Manhattan Kink: A Boxed Set

by Serafina Conti

  He hit her again, harder now—a searing stripe of pain across her ass.

  “Two,” he said.

  He was doing it like Daddy, starting hard and building fast. With the realization, her heart missed a beat; then it hammered in her chest, like it was going to burst. Suddenly it was hard to get enough air. She whined behind her gag and squeaked as the next blow came, and he said, “Three.” She tried to turn on her side, but couldn’t—all she could do was twist her upper body. She tried to crawl away but could move her knees only inches.

  Another blow, nearly unbearable—tears welled in her eyes and her nose started to run. Her skin was hot everywhere. He said “Four,” and she groaned, but she knew that was just turning him on more—it would make him hit harder. He said “Five” on the downstroke, and it was like a wildfire burning through her body, from her ass through her pussy, belly, and breasts, up to her face. She could smell her own sweat. She could lift her head an inch or two, and she tried to look around to show him the fear in her face, but couldn’t move her head enough to meet his eyes.

  He said “Six” and swung the belt, and she screamed behind her gag. She could hear his breath heavy and rasping, sense the excitement in him—she knew he was too aroused to stop now. When he said “Seven” she would have safeworded if she could have—the hot pain was swallowing her up. She knew she’d die if he hit her again. But he said “Eight” and hit her, and she didn’t die—her body trembled, and her mind started to wander away from herself, the pain farther off even as it became more present.

  He said “Nine,” and she could sense his whole weight behind the blow. It was beyond endurance, what he was doing—she could scarcely even scream now, but just made a continuous low groan, wishing she could talk to beg, to offer him anything—she’d break any limit, he could kill her, if only he’d turn off the pain.

  He said “Ten” and gave her one more slashing blow, like holding a blowtorch to her backside. He paused then, and terror rushed in to fill the space where the pain had been—he might start again, or do some other more horrible thing she hadn’t thought of.

  But he said, “Your ass is so beautiful red,” and kissed one ass cheek with lips that were hot on her raw skin. She writhed as he kissed the other cheek—how could a kiss hurt like that? He slowly pulled out the butt plug—the sensation as her sphincter contracted around it was so good! And then he plunged his face into her crack, his tongue cool and soothing in her anus, and so sexy, after her great agony, that she felt her pussy run and drip. How she wished she could touch herself! Noticing that she’d made two tight fists, she flexed her fingers.

  He lingered a long time in her crack before he stopped, put a hand on her pussy, and stroked her gently. “You’re wet,” he said. “You liked the whipping, then, slut?”

  No! In an instant her pleasure became terror, her heart hammered again, and her breathing got hard and fast. She tried to crawl away again, but could scarcely move. His hand was gone, and something hard caressed her pussy—the belt! Even Frederick had never whipped her pussy with a belt. She’d have safeworded now if she could have, just from the fear.

  “I know you liked it,” he said softly. “I can tell you want more. Five more.” The first blow was light, hardly more than a touch, but it still stung the open and engorged folds of her pussy and delivered an enormous charge of painful stimulation to her clit. She gave a muffled scream again. He stepped over her and straddled her body for a better angle, and when he brought the belt down again, it landed flat with a slap, and stung from her clit up to her anus. She screamed again—even Daddy didn’t paddle her pussy this hard. But she knew he couldn’t stop—oh, she’d made him into this monster!—and when the belt came down again, she heard it swish, and the loud snap of it was swallowed up in the pain that blasted up through her body and exploded behind her eyes.

  “Two more now,” he said, and she screamed even before the blow came down. She couldn’t take it—her body gave a great spasm in her bonds, and something detonated deep in her chest—she thought it must be her heart exploding. But she felt its pounding as the pain faded, and knew she was alive—but for how long? He said, “One more,” and she whimpered and waited for the blow that would finally kill her.

  But the last blow was a caress, the belt drawn just lightly across clit, slit, and anus. She wondered if he hadn’t hit her all that hard, really—maybe it was the fear that had hurt most. He said, “My sweet slut,” and bent over and licked her again, a long, soothing lick from her ass, deep through her slit, all the way to her swollen and painful clit. She felt the panicky energy drain away, and she whimpered again, but with longing this time. It was balm, it was heaven, he licked her pain away, and then his lips plunged into her liquid folds, and he sucked her clit hard and overwhelmed her again with sensation. How she needed him to fuck her!

  And he did. He stepped around behind her, and finally his cock penetrated her, his naked flesh in her pussy—she hadn’t been fucked bareback since she’d left Daniel and Karen, and the pleasure of his skin stimulating her sensitive vagina was as refreshing as the belt had been horrible.

  He held her hips and fucked her, thighs slapping against her raw ass—the pain with the pleasure making her weak. He said, “Such a beautiful slut—my perfect cunt,” and she was thrilled that he’d said “my perfect cunt.” With every passing second his control of her grew, he owned her more, and in time, she knew, he’d need what she was giving him—nothing but absolute power over a woman’s body would satisfy him.

  He pulled out of her, and then there was a light pressure on her anus, and a little more, and a sudden thrust that made her gasp. It was a pain she knew and loved, the pressure, the stretching, the feel of skin sliding into her tight hole, her own muscles reflexively straining against this intruder before surrendering to the sensation. She made a kittenish noise down in her throat, and her body twitched as his cock stabbed into her, harder all the time till he had to grab her braid and hold it to keep from pushing her along the floor with his thrusts. She closed her eyes and let herself feel her helplessness, her vulnerability, and this boy’s greenness. He could so easily hurt her badly without even meaning it.

  He came in spasms, deep in her ass, and pulled out of her slowly. He released her hands and ankles and removed her gag. He picked her up and carried her to the sofa, where he held her on his lap.

  She nestled against his chest, feeling sore and needy, and said, “Am I really your perfect cunt, Master?”

  “It wasn’t nice to call you a cunt: I shouldn’t have done it,” he said.

  “I want to be your slut and your cunt,” she said. “Can your cunt have an orgasm, Master?”

  “You may. How do you want your orgasm?”

  “Master can decide. Either do it or tell me what to do.”

  “Masturbate,” he said. “But don’t come till I tell you.”

  Pipit put one hand between her legs and touched herself. Her pussy was sore inside and out, so she touched herself gingerly. Even so it hurt, but the pain was stimulating, and her arousal grew.

  He kissed her and reached for her pussy, brushing her hand aside. His kiss became hotter, his tongue more insistent, and his fingers slid painfully into her dampness. She touched her clit and stimulated herself as he finger-fucked her, and she felt him grow under her.

  She wanted his cock but was afraid there would be shit on it. She wondered if she dared to suck it, but Master decided for her, shoving her onto the floor and saying “Suck me, cunt!” She took his cock in her hand and leaned in close to it. It wasn’t so bad, and she decided she could do it. She put his cock in her mouth quickly and sucked him, rubbing her pussy: the pain and stimulation helped her ignore the fear till her mouth’s wetness had washed him clean. She let her saliva run out of her, around his cock and over his balls.

  Her need was unbearable, but he was slow to come, and she knew he wouldn’t let her come till he’d had his own orgasm. She sucked him urgently, willing him to fill her mouth up, and meanwhile
edged herself, fingers sliding in her slick pussy, then pausing, then moving again, till she was half mad with need.

  Finally his body tensed and his cum pumped over her tongue. She let it slide into the back of her mouth till it triggered the swallowing reflex; then she held his cock in her mouth while she rubbed herself hard, body twitching with the pain of it—so close to orgasm.

  She gazed into his eyes with longing, waiting for him. He stared back—why did he take so long? It couldn’t have been more than a minute, but the wait was agony.

  Finally he said, “Now, slut,” and she came with the word “slut” ringing in her ears, a long and intense orgasm. She let his cock slip out of her mouth.

  She rested her head on his knees and cried. She knew she shouldn’t, he had to be puzzled, but she couldn’t help herself. She was poison, and it was horrible, what she was doing. She hated herself. But what emotions Andrew had had, drunk on the vast power she’d given him! What feelings she’d had, too, so helpless, so fearful, so panicky! What love Neko felt, and what sadistic pleasure she was giving her exhausted Daddy! She’d never lived with as much intensity as she was doing right now, and she knew she couldn’t give it up, not till somebody stopped her or she’d destroyed herself and everyone in her life.

  A few minutes later, Pipit lay on the sofa with her head in Andrew’s lap. He stroked her belly and said, “I don’t want to go.”

  “You have to go back to Emily. That’s where you belong,” she said. “But you’re my Master, and I’m your slave. Give me a command, and I’ll follow it till we’re together again.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Don’t come till you’re with me again.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, and for that one moment really believed she’d obey.

  * * *

  Emily looked marvelous in her black T and shorts, rose vine climbing her neck, ring in her right nostril. The only piercing Pipit had ever had done was her ears—the idea of being pierced anywhere else was scary, and when she thought of the tattoo needle she got a little faint. She’d always told herself her skin was so perfect it needed no more adornment, but now she wondered if it was that or simple fear that explained her aversion to tattoos and piercings. Strange to be afraid of needles, considering what she’d let Andrew do to her just two days before.

  The waitress brought their coffees and croissants. “I used to hate your tattoo,” said Pipit, “but now I really like it. I like your ring, too.”

  “Thanks,” said Emily.

  “Do you have any other piercings?” Pipit asked.

  “Left nipple and clitoral hood,” said Emily.

  “Those are such scary places,” said Pipit, shivering a little. “Did they hurt?”

  “Not too bad,” said Emily. “Even a non-masochist could take it. And the feeling when somebody plays with them is amazing.”

  Pipit thought she’d like to have that feeling. She also wanted to see Emily’s other rings, but she wasn’t about to ask.

  “I wish I could feel that,” Pipit said, “but I get woozy whenever I think about anything breaking my skin. I passed out when I got my ears pierced. I was just thirteen. If my mother hadn’t been there, it wouldn’t have gotten done at all.”

  “We’re entitled to our squicks,” said Emily. “I’ve never gotten over being afraid of spiders.”

  She seemed a little wary: Pipit wanted to put her at ease. She laughed and said, “But I’m afraid of spiders, too!”

  Emily laughed and relaxed a little. “It’s okay to not want a tattoo. But if you were curious, you could start with just a little one. I got a little one, the word ‘slave’ in white on my thigh. I was probably crazy to just go ahead and get a great big one after that. My poor parents were totally bewildered by it.”

  “My parents are really conservative,” Pipit said. “Serious church people and all that. They have no idea what I’m into, or what I do for a living. They’d disown me if they found out.”

  “They say it’s easier to come out to your parents as gay than to come out as kinky,” said Emily.

  Pipit said, “I can’t even imagine telling them I’m bi.”

  “Mine are really liberal,” Emily said. “Sometimes I wish they weren’t—it’s a little tiresome when everything you do is okay. Anyway, I think they’ve sort of figured out the bi thing. They know I’m living with a woman and a man in a two-bedroom apartment. They hint around that they know what our arrangement is. They keep angling to get me to confide in them so they can have the satisfaction of approving, you know.”

  “What do you think they’d freak about most, if they found out you were kinky?”

  “Well, having a toilet slave is like the last thing I’d ever tell them.”

  Pipit laughed. “If I ever want to kill my parents outright, I’ll tell them about my three weeks as a toilet slave. How’s Mouche, by the way? Did you tell her I was sorry about how I treated her?”

  “I did,” Emily said. “She said it was nice of you to say that. She really is happy, you know.”

  “And how about you?” said Pipit. “It’s not your kink, is it? Having a human toilet?”

  “Not really,” said Emily. “It’s a thing I’m willing to do for her.”

  “I’ll bet Karen would love to get her back.”

  “Daniel actually called me a couple of weeks ago and said exactly that,” said Emily. “When I brought it up to Amanda, she said she’d never go. I think it’s more about staying with me than being mad at Karen and Daniel. Amanda doesn’t hold grudges.”

  “So I guess you’ve got a toilet slave whether you want one or not,” said Pipit.

  “She’s sweet and easy to have around. I love her. Just don’t tell my parents what we get up to in the bathroom.”

  “So would you tell them about the rest?”

  “I don’t think so. They’d go crazy with anxiety about me getting hurt. I can almost hear them now. They’d be like, ‘Are you sure it’s safe, you know, being tied up and whipped?’”

  “You could explain to them about safewords,” Pipit said.

  “And they’d stay up at night wondering if Andrew could be trusted to stop when he heard a safeword.”

  “Some people play without safewords,” said Pipit. “You know, like trusting your partner so much you let him ignore you when you say no.”

  “Aren’t they mostly the ones who’ve been married for like decades and played the same way the whole time? Andrew asked me if I’d ever consider playing without a safeword, and I told him to ask again in twenty years.”

  Pipit laughed. “That was a good answer. What did he say?”

  Emily’s smile faded a little. “He didn’t say anything. He just went back to his book.”

  “You shouldn’t ever let anybody pressure you into playing without a safeword,” said Pipit seriously. “Tell me you won’t ever do that.”

  “I won’t,” said Emily. “You sound like maybe you have.”

  “Once,” said Pipit. “I let myself be tied up and gagged, and I didn’t have a safe gesture. I thought I was going to die like five times before the scene was done. I could’ve died, too. It’s really dangerous. Just don’t ever do it, okay?”

  “I never will,” said Emily.

  The memory of the powerful fear she’d felt playing with Andrew was making Pipit wet. In a few days she’d play with him again. She’d do it without a safeword—she just had to—and she was already terrified. Emily was making her wet, too. Pipit wanted to kiss her pierced places. She wanted to confide in Emily and tell her every terrible thing she’d done. She pictured herself tied to a cross, gagged, without safeword or safe gesture, Emily standing there with a whip and a murderous look in her eye. She blushed and said, “I have to go to the ladies. I’ll be right back.”

  * * *

  Neko knew Pipit could never be a Dominant, not like Raquel, but she was deferring to her friend more and more as time went on, and Pipit usually topped when they made love. Right now, at their secret apartment, Pipit was giving her a
wonderful treat, biting her thighs, breasts, and arms, leaving little bruises here and there on Neko’s body. Later, Neko would spend time admiring them in the bathroom mirror. She’d think, “Those are Pipit’s bruises.” She got lots of bruises from Raquel, but she didn’t feel the same way about them. One little bruise from Pipit was better than two big ones from Raquel.

  Right now Pipit was teasing Neko’s pussy, raking her parts lightly with her teeth and delivering tiny bites to clit and labia. It was divine, all the more so because a client had given Neko’s pussy a good paddling just last night, and she was very sensitive there.

  Pipit was teaching Neko to be alive to the emotional qualities of scenes and sex in a way she hadn’t been before—being natively better at logical problem-solving than at reading moods. There was a difference between a bite given her for her own pleasure and one given for the sadistic pleasure of the top. She valued both—she got off on the selfishness of a good Dominant—but she got wetter from a bite given with love.

  With Pipit’s guidance, she’d even learned to read the emotional state of Raquel, who had at first seemed to her pretty much always the same. But when Raquel called Neko to the playroom, Pipit might whisper “Look out, she’s in a bad mood,” or “She’s been really loving today,” and sure enough, Neko would notice a sharp edge or a softness to Raquel’s sarcasm and insults that day, and a lesser or greater attentiveness to her, and the play would feel different too. Pain wasn’t just pain: it was better when you were feeling connected to your top.

  A moment like this with Pipit was always special: she’d alternate bites with tender kisses and licks; she’d pause to give Neko’s pussy a little spank, which somehow always felt bigger than it really was; and always there was that wonderful sense of connection, a special empathy between the two of them, as if their bodies and brains were wired together.

  Neko had a lovely gentle orgasm, and after she’d had a minute to rest, Pipit said, “Eat me, honey.” Neko loved the gentle but commanding way Pipit said “Eat me,” and she liked the way she called her “honey”—there was something proprietary about it that made her feel safe.