by Renard, Loki
This is pleasure for me, the simple act of skin meeting skin. I love the way a girl’s ass responds to discipline. We’re at a nice point now, where the pink is turning back to red and the message is starting to sink in. I’m serious about this, and she can feel it every time my palm meets her bottom.
Soon we pass the point of satisfaction, through discipline and now we’re into darker territory. This is where she’ll start to get desperate. She’ll wonder if I’m going to stop. She’ll start to think that this might never end, that I’ll whip her ass past the point she can take it.
She has no reason to trust me, and right now I don’t intend to give her one. I need to keep my motivations cloudy and unpredictable. Usually, when training a girl, it’s about giving her something to cling to, some repeatable path to redemption. I’d be telling her what to do to get this to stop. I’d tell her to apologize, or say what I want her to say. I’d make her promise to be a good girl for me. But this time, I’m not giving her any out. I’m just making her ass nice and sore and showing her that it’s possible to be sternly punished for any reason I choose.
When my palm starts to get sore, I switch back to the belt. It’s not heavy and won’t leave impact bruises, but it will leave an impression.
THWAP! THWAP! THWAP! The basement is filled with the sound of leather meeting cheek, and the soft grunts which escape the gag. She jolts with every lash, her entire body responding to the hard swats of my belt. I have to be careful not to mark her too much. At a certain point, pain becomes counterproductive, but there is something Zen in this moment in which neither of us speak, but we are both intimately linked via the lash of the belt whipping between us.
I don’t know how long I go on, but I know when I am done, it is when her ass is a bright red with small stripes at intervals where the strokes of my belt have landed across one another, creating a layer of discipline and discomfort. She is soaked now, her pussy lips gleaming with intense desire she would be ashamed to admit to.
Silence is my ally as I stand back, holding the belt between my hands before walking around to where her flushed face blushes her humiliation. The chain is still around her neck, metal links perverse against soft, youthful flesh.
My belt joins it, the leather looping around under her chin, a second point of contact and control. Unlike the chain, which is relatively loose, the belt can be pulled tighter with little concern. I pull gently on the holed length, making the leather wrap around that soft neck. It’s not nearly tight enough to affect her breathing, but it is an attention getter.
“You’ve been fighting me, Siri, but you won’t win,” I say, my tone measured and calm. These are simple facts. “If you want to avoid another belting, you’ll be polite when I take that gag you’ve drooled all over out of your mouth.”
Siri
This twisted fuck. He’s doing this because I messed with him. Well, I’m not done with him yet. I haven’t even gotten started. He thinks he break me with his belt? The pain in my ass is nothing. I can take so much more than this. I have taken more than this. He has no idea what or who I am - though I know I’ve made him suspicious.
He’s trying to intimidate me with all this pageantry. The days alone, the chain, the ropes, the gag, the belt, it’s all very dramatic, but he hasn’t done anything to me, not really. There are far worse things a man can do to a woman than make her ass sore. We both know that. I’m not going to call his bluff, force him to hurt me, but I’m also not going to give in.
“This game can go on forever, and I enjoy it very much, Siri, so don’t think you’re inconveniencing me one little bit with your sweet games of resistance. It will be your flesh that pays, not mine.”
I know I should give in, let him think he’s winning. But I can’t do that too soon, or too obviously, or he won’t find it as rewarding. I have to play him, just like he thinks he’s playing me.
His hands go to the leather holding the gag in my mouth and I feel my anxiety spike. I don’t want him to take it off. It’s easier when I can’t speak. I can’t make things worse for myself when I am made mute.
My jaw aches as he pulls the gag free. It should feel better to have the use of my orifice back, but it doesn’t. I avoid his gaze. There are too many dark things in it, and I am afraid I will see myself reflected in them.
HIs hand slides under my chin, redirecting my gaze to his face. His thumb strokes my cheek slowly, thoughtfully.
“What is it, Siri?” He asks softly.
He doesn’t even know what question he’s asking, but it’s smart. A less cautious woman might just start stammering and talking, trying to avoid more of that damn belt. Not me though, I learned early in life that there is safety and silence, and all secrets should be kept, most especially those which belong to me.
I stay silent, my only response a slight flaring of my nostrils.
Stavros’ gaze swallows me, but all I can think about is how many women must have been held captive in it before. Did they start to think that maybe he cared about them? Did their desperation make them vulnerable to him? How many of them softened toward him about now, preferred his touch to the solitude and the dark? It would be so easy to submit to him, to become his eager little pet, to beg him for little treat sized pieces of freedom.
“Still fighting me, aren’t you?” He says softly.
Oh he’s good. His patience feels like a gift, as if he’s doing me a favor by not losing his shit at my failure to submit.
“I almost feel sorry for you,” Stavros muses. “If you could just give in, you’d be so much better off.”
“If you’d not be a massively evil fuck…OW!” I don’t get to finish my sentence. He whips the belt from around my throat and lashes it down over my back, the tip of the leather kissing the center of my right cheek.
“Fucking goddamn, fucking fuck,” I curse.
“I enjoy this. But I don’t think you do, Siri, and it would be better for you if you’d watch your mouth. I don’t tolerate rudeness from my material.”
“I’m not your material, whatever the fuck that means. You gonna skin me? Turn me into a handbag?”
“Watch. Your. Mouth.” He growls every word, accompanying it with another flicking lash of the belt, until all I can do is whimper and gasp.
I hate this. I hate what he’s doing to me. I hate him, but I can’t resist this anymore. I have to give in, even if it’s just so I can keep resisting later on. I do the one thing I find impossible to do. I shut the hell up.
“Good girl,” he says, his praise running off me, meaningless. I don’t care if he thinks I’m good or not. He’s a man without morals, an evil scourge on the face of the planet, and I’ll see him fucking burn before this is over.
My spirits rise when he starts undoing the shackles holding my arms and legs to the bench. It is good to be free, to have my body back under my control, even though that body is aching.
I stand slowly. He takes me by the chin again and turns my face up to his. He doesn’t tolerate my repetitive avoidance of his gaze. I expect him to say something that will make me want to curse at him, but he doesn’t say anything. His dark eyes search mine, looking for god knows what. Does he want to see the tears hiding at the corners? The glassy indication that I almost broke completely? Is he looking to see how much more defiance he has to erase? I don’t know. I try to keep my expression as blank as possible, though I know I am brimming with emotion which is impossible to hide.
“What’s your secret, Siri?” He murmurs the question yet again. There is an intimacy to it, and for an insane second I am tempted to answer him honestly. The urge passes swiftly. He is not to be trusted. To talk to him honestly would be to throw myself into an abyss from which I would never return.
His fingers tighten on my jaw. Not enough to hurt, but more than enough for me to feel the power he has. Men are built on stronger lines, and he is one of the strongest I have come into close contact with. I am used to boys, teenagers like myself, young men who are yet to fully come into their own p
ower. Stavros is fully male, totally adult. He is sophisticated in his evil, and I do not know if I am capable of standing up to him. I know I have to try.
This is the most dangerous thing I will ever do. If I fail, it may be the only thing I ever do.
A slow smile claims his lips. I see the flash of passion in his eyes. He is enjoying this little game of domination.
“This is the part where I put you in a cage,” he says, almost conversationally. “This is the part where the bars close your world in even more.”
A cage? But I’ve been good. I almost vocalize the words, but I stop myself. I haven’t been good, and even if I had, what difference would it make to a man like him?
“A cage is worse than being chained?”
“It’s smaller,” he says. “And it will get smaller, and smaller, in every way, until there is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, nowhere to even move. I will have the truth from you, Siri, if I have to bury you to get it.”
I feel my throat constricting, my breath growing shorter. God. He’s fucking terrifying.
He takes me by the chain at my neck and leads me further into the darkness. There is indeed a cage made for a human, no larger than it needs to be for me to sit, lay and stand in.
It suddenly hits me that we are only getting started. This is day three or four, I’ve lost count, of a a potentially indefinite captivity. His cum still marks me, and I know he’s not going to let me wash it off. It’s going to dry on my skin and flake off, leaving me a little bit at a time, but never quite allowing me to be rid of all traces.
This sick fucker is calculated. He knows exactly what it does to me when I am left alone. He knows what the dark does. And he knows what the bars will do to me next. I feel my stomach clench, my skin prickling as he swings the door to the little chamber open and tilts his head, indicating that I should go inside.
I step into the cage without resistance. He’d probably enjoy it if I put up a bit of a fight, but I’m not in the mood for that. I need to regroup, clear my mind of his influence. When I’m close to him, it’s hard to think.
I expect him to stay and gloat, but he closes the door behind me, locks it with a padlock, turns, and leaves.
I sit there in the dark and try to breathe. He won that encounter. I can smell him on me even though the dark makes it impossible to see what marks me. I can feel it too, the slow drying of his semen on my skin. He has left me with a twisted intimacy. Like a nervous puppy given a blanket from her master’s bed, I have been left smelling of him, and I am taking comfort in it, even though I don’t want to.
Stavros is a master mindfucker. He managed to get me to willingly take his cum on my breasts, and now he leaves me with the ongoing reminder of the act, the memory of his hard cock shooting his thick white loads over my skin before he whipped me for my insolence.
I am wet. Fucking soaked. My pussy is aching with need. His handling, the danger, the stress of hiding my truth, it is all conspiring to make me burn with desire, and of course he has made certain that he is the only object of desire I have any access to.
I try to ignore the feelings, but they are primal and they refuse to be ignored. I have two options, touch myself, or go mad. It feels wrong when my fingers creep between my thighs. He didn’t touch my pussy. It was right there, in easy reach and he didn’t do anything. He just punished me like a naughty girl, made me wear his cum. It is an effective lesson, I suppose. He has made it abundantly clear that this is not about me.
My fingers aren’t enough. They slip uselessly around my clit and lips, too wet to get any of that sexual friction going, so I press my sex to the cool bars, knowing that I cannot be seen, and claiming some control in this act of perversion. Grinding my clit against cool steel, I rut and fuck myself, the hard, unyielding metal reminding me of Stavros. He is more than a worthy opponent. He is a monster who might still consume me one day. This game I am playing does not necessarily have an option for me to win, but it might have one for me to survive.
Now my pussy is slicking the bars, making my lips glide against them with every rutting thrust of my hips. God. I wish he had fucked me. It would have relieved so much tension to be pounded into submission of the flesh, and feel the release which comes with sex.
I am behaving like an animal. There is no dignity in this. There may not even be release if I can’t get myself to the point of climax. My fingers wrap around the cold metal as I draw myself up against the bars, breasts pressed against the cold iron, pussy and clit humping desperately.
I wish I could be immune to him and the things he does to me. But I am human, and more than that, I am a young woman lost and very much alone in the world. I need someone to look after me. Stavros won’t look after me, not even if I wanted him to. He will use me and he will profit from me.
Pulling back from the bars, I turn and rest my sore bottom against them, using the cool of fresh metal to soothe that ache as my fingers dip between my thighs and then curl up inside me, spreading my inner walls.
Again, the image of his cock flashes inside my mind. Aside from the discipline, he barely touched me, but there is no doubt that he is inside my mind, controlling me, making me act out my restricted desires and animal needs by myself in the dark.
“Beautiful…”
My face flushes with heat as his voice comes from the shadows. Oh fuck. He’s still here.
Oh my fucking god.
“You make a very pretty night vision show.” I can hear the smirk in his voice. “I’ve not seen such an inventive use for bars before. You’re a horny girl, aren’t you.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Be nice,” he chides. “I might have you bend over, back that pussy up to the bars and take me that way - but not if you act out.”
I’ve riled myself up into a fit of arousal. My pussy is soaking. My clit is throbbing. He interrupted me right on the verge of finding my way to climax. The carnal truth of it all is that I want his cock inside me. I want to get fucked so fucking badly, and in the dark, I feel somehow freed. These shadows, this cage, they absolve me of responsibility. They make me a captive, and a captive can’t be responsible for her actions, can she? She’s helpless.
So, if I do bend over, and if I do press my ass up against the bars, and I do let the cock of the monster who has me slip inside me, that’s not my fault. It’s just what I have to do.
That’s what I tell myself as I bend and press my naked rear to the bars, vertical lines cool over the hot red stripes he left me with.
I can hear him, the soft growl he emits when I willingly display myself to him. Rationalizations and logic have no place now. Not now that I feel his big hands on my hips, the tip of his hard cock finding the seam of my lips. I let out a soft moan. I really do need to be fucked so badly. At this moment, it is a physical need, more than simple arousal. I need the touch of a man. I need him.
The moment I feel the tip of his cock touch my pussy, my world starts to spiral. It’s all over. I can’t pretend anymore. I’m letting him do this, I’m arching my back, letting the soft flesh of my cunt part around the hard head of him. I can still see that cock in my mind’s eye, I know how thick it is, I know what is to come, even as the big head of him runs up and down my wet slit.
Is he wearing a condom? It doesn’t feel like it. I should pull away. I should put a stop to this. There is no reason for me to make his job easier for him. I should force him to take me if that’s what he really wants. I shouldn’t lower myself to…
“Oh my goddd….” I let out a moan as he rocks forward and the hot head of him spreads my inner lips just enough that I can no longer say I haven’t fucked him anymore. He holds himself there at the precipice of the core of me. Is he hesitating? Is he making me wait? Time stops as I stand there, thighs trembling as he toys with the most intimate part of me.
Stavros
No pussy is like this. I’ve been inside a lot of women, but I’ve never felt this before. Just touching her cunt makes electricity shoot through me, all the w
ay from my balls, up my spine to my scalp. Jesus, she’s perfect.
When I saw her start rubbing her pussy on the bars, I thought she was trying to lure me. Then I realized that she truly thought she was alone, that she was so fucking aroused she didn’t even have time to freak out about being in a cage. She didn’t fight the bars, she tried to fuck them.
That’s when my self control crumbled. There is nothing more erotic than a woman who wants to be fucked, who will do anything for a thick cock inside her wet hole. Siri is that girl right now, a teenage nymph whose soft lips are wrapping around the head of my dick perfectly.
I grab the bars and thrust forward, burying my dick deep inside her. Hot. Wet. Her pussy clutches me with a grip like no other. She’s so fucking hungry for me. The sounds she’s making are guttural and animal like, her hips are grinding and pushing back against the bars, making her soft curves press through them in a lewd way.
It’s just sex. Caged sex, but still, just sex. Why does it feel so fucking good? She’s tight. She’s hot. She’s wet, and best, or maybe worst of all, she’s wrong. I could fuck anyone, but I shouldn’t be fucking her. I should be maintaining mental distance, keeping objectivity.
Usually that wouldn't be a problem. I’m not a man who gets attached. I’m not a man who values pussy all that highly. Hell, I’m borderline sociopathic. But right now, I’m feeling things. Her tight cunt wrapped around me, first and foremost, but something more. Something that starts in my chest and flowers out to fill my body with something like desire, but deeper.
What is it? I plunge deep inside her, then pull out. Being away from her is like pulling away from a piece of myself. I want to be back inside her. I need to be back inside her. I can’t help gripping her hips, hating the bars almost as much as she must.
That feeling is growing with every stroke. Is it orgasm? A more powerful kind of climax? Does she have a magic cunt? I mean, it’s a pretty fucking good pussy, but that can’t be all of it. I can feel excitement charging through me, but more than that, I feel emotion rushing through my veins. Each stroke is taking me closer to climax, but it’s taking me closer to something else too, a realization that comes crashing through my nervous system and assaults my brain just as my cum starts to jet from my cock.
