Frost (Rolling Thunder MC Birmingham Book 3)

by Candace Blevins

  This equipment is actually for both objectification and breast torture fetishes, since the only thing the Dom sees is the breasts, as if the rest of the woman doesn’t exist.

  I walked her to the back corner of the room and had her step into the small, boxlike space. She was enclosed on three sides, and there was another piece I could engage, to completely enclose her if I wanted, but I wouldn’t. This wasn’t about objectification with Cheyenne.

  I adjusted the height of the vertical, reinforced steel sheet she was facing, and then worked her boobs through the two holes in the steel. I love her breasts.

  I was going to love hurting them, too.

  “Turn your head to the side, so you’re facing right. There’s a hidden camera, so I can see your face.”

  She turned her head and I rubbed her left breast with my right hand. “Good kitty.”

  I engaged the metal arm between the holes. It was folded up, flat with the metal, and I pulled it down so it stuck out between her breasts. Another horizontal piece rotated out, and a brutal clamp was attached to each end via chains. Once the clamps were on her nipples, I could tighten the chains and stretch her boobs out until they were distended into pointy cones. I’d already put her wrists and ankles into cuffs, holding them close to the wall, but I hadn’t connected the rest of her body yet.

  I should do that, before I clamped her nipples and she tried to draw back.

  I stepped into the tiny space and looped the wide, webbed belt around the small of her back, connected it at the other side, and then pulled the end to cinch it tight. Another was at her armpits, and a third was in between. I reached between the cheeks of her ass and felt for the plug. She didn’t know it was a vibrating plug. I pulled a small bag from my front jeans pocket and slid the two vibrating balls into her pussy. They weren’t turned on yet, though. The vibrating part would be a surprise.

  “If you lose one, that’s a ruined orgasm. If you lose them both, it’s five ruined orgasms.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Cheyenne

  The steel wall with holes for my boobs had been chilly, but my body had warmed it. I couldn’t see my breasts, and they felt as if they were a different temperature than the rest of my body. A few degrees cooler, probably because there was more airflow out there. Whoever had made the device had put in a little spot on the floor so my toes had room, so I could stand flush with the metal from my shins to my face, with my feet pointed forward. Why do you pick up on those kinds of details? Maybe it’s the brain’s way of staying sane. Logic told me he was going to hurt my boobs. Not just the nipples.

  Fire shot through my left nipple and then my right, with only a few seconds between, and I screamed. Clamps. Heavy duty clamps. Fuck.

  And then something pulled on them, stretching my boobs out, and out, and out, until I thought the clamps might rip my nipples from my body. A light shined on my face, and I knew Frost could see me with the camera. I was determined not to beg — I wanted him to hurt me and mark me and claim me, but less than a minute in, I was begging for relief.

  Every couple of seconds, my tits were stretched farther, as if he was cranking them by hand. Maybe he was. One, and then the other. A few seconds to get used to it, and it happened again. And again.

  And then it stopped. Nothing happened for ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. The longer nothing happened, the more I anticipated the pain.

  And then another scream ripped from my chest because a flogger hit the outside of my left breast, and it wasn’t just the sting of the strands, but the pressure to the already stressed nipple, and the tightness of all the other tissues, stretched so far away from my body.

  And then there were two floggers, hitting both breasts, and all I could do was scream, clench my fists, and scrunch my toes against the piece of carpet under my feet.

  I have no idea of the order of things. My pussy came alive when he turned the balls on inside me, and they vibrated against each other, and against the hardness of the plug in my ass.

  At some point, he released the clamps so my breasts hung free, and he could beat on them from every angle, and I screamed until the sounds echoed at me and it sounded like a dozen people in my little box, screaming and begging and frantic with pain.

  But then the butt plug came alive as well as the balls, and when he ordered me to come, my body obeyed and nothing hurt. He kept hitting my breasts, but I only felt the sensation now, something to give me orgasms, to catapult me into ecstasy.

  I lost one of the balls, but there was no way to keep from it. My legs were bound away from each other, so I couldn’t pull them together. My boobs felt as if they were a thousand degrees, and getting hotter with every strike, and my pussy and ass vibrated, and Frost’s voice was on the other side of the wall, ordering me to come, over and over — and my body did as ordered, every damned time.

  When he finally unstrapped me and carried me out, he sat me on a huge bondage table, supported me so I wouldn’t fall, and made me drink an entire bottle of a sports drink. My breasts were brilliant red. Deep magenta stripes had depth, as if they’d been painted on with textured paint. The nipples were a dark purple. He’d have to force me to lie on my stomach, if that was where he wanted me. No way could I manage to do it of my own free will.

  No matter how badly I wanted to please him, they hurt too fucking bad to put my weight on.

  “You’ll be on the cross next,” he told me. “They’ll hang free.”

  “You aren’t supposed to be able to read my mind.”

  “No, but I can read your expression — the big one and the micro ones.”

  “There’s a bed back in the corner,” I told him.

  He grinned. “I’m aware.”

  Right. He had plans for me, and the cross was next. Not the bed. Though, the steel bed looked like it had a zillion bondage points made into it, and the footboard had a place for someone’s head and wrists to stick through, like old-fashioned stocks. It probably wasn’t used for a whole lot of cuddling.

  The cross had really wide beams, which I thought odd. Once I was strapped in, he leaned me forward, and I understood those beams also acted as supports. I wasn’t far forward, just enough so a portion of my body weight leaned on the beams instead of my feet, but it was enough to help me relax.

  “I’m going to bind you in a few more places,” he told me as he cinched my upper right arm to the beam under it, and then the left. “With just your wrists and ankles bound, you can move the center of your body around a great deal.”

  He fastened my thighs to the beam in two places each, and then a wide band came up and over my back, around my kidneys.

  That last one struck fear into me, and my blood felt like acid in my veins. He was going to hit me hard, and he wanted to make certain he didn’t hurt my kidneys.

  “You can change and heal, if I get rough, but we have human clients in this room more often than not, Cheyenne. I’m using that strap to hold you still, not because I’m worried about my aim.”

  He’d had me squat on the bondage table and push the remaining ball out, but the butt plug was still inside me. Now, he pulled it out, ran a lubed finger inside me, and then something else was pressing inside.

  “Relax and accept it, kitty cat. Want you spread wide while I do this.”

  Some plugs are wide inside and the neck is narrow. They hurt going in and coming out, and you know you’re filled while they’re in, but they don’t hold your asshole wide open the entire time. However, others are designed so you’re held open. No amount of squeezing or clenching or moving gives you relief, and sometimes, it just makes you cramp and burn that much more to wiggle and try for even a tiny respite.

  This one felt as if the neck was as big around as a coke can, holding me open. It probably wasn’t, but damn, it hurt.

  I cried, screamed, and begged, but Frost put a harness on to hold it in place, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about much of anything.

  And then he walked in front of me and I saw the whip in his h
ands. Not a flogger. A whip.

  “Seven strikes. They’re going to bleed. This cross connects to the fulcrum in the middle, meaning I can move the beams. I can spread your legs wider. I’m going to whip you, then spank your ass with a paddle, and then spread your legs and fuck your pussy with that huge plug in your ass.” He took a breath and let it out.

  “Or, I can let you out of this, take you to the bed in the corner, and make love to you. Your choice.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to look down before I remembered my head was secured to the fabric piece at my forehead.

  “Sadistic fucking bastard.”

  “My parents were married when I was born, but the rest is accurate.”

  I breathed in and growled. It was the cat as much as me, and it was pure frustration. If I didn’t let him do this, I’d regret it later. I did not want to do it, but I had to. It was important to him, and that meant it was important to us.

  “Why seven?”

  “Open your eyes and look at me if you want the answer.”

  I opened my eyes to see his oh-so-icy-blue eyes, but they weren’t completely ice cold. There were hints of warmth. The sadist had icy blue eyes, and he was definitely in the building, but Frost was in there, too. This wasn’t just the sadist wanting to hurt me, but the owl-shifter, and the man. All of them wanted to mark me and claim me.

  “Five won’t be enough for what I need, but I don’t think you can handle ten. Maybe you can eventually, but not today. Seven seems like a good number.”

  I’d thought there was some kind of symbolism, but he was balancing what he needed to do to me with what I could handle being done to me. He wouldn’t give me more than I could handle. He’d probably give me a lot more than I thought I could handle, but he wouldn’t go too far.

  “I should stop asking questions and tell you that I don’t want to stop you. It isn’t that I want you to do this to me, but that I want you to do it for yourself. I want to be your... fuck, not your sacrifice, that isn’t the right word, but I want to hurt for you. I want to give you what you need, even if I have to pay for that with my pain.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Frost

  The sadist in me had never even considered crying. Never been close. It wasn’t in our vocabulary. However, on this day, our kitty cat pushed emotion into the sadist’s eyes. No tears, because I’m not certain he’s capable of them, but he felt emotions, and I’d have said that wasn’t possible.

  Cheyenne loved all of me, the good and the bad. I’d never hoped to have someone accept all of my facets, much less love them all.

  I walked around behind her, told her, “I don’t deserve you,” and let the whip fly.

  She gasped and let loose a quiet but high-pitched squeal, because she wasn’t capable of screaming. I’d hurt enough people to recognize exactly why her screams didn’t echo around the room — she didn’t have the energy to expend on a full-fledged scream. Her body was no longer working right, because the pain had so overwhelmed her. My dick throbbed, and the sadist drank in her pain.

  I stepped to her and ran a finger a few inches to the right of the bloody mark, from her shoulder to the top of the kidney guard. Someday, I’d string her up by her wrists and whip her bloody without worry of getting my aim exactly right, but she wasn’t ready for that. I needed to be able to carefully place the marks today, and that meant restraining her.

  I flicked the outside of the butt plug with a finger, and her ass muscles clenched around it as she gasped. Without warning, I stuck three fingers in her pussy. She was soaking wet.

  “You just have one ruined orgasm tonight. Do I give that to you in between whip marks? Or wait until later?”

  She didn’t answer, but I’m not certain she was able. So many sensations. I’d meant to overwhelm her. Later, her memories would merge the pain and pleasure, the whip, the fingers, and my voice.

  It took me nearly an hour to give her the first five, and I stopped, spread her legs, and fucked her a while after the fifth. She didn’t know she was going to get six and seven back-to-back, and I wasn’t going to tell her ahead of time. I fucked her slow, and didn’t go all the way in. She was so damned tight with that huge plug in her ass, but she needed it, to balance out the pain.

  I moved the leg beams of the cross even more, so she was spread wider, and then I stepped back and took aim. Two more, and then I’d fuck her hard, deny her orgasm, and spank her ass. The paddle had holes in it, and it was going to hurt worse than she’d expect, but that was tonight’s theme. My intention was to negotiate these nights in the future. Two or three times a year, extreme pain that she’d have to change to heal from, but that we’d time so I could see the marks for several days first. I was fine with spanking and flogging her the rest of the year, and being in control of her orgasms, but I’d need this, too. Not much. Just a few times a year.

  I let the whip fly twice, and this time, her screams seemed to rip through the air in the room, as if they were physical things. She was still screaming when I pressed into her cunt and shoved it all the way in. Fast and brutal, fighting past the resistance from the plug, forcing my way in.

  This cross had handles for the victim to hold, and her fists squeezed around them, as if holding on for dear life while I fucked her like an animal.

  But this wasn’t the owl, not that kind of animal, this was me letting my inner sadist out to play.

  I fucked her until I was so close to blowing my load, I felt it boiling in my balls, and then I stepped away from her and denied my own damned orgasm. Sometimes, the sadism blows back on me, but I wasn’t ready to lose my edge yet, and I might if I came.

  “Paddle now, kitty cat.”

  “I don’t think I can, Frost. Please.”

  Her calling me by my name pulled me back, a tiny bit. I’d been the animal, and now I was a little more human. I didn’t want to lose that edge. It felt too good.

  “No more speaking. You can scream, but no words or I’ll whip you again.”

  Not another seven strikes, but she didn’t need to know that. I just needed to shut her up.

  And then I looked at her back and realized she shouldn’t take even two more. Seven had been the right number. I walked to the wall and grabbed a tongue clamp. It works like the chopsticks and rubber band combination, but it clamps down without having to fuck with rubber bands or string. I talked her through opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out, and fastened the foot-long piece at the base of her tongue, so it was trapped, and stuck out her mouth with a few inches showing. There was no way for her to form words now. I touched the tip of her nose for a brief second.

  “You can’t take the whip anymore. This keeps you from talking without me having to risk hurting you worse than you can handle.”

  I’d always known that I’d have to find someone who trusted me not to use safewords. I needed this to be real, but I also needed the woman I loved to understand that I’d know when things were too much. I wasn’t going to permanently damage her, but I also wasn’t going to give her more pain than she could handle and stay sane. PTSD is a real thing, and I needed her to associate this kind of pain as good, even when it hurt so badly she’d have done just about anything to make it stop. The tongue clamp seemed cruel, but it was nicer than giving her more of the whip because she talked when I’d told her not to.

  I kept the paddle behind her, so she wouldn’t see it. I didn’t want her knowing which one I used. Not because it would scare her, but because of the mind-fuckery. When she asked me the next day, I still wouldn’t tell her. Five years later, she’d still wonder. She’d probably narrow it down to a few, but she’d never know for certain.

  It was one more way to make sure the entire night stayed alive in her head. It wasn’t going to blend in with other nights, other scenes, other times we use this room.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Cheyenne

  I awoke in a cage, my shoulders on a padded bar, my waist bound and hanging from the top of the cage, and my ankles restrained so
I couldn’t move them. Something padded was under my knees and feet, too. My hands were free, and I rubbed my eyes.

  “There aren’t many ways to get comfortable and sleep,” Frost said from behind me. “You needed rest, so I put you where I knew you’d get it. Hang on and I’ll get you out.”

  “I need to change,” I told him through gritted teeth.

  “Not yet. Give me a few hours to pamper you and baby you, at least. I’d rather have a few days, but if you still want to change in a few hours, I won’t ask you not to.”

  “Where are we?”

  “The cabin I took you to before, so we can be assured of our privacy.”

  He released my hips, my feet, and the collar around my neck. A few other points as well, and then the cage walls beside me folded down and his arms lifted me. The room swung around me, and then I wasn’t over the table anymore.

  “Straighten your legs, but move slow. I have you.”

  My feet touched the floor and I put weight on them, but he didn’t let go of me.

  “There we are. Let’s walk out to the porch, where you can sit on a bench at the table. I have a breakfast casserole in the oven, staying warm until you woke.”

  He got me seated, and I had to marvel that he knew not to put me in a chair. I leaned forward onto my arms, propped on the table, careful of my swollen, discolored breasts, and realized the act of sitting naked on the bench had stoked my arousal. I was horny again, despite my pain.

  Or perhaps because of it, because I hadn’t hated what he’d done to me the night before. Once I’d gotten past the lost orgasm, he’d given me dozens of explosive releases, each bigger and better than the one before, until the world had darkened around me and I’d passed out from bliss. Not from pain, but from pure ecstasy.

  He brought me orange juice and a breakfast casserole with tons of cheese and sausage. I knew there was egg too, and stuff to hold it all together, but the sausage had my mouth watering. I was suddenly starved.