Psychiatrist's Puppet (Loftry University Playthings 3)

Chapter 8

Andrew

I pull away,needing space from the delicate woman in front of me. Her face is a myriad of expressions, a mixture of deep need and absolute terror. I wanted to take my time with her, break her slowly; however, seeing the smooth expanse of skin is an allure no sane man can pass up. Not without considerable difficulty.

Until I spoke with Jeremy, I had no intention of claiming her. Rage simmers under my skin as I stare at Chastity’s back, beholden to this woman that by all rights should have no claim to me. Unfortunately, the lack of foresight on my part brought all of this about. If I never indulged her, never brought her sister, I wouldn’t have to claim her.

But The Society doesn’t work that way. No one would ever buy the fact that I was acting as a benevolent healer. No. Those fuckers would see right through my veneer, straight to the fact that I wanted to play with her before giving her up. Now, I have a more intimate understanding of Jeremy and what he went through with Melody. It doesn’t make me feel sorry for him in the slightest, but I at least have the understanding.

I reach out to stroke Chastity’s back, reveling in the shudder racing through her, the tightening of her body as if she can escape me by sheer willpower. I pull away, grabbing the hank of rope I pulled just to torture her. Normally, I don’t go for the jute. The bristly rope can be vicious even for the most seasoned player. However, I so desperately want to test her limits, see what her body can handle. I palm my erection as she dances in my restraints. The silence stretches between us, soothing for me, seemingly nerve-wracking for her.

Coiling the rope between my hands, I stalk forward, rubbing it against her skin, watching with rapt attention as she recoils from me, fairly throwing herself towards the bed if not for the cuffs keeping her where I want her. The small part that worries for her wonders if I should just put her into a trance while I have my way with her.

I push that out the moment it forms. It would just be an exchange for the drug. I want Chastity lucid, aware, terrified, desperate - all sensations that can only happen when you feel everything. I don’t want to allow her to escape. I don’t want to give her that out. Her only escape will be by my hand when I feel she can’t handle it anymore. That’s where these small tests come in. I can’t know where her mind will fracture if I don’t find the edges.

“I do believe you have a punishment coming.” I slide back to her front, kneeling on the bed.

Her eyes widen as she looks at me, the terror creeping back into her eyes, nearly swallowing her face. I know what I promised her. I promised my cock down her throat and my cum on her lips, but a part of me doesn’t want to use that. I want her begging me to come inside her. I want her so desperate for me that her mind is consumed with nothing else but the desire to please me and have me mark her.

“I’m sorry. Please. Please don’t hurt me.”

A smile tilts up the corner of my lips. She can’t even fathom the things I want to do to her. I stand there with my arms crossed, watching as she stumbles over herself to convince me to be lenient. No words leave my mouth as she sobs, frantic hiccups punctuating her sentences. My cock gets even harder as the tears stream down her face. Sliding my hand up, I cup her cheek, sliding an errant tear away with my thumb.

“I will not harm you. I’ve said this twice now. I can understand that you won’t believe me. I wouldn't believe me either. That being said, I am a man of my word. You’ve earned yourself a punishment, and that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

Her lower lip curls up to catch between her teeth, her eyes speaking volumes, continuing to plead where her words are silent. Uncoiling the rope, I watch Chastity’s eyes as they follow its trek to the bed, amusement rattling around in my chest. Fixing a stern expression, I loop the rope around her neck before tying a decorative knot in the two strands, fastening it just below her throat. It’s not enough to choke her but enough to remind her that struggling is futile.

Spitfire that she is, she still thrashes against it, stopping only when the harshness of the weave rubs her raw. I just watch her. No condemnation. Nothing. This is part of our game of cat and mouse. If she never fought, she could never say that she tried. Once her movements die down, I pick the rope back up, skimming the dangling tails down in between her breasts, pausing to make another knot. Then, again, at her navel. The last knot, the one that will nestle right against her clit is the one I make sure she sees.

I drop my fingers low, the backs skimming against her outer lips as I measure where it needs to be. Does she know that she’s wet? Does it bother her? I resist the urge to delve in, to lean down and taste her. It’s torturous. I can only hope she can realize how hard I’m restraining myself.

Once I have the rope measured out, I bring it up to her eye line, keeping her gaze fixated on my fingers as I tie the rope around in itself to make a simple knot. Nothing decorative will do down there. I need a hard surface to grate against her sensitive flesh. I let the rope fall back against her skin before reaching out to tap the bells again.

Her body shudders once more, the look of pain flashing in her eyes. Is it the pain of losing herself all over again? I tug at the bells, feeling them give just a touch. There’s no way they’re on tight enough to give her a real bite of pain. That will for sure come later.

Coming back around, I stare at her ass, marveling at the delicate curves, so unlike the shallow hollows of her torso where her ribs jut out. I’ve looked her over from head to toe and still find myself shocked that she holds no scars, no physical reminders that she ever went through such a hellish ordeal. James mentioned vaginal trauma, but we’ll work through that. It’s the mental trauma that will be the hardest to overcome.

Kneeling, I stare up at her, taking in every inch. I don’t see any visual trauma, but that’s not my area of expertise. Breathing deep, I blow against the delicate folds, smirking as she jerks against the sudden sensation.

I lean up, my lips a millimeter from her. How easy would it be to just lick her? To just enjoy what her body is freely giving. I pull back, ignoring her clit as it’s already starting to peek out from its hood. Her body wants me. It’s her mind that’s keeping her from actually enjoying it.

Pulling on the ends of the rope, I bring it through her splayed legs, keeping it loose as I take the ends and bring them up to the part encircling the back of her neck. I feed it through underneath, then start to pull it, keeping the movements small and smooth to not cause rope burn. She can still feel every movement, every tug. It’s evident in each jerk and gasp.

After several agonizing moments, the knot is brought up to her folds. I pause, letting that pregnant breath flow into her, feeding whatever painful delusions are in her mind. One by one, I plan to break them down, show her there’s a lot more to fear than pain. But pain is how we communicate, how we learn. With one final tug, I bring the knot bearing down into her clit. Her cries of distress tighten my balls, and all I want to do is cause her more pain. I want to hear those soft, keening wails until I die. But today is not the day for this.

She will learn pain, but not until her body and mind heal completely. Walking back over to her front, I flick the bells again, watching her face as I ascertain just how badly the ropes are hurting her. Jute may not be the softest rope, but I could have done much worse. Sisal, for instance, could be much more abrasive.

“Breathe with me.” As much as I want her to be uncomfortable, it’s never too early to teach her to handle painful situations.

Her breaths are shallow, punctuated with hiccups as she tries and fails to get her breathing under control. It looks like I’ll have to work with her a lot harder to give her the types of discomfort and pain that I want. Then again, it shouldn’t be surprising with how broken she is. Ignoring her plaintive whines, I reach around her to grab the dangling rope ends and bring them to the front. With deft movements, I pull them through the rope laying taught against her skin, just about the decorative knot at the top of her sternum, and pull through, creating a diamond pattern.

Moving down, I do the same just below her breasts, pausing to tap the bells as I force the rope open, abrading it against her soft skin. I continue my work all the way down her body until I get to her mound. By creating these diamonds on her skin, I stretch the rope impossibly tight. It bites into her skin until the flesh rises up around it - not a lot. Most people wouldn’t even notice it. But I do. I see everything. I hear everything.

Her mournful sobs do nothing but spurn me to action. Just one diamond left. I slide the rope along the delightful indention where the lower stomach dips into her private areas. With a strong jerk, I pull the rope apart, separating the tails on either side of her body. This digs that little knot even deeper into her, sending her wails into a crescendo.

“You’re safe. You’re secure. You’re owned.” I murmur into her ear as I slide my palms along her nipples, the engorged flesh like pebbles against my skin.

Time to take the clamps off. I don’t have them on extremely tight, so this should be more pleasurable than agonizing. As I remove one, I replace the metal with my mouth, letting the heat of my tongue soothe away any discomfort. I’m not even sure if she knows it, but her body sways towards me, begging me for more. I pull away and glance at her face, noting the lines of discomfort that criss-cross her forehead as she scrunches into a frown. Chuckling, I do the same with her other nipple, relishing in the soft sighs she tries to hold back.

“Ready for your punishment?”

Her eyes fly open and meet mine. “This wasn’t it?”

The sound of rising hysteria flavors her words, setting a shiver down my spine. “This was just foreplay, my dear. I can’t imagine you’d think I’d let you get off that easy for direct disobedience. Do you remember my punishment?”

She clamps her mouth shut, pulling her lips tight against her teeth, and nods her head.

“I take it you don’t want me coming in your mouth?”

Her lips tighten even more as she shakes her head.

“Very well. I’ll refrain once again.”

Her body sags in relief, but she really should know better. I didn’t let her get away with disobedience earlier, and there’s no way I’d let her get away with it now. Climbing back off the bed, I kneel once more between her legs, staring up at her exposed pussy. The knot grinds against her clit as the other two ropes run along the length of her, each on either side of her opening, leaving her inner lips and labia accessible and exposed. She’s even wetter than before.

Her lower lips are dark red and swollen from the abrasive rope and her own unacknowledged arousal. Unable to resist anymore, I arch up and slide my tongue along the right inner lip, then the left. Her groans fill the air as her hips buck as much as possible in the tight restraints. Smirking, I pull back to give myself enough room to attach the clamps onto her lips, one on either side. Her groans turn to sobs as she twists to get away from the new pain.

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