The steady, heavy breathing emanating from his gas mask hung over and beside me as he worked, as he gripped my tits and ground his cock into my tightness, as he tore into me like a hungry animal tearing into the slaughtered carcass of its prey. I whimpered, barely able to hold onto consciousness as he fucked me, barely able to hold onto my sanity. It was starting to hurt more; he was getting rougher. But I had also relaxed more, I had eased into it, and so I was able to take it, hungry for it, for the pain and pleasure, even.
I found myself pressing my ass into him as best I could, my body squeezing him tight, practically milking him as he pounded me. I wanted him to cum soon, wanted to feel that hot cum in my ass. I whimpered again as his fingers found my nipples and twisted hard.
"Oh, god," I moaned, not realizing how sensitive my little nubs had actually become over the past few minutes. I realized, all too late, that I was on the verge of another orgasm. Something about being shackled to this torture device, about having a hot, hard cock reaming my ass and pounding into me, about being pressed into the hard, rough wood of the rack--it drove me crazy. It drove me closer and closer to orgasm and I was afraid, somehow, of what would happen when I came--that I would somehow lose control of my body, of my senses, that I would become a blubbering mess. My orgasms had ceased to become unusual, exciting events--now they were so powerful and pleasurable, I began to dread them, as if the next one might be an overdose, might push me over the limits of what I could experience without losing my mind.
"Fucking hell, your ass is a goddamned work of art, Tara," my Boss growled. I felt his cock twitching inside of me and I knew it wouldn't be long. He crushed himself hard into me and I screamed, my soft little clit hitting a rough part of the wood, smashing into it--suddenly, I was cumming, my body spasming and my asshole clutching at his cock like there was no tomorrow.
Understandably, this pushed him over the edge. With a loud, hungry, almost angry groan, he released himself and I felt his hot cum flooding my ass. Stream after stream of that burning, hot seed filled me up, a deluge of his desire into my most private place.
"Fucking shit..." he growled once more, smacking my ass hard. I yelped somewhere there, in the magic space of our mutual orgasms as we both emptied ourselves, as my body spasmed and as his flooded me with his burning seed.
"Thank you, sir," I murmured, slumping finally against the rack, completely used up, completely wasted.
"You're welcome, slut," he growled in my ear, the mask turning his animalistic growl into something almost biomechanical, a terrifyingly powerful combination of man and machine, animal and cyborg...
He slid himself out of me and I gasped as my ass suddenly found itself empty. Cum immediately began to dribble down my legs, onto the floor, dripping out of me. I was making quite a mess and Boss noticed.
"Get down there and clean that up," he ordered. "With your mouth."
He unshackled me as he said this, and I obeyed immediately, dropping to my hands and knees and lapping his seed off the floor like a dog, not paying a single thought to where it had been, or to the fact that, as I realized now, the floor was actually paved with cobble stones, like a medieval torture dungeon--a real, honest-to-god dungeon!
"That's a good girl," he growled, watching me debase myself. I looked up at him and saw his cock growing once more.
"Sir, maybe I can take care of that?" I said, gesturing to his hardening cock.
He beckoned me over and applied some lubricant to his cock once more, the same that had helped him slide into me ass--speaking of which, I felt like I had been stretched open amazingly, like my guts were about to fall out, even though I knew that was just him cum.
I squeezed my breasts around his cock. Fortunately, they had grown somewhat during the last two weeks or so, and I had more meat to work with. He grunted in approval as I began to jack him with my tits.
"That's it," he growled. I was delighted with how much he seemed to like this--how much he seemed to like seeing me, looking up at him adoringly, rubbing my tits against his cock.
"Sir, I just want you to cum again," I whimpered. "I love your cum. It's like a drug to me."
"You have no idea how much I've waited for you to say that, Tara," he murmured hungrily, working a hand into my hair, pulling hard. I shrieked softly, shuddering as he dug his nails into my scalp, as if he were trying to crush my skull. He grunted a few more times and then erupted, his cum landing on my face, covering my cheeks, my lips, my nose.
"Thank you, Sir..." I murmured, sitting back and suddenly becoming aware of how badly my knees hurt--after all, I had been kneeling on hard cobble stones. I wondered if that's why he had the dungeon set up that way? Not only did it set the mood, but so that it was actually painful to have to kneel down on the floor here...
"That's my good girl. We're finished for now. You may go shower."
"I can't shower with you?" I asked, stroking his softening cock.
"I need to make a few phone calls. I'll come find you afterwards, don't you worry."
I pouted a bit as he drifted out of the dungeon, leaving me by myself...
8
The Masks
I went back to my room, still naked, padding along the clean, hardwood floors of the beautiful, sophisticated apartment. It was such an enormous change to leave his dungeon and return to the apartment itself--like leaving one world and re-entering another, two worlds that must have been miles and decades, centuries, even, apart--but which were actually separated by a single door and a set of sound proof walls.
I realized I was trembling when I got to my bathroom. I ran a hot shower for myself and as I climbed in, I found myself trembling even harder. What had I just done?
I felt my ass. It was loose and sore, but there didn't seem to be any real damage. I had bruises along my belly, from where I was pressed into the rack. My pussy was sore from... all sorts of things. But altogether--I had survived. Clearly, I had survived. Hadn't I?
But I still felt myself shaking and found myself sinking to my sore knees, and then sitting down beneath the hot water, letting it wash over my like a waterfall. I imagined just pitching forward, pitching forward and drowning myself. But there was no reason for me to do that--nothing that meant I should. But still--
I found tears falling from my eyes and I didn't totally know why. I'm sure I'm not the first girl to cry in the shower without really knowing why. But I still struggled to parse my feelings. I felt sure that I was fine, but that didn't explain why I was crying.
Even though he was the one who had tortured me--I wanted him here, with me. I wanted to be comforted--I had survived the session, but my body ached, and I realized I was looking at a long series of sessions like this--the truth of being his slave had set in, and it both excited and terrified me.
Suddenly, the door opened.
It was him, once more. Through the steam that had built up in the bathroom, I couldn't see his face or whether or not he was wearing a mask, but I heard his heavy footsteps and I knew, immediately, that it must be him.
"Boss?" I whispered.
He stepped into the massive shower and I felt him stoop down and pick me up, pulling me to my feet. I melted into his strong arms, pressing myself him, wrapping my slicked, naked body around his.
"Sir..." I whimpered as he ran his hands over my wet skin. I took this time to savor his body too--to admire his muscles, and especially his powerful core. He wasn't a huge bodybuilder, but he had a respectable six pack that would make some of the male models I worked with jealous. I found myself kissing my way down his chest, suckling his nipples and getting lower and lower, licking my way over his belly button, suckling and chewing at his flesh, savoring my master's body...
I came to his cock once more, impossibly hard and smelling clean, fresh. I slid him into my mouth, almost out of habit, and began to bob my head eagerly. God, but I loved sucking his cock.
But then, even as my hands began to play with his balls, he pulled me back up into a standing position. He forced me up
against the cool wall of the shower and I gasped as I felt the coolness on my back, shuddering at the sudden change in temperature, the sudden delight. He spread my legs and wrapped them around his waist, his cock positioned right at my pussy, the tip all but sliding in. I let out a hungry moan as he impaled me yet again, penetrating me deep as he claimed me, as he hungry ripped into my wetness.
"Oh, god, Sir!" I gasped, bracing between his hips and the wall, my hands holding onto his shoulders and my nails digging into his skin as he fucked me, as he did me slow and deep, feeling his cock ease in and out of my tight wetness. It was a different kind of fucking we did now--slow, powerful, deep, and firm. I gasped with delight as he pumped me, as the thick tip of his cock seemed to explore and conquer my insides like some renaissance era explorer...
"Please, sir, harder..." I moaned, wanting just a bit of that roughness, but he held off, shutting me up with a kiss. He was right--I didn't need it rough right now; I needed it easy, slow, loving. He slid in and out of me, in and out, until, finally, with a soft gasp, he released his seed into me. I whimpered, clutching him tight as I took his seed, as my body absorbed it and my pussy hungrily devoured him.
Finally, he pulled out of me. I giggled at the popping noise it made. In silence, we washed one another--my body pressed up against his, his soapy hands on my breasts, my belly, my thighs and between my legs.
"Sir..." I groaned, stretching luxuriously like a cat.
We finished up in the shower and he dried me up, finally wrapping me up in a towel and carrying me out of the bathroom.
"I'm sorry I just left you there," he murmured. "I normally wouldn't do that--normal, I will take care of you after a long session like that. But I was so impatient about getting you in the dungeon, I put off some phone calls I really needed to make..."
"That's all right," I said softly, reaching up to run my fingers through his dark, wet hair--coming dangerously close to the strap that held the mask--an austere, white, Phantom of the Opera affair--in place. "You came for me."
He set me down on the couch, where bowls of popcorn and cookies were already set out.
"Are these for me?" I giggled.
"That's right," he replied, clicking on the TV. Bright colors lit up the screen. Pokemon.
"How did you know?" I asked with a giggle.
"I know a lot about you, Tara. I did my research."
I snuggled close into his arm, munching on a handful of cookies as we took in the magical, childish adventures on the TV. I drifted off to sleep at some point, absorbing troubled dreams of whipping, of spanking, of being tied up and more. It was all darkness and tightness in the dream--and a massive presence, a kind of half-man, half-wolf creature--stood over me, holding me down. I felt the tightness in my ass and I knew, in the dream, that he was fucking me in the ass as I screamed...
"Tara?" Boss asked. His voice awoke me immediately and brought me back to reality.
"What? What's wrong? Where am I?" I gasped, words spilling out of my lips like a flood, like a waterfall.
"You're fine. You're safe," he assured me. "We're in the apartment. What's wrong? You started thrashing--a nightmare?"
The TV was still on. It was still Pokemon, but I recognized it immediately as a different season, not the one we had been watching.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess," I said, shaking my head as if to clear it.
"That happens."
"Does it?"
"It does. I don't know if it's causation, but certainly correlation, you know--nightmares and BDSM."
I bit my lip.
"Why do you wear those masks? Really, Boss, why? Why can't I know who you are?" I blurted out finally. I knew he wouldn't like that, but I needed to ask.
"Why are you asking questions?" he retorted. "Why can't we just enjoy what we have?"
"Because... because..." I stuttered. "Because it's weird, okay? It's weird that I can't know who you are. I just let you fuck me in the ass. I just let you tie me up and beat me. And you won't tell me who you are? You won't even let me see your face?"
"I like it like this," he replied.
"Well, I don't."
But I had signed the contract. It didn't matter. I could leave, or I could put up with the masks. That was the deal. He didn't even have to say anything for me to understand.
"Fine," I growled.
"Do you want to see them? The masks?"
My ears perked up. I had been on the edge of tears for a moment, but that immediately dispelled them--I had been curious about where he kept them.
"Yeah, yeah, of course!"
"Come with me, then," he said, dreamily. He was still naked and I was too--I sloughed off my towel and followed him through the apartment, down the hall, to one of the locked rooms I hadn't been able to get into earlier. He pressed his hand to it and the door immediately clicked, unlocking.
"This is a pretty idiosyncratic collection--I have to warn you."
"As if the rest of you isn't idiosyncratic?" I laughed as he ushered me into the room.
It seemed to have been built for use as a dining room or a conference room. The room was long and somewhat narrow--though only narrow for this massive apartment. It was quite spacious by New York standards, bigger than the apartments of most people in the city, now that I considered it.
"Idiosyncrasies are all relative--what's weird in someone, and to someone, is totally the opposite in a different context."
He flipped on the lights and I saw them--hundreds of faces on the walls, hanging down, looking at me. From movie monster masks--a vampire, a zombie, Frankenstein's monster, and yes, the werewolf, the very werewolf from my dream, I noticed with a nervous thrill--to African tribal masks like the one he had been wearing when we first met. My mouth hung open as I stared at them, feeling as if they were looking at me. Some of the masks were more subdued, didn't cover the whole face--the one he wore now was a good example of a collection of simple, white masks, almost like something Zorro or a caped, 19th century mystery man would wear. Others, even though they didn't cover the whole face, were more ornate--the Venetian mardi gras mask was there, and it seemed to be one of dozens in the style that he had collected. I liked those the most--they were the most beautiful, the most graceful, and, as far as I was concerned, the least terrifying. I selected one, a beautiful, elegant, almost elven purple mask. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Boss smiling.
"You have good taste. That mask is over four and fifty hundred years old. Made for the Doge's niece. She never wore it; she died of a fever before the festival and it was packed away in a closet after it was made."
I gasped. It seemed so beautiful and modern--except that it had a weight to it, a heaviness which I knew often meant something was authentically vintage--no trace of plastic at all in it, but only real materials.
"It's gorgeous," I whispered.
"Would you like to wear it?" he offered. I blushed, in spite of everything that had happened between us. He went into a small cabinet, and produced a length of twine, plus a knife. He cut the string expertly, and fit it around my head. Then, with his eyes serious and focused, his mouth pulled together in a pursed position, a position of concentration, he further cut down the string and affixed it to the mask. Then, he fit it around my head.
It stood on my face perfectly. I felt, for a second, as if the mask were part of my own skin.
"It fits so well," I whispered.
"Your face is probably similar to hers, then," Boss offered. "The Doge's niece."
I bit my lip, my masked eyes meeting his.
"Tomorrow evening," he began to say. "We'll go to a party. A special party. Everyone will be wearing masks."
"Really? Just like..."
"Yes, just like the movie. Though, it's not a sex thing--not really, at least. Just a group of very wealthy, very powerful Manhattanites who like to get together, who appreciate having their identities concealed. It makes it so much easier, so much less stressful--socializing. You feel like you're in college again, and no one knows who you a
re."
I started to answer but he cut me off.
"Of course, for many people, being unknown isn't exactly a pleasant reminder. But..."
"That sounds lovely. Is this a date?"
"If you want to think about it like that, you can," Boss offered, with a laugh. "You'll wear that mask. I'll select one of my own. We'll make a date of it, yes."
I found myself beaming as I eased the mask off. He walked me back to my room and we shared a chaste kiss at the door.
"And after the party," he whispered huskily, his voice hungry with desire, hungry for me. "I'm going to destroy you."
A shiver went through my body as I saw the evil glint in his eye--the evil look that told me what he wanted--to see me tied up and screaming, to feel me break for him... To feel me tremble and whimper pathetically...
"I can't wait," I whispered back in reply, feeling myself already growing wet once more at the thought.
9
The Date
I slept fitfully. The dreams of the werewolf returned: the evil beast, chasing me, hunting me, pursuing me. My heart, slamming against my chest. I was clothed, as far as I could tell, wearing some light shift--nothing thick, nothing that would stand up to the beast's claws. My feet ached from running and I wanted to simply fall down, to curl up into a ball and hide from my pursuer, from my monster...
But I forced myself to keep running. As we careened through the landscape--it was New York, but a New York I had never seen before. This had to be New York of old, the ancient Manhattan from before Wall Street, from before Bloomberg and 9/11 and even before the founding of the country--trees everywhere, small streets, narrow, cobblestones, with dark vistas cut through only by the occasional torch.
And finally, I tripped on something. I fell to my knees, and before I could stand up, its weight was on top of me. I leaned away from it as it lowered its face close to mine, and I could smell its breath, feel its warmth washing over me, understanding exactly what this beast wanted from me--especially because he was naked and his horrifying anatomy was apparent to me.
Insatiable: A Dark Billionaire Romance Page 10
