On the outside, Michelle looked ordinary. 5'3”; long, brown, curly hair. She worked out a lot, weight lifting and bicycling, so she had nicely defined musculature. A narrow waist, flat abs. Great shoulders. Small breasts (36B).
On the inside, Michelle could not be farther from ordinary. Ever since she could remember, she desired pain. When she was young, she didn't understand why she would purposefully lose at dodge ball and have to crawl through the other children, who would each paddle her behind as hard as they could.
When she was older, out on her own with her own internet access, she learned why. Michelle is a pain slave and a submissive. Michelle craves nipple and breast torture, endless whipping until she is crying. She craves the raping of all three of her holes, with no regard for her pleasure (or pain.) She craves tight bondage and huge implements inside her for long, excruciating periods of time. She craves harsh words from the dom that she serves, harsh words to keep her in line and to direct every one of her movements. She needs to be told that crying out and squirming will be punishable by extended, even more brutal torture.
Michelle likes to wake up with her Master's marks on her, where only she can see. She loves the painful feeling of her bra on her tortured nipples, and the agony of sitting on whipped flesh.
For a long time, Michelle did not know that there was a whole world out there, a whole world of people like her (other slaves and submissives) and a whole world that needed people like her (dominants.) Thank goodness for the internet.
The first handful of doms that Michelle met, via the internet, did not work out. She was not yet competent to adequately describe what she was looking for, and what she could provide. She did not yet know how to vet her dominant partner. Over time, she learned.
Now Michelle is alone, thinking of the perfect dominant, checking her e-mail multiple times per day, hoping that one of her BDSM personal ads will yield the right one. She has started to lose hope in finding that perfect match. She has taken to sitting in front of her computer, late at night, a huge butt plug inside her, tight nipple clamps on her, looking at BDSM pictures and wishing that she were in them.
And then one day …
It started in the predictable way, with the e-mail message. She liked that this dom, Master Steve, was articulate in his opening statement. She liked that he clearly described what he was looking for (Dom seeking female sub/pain slave for discrete sessions. Drug/disease free, non-smoker, single; require the same of my sub/pain slave. Must enjoy nipple/breast torture, whipping, caning, fisting, butt plugs, candle wax, tight bondage, humiliation and electro-torture. Experienced subs/slaves only. Physically fit and attractive subs/slaves only. )
When he first e-mailed her, he asked her to e-mail him back with a fantasy about an interaction with the type of dom that she was looking for, and also told her to describe herself. He wanted detail about what she ate, how her health was, and how many times per week she worked out. He said that he did not expect a picture right away, but would require one before meeting.
Michelle was excited. She absolutely loved to kneel naked, in front of her Master, with his cock in her mouth. She loved to have her pony-tail pulled aggressively, as he raped her mouth. She hated to do this to a pot-bellied dom, but had yet to find one that was physically fit. To have a dom so up-front about this requirement was quite a departure for her, and she was excited to respond.
And so she did. She told him her fantasy about the games impossible to win. I am in your basement, she said, naked, but for a garter and stockings. Cuffs are on my wrists and ankles, and my body shows signs of hours of your attentions. My nipples are red and swollen, and my breasts have whip marks on them. My butt has a rosy glow and my pussy is swollen and red. You've just put a huge butt plug inside me, after most recently using that hole for your pleasure.
You secure my hands behind my back, and bring my elbows together with a binding. My breasts are thrust forward painfully, and I know that it will only get worse. You attach large Japanese clover clamps to my already tortured nipples. They are tight, and get worse when you pull on them with their chain. They did deeply into my sore, sore nipples. You lead me to a sawhorse that has a modified top. Along the length of the sawhorse, the normally squared edge has been brought to a wicked point. You push a huge, wide dildo deep inside me, and then have me straddle the sawhorse. I have to stand on my tiptoes to keep the sharp sawhorse edge from biting deeply into my flesh. You take the chains from the nipple clamps and attach them to the ceiling - in my tiptoe position, they are already pulling painfully. You put a blindfold on me, so that I cannot use my eyes for my sense of balance. Then, you sit back and watch.
I last a long time for you; you are pleased. You love that I am strong and fit, and can take a lot of torture. I last so long that you leave the basement for a few minutes to fix yourself something to drink. When you come back I am starting to weaken. My nipples are stretched to incredible limits and the sawhorse is digging painfully into my bruised cunt. But you are not content to let me fight a fair battle. Using a lever that I cannot see, you raise the sawhorse one inch. Now it is digging quite painfully into me. You also tighten the chain attached to the nipple clamps. Every few minutes you raise the sawhorse and tighten the chain, until all of my weight is supported by my nipples and my cunt. You know that I am in agony, because tears are running down my face, but you also know that I can take it, for you. I remain quiet and still, as you instructed, fighting my screaming nipples and clit, and the heavy, deep pressure of the dildo and butt plug. You are very aroused by this torture.
You tell me that you will not free me until you cum, and then you tell me that you are disappointed, because my current position does not allow you to use any of my holes. But, it does leave my breasts open for your whip, as a punishment for my lack of accessibility, and you use it on me for a while, until you are very close to cumming. You masturbate and cum all over my chest, smiling.
Eventually, you release me from my bonds, and send me off for a quick shower. When I am done, you are sitting on your couch, ready for more ...
Michelle was pleased that Master Steve responded quickly and positively to her message. He told her a little bit more about himself and his experiences. Michelle wanted an experienced dom, someone who knew how to extensively, brutally torture her, but not put her into the hospital. She felt that she had found this, with Master Steve's experience level.
She knew that this did not seal the deal, however. She knew that, for her, there had to be some sexual chemistry in person. In order for her to truly submit to a Master, she was learning, she had to be attracted to him.
Master Steve told her that he wanted to meet her on Friday; three days away. He told her that every morning, before 6:30, between now and then, she must send him a fantasy. It did not have to be as long as the one that she had sent previously, but it had to have one element that she had not talked about yet, but would be willing to experience.
Of course, Michelle complied.
On Wednesday morning, Michelle sent a second fantasy, at 6:15am. I am bound tightly to a sawhorse, she said, my legs straight and spread far apart with a spreader bar. They are so wide apart that, without the strong ropes tied to the spreader bar, I am afraid that I'd end up in a full split. The 5” ruby-red, high heeled shoes had me up on my tiptoes. I know that my tight, muscular ass, hamstring and calf muscles look great in this position. Even better, with the bruises from her last session still not faded. I am glad that I'm limber, because you have me bent over the sawhorse, with my abdomen very close to my legs. A horizontal bar is firm against my lower back, holding my back in an arch as my hands, bound above my head, are pulled tightly to the ceiling. This causes my breasts to stick out in front of me, nipples hard, as they always are. You have secured my ponytail tightly to the ceiling, as well, so that I cannot drop my head down. You love this position, I know, as all three of my holes are available for your use.
I got a little bit scared when the blindfold went on; losing my sight always makes me worry, because I cannot see what is coming. I had a feeling that I wouldn't be able to see, anyway, because I'm thinking that you'll be using this position for an extended whipping session; I am wrong.
The crack of the cane against the underside of my right breast makes me jump. You hate that, and tell me not to make that mistake again. The next strike is harder and directly on my right nipple. Three more strikes follow, on my right nipple, with 30 seconds between each, so that I may fully feel the pain … and fully anticipate the next blow. You return to the underside of my right breast … 9 more strikes there, in a perfect pattern. You switch sides; my right breast and nipple are on fire. 10 strikes to my left breast and then 5 on my left nipple. I think that you are done; you are just starting.
You switch to a cane of slightly less diameter; the impact has more sting and the mark is deeper. 10 more blows to the underside of my right breast. I think that you are playing a game to see if you can land each blow directly where you landed the previous 10. From the magnitude of the pain in my breast, I am sure that your aim is true. The 30 seconds of rest between each blow are agony for me. I am panting and clenching my teeth. I am not sure how I will survive the 5 blows to my right nipple, which I am sure are coming. You wait longer than 30 seconds for the first of the series; I think that you are trying to up the anticipation for me. It is working. The first blow is mind-blowing; I am sure that I will pass out. I know that you know this; rather than stopping, you just allow me more recovery time. More time to anticipate the pain to come and to feel the pain so far.
By now my cunt is dripping; you know this and it excites you. But you are taking your time; you have all afternoon to torture me.
4 more blows to my right nipple, in slow succession. Then, before I've even realized that the 5 th blow is completed, you are striking my left breast, in the same places as your first set. The blows are faster here – there is not as much time for me to process the pain, but somehow this makes the pain even worse. The 5 blows to my left breast are the worst pain that I've ever felt (but not the worst that I will ever feel, at your hand), and I cry out.
You tell me that you are disappointed (but you are secretly pleased that I lasted so long without screaming.) You tell me that my punishment is that you will use my mouth to cum; no orgasm for me today.
When you are done and satisfied, you leave me tied up, exposed, pondering my dripping sex and burning breasts.
Master Steve was very pleased with Michelle's second e-mail message. And he told her so.
On Thursday, Michelle sent the following to Master Steve, just as instructed … Today you bound me spread-eagled to the double-bed in your dungeon/basement. You came over to me with a bucket; I could see that it was completely full of clothespins. You told me that these were modified clothespins; you showed me that a second spring had been added to the mechanism, to make them grip much more tightly. You also told me that many of them had had modifications to the gripper pads. Some had rough sandpaper glued to the surface; some had small metal teeth like alligator clamps.
You began with my breasts. One by one you added the clothespins in a methodical fashion, until my entire breast was covered. I was surprised that you left my nipple free. But I did not have time to ponder my nipple; with the addition of every clothespin, the pain level grew. Some were not so hard to take; the worst were the alligator-clamp-modified clothespins. I think that you saved many of these for my pussy. You covered every inch of my pussy with the worst of the clothespins, or so I thought. The pain was excruciating, and I was panting. I was happy that you had bound me tightly; each of my hands gripped the bonds and helped me to keep from screaming.
You continued with the clothespins, down the insides of each of my legs. You had trouble pulling enough flesh, there, for clothespins, because my legs are quite muscular. You moved up to my abdomen, and put pins where you could pull enough flesh. You love that I have a 6-pack and so have a very fit stomach.
10 pins went down the backs of each of my armpits; I had never had clothespins there.
Now you frowned. You still had clothespins, but nowhere to put them. You said that you knew that that would happen, and so pulled a roll of duct tape from the bucket. My punishment for having not enough fat on my body, was that you were going to twist and secure all of the clothespins.
I think that I sucked in my breath involuntarily. I didn't know if I could take that much. You just smiled and told me that that was a punishable offense that you would deal with in a few minutes.
You started with my breasts. You twisted each of the outermost clothespins 180 degrees, and secured it firmly to my chest or ribs. The twisting and pulling of my already throbbing flesh was intense. As you worked your way toward each of my nipples, you varied the twisting direction – some clockwise, some counterclockwise. I was concentrating on my breathing well before you had finished with my first breast.
My second breast left me almost screaming. On both you had wrapped extra lengths of duct tape across me, to make sure that the clothespins would not go anywhere.
Then you moved to my pussy. You smiled that I was dripping for you, as I always am when you torture me for your pleasure. You began at the outer edges of my sex, viciously pulling the clothespins directly away from my dripping core. Because I was tied in an almost full-split spread-eagled position, each pulled clothespin served to more and more deeply open me, expose me, to you.
When you were done, I was a mass of duct tape and pain. My body was screaming, though I was trying hard not to. You said that all that work had made you sweaty and that you were headed for a shower …
Michelle was again pleased when Master Steve said that he approved of her fantasy. He told her that her Friday installment should be a continuation of Thursday. Of course, she complied.
After 20 long, agonizing minutes, I am sure that I was in and out of consciousness. I became very alert when you began whipping my clothes-pinned and duct-taped breasts with your belt. I didn't think that you were whipping me very hard (and then you told me that you were not), but the pain was extraordinary. The strike of the belt, the compression of the mass of duct tape, the overall movement of my breast from the impact – it was overwhelming. You alternated breasts and speed.
And then you stopped. You started pulling the tape off my breasts, not taking any care not to pull up what was underneath each layer. The jerky movements and the pulling set off whole new levels of pain in my breasts. I couldn't believe how bad it hurt me, and started to cry silently. Silent crying was the one form of expression that you allowed without punishment, though you always told me that it would cost me in other ways. I had only been to tears for you once before. When you got to the lowest level of tape, I knew that the worst was yet to come. On this lowest level, sometimes the clothespin was pulled partially off by the action of you ripping off the tape. You see, you decided to get every last bit of tape off every clothespin. You did this by pulling only on the tape, not putting any counter-pressure on the clothespin. In 3 cases, the clothespin came completely off before the tape was removed. That was agony, especially for the two that had alligator clamp teeth.
Finally all of the tape was off the clothespins on my breasts. You ran your hands back and forth, brushing the clothespins back and forth like a wave. My crying continued, and I think that I lost consciousness for a little bit. When I came to, only some of the clothespins were off my breasts – it seems that you didn't want me to miss any of the removal event.
Finally, all of the clothespins were off my breasts. My pussy, abdomen, parts of my legs, and parts of my underarms were still wrapped in tape.
You picked up your cat o' 9 tails whip. You began whipping my breasts, methodically. I closed my eyes and tried not to scream; that's when you laid the first of many, many hard blows directly to my spread open, dripping pussy. I did scream, and kept screaming long after you tired of whipping my exposed sex …
And that was only fantasy, Master Steve thought, when he read Michelle's Friday installment. He was excited to meet her that night. If there was any sexual chemistry at all, this could be a good match, quite a good match indeed.
Michelle walked into the bar. As Master Steve had instructed, she was wearing normal clothes, but no underwear or bra. She was also wearing 4” heels, a garter belt and stockings. She was a little bit nervous. She had liked their interaction, this week, but she was afraid that she was getting her hopes up (again.) So often she would converse, electronically, with someone, only to find out that there was nary a spark in person. Although this was predominantly about ceding control, for her, she still needed that sexual spark in order to really relish kneeling naked for someone, and servicing him.
She resolved herself not to get too excited about this. It would likely be a dud. She took a seat at the bar, and looked idly around the bar. As this was a mid-level big-city hotel bar, there was an odd collection of, mostly, bored-looking businessmen (and a few women.) They were in groups of 2 or 3, and did not look at her. Her glance took in her surroundings, and she saw no one.
What she did not notice was the action of the bartender. After serving her an iced tea, he walked around the bar and down the side of the room. He inspected her in detail; had Michelle noticed, she would have been embarrassed. Then, he moved back to the end of the bar, and picked up the phone.
The bartender had never given the thumbs-up before, to the gentleman with no name but a room number. The bartender had never seen a nice-looking woman appear, for the mystery man, before.
A few minutes passed, and Michelle grew restless. And then, he was there. He strode over to her purposefully, took her hand, and kissed her on the cheek, without words. She was a little taken aback that he was so forthright and possessive, but then again, that was to be his role, right?
The bartender was right, he thought. She is perfectly proportioned, and the shoes looked quite sexy on her feet. She sat, cross-legged, in a rather seductive way. He could imagine her body naked, for his use. And abuse. He grew hard just thinking about it. And, she had been perfectly honest. The photo that she had forwarded to him, this morning, really was her. It actually did not do her justice. Honesty was hard to find in this genre, and he already felt that he had a gem on his hands. Little did he know how perfect she would be for him …
After a few seconds of looking at him, she smiled broadly. Finally, she thought, a dom that adequately and accurately described himself. He was 6'2”, muscular, sandy-blond hair and bright eyes. His hands were large and calloused; though she knew that he had some sort of office career, she also knew that he enjoyed woodworking, and it showed.
There was a sexual spark, for both of them, which they both appreciated. Having said nothing yet, they looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds. Then, he took her hand and led her to a corner table.
They talked for a few minutes; pleasantries, nothings. Then, he stopped. He told her that he was interested in proceeding with her, but that he needed to know a few more things, first. He needed to see her body, naked, in detail. He needed to see that she had followed his instructions regarding what to wear (and not to wear). He needed to see that she would submit to him in person, that she was serious. And, perhaps, he needed to whet his appetite with a little hint of what was to come (and cum.) He told her that he had a hotel room, and that he would like to take her there. He said that he would keep for 1.5 hours at most, and that she could, and should, arrange her safe-call around that timing. He gave her the room key, and, for the only time in their relationship, asked her if that was ok with her. He was cognizant that this was all new for both of them, and that there existed only the most basic level of trust.
Michelle was wet just thinking about the turn of events. Here was a very nice looking, honest dom. There was sexual chemistry between them. He was not wimpy, did not want to be romantic or smushy. He had control, but did not flaunt it in public. What he suggested was safe, in that this was a hotel and she had her safe call. She desperately wanted to proceed … and so she said, “Yes.”
He told her to make her safe call, and to meet him at the room in 5 minutes. And not to be late.
Precisely 5 minutes later she knocked on his door. The door opened, but she could not see him; he was behind the door. He told her to walk into the room.
He closed and latched the door behind her. Take off your clothes, he said.
Michelle stood in the middle of the room, crossed her arms, and pulled her shirt up over her head. She folded it and put it on the desk. She unbuttoned her trousers, and let them slide down to her ankles. Then, without bending her legs, she bent down and unfastened each shoe, took it off, removed her pant leg and refastened the shoe. When she was done, she stood back up, folded her pants, and placed them on the desk.
He watched her performance, from behind her, in silence. Her body was muscular and toned, in an attractive way. She carried a slight bit of fat around her ass and thighs; he knew that this would hold the marks of his whipping quite well. When she bent over, he saw that she was wet enough to have creamed her upper thighs; quite enticing.
He stood looking at her, from behind, for a few minutes; that's when he noticed that she was shaking. Good, he thought, a little bit scared about what she was getting herself into. That's a good sign; she understands and knows where this is going.
He told her to spread her legs, and to bend over once again. He said that he wanted her palms flat on the floor and her legs straight. Michelle complied. He ran his rough palms over her ass, silently, and then pulled her ass cheeks roughly apart. He told her that he was looking forward to splitting her wide open with his toys and his cock.
“Yes, Sir,” she replied.
What a natural submissive she was; she did not even need to be told, to do this.
He told her to stand up, and to put her hands behind her head, fingers interlaced and elbows out. Stand up straight, he said.
He walked around to the front of her. Her breasts were perky, and appeared even more so from the position of her body.
“You told me that you crave nipple torture, Michelle; is this correct?”
“I would like to see how much pain they can take,” he said, “with you standing silently. You may not move, you may not scream, you may not flinch; understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
She thought that he would just grasp her nipples with his fingers, but he was more prepared than that. From a satchel on the desk he procured two harsh-looking clamps – like something that he would use in his wood shop, to hold two small pieces of wood together to allow wood to set. They were spring-loaded, and had set screws. He pulled her right nipple well away from her body, twisting and tugging it. He not-too-gently popped the clamp onto her nipple, allowing the spring to quickly force the clamp closed. The pain was almost electric, shooting through her. She did not move, did not even squeak. Though the pain was coursing through her, she was also getting wetter by the second.
He did the same with her left nipple. The clamps were heavy, and pulled her nipples down at an angle.
“Good,” he said, “you did not lie to me about nipple torture.”
She smiled slightly.
He instructed her to stand beside the desk, bend her leg and put her foot flat on the desk surface. This opened her widely to him. He ran his rough fingers over her wet mound, finding her clit hard and at attention. “You have not masturbated this week, correct?”
“Not since before Tuesday, Sir.”
“You will not orgasm today, Michelle. You will wait, and long for me to pound you with my cock.”
“You will beg me for it.”
“You will fantasize about it.”
He roughly forced three fingers deeply inside her, and then withdrew them just as quickly. He began quickly finger-fucking her; she started to pant. He stopped after a moment; it took a few moments for her breathing to slow down.
He went over and sat on the edge of the bed. He watched her for almost 10 minutes. She held her position well; she was strong; she did not lie about that, either. Her strength would bring him endless hours of pleasure in the future, he correctly surmised.
After some time he told her to lie down on the bed, on her back. To keep her hands behind her head. He wanted to test her flexibility (and, frankly, he wanted to touch her body, and torment her some more.) He thrust her straight legs over her head, so that her ass and cunt were exposed to him. Now there's a fun position, he thought. He was aching to whip her, to fuck her ass hard, to make her scream, but he knew that he could not. Not only was he in a respectable hotel, but he didn't want to jump the gun the first day. Plenty of time to torture her endlessly, he knew.
Enough already, he thought. He sat on the edge of the bed, once again, and told her to kneel before him, between his legs. He told her to give him the best blow job of her life.
And she did. When he was close to cumming, he grabbed her hair and pounded her head against him, fucking her mouth harshly. He came forcefully and for a long time.
When he was done, and when she had licked every drop off of him, he told her to dress.
He told her that he expected to see her at his home the next night, at 6pm. She would be staying until 6am the next morning, Sunday morning. He told her that she was to give herself an enema before presenting herself at his home, and to shave all of her body hair. He gave her a bag of “implements” that she would often be instructed to use at home. She need not bring the bag with her. Only bring the shoes, hose and garter belt.
When he was done with his instructions, he said, “You have pleased me, Michelle. From this point forward it will become much harder to please me; I expect that you will work as hard to please me, in the future, as you did tonight.”
Michelle left his hotel room, 88 minutes after entering it, wet, sexually frustrated, and smiling.
Michelle walked to her car quickly. She had just finished her safe call, and set up another one for Sunday morning. Her friend was not happy at the turn of events, but complied with her wishes.
As she got into her car, she felt the ache in her nipples. He had left the nipple clamps on her until just before she dressed; he took them off without a thought. The movement of her shirt was a whole lot of sensation for her over-sensitized nipples; she liked that. She knew that this was just a little hint of what tomorrow was going to be like …
Michelle slept in on Saturday morning, and awoke with a big stretch. She rarely slept naked, but had, last night. Of course, she woke up wet (just as she had been, when she fell asleep.) Her day was filled with errands, and busy-work. Time passed slowly.
And all of a sudden it was time to go to his house. Her ministrations completed, she did not want to be late.
As instructed she parked next to his garage, and entered the side door at 6pm precisely. The guest bathroom was exactly where he said it would be, and she removed all of her clothes, except the garter, hose and high heels. As he had mentioned, he left some items for her, in the bathroom. She attached the stiff wrist and ankle cuffs, with their impressive-looking locks and D-rings. She attached the thick collar.
She went to the basement. A deep, deep breath before opening the door, and then down the stairs. Carefully, in the high heels. Michelle is a bit of a tom-boy, and not used to walking in heels.
When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she stopped, clasped her hands behind her back and spread her legs slightly. And waited. This is where the directions stopped. She noticed that the basement was large, and was the size of the house – a good size. It was clean, and well-lit right near the stairs, where she was. One area appeared to be sectioned off with moveable partitions, and she could see carpeting lying on the concrete floor. She noticed eye bolts in different ceiling rafters, and pieces of rope thrown over other rafters. She knew what they were for, but noted that the basement could pass for a “normal” basement.
Michelle waited 15 minutes, and then heard him coming down the stairs.
Good, she's trembling, he thought. She should be scared; not only for what I was planning to do, but also for the punishment that she will receive for disobeying my instructions. He said not a word, but gestured her toward an open area of the basement. He attached each of her wrists to eye-bolts in the rafters, spread far apart. He tied her tightly, her arms wide apart, elbows straight and wrists up to the ceiling. He secured each ankle cuff to opposing eye bolts at floor level (she had not noticed these.) Michelle was in an X position, without much ability to move.
Then he picked up a leather belt, from a table behind the partition. He stood in front of Michelle and said nothing for a moment.
And then ….
“I am very disappointed in you Michelle.”
She said nothing, her mind racing. What did I do wrong? She thought. She went over his directions in her head, trying to figure out where she had gone awry.
“I received no e-mail message this morning, Michelle. You will not make this
mistake again, correct?”
Oh my gosh, she had completely forgotten. No, she would not forget again.
“That will be 25 lashes with each of three implements, of my choice, Michelle. I was going to start out a little bit easier on you, but that opportunity is gone. You will be quite bruised, and in quite a lot of pain, and not even an hour will have gone by. With 11 more hours left for me to use your body. Do you understand?”
He walked around behind her. He was not kidding; he did not hold back at all. If she had not been secured so tightly, the first lash would have sent her at least 5' forward.
The pain was intense, across both of her buttocks. The second lash was directed at her right buttock, and the third at her left. After a while she lost count, trying hard not to scream or to cry. He whipped her methodically, not fast and not slow. Sometimes one butt cheek, sometimes the other. Sometimes both.
Finally it ended.
But it had not ended, for he next picked up a riding crop, and started all over again. In the same spot. Her ass was bright red and she was trembling all over, he noticed. That just made him whip her harder …
Michelle was lost to it all. She was lost in a world just focused on the shooting, burning, methodical pain. The only sound was the crop sailing through the air, and then connecting abruptly and loudly with her aching flesh. Over and over and over. The screaming, in her head, was endless and ear-piercing, but she let not a sound out.
He was pleased with her. She really was going to be a gem.
His third implement was a cane. Michelle had never been caned before, and she was scared at the sight of it. The first blow, on flesh that had already received 50 lashes, was excruciating. By the 9 th blow she was crying and hanging weakly from her bound wrists.
So methodical, 10, 11, 12, 13. He counted. He was hard, watching her twitching form, looking at her ass, criss-crossed with his cane marks and red from his whippings. He had belted her so hard that she was already starting to bruise. How nice, he thought, a trifecta of markings.
He couldn't help it, he caned her harder. The more that she cried, the more that it spurred him on. He had warned her about crying out; was secretly pleased that she had held out as long as she had, but was also secretly pleased that he had broken her. And so soon, and with a reason, no less! Unlike other doms, he actually liked to punish his pain-slaves.
23, 24, 25.
For a few minutes, Michelle did not completely realize that he was done. She hung in her bonds, sobbing, with her whole body screaming.
And yet she was so wet, and she knew this. After only a few minutes she had composed herself … he had been standing behind her admiring his handiwork.
“You will not disappoint me again, right Michelle?”
“No, Sir,” she replied.
“Well, then, we shall begin your training.” He untied her wrists and ankles, and led her to a sawhorse with a padded top. He bent her over the sawhorse, attaching each leg to each end of it. Her legs were spread wide, wide apart and, bent over, she was completely vulnerable to him. He attached her wrist cuffs to each other, behind her back, and then attached them to the ceiling, pulling her arms up roughly behind her back. Now she was bent over and secured, available to him.
“This will normally be your first position, when you visit me. From this position I will usually paddle you, to warm up your ass. However, this will be quite unnecessary tonight, yes?”
He ran his rough hands over her bruised flesh, marveling at the heat, and the bruising. He particularly liked the raised welts that the cane left on her ass. He rubbed one of the larger ones roughly, making the red color even angrier looking, and making the welt even larger.
With no preamble, she felt him inserting a huge butt plug inside her. Though she was still shaking from the whipping she had just received, she was enormously wet. She knew that she had found quite a good match for herself – she liked it that he took charge, did not talk a whole lot, and just used her as he saw fit. She felt sorry that she had disappointed him, but secretly reveled in the knowledge that she had taken a huge amount of pain, and could still take more.
The butt plug felt huge to her; it felt like it was ripping her open. When he had inserted it all the way, she felt uncomfortably full.
He next came around to the front of the sawhorse, and pulled up a chair. Seated, her nipples and breasts were available to him. He once again pulled each nipple harshly toward him, pulling and twisting. He attached those huge wood clamps again, this time much more tightly. The pain for each nipple shot through her.
For a few moments he walked around her, admiring her from all angles. It had been a long, long time since had had an attractive woman bound and plugged and whipped and clamped, in his basement. Ok, honestly, he'd had women in this position in his basement, but none as appealing as Michelle. He foresaw many happy hours ahead, with her in this position.
Finally he got to do what he had fantasized about in the hotel last night. Finally he would get to rape her, pound into her. He stood in front of her, took out his hard, thick cock, and told her to get him started. Her mouth felt heavenly, but he wanted more.
He went behind her and jammed himself into her, all at once. My gosh, she is so wet for me, he thought. Pain really does do it for her. He began to pound into her, relishing the feeling of her tight hole, of the huge butt plug in her ass. He loved having something firm to rub up against, inside her. He told her that she could cum, with no penalty.
And cum she did. Over and over. Until finally he came, exploding inside her.
And just that quickly, he pulled out of her, and she realized that he had gone upstairs. She heard his footsteps across the floor. There she remained, bound wrist and ankle, spread, plugged, bent over a sawhorse, huge clamps on her nipples. Her ass was sore from the whipping, her holes were sore from the raping. Her nipples continued to scream at the assault of the tight clamps.
She was right where she was supposed to be. Giving her pain for his pleasure.
And still 11 hours to go.
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