by Linnea May
I bite my lower lip to keep myself from screaming as he continues to fuck me with the dildo. The blue pearls massage my core, adding agitation to his movement. I hear the silver chain that connects the nipple clamps rattling between my breasts as I squirm in ecstasy. I don’t know how, but he notices my climax almost before I do. I’m crying and clenching around the toy, overtaken by this violent rapture, a sea of delight, washing over me in feverish waves.
“What do you say?!”
His voice bursts through my luscious vertigo in a muffled echo. I try to give him an answer, but my voice is choked by another spasm of bliss, causing my body to shake uncontrollably, my limbs yanking at their restraints.
“Thank you!” I finally manage to blurt out. “Thank you, master!”
14
Loran
I’m not done with her, but I can tell that she thinks I am. I watch as she comes down from her high, barely perceiving my presence as the last few waves roll over her.
She whines as if in pain when I retract the glass dildo from her pussy. I put it aside and place my palm on her wet core. She’s clenching beneath my touch, still processing the aftermath of her climax and yearning again for the toy.
“Feeling empty?” I ask her.
She looks at me through hazy eyes, the green of her irises still shimmering with tears. Her lips are moving, but she doesn’t say a single word.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “As long as you’re with me, you’ll always be filled.”
Her eyes flicker with a hint of fear when I reach for the black plug that’s lying next to her thigh. She shivers when I let it travel across her skin, trailing along the curves of her beautiful tits, drawing a circle around her belly button before I slowly move on to her mound. A faint moan accompanies my motions when I move further, wetting the tip at her slick entrance. She mewls in protest when I push it in, only the tip. I take my time, moving the plug back and forth, bathing it in her juices.
“You don’t want this in your pussy, do you?” I ask her.
My toy blushes and creases her eyebrows, casting me a sullen look.
“I just came,” she whispers, as if I didn’t know that.
“So?” I retort. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
She inhales audibly. “No. I don’t want this in my pussy.”
She bites her lower lip and shyly lowers her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her in a calm voice. “I’m not going to wear you out just yet. The only thing that’s going to make your pussy sore will be my cock.”
She sighs in relief, but that relief is soon replaced by concern when she realizes what I’m about to do. I make sure that the tip of the plug is thoroughly wet before I move it further back, barely touching the sensitive skin between her two holes as I move along. She tenses up when I carefully prod her puckered entrance, but the tip of the plug still slides in easily, drenched in her juices.
“Relax, toy,” I tell her, and to my surprise, she listens. She takes a deep breath, as if to prepare herself for a challenge. I guess in a way, she is. I place my hand on her still-swollen clit, only applying soft pressure to tease the overly sensitive area. She moans, and it’s hard to tell whether I’m supposed to understand this as protest or consent.
Her demeanor changes when I push the plug in deeper, stretching her more and more with each shove. She’s breathing heavily, her sexy naked body coiling in distress with every thrust as I get her used to the plug. It’s not very big, only a training toy, but it widens at the base. Pushing it in completely will hurt more than actually having it inside.
“Do you like having your cute little ass stuffed, my toy?”
Her eyelashes flutter like the wings of a butterfly. Her lashes are dark and thick, even without the fake lashes she wore last night. She looks so much sweeter without all that extra goop on her face. It’s a privilege to see her like this, naked and exposed, her true self bared only to my eyes. The only thing that’s disrupting that image is the damn bleach in her hair. It’s something that will have to be fixed in the near future.
“Answer me!” I snarl at her, shoving the plug inside her tightness with one brute thrust, until it’s swallowed up completely, only the flanged end still showing.
She cries out in pain, her ample chest heaving under frantic breaths as she fights to accommodate the plug inside her sweet little hole.
“Yes, yes, I do!” she howls, groaning and squirming.
I smile and lean down over her face to meet her vibrant gaze. She stares up at me, shaken by violent breaths.
“You’re going to come again,” I tell her. “And again, and again - you’ll come as often as I want you to, do you understand?”
She bites her lower lip and shakes her head. “I can’t. I just-”
“Oh, yes, you can,” I interrupt her. “You’ll be surprised at how many times you can come, my little toy.”
I know she’s sensitive right now, the blood still rushing from her previous climax, but I choose to ignore that for now. Multiple orgasms are not a myth, and I will prove that to her.
I pick up the last item I’ve brought over to the table. It’s a vibrator, comparably small in size, but very effective. It’s based on a Hitachi magic wand, arguably the most reliable tool to make a woman come pretty much on command, but this one is smaller and runs on batteries, providing it with more mobility but less power than the real thing. It’ll do for now, though, I’m sure.
I place my hand on her head, gently stroking her forehead with my thumb, while I hold her in place and press the vibrator against her sensitive clit. It’s not switched on just yet, but her eyes widen in terror when she realizes what is about to happen.
“No, I ca-”
Her objections get cut off when I press the button, sending fierce vibrations jolting through her core while she struggles in her restraints. Just as expected, she tries to lift her head to see what I’m doing with her, but I hold her down, only increasing the pressure by adding to her restraints.
She shrieks and writhes beneath me, trying to get away from the harsh violation pressed against her entrance. But soon, the horror on her face is replaced by something else - astonishment, the realization that this is about to feel really good.
“Remember to thank me!” I remind her, my face still close to hers. “And look at me.”
She groans, her voice a blend of tortured agony and bliss, when her body freezes, about to receive the first of many crests of delight.
“Th-th-thank y-y-you.”
Her words are uttered with the utmost exertion.
I smile at her. “Good girl.”
She’s trembling, her body quickly switching between tension and relief as her second climax continues to rob her of her mind.
“S-s-stop,” she pleads. “I’m... I’m do-”
“No, you’re not!”
Instead of releasing the pressure on her center, I intensify it, knowing very well that I’m hurting her. She’ll have to get past this, and she will. But for now, she’s only capable of screaming and wailing in anguish, fighting me, fighting the toy, fighting the restraints that make it impossible for her to escape this torture.
“No! No! Nooo!”
She’s bawling, drops of sweat mixing with tears on her delicate cheeks as she stares up at me.
“Please, please, please stop!”
I smile at her, solemnly shaking my head.
“Who do you belong to?”
At first she only replies with a feverish moan, but I can see her battling for words.
“You,” she breathes. “You, master.”
“And will you come for your master?” I ask. “Will you come for me again?”
Another growl escapes her shivering lips, and instead of answering me, she’s sobbing helplessly, her face contorting as the pain becomes almost too much to endure.
“Let it happen, my toy,” I whisper, unsure whether she can even hear me in her state. “Come for your master.”
Sh
e closes her eyes, and I let her, because I can tell that it relaxes her. Her groans of suffering turn into hearty moans of ecstasy, and her back arches, her body now leaning into the vibrations instead of trying to get away from them.
“Thank you!”
Even I am surprised at the intensity of her words, not only at the fact that she’s already riding another high, but she also remembered to thank me for it, like a good girl.
I lean in to steal a kiss from her while she’s flying, carried away by the tide, as sheer pleasure stirs her insides. Her lips are soft and hot, and they taste of salt. She barely reacts to my lips on hers, still taken in by her hard-earned peak, while I give her a peck before slowly trailing along her lower lip, tasting her pleasure.
“Look at me,” I command her, but she doesn’t react, keeping her eyes locked shut and her face distorted in a pained grimace.
“Look at your master, toy!”
Her eyes fly open within an instant, and her green eyes find mine. Her gaze is obscured, as if the girl behind those eyes is far, far away. It’s one of the most beautiful sights, and I know it can only be topped by one thing: seeing her come again.
“You’ll come again,” I announce. “And this time, you’ll keep your eyes on me the entire time.”
She whines and shakes her head. “I ca-”
“You said that before, but you still could,” I remind her. “You’ll come again, and you’ll look at me the entire time, do you understand?”
I never fully removed the vibrator from her tortured clit, but I eased the level of stimulation after her last climax receded. A desperate shriek fills the room when I apply new pressure, not minding the fact that she must be beyond overly sensitive at this point.
She howls and begs for me to stop, torment clearly visible by the way she squirms on the rack, yanking at her restraints with no regard to the pain that it must be causing her wrists and ankles. I’m breaking a sweat trying to hold her down, and my reminders of her keeping her eyes open and focused on me echo through the room again and again.
But it’s all worth it when I see it, when I see it in her eyes. She doesn’t have to tell me that she’s being overcome by another orgasm when the green of her eyes starts fading, and as her pupils widen visibly, as if intoxicated by drugs. But no hallucinogen in the world can match this feeling, neither hers nor mine. Hardly any man ever has the pleasure to witness it, but I can see it all - and I lose myself in the beauty of it.
15
Ruby
I’m a trembling mess when he gathers me from the stretching bank. I don’t move my arms or my legs when he finally frees them from the cuffs, my limbs just drop onto the wood, lifeless and void of mobility. I’m sobbing heavily, but I don’t know why. There’s no more pain, and if I’m honest, I can barely remember it, even though I can still hear the screams. I can still sense the echo of my cries as he tortured me, forcing one climax after another out of my sore body, even when I felt I had long reached - and surpassed - my limit.
I can’t see him through all the tears blurring my vision, and I can’t hear him, either, but I know he’s talking to me. His voice is muffled by my own howling, and he sounds as if he’s very far away. But he’s not. He’s right here in this room. I’m the one who moved on, I’m the one who’s as far away as one can be, without the shell that is my body actually leaving the room.
A stinging pain that soon evolves into soothing throbs of relief bursts through my tits when he removes the clamps. I gasp in surprise, and then feel shame washing over me when he pulls out the plug that’s been stretching my ass for so long. And I never stop sobbing through any of it.
I can feel his strong arms wrapping around me, and I feel my body being lifted from the hard wood and his heartbeat next to my ear when I lean against his strong chest. He’s carrying me through the room as if I weighed nothing, and then he stops, still holding me as I continue to sob, my tears drenching his shirt.
I’m too far away to wonder about his decision to carry me upstairs. I’m blinded by bright light as we reach another room, a room I’ve never seen before, a room I’m not able to see now because my eyes close as quickly as I’ve opened them. I bury my face against the wall of muscles that is his chest, inhaling his scent as he continues to carry me up another flight of stairs.
It’s just my body that sighs in relief when he lowers me onto something soft, a mattress, or a bed maybe. There’s a moment of emptiness, just a few seconds during which I can no longer feel his presence next to me, but it doesn’t last long. He lies down next to me, offering comfort. I curl up in his arms, naked and with my core still throbbing from his abuse, seeking comfort from the very same hands that inflicted this on me.
He’s no longer speaking, just quietly stroking my hair, while he holds me in a tight embrace. Body and mind are slowly but surely reuniting as I recover from the assault on me. The most delicious assault I’ve ever endured. How many times did I come? I don’t know. I just know that I felt like I was drowning in a sea of delight, riding on waves that took me from the highest of highs to the absolute worst anguish I’ve ever experienced. They came hand in hand, and now that my mind is finally clearing, I come to realize that one cannot exist without the other.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my hand clumsily reaching up to him.
The words just slipped out, but I mean them. I never knew I was capable of feeling anything like this. No one ever challenged me to overcome this amount of pain, this agony that felt like too much to bear, more than once. I’ve heard of multiple orgasms before, but I’ve never experienced it, and I’ve never lived through anything like it. I’ve never had to.
“That was...,” my voice breaks, and it’s probably for the best, because I lack the words to describe what just happened.
Insane? Excruciating? Wonderful? Horrifying? Elevating?
Each one of these words fit, but they only capture a fraction of what this experience meant to me.
“Who do you belong to?”
His voice is dark and cold, a stark contrast to his soft touch.
“You,” I breathe. “I belong to you, master.”
I know that my brain is addled by hormones, or endorphins, or whatever else holds the power to kill reason, but I don’t care right now. I don’t care for anything but being his.
“Good girl,” he whispers, and this time his tone matches his embrace. Caring, warm, almost loving.
I sigh, relishing the feeling, because I know it won’t last. Whatever cloud I’m floating on right now, it will slowly but surely approach ground until my feet are met with the floor and I’m right back where I was before, just a girl, selling herself for pleasure, her own and her client’s.
Or her kidnapper’s.
I open my eyes and tilt my head back, searching for his gaze.
“You lied to me, didn’t you?” I ask in a low voice, scared to hear his reply.
His expression darkens and he scrunches his eyebrows.
“When?”
“When you said you weren’t my client.”
There’s a flicker in his black eyes, as if he just remembered something. For a moment, it makes me believe that my assumption was right and he did lie to me. But then he objects.
“I didn’t lie to you, toy,” he says, and his grip around me tightens, as if he’s afraid that I might jump up and try to run away from him. “I didn’t pay for any of this, I didn’t order you, and I’m not the one you dolled yourself up for.”
My poor heart speeds up again, dealing with another scare after it had just calmed down. He’s sticking to his story. Is it a story, though?
“You don’t want to believe me.”
It’s a statement, not a question. He fixates on me with his black eyes, while his hand lazily travels along my upper arm, the tips of his fingers barely meeting my skin and causing the little hairs on my arm to stand on end.
“I don’t believe you,” I correct him. “I think you’re just saying this because I’m not acting the way you want
me to.”
I shouldn’t be saying any of this, but he’s the one who started it. He’s the one who started talking about a contract that we had both agreed to never mention. I signed the most extensive and exclusive contract I’ve ever signed with a client before, and I distinctly remember the passage about discretion and silence. The client signed the contract before I did, and I remember the illegible strokes above his printed initials. His first name starts with a J, and that is all I know about him.
“Well, you’re right about one thing,” he says. “You didn’t behave the way I expected you to.”
“See?”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m not telling the truth,” he continues, narrowing his eyes as he looks down at me. “I’m probably a fool for ever telling you. I should have taken advantage of the fact that you were unaware and so fucking willing.”
I jerk in surprise when he pinches one of my sore nipples.
“So fucking willing and so fucking delicious,” he goes on. “I shouldn’t have told you. I should have let you believe that you’re safe, that all of this is just a game, just an elaborate form of role play.”
He pulls me closer then, and my breathing hikes up when he moves his hand between my legs, calmly placing his palm on top of my sore clit. The motion is so intimate that it feels as if I’m being undressed all over again, despite the fact that I’m already as naked as a person can be.
“But you know what?” he breathes, leaning in close to my ear, so that I can feel the warmth of his breath sizzling across the back of my neck. “That’s not what I signed up for.”
I hold my breath, unsure what to think, how to feel.
“I took you because I wanted something real,” he piles on. “I took you because I’m tired of paying someone to act as if they’re scared of me. I’m so fucking tired of it. I wanted something real, someone who’s genuinely afraid for her life, because she has every reason to be.”
