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“Keep those hips still. When I want you to come, you little maso-slut, I’ll make you come. I choose when, not you. I always get to choose, and if you’re a bad girl, you won’t get to come at all.”
You little maso-slut.He didn’t say it in a mean way, but I still started bawling. The idea that he might not let me come… “How much longer?” I pleaded. “How much more will you hurt me?”
“As much as I think you need to be hurt. Now shut your mouth. The only words you need to say during our sessions are ‘Yes, Sir.’ Understood?”
I sniffled and sobbed, and squealed when the paddle connected again.
“Understood?” he prompted in a more dangerous voice.
“Yes, Sir!”
I knew this was part of the game. I knew we were playing, I knew we were both turned on, but I was also going a little bit out of my mind. When he picked up the whip, I cried harder, cried like a literal baby. He held the whip in front of my face and grabbed a handful of my hair with the other hand.
“We’re almost done,” he said in a low, soothing voice, even as he wrenched my hair until I whimpered. “I know you’re hurting, but you’ll be fine. Sink down into the pain. Let it rule you for a while.”
He meant,Letmerule you for a while, and I wanted that, but I didn’t know how much more I could take. I couldn’t think about what had come before, or what might come after. When he stepped behind me with the whip, I could only thrash helplessly and whine like a trapped animal.
“I haven’t even started yet,” he chided, tapping my ass. This whip was a little sturdier than the one he’d used on me last time. I wondered if it would hurt more or less than the dowel, and how many welts I’d be looking at in the mirror tomorrow.
“Please,” I begged, the quavering word leaking from my throat. “Please don’t.”
“Such good manners,” he said, “but I think I will.” He brought the whip down across the middle of my ass cheeks. I tensed up as I had with the paddle, flailing, going up on my toes, trying to survive the burn. He whipped another fiery line, and another. I’d hoped he’d stop at three like the dowel, but it wasn’t to be.
“I want your ass cheeks to be nice and raw before I shove my cock between them.”Whack!“It’ll hurt more that way. Anal’s only good if it hurts a little, or in your case, a lot.”Whack!“You know why it’s going to hurt a lot, baby? Because your asshole’s so tiny, and my cock is so big.”Whack!
I hated the way I was crying, the way I was losing my shit, but the whip hurtso bad, and unlike the dowel, he crossed strokes over other strokes, compounding the stinging. My ass felt like a tic-tac-toe board of pain, and he was still playing. Begging wouldn’t stop him, and I didn’t have a safe word, but I was glad, because I would have used it a million times already and I wouldn’t have been able to reach this crazy, maddening place where my pussy was as alive as the whip against my flesh.
That didn’t stop me from begging “Please, please stop” over and over until he finally lowered his arm. My ass was wrecked. I cried out when he grasped my cheeks and smacked them. “Am I bleeding?”
“No, Sparkles, you’re not.” Not an ounce of pity or tenderness, just pure sadistic sarcasm. He left me to sob for a few minutes, my tears falling onto the lower bench as he crossed the room. When he returned, I heard a cap opening, and felt the cold drip of more lube on my ass.
“It’s time for you to get fucked in your asshole,” he said, jamming a finger inside me. “You want that, don’t you? A woman your age should have had tons of anal by now. You should let men fuck all your holes. That’s what they’re there for, aren’t they?”
“Yes, Sir,” I bawled.
He took my hips and held them hard. “Don’t try to pull away. Don’t clench or squeeze to impede me. Let me in the way you’re supposed to. It’s high time you learned how this feels.”
I clenched my hands into fists as he pressed the head of his cock against my ass. I’d hoped it might still be a little stretched from my time in the butterfly chair, but it felt like I was being pried open all over again, only this time, he was so much thicker.
“Oww, owww!” I jerked away on pure instinct, and was punished with a yank of my hair. He twisted his fingers in my curls and leaned over me, pushing his cock a little deeper. My ass ached with dull, stretching fire.
“Let it happen,” he said, as gentle as his cock was brutal. “This is what happens to masochistic sluts like you. You like this. You want it. You deserve all this pain, don’t you?”
When I didn’t answer, he squeezed my hair until I squealed, “Yes, Sir.” His cock slid in me another couple of inches, and I tensed, praying for him to stop before he split me open. It wasn’t hurting as badly as when he started, but I still didn’t think I could take any more inside me. The impalement I felt in the chair was nothing. This was a hard, thick shaft of Fort’s flesh pulsing inside me, sliding through lubrication that eased the way even when I didn’t want any more inside. I clutched at the bench as he drove the rest of the way in, until I felt his balls dangling against my pussy lips.
“That’s more like it.” His low, feral voice communicated sexual pride. He let go of my hair and bumped his hips against my punished ass cheeks, holding my waist so I couldn’t jerk to the side. “This is submission, Juliet. Hurting and straining to get away, except that you can’t, and you like that.” His fingers crept up my sides and around my breasts to torture my nipples as he withdrew his cock and thrust in again. He started a rhythm, in, out, in, out, moving along sensitive walls with so much girth I could feel the crown of his cock sliding past my entrance, along with the pulse of his veins.
“Do you like this?” he asked. “Do you like getting your ass fucked?”
I said no, because I needed it to remain a struggle. I needed to not like it, even though it was feeling hotter by the second. I squirmed, trying to get away. He chuckled and withdrew from me, leaving me empty and scared. Going back for the whip?
Instead he returned with another bottle of lubricant, this one runnier and thinner. He squeezed some into his hand and sluiced his fingers through my dripping pussy folds to my clit. The burn started at once, a hot, nagging sting that felt the same as getting hot sauce on your tongue.
“It’s a form of ginger oil,” he said. “Specifically cooked up for submissives with cocks in their ass, to show that things could always be worse.”
I wiggled against the tingling, and clenched as it intensified, but nothing helped, and he wasn’t done. He went to the chest of drawers and returned with a wooden clip a couple of inches in length. He coated it with the oil and held it up to my face. “Sometimes this goes on bad girls’ tongues, but tonight it’s going on your clit.”
“You can’t,” I said. The wood was sturdy, and the spring looked hardcore. He was going to break me when the burning oil already had me bucking in agony. “Please don’t.”
