I listened as he moved about the room. He poured himself a drink, but I didn’t know what it was. Maybe he’d kiss me and let me taste it on his tongue. I wanted him to kiss me so badly. Somehow I doubted the assfucking would include kissing, but with W, you never knew.
Ten minutes passed. Maybe fifteen. He didn’t need that long to be ready again, although it felt like an eternity to me. I knew he always, always lasted longer the second time, which was a very unfortunate situation for my ass.
There was no warning when it was time to go again. I felt his approach, and wobbled to my feet when he pulled me up. He held the front of the collar to pull me closer. His warmth enfolded me. His bristly cheek pressed against mine.
“Are you ready to bend over and give me your ass, slave girl?”
“Yes, Master,” I said, although I’d never, ever really be ready.
“Do you love it when I take you in the ass?”
“Yes, I love it, Master.” I sounded like I was telling the truth. I think I was telling the truth.
I was turned around and bent over the bed. My hands scrabbled against my thighs as my tender nipples scratched across the comforter. I’m sure it was some very expensive, luxury three-thousand thread count, but it felt like sandpaper against my sensitized skin.
I felt his hand on my cheek, and then the gag. Damn it. I opened up for the hard plastic ball because I didn’t have a choice to refuse it.
“It’s for your own good,” he chided when I whimpered. “You’ll be able to cry and groan as much as you want with the gag on. But no screaming. Good slaves don’t scream.”
Shit. Oh shit. He was only trying to scare me, wasn’t he?
“Spread your legs,” he said, once the ball gag was buckled. He apparently wasn’t happy with my good faith effort to spread them since he yanked them wider, so wide apart that they ached from the stretch. He circled one ankle with rope and fixed it to the bed, then tied my other ankle. I was already moaning in fear, and he hadn’t touched me yet. I was so trapped, and so open.
“You don’t get to close your legs until I’m done with you, so stop squirming. You’re not going anywhere.” He put a hand on the small of my back and slapped the insides of my thighs with sharp, stinging blows. He paused, and then, oh Jesus, he started using that evil stinging whip instead of his hands.
Whack. Oh, the burn.
Whack. Oh, fuck.
Whack. Baby Jesus!
Whack! Oh my God, no…
When the insides of my thighs were alive with stripes of agony, he moved to the backs of my thighs, and it felt ten times worse.
I didn’t scream, no. I couldn’t catch my breath to scream. I panted and trembled and arched against his hand holding me down. I jerked my arms at my sides, and made frantic sobbing sounds in my throat. He moved to my ass, flicking it with blows, one on top of the other. I clenched my ass cheeks, helpless to escape the fiery pain.
“I want to lock you in a dungeon,” he said in a low, dire voice. He paused, and drew the whip up and down my drenched pussy lips. “A real one, not one of those pansy BDSM dungeons. I’d tie you down a thousand different ways and do every hurting thing I could think of to you before I let you go. I’d keep your legs held open with a spreader bar twenty-four hours a day, so I could hurt your pussy and your asshole whenever I felt like it. I’d train you to want it, to beg and plead for sexual pain.”
I shook my head, even though I could absolutely see myself begging. I’d be begging right now, if I weren’t wearing the gag, begging for him to put down the whip and invade my body. I wanted him to take me, to press deep inside me. I didn’t care how much it hurt.
“Please,” I said behind the gag. “Please.”
I wiggled my ass, offering myself for his use. I felt completely submissive, completely needful of him. The collar impeded my breathing just enough to remind me it was there, and that I was his slave.
When I heard the condom, and the cap from the lube, I didn’t brace to resist him. I was scared and I knew it would hurt, but I was ready to be hurt. I wanted to be hurt.
When he took my bound hips and jammed the head of his cock against my sphincter, I was drifting in fantasies of his “real” dungeon, and all the things he might do to me there. I wondered if he had a dungeon somewhere, wherever he lived. I wanted to be in it, experiencing all those scary things he’d said.