 |
|||
|
|
The slut is naked, fixing Master's lunch with an inflated dildo hanging from her asshole, and her tits tightly bound with needles in each nipple. He sits back in his chair and watches her grimace with every movement. When he arrived, he set a stack of index cards on the table face-down.
"There are neither safe words nor limits. When you need me to stop, or you want to cum, eat, drink, piss, anything you want or need, you must first draw a card. Whatever is on that card will be traded in return for my permission."
Master spent hours thinking about all the ways he wants to use his slut, and then created a deck of index cards. He included a few cards to allow her an orgasm, but for the most part, she will be choosing between accepting her current torment and trading it for another.
"This is your behavior board. When you do not comply with my commands, or choose to disobey me or not respond immediately to my wishes, you will get a checkmark. At the end of each day, I will tally and then determine a suitable punishment for your offenses. The punishments I choose will be harsh."
She is strong-willed and he has never made her cry, but this visit, oh yes, she is going to cry. Master is going to make her cry.
His slut must learn total submission to him and his desires. He is going to quickly and efficiently demonstrate that her needs and wants are unimportant. She will have to beg to be allowed to worship his cock.
Yes, his slut is going to be worked into a sexual frenzy, made into a desperate-to-orgasm whore. She cums so easily and often with very little stimulation. He is going to change that. She will not be allowed sexual pleasure. He may choose to make her wait several days before he allows her an orgasm.
Oh yes, she will remember this time.
He pushed to her hands and knees, wrapped his belt around her neck, and led her roughly into the bedroom. Lifting her with his belt, he laid her face up and spread her legs wide. He connected her wrist restraints to her ankles leaving her clit exposed and quivering. Reaching into his bag, he pulls out a wooden ruler. She watches him, shuddering as she realizes what he is about to do.
"Yes, my slut. A good old fashioned clit whipping. Hold this ball and when you drop it, that tells me to stop and have you draw a card.” With the cock gag secured around her head, she is unable to even whimper.
Pulling the top portion of the ruler back, he positions it inches from her clit and releases it. The wood smacks against her clit and her body lurches from the surprise. Snapping the ruler again but a little harder, he notices her clit peeking out from its cocoon. Maintaining a slow steady pace, he slaps the wood into her flesh rotating from her clit to her cunt. Her skin turns a bright pink, then a dark red, and begins to swell. She is oozing so much cunt juice making the ruler "splat" as it crashes into her cunt.
She is crying. No Master has never made her cry, but this time, oh yes, she is crying and squeezing the ball tightly in her hand.
He whips her until her openings are swollen masses of hot sexed up tissue, and then prepares her first cleansing. Rolling her over, ass high and face smashed into the bed linens, he inserts a turkey baster full of liquid soap directly into her rectum. Shoving a dildo in her ass, he pushes the thick liquid deeper inside her, smearing the abrasive solution along the walls of her rectal cavity, sliding it in and out and twisting it until sudsy foam oozes from her sphincter.
Removing the dildo, he threads the large colon tube deep inside her tract, and then releases the water. Warmth floods her belly as the soap and water rushes into her intestinal tract and colon; cramps overtake her. She whimpers, and begs for the flow to cease even as bubbles escape from her opening. Gravity forces the solution deep into her colon. Her face turns bright red, her arms supporting her weight against the floor tremble.
Unable to resist the position, he picks up his favorite wooden paddle and whips her butt cheeks until each are bright red. She has no idea which hurts worse, the enema churning deep inside her colon or the whipping on her sore butt cheeks.
After two additional cleanings, she cannot take anymore and drops the red ball to the floor. Just for the sake of it, he delivers another ten of the hardest hits so far to each butt cheek. Her chest heaves from the sobs.
He finishes and brings the deck of cards to her. "Draw a card and let's see what it says."
Her rectal cavity was swollen and engorged from his "liquid" treatments. She draws a card and hands it to him. "Oh, my slut. You have to hold the Three Bumps for your Rump butt plug inside your ass for two hours."
He slaps her inner thighs until her legs are spread wide. He puts on a glove and lubes it with Ben Gay. The pungent order assaults her nostrils but her mind does not register what he is doing behind her. Her focus is on his fingers weaving into her tunnel. His hand twists and turns even as it pushes deeper into her body.
Withdrawing, he lubes the plug. She cries out in pain as the Ben Gay begins to burn and the pressure builds as he forces the first bump through her opening, pausing at the widest point.
"Okay, first bump is in. Take a deep breath as I insert the next one." He pulls her butt cheeks apart and jams the second bump into her.
She screams, cries, and pleads with him to remove the plug. The pain is paralyzing.
But she is his. He owns her. And causing agony for her brings him pleasure. There is something so sexy about looking into the slut’s eyes while you use her.
"When will you remove the plug? It hurts really bad."
"You can trade one pain for another. Draw a card and let's see what it says."
Fear overwhelms her; she knows that what is on the next card could be far worse than her current pain, or better, like an orgasm. Hands shaking, she draws the next card from his deck, and hands it to Master.
He smiles as he reads the card, "My favorite, sit on the chair backwards and hang your tits over the back of the chair. Each tit gets 20 hits with my cane. Yes, a total of 40 hits on top of and underneath your tits. I think I will leave the plug in until after I whip your tits." She whimpers and clenches her teeth.
He owns her. This is his slut. And he can do what he wants, anytime he wants. She is his personal fuck toy and he loves it.
He loves escalating her pain. She is a masochist at heart.
"Please let me draw another card. I am going to explode, Master." He draws the next card in the deck and smiles a wicked grin.
"Oh, another painful task. Well, painful for you that is." And he reads the card.
His overly gleeful laugh is almost child-like as he reads the next card. “Well this is most fortuitous. Canine ass-fucking. Good thing we prepared you for this or it could have been an unpleasant experience.”
Little does she know that he stacked the deck. Each dog has been specially trained to mount any female human using, if necessary, brute force, body-slamming her to all fours. He does not believe that she will need much encouragement once she sees the size of a fully engorged dog cock. She is a cock-hungry slut and it doesn’t matter if the male is two-legged or four, it is the cock she craves.
The horror is clearly conveyed in her eyes. Her hands protectively cover the crack of her buttocks. He has threatened her with this before but never followed through. But now it is in the cards and she must follow through.
Once again, he wraps his belt around her throat and leads her out to the barn. Dogs bark loudly at their approach and by the time he ties her into position, the pack of males in the pen are so excited that their cocks hang heavily from their respective sheaths.
Abject fear renders her unable to neither communicate nor escape; her body refuses to struggle against her bindings. In fact, her cunt is dripping raw desire which is causing the disturbance among the male animals; her musky sexual scent is strong and emanates in all directions.
He walks among the dogs checking to see which is the most excited and ready to make his slut into an anal dog-bitch. His german shepherd, Rock, is slim and heavily muscled. His cock is bright red, dripping pre-cum and his agitation at not being allowed relief has made him impatient. He is not a cunt licker and instead aggressively takes any hole he can fit his cock.
Released from the pen, Rock darts right for his intended, sniffing for a few seconds before jumping onto her back and digging his paws into her tiny waist. Her body position is still a bit off kilter and as his frustration increases, he starts nipping the nape of her neck even as he pulls her hips to his manhood.
Thrusting and fucking air, the dog is beyond control. His singular focus is her asshole, blossoming in anticipation of his penetration. Master guides his cock to her sphincter just as Rock lunges forward and thrusts the entire length of his stem inside her with one hard stroke.
His cock plunges with impressive velocity and butts against the barrier that protects her intestines. Almost a sixth sense propels him deeper into her core; the constant impact until the muscle finally yields to his cock. His neck croons upwards, his lungs fill with oxygen, and a vicious yowl spouts from his mouth. It is the scream of the conqueror, his announcement to the world that this is his bitch and he has achieved total dominance over her.
The instinct to continue his expedition into her body is overwhelming. His position shifts to the front pads of his hind legs, one leg climbing on top of her back to align his knot with her. Years of canine evolution dictates that when he mates, his knot must trap his sperm in her body, and he works like the devil to get it in, pounding at her sphincter.
The initial penetration sent sharp knife pains into her belly, but her opening did not rip or tear. The previous card helped to eliminate that outcome. The thickness and spongy feel of his cock is exhilarating. Her hips move in perfect accord with his manic thrusts. She wants his knot, she wants his doggie cum, she wants everything the animal is willing to give her and more.
Her body heaves under the dog’s weight and rocks with his lunges. She bears down and is shocked when foreign but magical sensations consume her. Bearing down as hard and long as a woman would bear down during childbirth, screaming with the effort as air leaves her lungs, she feels a pop just before her ass clenches shut.
The knot, his knot is securely in place and just in time. His seed pours into her colon, expanding the compressed organ with the sheer volume of semen that was hidden in his massive balls. She pushes back into his groin, forcing the tip of his cock farther into her and rides him even as he twists around and is now ass-to-ass with her.
Her anal muscles close tightly and cling to him, savoring his knot, jostling his juices inside her rectum, as her body is besieged with an anal orgasm so intense, her arms tremble, her cunt spasms, her colon contracts, her tits spray streams of milk.
She is fired up. That orgasm sent her to a place that was so spectacular that she wants it again. A new addiction has taken root within her. She lunges towards the dog and licks his dripping cock as it retreats into its sheath.
The dog does not care to have her near him. He used her and is now finished with her. He nips then barks at her and she retreats. Looking at her master, she crawls to him, swaying her hips and swaggering her body as she approaches him, anything to entice him to fuck her. She feels so empty and needs him.
Stepping back from her, he calmly dictates, “Draw another card and hand it to me.”
Her head snaps back into reality as she stares upon the deck of index cards sitting on the edge of the table. Her body is revved up, sexed up, and she wants cock. But is it in the cards or is it another one of his demented tortures?
With great fear and trepidation, she draws the next card and hands it to him. He smiles; one of those all knowing all seeing smug smiles before reading it to her.
“A hairbrush whipping. One hundred strikes, you choose where, the inside of each thigh, your belly, clit, tits, bottom of your feet, your choice. You can choose to move the whipping from one place to another just as long as it is 100 total strikes.” He pauses; a long pregnant pause in which she holds her breath and waits to hear the rest of her fate.
“That’s not so bad but I think we need to make this more interesting.” He leaves her wondering what his “more interesting” will entail. She knows her first choice, the clit, yes; a good old fashioned clit whipping with a hairbrush and she will have a magnificent orgasm. Scrapping and scratching noises can be heard from the other room but she cannot discern what he is doing. The sounds almost seem exaggerated or dramatic movements of furniture just to scare the hell out of her. And its working.
When he created this index card, he knew exactly how he wanted it to play out. And he was ready. The hairbrush he selected is a high-end horse brush with bristles similar to stiff strands of wire and the silver plated backing has an intricate word inlaid in the center.
“Lay on the bed, face up, pull your knees up to your tits and hold them. You cannot move, not even a little bit or I will start the count over.”
He leaves the room again and she eagerly gets into position. Returning, he stops to admire the vision this vixen presents. His is not surprised to see the volume of cunt juices glistening and streaming between her crack. Yes, she is absolutely going to enjoy this and frankly, so is he. She is truly a cock-hungry pain-loving whore.
Wielding the horse brush like a first-time batter, he swings recklessly, striking the white skin inside her left thigh just a fraction of an inch from her cunt lips. The sound of the plated-silver striking exposed flesh is tantamount to a cast-icon frying pan across the butt cheeks. A thick loud echo is quickly followed by a low muffle as the emblem on the back of the brush presses into her flesh. Several more strikes, same spot, very close but still missing her clit are driving her mad.
Each strike seems to arouse her even more if that is possible. Strikes five through ten, her cunt gushes pent-up juices. Strikes eleven through twenty leaves her whimpering, whether from pleasure or pain, he is unsure.
Her body shifts trying to catch a direct hit on her clit but he is relentless, striking in faster strokes and hitting the same spot, the delicate inner thigh, the count is 25 and she is in agony.
Standing back, he admires the black and blue colors developing inside the emblem. SLUT. Bold thick letters imprinted in perfect bruises on her lily white inner thigh. Now to match her other thigh.
Without mercy, he continues until the right thigh matches the left. SLUT etched into her flesh with bruises. Strikes twenty-one through thirty-five were hard smacks, each with its own echo as he delivered them using his back swing. Strikes thirty-six through forty left indentations in her flesh and bruises started to surface. With the count at 50, his excitement grows.
The same with the inside of her right thigh as he delivered the twenty-five strikes, her arousal level rising off the charts, her hunger to be fucked a desperate need as he progresses through the number of hits dictated by the cards.
He pauses to admire the fast reaction of her flesh. Large block letters colored an array of dark blues and violets, proclaiming her a true SLUT. Fifty more strikes remain.
“We are going to play musical chairs. Well my version of it. When the music starts, you will be standing in front of the first chair and as the music plays, you walk to the next chair. Each chair has a dildo and a special lubricant. When the music stops, you must do three things.
First, rub the lubricant deep inside your ass and on the dildo. Next, sit on the dildo, spreading your butt cheeks wide until it is completely inside your asshole. Finally, take the hairbrush and smack one tit twenty-five times. Yes, you heard me. You will whip each of your tits with your asshole stuffed. And mark my words on this … if you do not hit your breasts as hard or harder than me, then I will restart the count at one and will make you beat your tits until they are swollen globes of black and blue.”
She stands next to the chair and the music starts. As she walks past each of the chairs, she takes note of the torturous dildos and anal plugs in the center of the seat with a lubricant next to it. The lubricants are diverse collection and chosen to increase her pain, tobacco sauce, olive oil and cayenne pepper, Ben Gay.
She quickly walks past the most terrifying plugs and lubricants, but with only eight chairs in the circle, she seems to end up next to the worst and worries that the music will stop. And it did. Tabasco sauce and a dildo called “The Bomb”.
The bomb is shaped like a bullet except that it is eight inches tall and six inches in circumference. Black. Shiny. Menancing. Holding her ass cheeks wide, she tries to get the bomb to enter her ass but it slides and her opening seems unable to stretch wider to fit.
“Hold your ass cheeks wide apart, spread your legs so you are straddling the chair and lower your asshole on top if the bomb.”
She holds her butt cheeks as wide apart as she can and lowers her body onto the bomb. He grips her shoulders and pushes her down with such force that the bomb does completely inside her ass. Her screams make his cock jerk and twitch. Handing her the horse brush, she clutches her left breast and slams it into the top of her tit flesh. Her hand drops, her tit sags, and the echo ends just as quickly as it began.
“Harder. Much harder bitch.”
She does not hold back, swinging with the force of a batter at the plate and bases loaded, her tit meat compresses then bounces and her body jerks and she steps back a few feet. Wielding the hairbrush like a warrior in a life or death battle, she swings in rapid succession, delivering fifteen hits to her tit. Welts rise, bruises surface, yet her nipple lengthens and thickens, almost as though it wants more. She switches to her right breast, and again she delivers the hits like an out of the ballpark homerun champ. Tears stream down her cheeks but her cunt juices flow like a river between her thighs.
Fully prepared to deliver the actual final homerun hits, he orders her back to the bed, legs compressed into her battered tits, and her cunt lips wide. He swings with a determination to really hurt her. And he does. The swing and the meeting of the hairbrush and her unprotected sex sends rivers of her juices spraying and the splat sound arouses him even more than the actual beating. As he continues unabated, she is sobbing yet pleading for more.
“Harder. Please. Harder. Hit my clit again. Please don’t stop. Give me more.” Womanly juices fly in all directions as he continues no longer counting. He is whipping her clit with the hair brush because it feels good to him, he is enjoying it, and the proof is in the size of his cock.
Raging with pain-fueled pleasure, her moans turn to a low guttural humming, and as he reaches strike number ninety-eight, she is in her zone. Spittle flies from her opened mouth, cunt juices spray both him and her, and her orgasmic release is a sight to behold.
Her body spasms and lurches as he finishes the remaining hairbrush strikes, all direct hits on her cunt. The waves of pleasure burn through her from head to toe, yes, even her toes curled from the potent release. She shudders and moans and groans but yet, the orgasm continues.
His cock is out of control. He wants to fuck her ass, and fuck it hard. Bound with her legs smashed into her bruised breasts, her ass glistens with trails of cunt juices. He dries her crack, then rams into her full force until his balls slap into her upturned butt cheeks.
He pounds her asshole with a singular goal in mind, to feed her masochistic tendencies by hurting her, possessing her, controlling her every thought. Nothing is more degrading than to be thoroughly sodomized, fucking her ass until it gapes and his cum oozes out and then becomes dried and crusty. But he wants more. He wants to degrade her even further.
After he fills her rectum with his sperm, he remains inside her, his cock soft but warmed by her body temperature. He repositions so that his cock relaxes further, and when he finally feels the need to release, he urinates inside her giving her a full-fledged piss enema. His urine feels wonderful as it floods her canal and pools at her opening. It almost feels like his cock is swimming in a heated pool even as he continues to drain his bladder inside her.
And as he withdraws his cock, he quickly shoves the bullet butt plug inside her large opening, trapping his cum and urine inside her body. He props a vibrator on her clit, turns it on high, and leaves her for several hours.
She screams to be allowed to expel, she screams from forced orgasms, yet he ignores her cries until he hears the magic words, “Master, can I draw a card?”
“This will be interesting.” His says with his smile a mile wide and his devilish eyes twinkling. “Mummified in saran wrap with nipples nailed to a tree and 25 hits with the flogger of my choice.”
His delight in observing the horror in her eyes is off the charts. His cock twitches and drips just thinking of her outside, nipples nailed to the tree, her body encased in a plastic cocoon, and whipping her.
He ponders what he wants to enjoy most, the STING or the THUD. It is an age old question of sadists. All floggers have some of each but here is the rule of thumb. STING is decided mostly by the type of hide used; whereas THUD is decided by how thick the hide is and the number of tails.
Doubling the tails dramatically increases the THUD of the flogger, giving that cathartic slam that his cock enjoys. This is important in lighter and medium hides where a very soft feel is desired but also lots of THUD. It is also why thick hides like bull and buffalo or anything made into a mop are so amazing and overwhelming. When needing something dynamic that provides equal STING and THUD, a Mop flogger with reinforced ends is the answer!
As she expels and then showers, he prepares everything. He knows the perfect spot and tree in a nearby wooded area. Maybe a picnic after he finishes using her, something to show he is not a total sadist, or not.
His cock remains in a perpetual state of semi-hardness since she drew the card. Just thinking about nailing her tits to a tree is erotic enough but the addition of plastic wrap and his flanged mop flogger makes the experience exceptionally more scintillating.
The two walk silently through the woods in single file, him urging her naked body along by nipple clamps and a chain. Her six-inch heels cause her to stumble frequently but he neither pauses nor slows his pace. A catheter dangles between her thighs, swaying with each step and dripping urine since he removed the plug when they arrived at the forest’s edge.
Arriving at a large hundred-year old oak tree, he sets his basket of supplies aside and kisses her, a lip-smacking, tongue-dancing, spit-swapping kiss that leaves her breathless when he breaks away. He figures it will take about an hour to get her setup properly.
He removes the nipples clamps and laughs at her screams as the blood rushes into the flattened tips. “She thinks this is bad, wait until I put Grip-Rite 16D 3.5 inch Hot-Dipped Galvanized Smooth nails through those nips.” The thought alone makes him smile as he stares at her pained facial expressions.
He connects the heavy chain to the D-ring in her wide posture collar, throws it over a low-hanging branch, and pulls it tight until her head is upturned and her chin rests against the cool bark. After connecting the end link to a link in the chain just above her, he fondles her lovely tits, pinches and twists her nipples, then slaps her butt a couple of times before continuing.
What she thought was his walking stick turns out to be a spreader bar as he pulls her legs wide and attaches each end to her ankle restraints. Turning her torso partially to the side, he unrolls the plastic wrap, and uses the entire roll to bind her arms together above and behind her head, her hands in the praying position. No need to restrain her wrists; the wrap keeps her arms behind her neck, stretched, and above her head!
Using two full rolls of plastic, he wraps them tightly around her entire torso from under her arms to just above her pelvic bone. Little beads of sweat roll down from her extended arms then drips onto her plastic-encased torso.
Working quickly, he pulls another couple rolls and wraps each leg from her pelvic bone to her ankle restraints. Taking a few steps back, he admires his work.
Sitting on the picnic blanket, he takes a sip of white wine; it is chilled and refreshingly sweet as it slides down his throat. A breeze sweeps past him and cools the perspiration on his bare chest.
The picture presented by his cock-hungry pain slave is better than perfect; everything he imagined about this moment and more.
She is as exotic as an Island Gray Fox, the "Rarest of the Rare" and nearly extinct in the California Channel Islands. The diffusion of light against her body is perfectly triangulated as gentle winds blow high in the tree’s thick canopy and streams of sunlight break through. Bright rays illuminate her pale flesh; each beam bends then quickly bounces from her body in a magnificent rainbow of amazing colors.
He takes several photos and examines each. With the assistance of Mother Nature, this plastic-encased form, his slave, models the Law of Reflection … equal measures of luminance and radiance.
He is having the time of his life. After finishing his glass of wine, he contemplates exactly how he is going to nail her tits to the tree. Nail her nipples only? Or use several nails and hammer her breast meat as well?
The delicious snack, couple glasses of wine, and the warm afternoon makes him drowsy and he nods off for a few hours. She stands naked, strapped to the tree, leg muscles burning, cramps wreaking havoc on her toes, her arms and tits are totally numb, and sweat is accumulating beneath the plastic wrap as she bakes in the afternoon heat.
The neck collar prevents her from looking around. The spreader bar prevents her from turning around. The plastic wrap covering her arms prevents her from moving around. She desperately needs to lower her arms to get blood flow to her limbs once again. She hears his snores and knows that she is in for a long-haul.
Slowly, he inhales several deep breaths of fresh air; his eye lids flutter and blink as they adjust to the afternoon light. Stretching, he looks around and pauses at the sight of the naked woman. Her beauty is without question a definite A+, her curvaceous body an AA+, and bound to the tree, an absolute AAA+ rating on the scale of fantasy sex slaves.
Breaking from his thoughts, he quickly recalls his mission. With less than three hours of daylight remaining, he rummages in the basket and pulls out the box of Grip-Rite 16D 3.5 inch Hot-Dipped Galvanized Smooth nails and his handy dandy Hickory Ball Pein hammer.
She hears him jostling around behind her, then his heavy footsteps as he approaches her tree-bound body. Deep in her heart, she knows that unimaginable pain is in her near future, but somehow, she finds it difficult to believe that he is going to really nail her tits to the tree. She welcomes his heavy flogger mop; it has brought her to orgasmic bliss on more than one occasion. But her tits nailed to the tree, she simply cannot accept that he will do that.
Laying the hammer and nails down behind her, he reaches around to clutch her tits, one in each hand. He squeezes the breast meat digging his fingers into the soft tissue, they are so malleable and he finds it difficult to resist the urge to slap or whip them. He loves watching her tits shudder and shake from the impact, slamming into each other or dancing alone after a particularly severe hit.
But that is for another time; his focus remains singular and his cock is so excited that he momentarily entertains the thought of unleashing her long enough to fuck her mouth. Perhaps another time, he thinks to himself as he pulls her nipples outwards and then compresses them into her chest cavity.
With total focus now on her nipples, he rolls them between his fingers, pulls them out and away from her body to stretch them, and then scrapes them against the cool rough tree. Again, rolling, pulling, stretching, scraping, her nipples are on fire. All the while, her cunt pours a steady stream of sexual lust; her womanly fluids drenching her spread thighs and drip onto the forest floor beneath her.
Raising her nipples, pulling them upwards and forcing her onto the tips of her toes, he looks over her shoulders to determine the best placement for the nails. He flattens them, watches each spring back, and then flattens them again.
Her heart races and every beat pounds loudly in her chest. Her breathing changes to small, shallow gasps and her hips sway and grind into his groan, rubbing his already dripping cock with her fleshy butt cheeks. She is quickly becoming out of control.
She squirms as desire claws at her soul and begs for release. Her entire body struggles against her restraints as she thrusts her hips backwards and slams into his cock then rubs his length up and down her crack.
It is time.
She is in “the zone”, the place where more is never enough. More pain leads to greater pleasure and she craves both, this addiction is firmly entrenched in her psyche. So great is her appetite that it nearly governs her every conscience thought. Moans, low, guttural, almost melodious, reverberate from her chest and are a dead give-away that she is very close to unleashing her orgasm.
The nail tip presses into the tissue just behind the nipple’s meaty tip and is held tightly between his two fingers. She shudders as the cold sharp steel pushes into her flesh. He raises the hammer and slams it into the nail head. The echo of metal meeting metal seems out of place in the woods, louder than he expected; louder and infinitely more satisfying than he imagined. Seconds later, a high-pitch scream threatens to burst his ear drums. The nail easily pierces through her flesh flattening the nipple against the tree’s trunk.
The pain is amazingly intense and enormously exciting because she knows where he is taking her. Closing her eyes, she holds her breath as the second hammer strike pushes the nail into the bark of the tree. Riding the tempest within, she rubs her bare cunt against the course wood scraping her flesh to satisfy her sexual itch. He pins her other nipple to the trunk and hammers it twice in quick succession, denying her the pain that she requires.
Feeling ornery, he hammers each nail twice more leaving her unable to move without tearing her nipples. Her flesh is compressed firmly into the tree. Thankfully, she cannot move her neck to see the condition of her tits. She feels light-headed, dizzy, weak-kneed, overwhelmed by nausea as bile oozes up from her stomach. The tree, although deeply rooted to the earth, feels as though it is floating and carrying her along as it skirts the landscape.
He whispers in her ear for her to breathe, slow, deep breaths until the pain is no longer painful. “Breathe until what you feel in your nipples is re-routed to your leaky cunt. That’s it, again, long deep breath in, slowly exhale. How does it feel now?” His voice is hypnotic, low and sexy as he coaxes her through the pain.
Startling her, his hand comes up from below and slams into her cunt, the smack resembling a kid jumping in a puddle of rain water, her cunt juices spray in all directions.
“Please, more. I need more.” The words hang on the tip of her tongue, but she cannot command them to be released. It would mean drawing another card and right now, that is the last thing she wants to do.
***submitted
|
|
|