Dementor (Rolling Thunder MC Birmingham Book 1)

by Candace Blevins

  The flogging stopped and it sounded like he pulled a chair or stool to the bed.

  When the first clothespin went on, I groaned. I assumed it was a clothespin. It hurt something awful, but it pinched a relatively small piece of skin, and clamps are usually wider.

  “Our deal was no identifying naked pictures. I’ll snap a pic without your face when I’m finished. Your tits are going to look great decorated as flowers.”

  Fuck me — that was going to take a shitload of clothespins. My clit throbbed in time to my rapidly beating heart and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do to give it even a tiny bit of relief.

  He put six clamps around each nipple and then used a marker to draw the petals. This told me I’d been right about the number of clothespins he intended to use, but instead of stressing out, I relaxed farther into the pose. It pulled my shoulders and it hurt, but I wasn’t going to have the strength to partially hold myself up for so long. I’d have to relax into it eventually, so no point in fighting it.

  Without the heavy flogging, I counted to twenty before I pulled up and took a breath. I assumed I needed less air. However, four breaths later, I switched back to fifteen.

  The thing about clothespins is that you feel every single one being put on, but some only hurt a little while and the pain fades, while others land right on a nerve and the sharp, hot pain expands out in a larger circle and you can’t imagine the agony and torment if you’ve never felt it. The sharp, radiating sphere of suffering doesn’t go away, either. Every clothespin adds to your misery.

  Eventually, the skin of my chest was pulled tight enough by the dozens of clothespins, I was forced to hurt myself worse when I lifted up to get a breath. Occasionally, he’d put his hands to the side of my rib cage and lift me long enough to get a couple of nice breaths, and I was always sure to thank him for the heavenly little respite because it took so much pressure off my shoulders, asshole, hair, and all the muscles well beyond merely strained.

  I nearly cried with relief when I heard him taking pictures, because I thought he was through. However, without warning, my nipples shot through with pain and I screamed despite the fact I didn’t have the air to. I lifted myself, drew more air in, and screamed again. Tears streamed from my eyes. Fuck, he must’ve used industrial clamps. No, that wasn’t right because whatever he’d used weren’t that heavy.

  And then I knew. Paper clamps. Those evil black and silver things you find in offices. Shit, but they hurt.

  He took more pictures, and then his arm was across my shoulders, just above and not touching the clothespins, supporting my torso. The hook came out of my asshole, and he lifted me until I was upright and kneeling, my ass on my feet. The hook hung from my hair and pulled it down now, at a different angle from before, which made every hair root scream in protest. He readjusted me a little so he could release my ankle cuffs from the bed’s tether, and then connected my right wrist to the outside of my right ankle cuff, and my left wrist to the outside of my left ankle cuff.

  My ankle cuffs were still connected to each other, and he connected the anal hook to them somehow. He also secured my ponytail to them. I could look straight ahead, but I couldn’t bend forward and I couldn’t rise up on my knees. I was stuck with my ass on my feet.

  But I could breathe. Sweet, sweet oxygen. When he’d put the finishing touches on this bondage pose, I still hadn’t completely caught my breath.

  His strong arms lifted me, and I screamed because every clothespin on my chest moved and shifted around already sensitive nerve endings, not to mention the odd pull on the anal hook. I screamed again when he settled me back down. When I looked around, I found myself facing the foot of the bed, centered. I aimed my eyes down and my knees were around six or eight inches away from the footboard.

  Dementor fished under the bed again and pulled long ropes up from both sides, and he deftly connected them to the same attachment points on my ankles cuffs he’d used to restrain my hands. No, not ropes. Some kind of tie, like the kind moving people use to make sure the furniture doesn’t move around. He hooked them up and pulled on a piece near my left ankle to tighten it. It was one piece going all the way around, because when he tightened it on the left side, I felt it pulling both the left and right cuffs.

  I wiggled my fingers. I didn’t remember him taking the sock off, but they were free.

  “You can’t fall sideways. I won’t let you fall forwards. I suggest you work hard to keep from falling backwards because I’ll grab the clamps on your nipples to keep you from falling if I see you headed in that direction. You can’t straighten your knees enough to get a high bounce, but even if you manage, the tie-down will hold you to the bed.”

  He flicked both nipple clamps and I squealed in pain. I could see it coming now. Or rather, I could see his hand coming towards me. I couldn’t see my nipples, but I knew he was headed in that general direction. Knowing it’s coming brings anticipation, and even if you only know for a few seconds ahead of time, it’s a huge difference from not having a clue until it happens.

  It’s possible it hurts worse when you have the anticipation before the pain arrives.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ember

  Dementor walked out of my vision. I counted the steps — seven there and seven back. When he returned, he was far enough in front of me I could aim my eyes down and see the flogger in his right hand, and I knew this wasn’t the one he’d used before. This flogger had long, thick strands with enough weight to whip the clothespins off without fucking around. Wimpy floggers might have to hit a clothespin ten times to dislodge it, while this one would likely rip them off with less strikes, but it also meant my boobs were going to take that impact.

  “I’ve positioned you purposefully so I can watch you twist and dance around to try to avoid the flogger. I may order you to be still for a count of ten or twenty, but otherwise, feel free to move, scream, cry, and beg all you want.”

  He didn’t wait for me to acknowledge his orders. His arm was swinging before he finished the sentence, and my scream filled the room when the flogger hit the clothespins. I don’t know how many he put on. A hundred? Two hundred? It was impossible to count clothespins and keep up the rhythm of when to breathe and when to relax, so I’d given up at about twenty.

  He went back and forth on my breasts. And my scream volume intensified with each impact.

  Right. Left. Right. Left.

  I don’t know how many came off. I felt some bouncing off my thighs.

  “I’m going to help you manage your expectations a little. Five strikes to one tit and then five to the other. No pauses. Please let me know when you’re ready.”

  Fuck. I hate having to ask for it. And no, he wasn’t making me beg, but telling him when I was ready was the same as saying please beat my boobs.

  But I wanted the damned clothespins off, so I only waited a few seconds before saying, “I’m ready.”

  “Hmmm. No Sir this time.”

  I met his gaze and he smiled.

  “It’s fine. You’re only supposed to use it when you’re feeling it. I appreciate the honesty. It helps me figure out where you are.”

  Again, he swung as he was saying the last words, and he delivered the ten strikes just as he’d promised.

  He stepped forward and took the two clamps off my nipples. The truly mean clamps hurt worse coming off than they do going on, and I shrieked, wiggled, and danced on my bent legs to try to deal with the pain. I screamed the word fuck a couple of dozen times while I was at it. Nothing helped except time, and it took a long time for the fire to die out.

  When I could finally breathe easy, the motherfucker put them on again, took a few steps back, and gave me ten more strikes as before — five to each breast — but I’m sure he hit harder.

  My screams didn’t stop when the flogger did. My entire universe was pain. My breasts were fire and agony. Nothing else existed. At some point I heard myself begging. “Help me. I can’t. I can’t. Help. Fuck, I need help.”

&nbs
p; And then his huge, warm hand was on my back, his other just below my chest. “Breath into your belly. Feel the cool air enter and go down your throat. In through your nose and out through your mouth. Cool air in, heated air out. You’re okay. It’s just pain. No injury. Breathe for me.”

  His hands and his calming voice helped. The deep breaths forced me to relax. He was right — this was pure pain without injury. I could do this. I wanted to do this.

  When I’d calmed down, he kissed my temple. “Better?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Another kiss to my temple, and then he was in front of me with the whip. “Twenty this time.”

  My brain didn’t process his words until the flogger had landed at least two or three times. Another couple of impacts and he moved to the other breast. Five more and he switched again. I was screaming again, but in the back of my mind I knew I was halfway through this round, and I could do this.

  You’d think the pain would be less as the clothespins are torn off, but their loss just means the flogger strikes the raw nerves the clothespins had just pinched and twisted while they were buffeted around. I’d been wrong about how strong these were, because even with the heavy flogger, it took a lot to wrench them off.

  He took the nipple clamps off and put them back on every once in a while. Probably every ten to fifteen minutes, if I had to guess. The third time he did it, once they were back on, he told me, “Five strikes to your left breast, and I need you to be still. No dancing. Scream if you want, but freeze in place. If you can’t do it, I’ll put twenty clothespins back on before I start flogging them off again.”

  I held my breath and froze in place for all five strikes. One particular clothespin had been hanging on for dear life, and the pain of it finally releasing shot all the way through me and radiated out like a nuclear blast, but I didn’t move.

  As soon as he said, “Good girl,” I started dancing and moving again, but a long whine came out instead of another scream.

  “Left side now. Be still.”

  It took everything in me to freeze in place again and hold it. When two stubborn clothespins came off I jerked to the side one time, but I stayed still otherwise.

  “Good girl, just one little movement. I’ll expect better eventually, but I don’t think you’ve been trained for control, so I won’t demand it right off the bat.” He rubbed my breasts and it felt like the clothespins were all gone. I moaned in pain and relief — his fingers both hurt and felt good, though the nipple clamps still hurt like a bitch. Mostly, I was glad the removal was finished.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “For not putting another twenty on so I can flog them off again, or for massaging your tits?”

  “Both, Sir.”

  “You’re welcome. I won’t always be fair, so don’t think you can demand it in the future.” He moved behind me and I felt his fingers working to remove whatever he’d woven into my hair. It took several long minutes, but once my hair was freed, it only took him another twenty seconds to remove my anal hook and situate me flat on my back in the middle of the mattress. Each wrist cuff was still connected to the corresponding ankle cuff, but I had no other bondage.

  He let me watch him roll a condom onto his cock, and then he climbed onto the bed with four stainless steel clothespins and two donut shaped items. I had no idea what he’d do with the latter, but he slid them onto his cock and I understood — they’d keep him from bottoming out when he fucked me.

  I assumed he’d put the clothespins on before he did anything else, but he positioned his cock and sank into me until the outer donut hit my lips. I groaned in bliss. He filled me beautifully when he didn’t go all the way in. My gaze met his and my swan wanted me to tell him we were falling in love with him, but I didn’t say it. I couldn’t.

  He lifted his upper torso but stayed in me. His arm reached to the side and then his hand returned in the general direction of my clit. I saw the reflection of light on the shiny clothespin, and I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw. It was possible he’d put it on my cunt lips, but my instincts told me he’d likely attach them to my clit.

  The first went on at the very top, and I gave a high pitched squeal without unclenching my jaw. These were not the same clothespins he’d used on my boobs — they were a helluva lot stronger.

  The second brought out a gasp and I sucked more air in and held it. The third had me panting with shallow breaths, and I finally opened my eyes. Surely there wasn’t room for a fourth?

  He ran his hand through the ones on my clit, bouncing them all one direction, then the other. Playing with them.

  “Fuck. Shit.” The words just came out, but his look told me he was entertained by my reaction and not upset.

  “Does my pain amuse you?” The words came out in gasps.

  “No, your pain makes my dick hard, but some of your reactions amuse me.”

  He put one hand under my back, between my shoulder blades, and the other near my sacrum. His strong arms lifted me into the air as he sat back on his feet, and I was in a sort of backbend. A circle in the air, supported by his hands. He settled my butt and back on his thighs, but my hands pulled uncomfortably. I squeezed around his cock and felt it jerk inside me. I squeezed again.

  “Stay still.” He unclasped my wrists from my ankles, but leaned to the side and came back with four short stretchy bands, two blue and two green. The material between the two clasps was as thin as paper, but several inches wide. I have no idea where he’d stored them because I hadn’t seen them earlier. He connected one end of the band to my right wrist cuff, bent my arm, wrapped the band around my upper arm, and connected the other end to the cuff. My arm was completely bent with no way to straighten it. I grasped my left shoulder with my left hand. It felt wrong, but it didn’t hurt.

  He did the same to my other wrist, and then to my legs by attaching the band to my ankles and wrapping it around my thigh.

  “I’m in control. If I want you moving, I’ll move you. If you try to get your feet onto me to get leverage, you’ll get something stronger on your nipples and clit.”

  His words sent more heated blood flowing towards my poor, abused, clamped clit. I wanted to pull my legs together to protect it, but I didn’t dare.

  He put his hands under my armpits, pulled me up and towards him, and all my weight was on my pussy, which was on the donuts. I was pretty sure they were solid silicon — firm without being hard plastic.

  And then my heart skipped a few beats because he thrust his hips and bounced me up and down on his cock. My breasts bounced and the clamps on them came alive. The three clothespins on my clit bounced. And his cock filled me and stretched me and the friction was exactly right. He found the perfect rhythm, not too fast and not too slow, and I could only open my mouth in a silent moan because bliss permeated every cell in my body.

  Pain and pleasure blended until I had no idea which end of the spectrum any sensation fell. I found my voice and my screams were total ecstasy now. I hoped to the high heavens he’d let me orgasm.

  And then I was flat on my back, his cock still inside me but unmoving. Filling me. His hand brushed through the clothespins on my clit, but it registered as sensation more than pain.

  My gaze met his. He put his fingers on the clamps squeezing my nipples, just enough pressure I felt it as less, but not enough to take them off. He must’ve counted how long it took for the pain to hit when he took them off before, because a half-second before the fire surged through them, he removed them and ordered, “Come.”

  That was all my body needed. The next thing I knew, I was writhing and spasming on the bed, his body over mine, his cock filling me, pressing in hard without bottoming out. Pure pleasure and ecstasy. Perfection wrapped in an orgasm.

  When it was over, he put the clamps back on my already sore nipples, and tears surged to my eyes. “Oh, please don’t, Sir. They hurt so bad.” It came out whiny and breathy, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I know it hurts terribly, but can you feel yo
ur cunt wrapped around my dick? It’s squeezing me so much tighter now that they’re back on. You want me to enjoy your cunt, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “Oh, yes Sir! But they hurt!”

  He kissed my forehead and lifted me again. “I know, sweet Ember.”

  This time, he mostly held me still while he pounded into me from below, but he slammed into me hard so it didn’t make the clamps or clothespins move around any less.

  He moved me to the bed a few times to fuck me, and he usually took the clothespins off my clit when he did, but then they’d go back on and he’d lift me so I was sitting on his dick again, my arms and legs useless.

  I don’t know what made me do it, but when he finally told me I could come, and I realized he was coming into the condom, I let my orgasm take me over and then I changed into a swan. My legs weren’t a problem, they easily slid from the restraints, but my wings nearly broke trying to form while my arms were forced bent. The ends of my wings came out of the wrist cuffs, but the elastic bands squeezed the tops of my wings and hurt the tendons and ligaments that make them move.

  My swan squawked in pain and fell backwards instead of flying up. In horrible distress, she let me take back over, and I changed back to human.

  The bands were still around my upper arms, with the empty wrist cuffs hanging from them when I sat up.

  Within seconds, Dementor had them off, and he massaged my upper arms. “Fuck, Ember! Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I thought I’d change and heal the damage. I thought I’d slide out of the bondage.”

  “How did Able manage that? How did he keep you in bondage? Did he just not come when you did? Because I don’t like that option.”

  I rubbed my upper arms. They didn’t hurt anymore but my inner swan needed the assurance. “I wore a slave chain around my waist, and it was magicked so I couldn’t change. One of the slavers in Faerie put it on. It was too small to get over my hips, and there was no way to get it off over my arms and shoulders. There was no clasp. Able had a device that removed it and put it back on, but it was keyed to his energy signature, so no one else could use it. Aaron had to take me back to the same slaver to have it taken off after Able died. Queen Mab said there was a fifty-fifty chance she’d kill me if she tried taking it off. Queen Titania wasn’t in power, so Sophia didn’t bother asking her.”