by Kira Barker
His hand disappeared from my collar, then suddenly reappeared between my legs from behind, two fingers thrusting into me with practice. I moaned at the blissful intrusion, feeling him spread me with that one motion before he withdrew his hand again.
“You’re soaking wet,” he told me, as if I wasn’t aware of that already. “Enjoying yourself, huh?”
A glimmer of resistance flickered alive, but I knew by now that while I could articulate a few words around the gag, it pretty much kept me from the snarky reply burning on my lips. And he was keenly aware of that, too, only hammering down that fact when he brushed those two fingers below my nose, smearing my own juices over my face where I had to smell myself with every breath I took now.
“No need to answer. I think that’s rather obvious,” he remarked and stepped away. I heard him walk around the frame and to my front, where he paused again, then nudged my chin up with a finger until he was satisfied. Then his hand slid lower, cupping my breast and squeezing, before he plucked at my nipple with his thumb and forefinger, mirroring the motion on the other side, too. I felt myself relax and move into the motion, loving the sensations he caused. Ever the tease, he stopped almost immediately. I felt him fiddle with something at the front of the collar—threading something through an attached ring maybe? That question was quickly answered when he cupped my left tit again, and a moment later I felt the teeth of a clamp bite into the excited, puckered-up flesh. And, shit, that one had a lot more bite than the ones he’d used on me before.
I couldn’t help but groan softly when he pulled on the chain attached to the clamp, slightly lifting my breast in a way it was not supposed to be moved. Then the second clamp closed around my other nipple, making me whimper, then cry out when his finger forced my chin back up, making me straighten—and increase the pull on my nipples as he’d apparently threaded the connective chain through the ring attached to the front of the collar.
“Keep your head up. Don’t make me correct your posture again,” he warned, but he obviously wasn’t done yet. Nimble fingers pinched the wet, swollen flesh of my outer labia, then I felt him attach two more clamps—one on each side—followed by quick tugs that immediately worsened the bite of the clamps. Attached weights, I reasoned.
“Those are clover clamps,” Simon told me conversationally. “They tighten the more pull there is on them. Want me to demonstrate?”
I tried to shake my head but the stupid collar made that almost impossible, and he ignored the attempt, anyway. I felt him grab the clamps attached to my labia, then pull down, not even that hard, but the pressure still increased exponentially. The muscles in my thighs started to quiver with strain as I tensed, but there wasn’t anything I could do. He let go, but the pressure remained, just shy of actually painful.
“Much better,” he surmised, his tone laced with that sadistic satisfaction I realized I had missed so much over the past weeks. He left me standing there with my nipples and pussy lips aching, my attention no longer quite so focused on what was going on around me now that I had something more pressing to worry about. It was then, as I waited for what he’d do next, that I realized that I’d pretty much calmed down, feeling as close to comfortable as it was possible in this position.
I expected more talking—he really liked doing that when I couldn’t talk back—but the second I heard him approach, the strands of a flogger came down on my ass, hitting just hard enough to startle me, but not even enough to sting. I braced myself, locking my muscles in place so that I wasn’t tempted to pull away—not that it would have done me any good to try, but I didn’t even want to evade him. The strokes raining down on my thighs, ass, and upper back remained light, almost playful, barely a warm-up, really. I was used to harsher treatment, but with my frayed nerves already all over the place, it was nice that he didn’t overwhelm me right from the start.
That also didn’t change as he continued on my front, mostly staying to my thighs and stomach, with only the stray hit upward to the undersides of my breast. That hurt more than I expected but made me want to push my tits out farther—which I wisely didn’t attempt, considering that the clamps were already painful enough.
Then he switched to my back again, but instead of upping the ante, his hand came down on my ass, once, twice, before he slipped his fingers back into me. He managed to brush the clamps—no coincidence there, I was sure—but stayed away from my clit, making me yearn for that extra bit of stimulation as I squeezed my vaginal muscles tightly around his fingers to gain more of that delicious friction.
“Enjoying yourself there, are you?” he teased, then added a third finger but slowed down, making me want to buck against him, but my stance and bonds wouldn’t really let me. I let out something between a mewled protest and a moan, only getting a chuckle for my trouble. “Not enough?”
I nodded, or tried to, as much as the collar would allow me. The motion translated harshly to the clamps, making them tighten, now hurting even more. That moan was pure pleasure, though, and for a few moments I got lost in the sensation, paired with his fingers continuing to slowly fuck me.
“Want more?” he asked—rather needlessly—and I quickly nodded, although I tried to keep the motion as small as possible.
The flogger came down once, twice across my stomach, harder now, just perfect to get into it—until my mind realized that with Simon still standing behind me, his finger still driving me wild ever so slowly, it was absolutely impossible for him to be the one continuing to whip me. My spine went rigid, my mind torn in two—it felt great, no question, but I didn’t know who… or even what he or she looked like… if it was a man or a woman… with no chance at finding out if no one told me.
And the sheer intensity of the situation was nearly enough to make me come.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Simon asked, reaching across my body so he could grab my left breast and squeeze it, never minding the clamp still holding my nipple captive. “That you’re not only helpless and at my mercy, but that I can decide to give you to whomever I choose? That you get no say in who touches you? That you’ll never know who exactly it was that made you whimper?”
A low moan came over my lips, leaving me unbidden. It was eerie how he mirrored my own thoughts, but then again I didn’t exactly feel at my intellectual peak right now. Part of me was horrified at his words, but at the same time I felt a deep-seated kind of yearning take over that quickly chased away my doubt. While Simon continued to play with my breast and finger-fuck me, the flogger hit me again, this time across the top of my thighs, making my aching muscles burn and quiver.
“Answer me,” he ground out, then withdrew the hand from between my legs so he could pull my chin up, forcing my back to bend, the pull on the nipple chain increasing. I grunted, then tried to articulate a “yes!” around the gag, but just then the flogger strayed upward and came down exactly above my pubic mound, the sensation not painful but intense as hell. I screamed, my fingers digging into the lead ropes keeping me locked in place, and all doubt wiped itself from my mind.
Anything that felt as great as this couldn’t be bad.
Simon let go of me suddenly and stepped away, and a moment later I heard the flogger—presumably as it was a dull thud—hit the floor. And then—nothing. Of course there was still the ambient noise of a hundred people doing many not exactly quiet things, but I didn’t hear anything in my close vicinity except for my fast, deep breathing. No rustling of fabric, no creaking of floorboards—nothing.
I forced myself to calm down and just wait. Patience had never been my strong suit, but now even ten seconds seemed to stretch into a small eternity. With no distraction, the pain from the clamps seemed to intensify, but that just meant that I grew ever more aroused by the second. I needed someone to touch me—to fuck me—so badly already that the cringeworthy idea of everyone watching me come undone was quickly losing its terror.
Something touched my left hip—fingers sliding over skin—but it was gone before I could even concentrate on it. I tr
ied to turn my head in that direction, but as soon as I felt the extra strain on the chain, I halted. For a few moments I thought I felt someone close to my left leg, but no touch followed. No nothing. I was just standing there, shaking ever so slightly with need, and no one saw fit to release me from my torment.
I thought about uttering some sound of protest, but abandoned the idea before I got there. Heat surged into my cheeks at the realization of how I must look—already so far gone that I was reduced to animalistic grunts when no one was even touching me. That pulled me back toward reality again, but then a firm, large hand came down on my ass cheek, hard, and reason went right back out the window.
Instinct made me want to shy away, but need had me thrust out my ass as much as I could, making the next smack land more squarely across my other cheek. It stung, and I loved how the impact seemed to echo through my entire body. Was it still Simon smacking my ass, or had he traded places with whoever had been flogging me before? Or was it someone else entirely? The very idea made me squirm, and when the next slap hit harder still, I felt like there really was no reason why I should have cared.
A hand appeared on my hip, followed by fingers slowly tracing a path down to my pussy. Another smack followed, making it clear that I was once again being touched by two people at once. The fingers slid on unperturbed by my body rocking against being spanked and finally arrived where I needed them. Only that, no, they skipped right past my clit to instead brush against the clamped flesh before they dipped lower, circling my entrance. Just from the teasing quality alone I felt like that must be Simon, but I could have been completely wrong. Maybe it was now two strangers and Simon was watching from somewhere close?
Involuntarily, I rolled my hips forward, trying to entice him—the fingers felt too large to belong to a woman—to go just a little further, but they remained there, rubbing slow, tormenting circles. The slaps on my ass continued in the meantime, increasing in intensity but not in speed. Every five seconds I felt that hand come down on my ass, first on the left side, then on the right, not stopping, but not doing more, either. I needed more, so so much more!
And then the spanking stopped, and there was only that slow, slow teasing, and my will finally broke and I groaned in protest, thrusting my hips forward and trying to make him slip inside.
The fingers disappeared, leaving me frustrated and horny as hell.
Panting loudly, I leaned my head back, for the moment actually welcoming the pain in my nipples to increase. I knew that it was a bad idea; the strain wouldn’t lessen until they came off, and already they hurt like hell, but it was one thing I could still control—about the only thing I could control—and it was extra stimulation when I really, really needed it. I bit down hard on the ball as tears sprung into my eyes, soaked up immediately by the lining of the blindfold.
Then, fingers were in my hair, wrenching my head even farther back until I just couldn’t take it anymore and first gasped, then let out a hoarse scream.
“Still want more?” Simon asked, his voice like molten honey over razorblades, laced with that special kind of teasing that spoke of just how much he enjoyed watching me writhe.
“Yes!” I screamed, or something close to it, the sound horribly muffled by the gag.
“More of this?” He gave my roots one last tug, then let go, and I immediately dropped my chin toward my chest, as much as the collar would let me, but a good part of the intense pain still remained. “Or more of this?” And his fingers were back inside me, twisting as they thrust, still too slow but also feeling so insanely good.
“Both?” It came out as something else, but he still understood. As a reward, he increased his speed just enough to make me moan.
“My, aren’t you my greedy little slut?” he observed, then laughed when I gave an affirmative grunt. “If you want more, you have to answer my question. Are you my greedy little slut?”
My cheeks flamed up with embarrassment, but really, there was no sense in holding back. I knew Simon well enough to realize that if I didn’t follow along with his game, he could—and would—easily change course, and right now that was nowhere near what I wanted.
“I am your greedy little slut!” I pressed out, sure that no one would understand, but that clearly wasn’t the point in the first case. My embarrassment only increased when I felt more drool leak from around the gag, lust and trying to talk getting my saliva flowing. I could have started crying from how much I wanted to cringe, but at the same time I felt my pelvic floor muscles contract like mad, to the point where I was only a breath away from climaxing—with nothing holding me back.
Except the sadistic bastard read me well and immediately withdrew his fingers, leaving me empty and yearning for cock to the point where it became a ridiculously visceral need that made me want to start crying from the intensity alone.
One second passed, two, then I heard the telltale swishing sound of a light cane cutting through the air, and the next moment—blissful, sharp pain blooming across my ass. In the past I had loathed the lighter canes with a vengeance because I preferred the deeper thud of the heavier ones over the stingy, sharp pain they caused, but right now it was perfect. And he didn’t drag it out—no, the next hit landed even before the sensation of the first had dissipated, stacking up fast. It hurt, but felt so, so good, even if it would have sent me onto my toes if the heels hadn’t forced me to balance there for fucking forever already. And it didn’t just feel good, it felt great—orgasm-inducing great—and I knew that I was close, so close, I just needed a little more, a little extra—
Hands appeared on my inner thighs, brushing upward in white hot trails. Fingers moved over my puffy labia, then—gently—pulled them apart by the clamps, immediately increasing the pain—lighter than from my nipples, but potent nevertheless—followed by one single, slow lick of a tongue over my clit.
I came so hard that it was nobody’s business.
There was no ability to think left in my body. There was just awareness, heightened times a million—of every inch of my skin, every sensation; muscles burning, nerve endings firing, driven higher and higher by the flames of pain licking on my nipples and ass, need finally cresting centered on my clit—and all that in the framework of being tied in place, incapable of moving or evading, helpless, completely at their mercy—the best feeling in the world.
It wasn’t that soaring kind of high Simon had pushed me into before but a very physical climax that started building again immediately as it was still ebbing away. Finally I managed to relax enough to pull new air into my lungs, only now realizing that the ringing in my ear had come from the scream I’d let out, likely loud enough to turn every single head in my direction. Humiliation—so strong it cut off another scream that wanted to follow—slammed down on me and shoved me right over the edge a second time.
And still the cascade wouldn’t break apart or end, because Simon was still hitting my ass with merciless precision, and Jack—because there was really only one person in this world Simon would allow to eat me out, whatever the setting, and I was very familiar with that tongue—had settled into licking and sucking on my clit with fervor, driving me on and on and on—
I couldn’t even say if it was still just one endless orgasm or three consecutive ones, but that last one would have brought me to my knees if my bonds hadn’t made that impossible. It raced through my body—wonderful and terrible at the same time—lighting up every inch of my being. I’d never felt anything even close to it, and that scared me, although I never wanted it to end—
And then, from one second to the next, it was all too much. The world came crashing down on me, an immense weight crushing my rib cage, squeezing my throat shut, tears flooding my eyes. I felt myself start to shake while the first sob somehow wrenched itself free, but I was still coming, the lower half of my body too stupid to shut down. It felt so amazing, but I needed it to end, right fucking now—
Strong arms were suddenly around me, supporting me where my own muscles had given way. A few jerks
, and the strain on my arms and legs lessened, then was gone, allowing me to wrap myself around my supporting pillar of warmth and comfort. Gentle fingers lifted the blindfold from my face, but I didn’t care, didn’t even try to open my eyes but instead buried my face against his neck, my arms tightening around his shoulders, my fingers digging into soft fabric and firmer muscles underneath. A warm hand appeared at my upper back, stroking me soothingly before working the buckle of the gag free. And I cried and cried and cried, and didn’t understand why because really, I was still feeling so fucking great that my mind was incapable of comprehension.
Someone pried the gag from between my locked jaws, making breathing much easier even though my cheeks hurt. I felt myself being shifted and carried a short distance—I wasn’t short, and not exactly a lightweight, so there was some jostling and grunting involved that you never see in the movies. That thought made me grin for a moment, but then the next wave of emotion hit me, bringing more tears and snot but taking away the ability to care about either. I vaguely heard voices around us—low, supportive, no sharp notes of concern—but didn’t bother trying to understand the words. All that I cared about was hiding from the world, snuggling against Simon, and forgetting that anything besides us even existed.
Eventually, my sense of self began to return, although I fought it with all I had. I just wanted to simply be, not care, not think—because then I would have to care and think and analyze, find flaws in perfection and somehow sully the most perfect moment in existence. But as the minutes ticked by and my heart slowed down, the tears dried up, and I realized that the only reason I wasn’t cold yet was the blanket someone had wrapped around me, I finally let go.
I must have shifted, or stiffened or something, because Simon noticed, extricating one of his hands from around and underneath me so he could stroke the hair that was stuck to my cheek away. I just looked at him, feeling kind of… blank. He smiled, his thumb idly brushing along my bottom lip before shifting his grip to the side of my neck. The collar was gone, too, another thing I hadn’t noticed. All these things just slipping by me scared me a little.
