Next came cruel alligator clamps with teeth, snapped onto one nipple, then the other.
Finally, he lifted the thick, bright blue rubber band.
He popped the bottom of her right foot first, middle of the arch, between the ropes. Then the side of her left tit, the soft skin of her inner right thigh, and a dozen fast pops all around the knot pressing into her clit.
Never in the same place twice. She never knew where the next sting would land. Each pop made her jerk and whimper, the hood muffling her desperate sounds.
He removed one nipple clamp and immediately pressed the electric toothbrush against the swollen tip. She screamed behind the leather, body bucking hard. He held it there for long seconds, then clamped the nipple again and moved to the other side. Same treatment — clamp off, toothbrush on the sensitive peak, her frantic cries filling the hood, then clamp back on.
Finally, he aimed the toothbrush to the left of the knot pressing into her clit.
She jerked violently, and a raw, muffled scream tore out of her as the intense vibration hit the already overstimulated bundle of nerves. Her whole body convulsed in the ropes, hips trying uselessly to twist away.
He kept it there until her screams turned hoarse, then moved to the right side.
Ten minutes of pain, and he offered her the electrolyte-soaked sponge again. When she’d sucked up about twelve ounces, he took the nipple clamps off, then turned the egg and plug off.
No sensation at all this time, other than the ropes and knots. He raised her back into the air, returned to his chair, and set his phone for an hour and a half, this time.
- - -?- - -
Tuesday hung in utter silence.
Time passed in a strange, floating blur.
Her left arm was the worst. She couldn’t find any position that worked. She tried tucking it against her side with her thumb under the ropes, but the knots were even more punishing with the extra weight wedged in.
She tried letting it hang, but the pull on her shoulder turned into a deep, burning ache within minutes. She tried folding it across her chest, but without her other hand to help, it didn’t work.
Every solution created a new problem. In the end, she held it over her head and let it dangle from that angle. It hurt, and quickly fell asleep, but it was the only way to let the rest of her drift deep into subspace.
The damned knot on her clit had gone from steady pressure to outright tyranny. Early on, it’d been manageable, but now it felt like a heated vise grinding against her with every tiny sway of her body. Her hips kept twitching involuntarily, which only made it worse. She couldn’t get away from it.
But there was no choice but to endure.
And being filled with the egg and plug while they were turned off was a whole different level of hell. Filled without that low, steady vibration made her asshole stretch open andcramp. The weight of the egg made it shift inside her, often in synchronicity with her rectum spasming around the plug.
Every cramp, every involuntary clench, every shift of the egg’s weight, every scrape of a knot over raw nerves, every pulse of pain — this was her only sensory input, drawing her mind to the pain and multiplying it exponentially.
Time stretched endlessly. She tried to track it — counting breaths, counting the pulses of pain in her shoulder — but she failed every time. There was no anchor. No sound. No scent except cinnamon. No sight. No clock. She counted to sixty in her head, but it pulled her out of her fog, so she didn’t do it again. Minutes felt like hours, and hours felt infinite. The disorientation wove in and out of the soft haze of subspace.
More than once the words formed in her mind:How much longer?
She swallowed them hard to keep them from escaping her mind and reaching her voice. The threat of straight cinnamon oil on her tongue and clit kept her silent. Each near miss felt like its own small, deliberate act of submission. She was choosing this. Even now, fully informed, she was choosing his ropes.
He let her down and turned everything on inside her again. Let her suck liquids from the sponge again. Lifted her.
The next time she came down, everything was turned off, and he did the thing with the nipple clamps and then the snaps all over her body again. The sponge again. Thankfully, the clamps came off before he lifted her once more. This timefelt interminably longer, and she didn’t know if it was her imagination, or if it was really longer.
Finally, she felt herself moving again. It was impossible to tell which direction, but she assumed he was lowering her.
And then the hood was tugged and she felt the vibration of the zipper opening, then the strap on her chin was released.
Cool air rushed across her lips after the long isolation. The sudden return of even that small sensation was overwhelming.
But it wasn’t the sponge this time. Something slick touched her lips. Slid inside. Deeper, and deeper.
His cock.
