed and clamped, trapped at his mercy. He stood in front of me then, one foot on either side of the beam, and tipped up my chin. He took down my hair, tossing the pins away, undoing my carefully crafted bun with a few careless passes of his fingers.
“That’s better,” he said, as I tossed my hair back from my eyes. His fly came down and his cock emerged, already thick and stiff. I wished I could touch him, welcome his cock to my lips, but he’d taken that power away from me. His hands fisted in my loose hair, drawing me forward as he ordered me to open my mouth.
I obeyed, straining when he barked, “Wider!” He shoved in deep, choking me. I gagged and stared up at him, trying to focus on pleasing him. At the same time, I had to deal with the painful clamps torturing my nipples, and the rigid shaft in my pussy. My body tensed, searching for balance as his thrusts threw me off kilter. My lungs ached, and my eyes teared up as I struggled for breath.
“Breathe through your nose,” he said, tapping my hollowed-out cheek. Then he drove deep and squeezed my nostrils shut, laughing when I whipped my head back and forth. I only had the sick feeling of suffocation for a moment before he let go, but it was enough. Tears squeezed from my eyes as I choked against his cock.
“Okay, that was mean,” he said. “Take a breath.”
That was all he gave me, one short breath before he thrust in again. I tried to calm down and suck him properly, breathing through my nose, leaning into his assault. I still gagged with almost every thrust. He didn’t cut off my breath again, though I waited in dread for him to do it. My eyes overflowed until my cheeks were drenched. By the time he came, my chest was covered in drool.
I swallowed his cum with a spasmodic gulp, and still opened my mouth for more. My mind didn’t want more, no, but my body… He’d restrained me and hurt me, and had his way with me, and that made me want more.
He tousled my hair, looking down at me with a combination of exasperation and approval. “You’re a mess, Juliet. You need more training on sucking a man’s cock.”
He left me to panic as I shifted on my knees and stared at the front end of the beam. What did he mean, more training? Was he going to invite some other man over here to fuck my mouth? I could hear male voices all around me, laughter and talking. All of them owned me, but I didn’t want them to. I didn’t belong here. Even if my body enjoyed this, my heart didn’t belong here. I realized that now.
Fort returned—alone, thank God—and mopped my wet cheeks and chin with a damp towel. He cleaned the drool from my chest, making the clamps swing, making them hurt even more. When he took them off, I almost cried with relief.
“Oww,” I whined as the blood rushed back to my nipples. I swung from my bonds, hoping he’d let me rise off the shaft. Instead, he used a pedal beside him to raise the beam inch by inch until the toes of my shoes could barely skim the floor. The higher he raised it, the more the pressure grew between my legs. He cuffed my ankles to the floor, not that I could have moved anywhere with the thick dildo inside me. If only I could have rubbed my clit on the beam’s slick surface, but the dildo wouldn’t let me move my hips at all.
My thoughts raced, my emotions in a whirl. When Fort was beside me, I felt ready for anything. When he held my gaze, I was so hot, so ready for release. All the boxes were checked. Restraint? Yes. Pain? Yes. Crying? Yes. Hard tools being jammed into my orifices? Yes.
“Please,” I said, straining on the shaft within me. “Please…Sir…”
“I know.” He watched me struggle to balance on the tips of my stilettos. “Do your arms hurt?”
“A little. Yes.”
“Let’s fix that.”
“Fixing that” consisted of lowering them from above my head to my lower back, where he cinched them with an added strap around my waist. My arms felt less strained in this position, but I’d gone from less bondage to more bondage. My thighs trembled. I looked down at my silk stocking tops and the garter clips that held them. Even that was bondage.
If you don’t care about sharing me with others, why do you bind me so hard in our scenes?
I wished I could ask him. Instead I stared at him, processing too many emotions.
“Stop that,” he said. “Stop looking at me like your world’s about to end. You want this.”
Yes, I wanted this. I wanted him.
I wanted him to feel the same sense of connection I felt, but he didn’t. He avoided my gaze, going to the wall for a slim leather whip. When he returned, he whacked it across the fronts of my thighs, and I whined at the sudden, biting pain.
“Don’t be a baby,” he said, when I stared down at the developing marks. “It hurts, but I’m not hitting you that hard.”
“It hurts, though. It really hurts.”
He answered that with another set of blows, two on the inside of each thigh as I bucked on the beam. Now the phallus was fucking me, because I couldn’t stop hopping up and down. The chains holding my ankle cuffs rattled with each jump. My pussy was full and wet, and Fort was hurting me, and oh God, I wanted to come. I needed to come, but I couldn’t unless he touched me.
Then the tip of the whip teased between my legs. I cried out and arched my back, needing more. Let me come, let me come. If you won’t love me, at least give me that.
The pleasurable prod against my clit disappeared. “You’re a masochist, aren’t you, Juliet?”
His tone of voice indicated only one correct reply, which I gave him. “Yes, Sir, I’m a masochist.”
“Then you’d probably prefer more pain.”
He went back to swatting my inner thighs with the whip, quick, sharp bursts that drove me out of my mind. I tried to process the sting, tried to transform it into something that might let me come, but it didn’t work. A moment later, he stopped. Prodded my clit again.
I moaned at the blissful sensation even as I knew the delicious, teasing contact wouldn’t last. This was a game to him, a game to see how miserable he could make me, how hard he could make me cry. If he didn’t want me to come, I couldn’t come. I was his. I endured all this for him. I stared at him, going subspace-y, letting him see just how much pain I’d take for his pleasure. I understood now why consent wasn’t necessary in scenes like ours. He could take anything from me, have anything, and I’d only give him more.