Trust Me (Rough Love 3)

I felt horribly vulnerable in this position. It was hard to balance on the balls of my feet, and with my arms up out of the way, my entire body was exposed. At least you’re not straddling the “bad girl” horse, I thought. But I still felt pitiful and scared.

A set of nipple clamps came next, and shit, a clamp on my clitoris that bit hard into my sensitive flesh. The clamps were the heavy, painful kind that tightened when you moved, and I made whining sounds just to process the pain.

“Hush,” he said, slapping my ass. It wasn’t a playful slap. It was a hard, stinging slap that made me jump, which made the clamps tug, which made me cry out again. He shook his head and went for the gag I hated most in the world.

No, I almost said. No, no, no. But I wasn’t allowed to talk in here, and he was angry enough. He forced my mouth open with his fingers when I started to sob, and shoved the hard rubber cock gag into my mouth. Fuck. I fucking hated being gagged and bound like this, and the punishment hadn’t even started. He buckled the gag behind my head as my clit and nipples throbbed. Sometimes wearing clamps made me feel like a sexual, erotic creature, but sometimes it just felt shitty and painful, and owww, I never wanted anything to touch my clit again.

He stood back and looked at me, and I made the saddest eyes I could. I felt sad. I felt fucking awful. I felt naked and endangered, while he was stern and perfect, still dressed in his designer sweater and pants. He took off his belt and doubled it over, and I braced for the first blow.

When I felt the stinging impact, I screamed behind the gag. This was punishment. It wasn’t supposed to feel good and it wasn’t supposed to be easy to take, so there was no warm up, just a hard, wicked strike across the ass. I pulled on the chain and bounced on my toes, and waited in dread for another blow. Ow, ow, ow. Ah, God. By the fifth blow, I was in tears. On the sixth, I tried to twist away, even though it was against the rules. He righted me and turned my face back to the wall.

“Don’t you fucking try to escape,” he said. “We’re just getting started.”

By the time he put aside the belt, I was a trembling, drooling, snotting mess of apology, but the paddle came next, an oval shaped instrument of torture that burned like a brand. Every time he smacked my ass, an almost unbearable sting would be followed by a deep ache. My nipples hurt, and each jump and jerk reminded me of the clamp on my clit. It was impossible not to squirm away when the pain was so hard and so sustained, but he only braced a hand at my waist and forced me to stand still while he paddled my ass with the other hand.

His closeness comforted me in some way, but it also made me more frantic, because now I was struggling against him and he was still hurting me, almost more than I could bear.

Through my cries and my drool, the cock gag remained fixed between my lips. In between blows, when he let me rest and suck air through my nose, I worried at the gag with my tongue, but I couldn’t push it out. I couldn’t take it out on my own. Only he could do that, and it involved so much loss of control that I was frantic with it.

At last he stopped, holding me while I heaved in my efforts to survive all the pain. The clamps came off, and then the manacles came off, so I could stretch my arms and rub the ache out of my shoulders. The gag stayed on, even though I begged with my eyes to be released.

But he wasn’t finished yet. I was hauled over to the bad girl horse, with the blunted triangular top. He made me straddle it and ordered me to keep my feet on the floor, even though that made the unforgiving ridge dig into my already hurting clit and pussy.

“Hands up,” he ordered, as I tried to push myself up off the horse and give my pussy some relief. “Lace your fingers behind your head and leave them there.”

He left and returned with a whip, the short, black, evil one he favored when he wanted to deliver pain on top of pain. He whipped my ass, my flanks, my back, my breasts, each stroke raising a pink, burning welt that felt too sharp to deal with. There was no rest in between, no time for me to concentrate on how much my pussy smarted as I jerked and jumped on the horse. A few times, my hands came down to shield my body. I was sorry afterward because he whipped me harder, until I put them back where they belonged.