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“Look at me,” he said when I finished.
I did, letting the anguish show in my gaze. He lived for that. He loved it, just as I loved being hurt by him. For us, sex was punishment, and punishment was sex.
He set a timer on his phone. He never clamped my nipples for longer than ten minutes without a break. Ten minutes doesn’t sound like a long time, but when your nipples are squeezed between insufferable pieces of metal and your bare, plugged ass is being attacked with horrific implements, it’s a longggg time.
He started with the small whip first, to make me jump at each biting contact. I tried not to move, but the fiery flicks came at varying intervals, meant to startle me into a reaction. Each jump made my breasts jerk; each jerk tugged the clamps, evoking a burning pain. Be still, I told myself. Just take it. But he knew what he was doing. He knew all the ways to make my body react.
By the time he put down the whip, my ass hurt with a couple dozen little throbs, but my nipples hurt worse. It was almost a relief to see him pick up the strap.
But the relief lasted ten seconds at most. That was how long it took me to remember that the heavy, thick strap he’d selected really stung. I grasped at the floor beneath me. There was nothing to cling to—on purpose. He wanted me to flail, to punish my breasts as he punished my ass. I tensed my body, trying to process the strap’s solid blows. The impact hurt, but the resulting sting was the worst part as the licks layered over top of one another.
I cried out, my hangover forgotten. This was so much worse than waking up in a strange room with a headache. I kicked my toes against the floor, for all the good it did. Unlike the whip, the strap’s blows came one after the other, offering no respite. I finally cried, “Please, please stop!” even though I wasn’t supposed to.
The only answer was the hardest blow yet, right across the plug in my ass. It vibrated inside me, reminding me just how much I was at my Master’s mercy, because he was my Master in this space, wholly and completely. This space being the dungeon, my asshole, all my body, really.
When he finally put down the strap, I was crying. Not fun crying. Hard, ugly crying. I hung my head as he picked up the cane. How many minutes had passed? Not enough. The clamps were still on me and—
The first cane strike took my breath away. My ass was already sore, already scarlet and throbbing from the strap, and now it had a burning line across the center. I clenched on the plug as another stroke fell. I can’t… I can’t… Why hadn’t I called as I was supposed to? Well, because I’d lost my phone. Because I was drinking too much. I should have been more careful.
Owww. Another strike, another line of fire. I couldn’t stop myself from straining against the clamps. I couldn’t bear it. I twisted sideways, as much as the chains would allow, but it still wasn’t enough. He gave one last blow as I clenched my teeth against a howl. I knew it was the last blow because it was the hardest yet, and no one could be expected to survive it. I must have survived though, because I was still alive to feel the lingering line of brutal fire.
Price put down the cane and rubbed my ass. I expected to feel blood gushing beneath his hands, but there was nothing, just sting and ache. There was never blood, somehow, though he left me feeling gutted. How could he touch my ass cheeks right now without burning himself?
After rubbing and pinching my injured cheeks, he parted them and pulled out the plug. It was as uncomfortable coming out as it was going in, although, this time, he didn’t make me wait with the widest part stretching me open.
It was his cock now, his gargantuan, rock-hard cock, that would stretch me open. He knelt in front of me and shoved the whole length of it into my mouth, or more accurately, my throat, seizing my hair in his fist when I resisted. I wasn’t really resisting; I just wasn’t ready. He never wanted me ready.
“Open your mouth wider, you little fuck.” His hands tightened on my hair until I cried out. This created the perfect, open throat for him to shove into. In all this time, I’d never really gotten used to his rough face-fucking. In my old life, when I was an escort, no john had ever been this rough with me. No rich, entitled customer had ever dared to go this far, not until Price. Well, I’d known him as W then, after the hotel where we met the first time.
Think about that. Think about that crazy rendezvous, and not about the fact that you’re about to choke.
The alarm went off, giving me a moment’s respite as he pulled from my throat and went to turn it off. He reached down and removed the clamps, none too gently. I trembled as the blood rushed back to my overworked nipples, resulting in a new layer of pain.
“Punished enough yet?” he asked, his eyes glinting.
I didn’t bother to answer. I wasn’t punished enough until he thought I was punished enough, and he didn’t feel that way yet, because he slapped my face and told me to open my mouth again.
“Suck me, you little slut,” he growled. “Get your mouth wet. I’m not enjoying this.”
I couldn’t seem to get my mouth any wetter, but I did cry harder, which I thought he might like. He slapped me again, perhaps egged on by my tears.
“Suck me better, Chere, or you’ll take it in the ass instead. You’ll take it hard and rough in the ass, like you deserve.”
Oh God. I tried my best, but canonically, my husband was never satisfied. He pulled away a second time, cursing my fellatio skills. I was, admittedly, not on my best game at the moment.
“Keep your damned mouth open,” he said, going for the lube. “I want it wide open while I fuck your asshole. If you can’t suck my cock properly, you get the fucking mouth-open exercise to remind yourself you need to fucking get better at it.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, still crying. Still desperate to please him and make this punishment go away.
“No Yes, sirs right now,” he barked. “Open your mouth like I told you.”
I opened my mouth on nothing, grateful I wasn’t having a ball-gag, or worse, a cock-gag shoved in there to ensure my compliance. He could see my face in one of the mirrors strategically placed along the dungeon’s soundproofed walls, could see how hard I was trying. I, on the other hand, could see how much lube he was slathering onto his cock.
He knelt behind me, his long legs braced on either side of my bent legs. This was restraint. This was being overpowered, conquered, punished for my crimes. He pushed into my ass, his thick cock hurting even after I’d been stretched by the butt plug. He went deep, assisted by the copious lube. I pressed my lips together, gritting my teeth against a shriek.
“Open your damned mouth,” he roared, pulling out and pushing deep again.
I tried. I did my best. It hurt to have my ass fucked when it was so freshly sore, but it wasn’t the first time I’d been subjected to punishment like this. I tried to be pliable and open. I’d earned this humbling discipline, and I wanted to please him by taking it like an obedient slave. But owww, he was pushing deep and hard, not giving me any chance to feel pleasure in this sexual act. He knew pain turned me on, yeah. He also knew the line where it stopped being fun for me, and he loved to frolic all over that damned line.
