by Rachel Nixx
“How many people work for you?”
He sat next to me in the back seat, and Olya got in the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“About forty? Forty-two, I think.”
“Jesus.” I’d thought he had a secretary or something and did the rest on his own.
“I have helpers in each country I frequent. And each operator has at least one assistant.”
“Operator?”
Jake gave a slight tug on the chain, and I felt the ache travel from my nipples down to my groin. “I’m the operator here. Olya is my assistant today. Zee is one of my operators.”
“And I’m the...”
He gave a half-smile. “We call you the target.”
Olya said over her shoulder, “He never thought you’d come here with him.”
Surprise warmed me. “Really?”
Jake said, “Ignore her.”
Olya continued, “With someone he’s attracted to, he’s never—“
“That’s enough.” His voice was stern, and Olya’s back immediately straightened. She drove carefully, keeping her eyes on the road and didn’t speak again.
Jake was attracted to me. I glowed, and it wasn’t with pain. It tasted delicious, this knowledge. I’d always known it was there, that undercurrent that charged our conversations with so much more, but he’d never acknowledged it.
It felt like a tiny bit of power. I felt more comfortable in my skin, knowing that I had that, that I owned it. Still naked, I felt as if Olya had put a blanket around me. I was grateful to her.
And I was still so turned on I ached.
We drove through the countryside until we reached the edge of a lake. A small dirt parking lot was surprisingly full of cars, most of them old and rusted. Jake’s Mercedes didn’t fit in with the rest.
“What’s here?” I dared to ask, knowing my time for speaking might be almost over.
“Just a popular spot,” said Jake.
“For...”
“Fishing,” he said. “What else? Now, my little slut. You’re done talking for a while.”
“But...” I knew I was chancing it, but I’d just realized something very important, something I had to tell him.
He raised his eyebrows. “One more sentence. As a gift.”
“I have to pee.” I was ashamed to admit it.
“Out,” was all he said.
Olya handed him the ball gag from her heavy-looking backpack as I carefully stepped from the vehicle. Moving made my ass ache again almost as intensely as my nipples did. My stiletto heels digging into the dirt, I stood as still as I could as he wrapped the leather around the back of my head. The rubber tasted familiar now, and I dug my teeth in as he tightened the strap. My lips were cracked at the edges from being open so long earlier. And my bladder ached. They’d given me water when we’d been driving and had encouraged me to drink as much as I wanted. I’d greedily gulped it down, not thinking what it would mean to me later. It had been a long drive.
Olya jerked one arm back behind me and then grabbed the other one. Instead of the red silk Jake had used earlier or the ropes, this time she put me in handcuffs. The metal was cold and uncomfortable, and my arms protested being pulled backward again.
“Walk.”
I tried to signal with my eyes that the need to urinate was real and getting more urgent, but Jake strode ahead down the trail away from the lake. Elms and poplars soared above us, and within a few minutes we were deep in the woods. Birdsong floated above us, and shafts of sunlight filtered through the boughs, hitting the dark green moss covering the slate-gray rocks. For a moment, looking at the orange and umber of the turning leaves, I could almost talk myself into thinking I was in upstate New York, two hours north of the city. Jake and I and a friend were going...on a picnic, that was it. We’d open a bottle of wine and spend the afternoon laughing and telling stories.
And I’d be naked and bound. I stumbled over a rock and almost fell to the ground. When I righted myself, breathing heavily around the gag, I realized I’d broken the heel of my right shoe. I made a noise in the back of my throat, and Olya said, “Jake, may we stop? She’s broken her shoe.”
He froze, and then, barely sparing me a glance, said, “Take them off her. She’ll walk barefoot.”
I eyed the dirt path with apprehension. I was barefoot most of the time at the gym, but for all the hard-ass I projected, I actually had very sensitive, non-calloused feet. This was going to hurt.
“And she needs to be punished,” Jake continued. “Obviously.”
I hung my head as Olya knelt to unstrap my feet from the traitorous shoes. While she did, Jake withdrew from the backpack a thin whip. A riding crop? I took a deep breath and stood straighter, settling my feet into the dirt. I could do this.
More than that, I wanted this. I’d never in my life craved pain before, and now, I wanted to see how much the crop would hurt.
Facing me, Jake tapped me with the whip. It was just a short tap on the outside of my hip, but it was enough pain to make my eyes instantly well. I jerked, and as my breasts bounced, the nipple clamps bit more, but at least the clamps were still on. I knew enough about them from the last time to know it would hurt more to have them removed than to leave them on now.
Apparently the first touch had been a warm up.
Jake’s face was impassive, almost bored-looking, as he whipped my torso. My hips, thighs, stomach, even the sides of my breasts. I could feel the weals rising on my skin, and wanted to look down to see the angry skin, but the second I tried to, he brought the crop so close to my face I felt the air brush my cheek. Even though I could tell he wasn’t giving it his all, it hurt so much I saw stars.
Then he hit my pussy. Instinctively, I pressed my legs together as if I could somehow protect my pubic area from him.
Jake smiled and made a signal to Olya.
I’d fallen into his trap. I’d done exactly what I shouldn’t have. I should have taken a step apart. I should have pressed my hips forward, as if asking for more. Instead, I’d tried to protect myself.
Olya took out a short metal rod and shook it. The metal snapped as she lengthened the rod until it was about three feet long. She snapped a leather restraint onto each end and then attached one to my right ankle.
“Spread your legs.” She’d had such a kind tone in the car, but she was all business now. I was the target of their ministrations. I was the whore. That was all.
I did as she asked, stepping my left foot out, to the end of the bar. I stood, my weight on the outer edges of my feet, unable to bring my legs together. In fact, I wouldn’t be able to walk, I realized. Not like this. What were they doing? We weren’t that far down the path yet. I prayed no one came by while Jake did what he needed to do.
And God, I had to pee so badly. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held it like this.
Jake didn’t give me time to try to figure it out.
He used the crop skillfully, hitting either one lip or the other. Tears dripped down my cheeks, running down the leather and into my mouth. I tasted salt on the rubber. Five, six, seven. Thirteen, fourteen. Twenty-two, twenty-three. I kept a desperate count in my mind, hoping for him to reach the magic number so that he’d stop.
Or so that he’d at least hit my clit, which felt like it was on fire. If he just slapped it once with the thin leather, if he just hit me once, right there, I knew I’d come. I’d never gotten so close to coming without being directly touched, let alone while being hurt. It didn’t make any sense in my head, but it felt better than being eaten out, this pain.
Jake stopped. He tapped the end against his palm, and then held the leather to his nose. “So wet. I suppose you’ll be punished for that, too. You didn’t ask my permission to get turned on.”
How could I? I couldn’t ask for anything with the ball gag so far in. I couldn’t move, not now. My arms pinned behind me, the spreader bar keeping my feet immobilized, I was completely helpless.
I heard men’s voices behind me. Jake l
ooked over my shoulder, and his smile grew wider. “Oh, good. Maybe they can help. I have to admit my arm is getting a little tired.”
No, no, no... At least Jake knew what he was doing. He wouldn’t give the crop to just anyone, would he? And when was he going to undo the spreader bar so that I could pee? If I’d been anywhere else, doing anything else, I’d have crossed my legs, hard. But right now, my legs were in the opposite position.
Jake called out a greeting. I couldn’t see them yet, but they called something back to him. An exchange occurred which I didn’t understand, and Jake nodded in satisfaction.
“I told them what a whore you are and apologized for you taking up room on their path.”
Three men came into my line of sight. All three appeared to be in their late twenties or early thirties, wearing faded denim jackets and dirty blue jeans. Two of them were carrying fishing poles, and the other held a plastic bag of what might have been food. All of them had blue jungles of tattoos on their fingers and necks.
The one with the shortest hair said clearly, in English, “Slut.”
Jake nodded approvingly. “Exactly. She’s a slut. I’m sorry I can’t give you the crop, but you would like to try this?” He held out what looked like a ping-pong paddle covered in black rubber and spoke, pointing at my legs. “There you go, friend. As hard as you like.”
I closed my eyes, keeping them that way until I heard a tssk from Jake. Right. Open. Open eyes, as open as my legs.
The man didn’t waste time. He swatted my legs, gaining force with each tap until his taps were slaps, and then blows, and he kept it up until I was screaming behind the gag. I knew there must not be an inch of my legs that wasn’t bright red. Within a few minutes (or an hour, time was so slowed for me now), he was sweating with the exertion, and so was I. Blow after blow he rained down on my legs. I could take it on my calves, but when he hit the backs of my thighs, I dug my nails into my palms as hard as I could, trying to keep from making the noise that was obviously exciting him. But when he moved up, hitting my inner thighs that were so available to him with my feet so far apart, I screamed again. His face was almost purple with excitement, and he grinned at his friends. The biggest guy, more than six feet tall and almost as wide at the shoulder—was rubbing himself through his jeans, almost as if he didn’t know he was doing it.
“Now stop.”
Mercifully, the man with the paddle stopped at Jake’s command. I cast my eyes at Jake again, begging him silently to remember that I had to pee. I couldn’t hold it much longer. I didn’t give myself another sixty seconds.
“Oh, that’s right,” Jake said. “She has to urinate.”
The man with the paddle translated to his friends, who laughed. One crossed his legs and mimicked my face which apparently looked as frantic as I felt.
“Do it, then, whore.”
I raised my eyebrows. Surely he would take me somewhere, as least behind a tree. Wouldn’t he? Being naked, being whipped was one thing, but the humiliation of urinating in front of these men wasn’t something I was sure I could handle.
“Do I have to tell you twice?” His voice meant business, and my stomach clenched.
I couldn’t squat. I was stuck, upright, balancing on the outer edges of my feet.
Without warning, Jake yanked my nipple chain, and the left nipple clamp flew off. The scream felt torn from my throat in the same way the clamp had been ripped away.
“I’ll make you feel every single second you delay obeying me.”
I relinquished my bladder control. I pissed like a race horse. The urine came out at such a velocity that it shot straight forward for a few seconds, as if I were a man.
The three fishermen convulsed in laughter at this, guffawing and slapping each other on the back.
And I couldn’t stop peeing. It came, and it came, and then more came. As it slowed, the liquid coursed down both my legs. Within seconds, I was standing barefoot in mud puddles of my own making. The warmth of it felt as superheated as my shame. As it became just a trickle, I choked on a sob.
The relief, though, was almost as intense as an orgasm.
“Dirty slut,” said one man in heavily accented English, seeming thrilled.
Jake signaled the biggest man to come to him. He handed him the chain and said something.
Nodding, the man began tugging it. Lightly at first, my right nipple ached, and then burned as he pulled harder. Jake held my leash and pulled it, just enough to make the butt plug move harder into my ass. As they both tugged rhythmically, I desperately wanted to move in the same rhythm—maybe it would lessen the pain—but I knew better now. I stayed still and let him have his way.
The man nodded at Jake who nodded back. Bringing his arm back like he was landing a fish, he ripped off the remaining clamp. Despite myself, I felt my knees give, bending. I lost my balance and almost fell. Had it not been for Olya catching me, I would have fallen face first into the muddy dirt, unable to use to my hands to stop my fall.
I locked my legs again. With tight fingers, Olya held me in place.
Would I get a break now? Would Jake thank them for their time and send them to their fishing hole?
Instead, I heard a footstep scrape the dirt behind me.
The new person passed me on the path, and then stumbled, pausing near the first three men. He was a boy, no older than nineteen, if that, wearing a bright red soccer shirt. He’d shaved this morning, but the stubble he’d missed on his neck still looked soft and sparse. And his jaw was hanging completely open, his eyes big as hubcaps.
There was a flurry of conversation as the men filled the boy in.
“Do you speak English?” asked Jake. “Do you understand what this woman is?”
The boy nodded. “She is dirty whore.”
Jake nodded, his expression satisfied. “So dirty she’s standing in a pool of her own piss.”
At this, the boy laughed. He met my eyes once, before his gaze skittered nervously away.
“Touch her,” Jake said.
The boy looked shocked, his mouth dropping open again. “She mind?”
“She signed up to have this done to her. She wants this.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but his eyes grew even bigger. I wanted to speak around the gag, to tell the boy that no, I didn’t want this. That was the natural answer in this situation. But I did want it. I wanted it so badly I felt weak.
“Touch her. See how she feels.”
The boy didn’t wait to be told a third time. He reached out and grabbed my nipple, which was still swollen and elongated. He pinched me, his cold fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. At first he was tentative, but he grew bold within in seconds, pulling and twisting harder. He stepped closer and brought his other hand to my other breast. It must have been his first time touching a woman, because he didn’t so much touch me as knead me as a baker kneads bread, or as a farmer kneads a cow’s udders. He squeezed my breasts—which actually felt good since it brought a strange relief to my poor nipples—until I thought he wanted to take them off and stuff them in his pockets. A huge delighted grin lit his face as he looked over his shoulder at the older men. As humiliated as I was, it was sweet to see him like this. I knew boys in my class at the gym who sometimes couldn’t raise their eyes from my chest even when I embarrassed them by calling them out on it.
“Now touch her lower.”
Oh, shit.
The boy bit his bottom lower lip, two bright spots of color lighting the tops of his cheekbones.
His fingers were rough and cold. I hated how wet I was. It wasn’t from him, I wanted him to know that. I’d been wet since all of this started and it had nothing to do with the fact that a stranger was now plunging his middle finger roughly inside me.
Oh, but God. Maybe it did. My head was confused, and my thoughts were muddy, but maybe it did have something to do with the fact that a total fucking stranger had his finger up my cunt that made me even wetter.
The man who’d only so far so been wat
ching, the one who reminded me of my ex-boyfriend Dave in the way his shoulders slouched self-consciously, came to stand next to the boy. Then with a shove to his shoulder, he moved the boy out of the way. He looked over his shoulder at Jake who made an open-handed go ahead gesture.
This guy didn’t waste time. He stood right up against me, and he was tall while I was still low to the ground with my legs stretched so far apart. This meant that my face was pressed against his stomach. He reached behind my neck and undid the gag. How did he know how to do that? Was this something common out here? Was this road a regular route for Jake and his team? Then he undid his belt and opened his pants. I glanced at Jake, standing to one side. This wasn’t going to be his cock. This was a stranger. My mouth worked in worry, trying to moisten my dry, cracked lips before I had to use my tongue again.
Jake looked back, and in that second, I swear it was like he held me in his arms. His eyes were warm, like they were when we walked through the Village on soft summer evenings. In that moment, if I’d been talking, I would have told him anything.
Instead, though, I just opened my mouth.
Good girl, said his eyes.
Dave put his hard cock into my mouth and pushed. I was ready for him, swallowing against my gag reflex. I could tell by the way he gasped that he hadn’t been expecting to be able to go so far, to have me take him all the way. His girlfriends probably never did it like this. He grunted in appreciation and then moaned as he hit the back of my throat. Compared to Jake’s size, he was smaller, easier to take. While he fucked my mouth, I could think about what my pussy was doing, which was pretty amazing, all told. My folds were so swollen that as exposed to the air as they were, the slightest breeze chilled my clit like a lover rubbing it with an ice cube.
I glanced to my left. The boy had his camera out now, and by the way he was moving it I could tell he was filming us. Where would that footage end up? Would it end up on the Eastern European version of dirty Youtube? How many strangers would jack off, watching me get my mouth fucked like this in the woods by a passerby while I was strapped in a spreader bar, my arms pinned behind me? Would any women stumble across the site and touch themselves, wishing for long moments that they were me, that they were the one being humiliated and used?
