Erotic: adjective; Being truly helpless; At the mercy of a sadistic woman.
Warning: My stories include lesbian themed rape and torture. This isn’t BSDM. It is rape. It is torture. There are (almost) no happy endings here.
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There are many ways to enjoy rapekink responsibly and ethically. Both for those of us who fantasize about being the victim, and those that fantasize about being the rapist. Rapeplay, CNC (consensual non consent), erotica, or even just using your imagination.
There is no excuse for raping or hurting someone that isn't willing. There is literally a shortage of people able to play the role of being a rapist. If that's what your into, then find that special someone that is looking for someone like you. Someone that will force them, humiliate them, and hurt them. Join a rapekink community. Find a partner instead of being a bastard and ending up in jail.
Rape fantasies are very common and completely normal. A huge percentage of the population fantasizes about rape. Depending on the survey it ranges from 20% to 40% for men, and 30% to 75% for women. Even at the lower end that's a LOT of people.
Those without the kink often imagine us as either deranged or psychotic, but it's really no different than being born with many other kinks. Or being born heterosexual or homosexual. You don't get to choose your kinks, but you do choose how you act on them.
I find nothing more erotic than the thought of being at the mercy of a sadistically cruel woman. Even when I was a small child, would hide under my bed and imagine being trapped and helpless. It excited me although I didn't know why.
I discovered masturbation, and continued fantasizing about being helpless. I also added pain to my dark fantasies. I’d hurt myself during masturbation. I didn’t fantasize about girls. I didn’t fantasize about guys. I fantasized about being helpless and someone hurting me. I don't know why, but I started imagining myself as a woman in these fantasies.
When I discovered porn, things changed a little. I didn’t fantasize about having sex with the women in the pictures. They just gave a face and body to the dominating force in my fantasies. They hurt and humiliated me. I loved every minute of it.
I’ve always been this way. I don’t have a tragic past. I don't battle with depression. I’ve never been raped or abused. My childhood was a good one. I always knew both of my parents loved me.
I wake. For a moment, I’m confused, surrounded by complete darkness. Then I begin to panic. I’m trapped, face down against a hard-flat surface. It ends just below my stomach. A round ball fills my mouth and drool drips down my chin. My arms and legs are pulled down, held in place below me. I continue to struggle, trying to break free, but I can barely move.
How did I get here? Thinking back, I remember the nightclub. We were celebrating my promotion. I went home early. I wasn’t feeling well. Suzanne and her sister gave me a ride. The last thing I remember is them helping me crawl into bed. Was I roofied? I didn’t drink that much. Did someone drug me and follow me home? It feels like I’m still in my sexy black dress.
I don’t need to guess what’s coming. There is only one reason to tie someone down like this. He is going to rape me. I can’t help but remember stories of serial killers. Psychotic killers that rape, torture, and even kill. Oh, God! Fuck! I hope it’s just a rapist. If I’m lucky, he will rape me. FUCK! Trembling with an emotion I don’t want to feel. I desperately attempt to bury my terror with rage. It works. At least it works for a little while.
Tears drip down my face, and I scream around the gag. The wordless sound echo’s back to me, surprisingly loud in the darkness. I always thought gags kept people quiet. That’s what they show in the movies. I can’t speak, but my grunts and screams, while distorted, are loud. I scream over and over.
Over time my screams turn into quiet tears, and eventually, they stop. I hear nothing. I see nothing. I can’t move.
The lonely darkness surrounds me. I don’t feel a blindfold, but I can’t see anything. It’s been hours. Shouldn’t there be at least a trace of sunlight? I’ve worked the night shift. You can’t completely block the sun. Even in a room without a window, there’s always a little light. Am I blind?
My body aches all over from the forced immobility. My eyes burn from hours of crying. My empty stomach gurgles. My throat is raw. Oak and concrete are all I smell. My breathing is dry and rough. Each ragged breath is painful. Every involuntary swallow is agonizing. My jaw forced open by the gag, spasms, muscles begging to close.
A distant door closes. I wake instantly. One moment I’m asleep, and the next I’m struggling. The pounding of my heart fills my ears, it drowns out everything else, even my own breathing.
The light turns on. Painfully blindingly bright, even through my eyelids. A door closes. The sound close, coming from behind me. I carefully peek, trying to focus my eyes. A white concrete wall towers over me, less than a foot away. I’m trapped against a wooden beam sticking out of the wall. The smooth white surface is roughly square with rounded corners.
To my right is another wall. No furniture. No decorations. Nothing except for white concrete. To the left my attention is grabbed by a black chain on the floor. It’s the only thing I can see that isn’t white.
Someone flips up my skirt. In sudden panic. I try to jerk away. It’s useless. My panicked mind isn’t thinking clearly. My panties are slowly pulled down. I feel something hard slide along my skin, and up between my legs. With terrified jerks I manage to move. It’s only a fraction of an inch, but that’s more than I’ve managed before. It’s all for nothing. I’m pulled back into place, and he slides his dick into position. Ready to penetrate me. I buck and jerk, but now that he has a hand holding me in place. I can’t even inconvenience him.
Just when I think he is about to force his way inside, his dick slides up. I have a heartbeat to feel it rest against my asshole, clenching involuntary, before he grabs my waist with both hands and roughly forces his way inside. I scream in agony, everything but my violation forgotten. He pulls all the way out and slams back in. Unbelievable pain. I’m being ripped in half! I scream. Over and over. As fast as I can breathe. My vision narrows to the wooden beam. My head is filled with the static of pure pain. It’s a brutal violation. All the way in. All the way out. Fast and rough.
Ragged throat-tearing screams, and the sound of our bodies slapping together are all I hear. Impossibly, the pain seems to increase with each thrust. Nothing. I can do nothing to stop him. It hurts too much to endure, but that doesn’t stop him.
The thrusts slow. His breaths coming in gasps. He finally stops, I lay there, trembling, more exhausted than I’ve ever been in my life. My violated ass burns with agony. His hard dick still buried to the hilt. A shivering chill runs down my back as I realize he didn’t cum. It’s not over.
His hands release my waist. Movement, and quiet unidentifiable sounds come from behind me. Hands caress their slow way up my back, up my neck and deep into my hair. With a vicious surge, and a double handful of hair for leverage he grinds against my ass. Forcing his way just a little deeper. I whimper, but after the agony I just experienced, it’s not enough to drive my exhausted body out of the draining lethargy.
He pulls away. I have just enough time to be confused by the hard dick still buried in my ass before my rapist sits on the beam in front of me.
I stare at the glistening pussy in shock. It’s so close. Everything is blurry. Her hands caress my face, fingers sliding into my hair. With quiet gasps of pleasure, she starts grinding her pussy against me. The musky odor, and wet skin sliding against my face makes me gag and struggle. I try to turn my head aside, but her firm grip is unbreakable. Legs wrap around my head. I can’t see anything accept for occasional flash of her tan skin. My world narrows to physical sensations and the smell of her pussy. At least this doesn’t hurt.
My head swims and my lungs ache for another breath. She allows just enough air for an occasional quick gasping breath, then I’m surrounded by her again. Her thighs, now slick with a mixture of her juices and my tears, lock my head in place. She savagely pulls my hair forcing my face against her pussy.
I’m covered with fluid. Her musky scent is all I smell. The gag is an imperfect seal, and I can’t keep the tart taste of her out of my mouth. Slick and wet, she continues to grind against me.
It’s like my mind splits in two.
Part of me is lost. Confused. Terrified. Drowning in another woman’s pussy. That part of me babbles to itself. What the hell? A girl? Are there two of them? No. She fucked me? How? I can still feel her inside me.
Another part of me has two goals. Survival and escape. At any cost. It’s cold and calculating. It knows there is a strap-on still buried in my ass. It hears her mounting pleasure. It feels the increased pressure and urgency of her approaching orgasm. It’s trying to figure out what will happen next. It watches and waits. It will submit to anything to survive, but it’s watching for any chance to escape.
She freezes in place, her body trembling with pleasure, muscles locked with the ecstasy of her orgasm, holding me tightly against her pussy. After several long heartbeats she begins to relax, and slides back. I close my eyes, unwilling to look at the only thing I can see.
Her breathing is labored. Helpless tears escape. As I collect myself, the agony of the anal rape burns its way into my awareness. It still hurts, more painful than anything I’ve experienced in years. Only my terror kept it suppressed for so long. I sob into the gag, whimpering in pain. At least it’s not as deep anymore. While she raped my face, it must have loosened.
In time, her breathing slows into deep relaxed breaths. She slides off the beam. I flinch when she brushes against me and strokes my hair. I feel her lean close and inhale deeply through her nose.
I shudder when she licks my cheek. She is savoring the taste. Her tongue slowly sliding along my skin. She straddles my arm. The moisture between her legs wet on my shoulder. She whispers into my ear.
“Your tears and my cum. The taste of your pain mixed with my pleasure is a heavenly combination.”
She forces me to look the other way, exposing the side of my face she hasn’t licked. A sudden hard swat drives the strap-on all the way back in. A spike of agony runs through me. I whimper, and fresh tears fall down my cheek. She licks them away. One tear at a time.
She moves away. At first, I feel an overwhelming surge of relief, but then she walks behind me. She slides my panties back into place, forcing them up and over the bulk of the strap-on. A lance of pain shoots through me, and a mewling sound slips out.
She laughs. “I wouldn’t want it to fall out while I’m gone!”
She walks behind me, and, I assume, to the door. I try to attract her attention. I try to beg for water. But even I can’t decipher the sounds coming through the gag. The door closes, and a few seconds later the light turns off.
Alone in the dark. Like before, my whole-body aches, and my eyes burn. This time it’s worse.
The pain coming from my violated ass is a harsh reminder of just how she hurt me, more importantly, her cum is a reminder of how much she enjoyed it. I no longer smell oak and concrete. I can’t escape the overwhelming musky stench of her pussy. My face feels stiff and strange as her pleasure dries in the darkness.
I can’t imagine falling asleep, but my struggles, though they didn’t achieve anything, have left me completely exhausted. As the adrenaline fades I’m dragged into a deep dreamless void.
Water. I need water. That need has replaced everything else. My lips are cracked and dry. I no longer feel hunger. The aches of my body are a distant sensation. I no longer drool around the gag, and I don’t have any tears left.
The only thing keeping me going is the assurance from my cold mind. It’s positive that she will be back. She planned this out carefully. She isn’t going to stop with one orgasm.
Sudden hope surges. A distant door closed. I wait, but nothing else happens. Was it my imagination? No. Another distant sound saves me from my doubts. I wait, eager for her company. Willing to do anything for a cup of water.
I’m too weak to jump when the lights turn on. A heartbeat later the door bangs open. She steps into sight, and squats down so that she can look into my eyes. One hand holding onto my arm for balance. She smiles at me like nothing is wrong.
Last time it happened so fast I didn’t really see her. She has short brown hair and brown eyes. I’d consider her a little overweight if it wasn’t solid muscle. Her farmers tan is obviously not from laying in the sun, but from working in it. The hand clasping my arm is calloused and rough. She is dressed in simple blue jeans and a gray t-shirt.
I try to beg for water, but my throat is so dry that I can’t even grunt.
“Are you thirsty?” she asks.
I eagerly nod my head.
She gets up and walks out of sight. She returns with a squirt bottle and a washcloth. She squirts some water on the washcloth, then pushes the ball gag slightly to the side and forces one end into my mouth. The moisture is bliss. I greedily suck, but my mouth is so dry it seems to absorb the liquid like a sponge. I sob in frustration, terrified that she will stop there. She keeps the liquid flowing. Eventually the sweet relief reaches my throat.
I’m not even close to satisfied when she drops the washcloth on the ground and sets the water bottle down on the beam in front of me. Now that my throat isn’t so dry I plead for more, trying to beg without words.
She walks back to the door. For a terrifying moment I think she is leaving and feel a surge of relief when she returns with a thick black collar.
She says, “It’s solid steel. This side has a covered hinge, the other has a ring. I’ll attach it to that chain with this link.” She shows me the link with a gap in it that is wide enough to slide the collar’s hoop through. She closes the collar, picks up one end of the chain, and threads the link through both.
“Once everything’s connected, I’ll just need a few minutes welding to make it permanent. It’s completely tamper proof. Impossible to remove without the right tools. No lock to pick, no pins to remove. You will wear it for the rest of your life.”
She flashes an excited grin, and heads behind my back. She returns with a couple wet towels. One is placed on my upper back, the other wraps around my neck. Then the collar locks in place.
I don’t even try to resist. As much as I hate the idea, it’s far better than my current position. I can’t stop her anyway.
She returns with heavy gloves, a mask, and a welder.
A simple “Look away and close your eyes.” is all the warning I receive before sparks fly. I’m instantly thankful for the wet towels. Sparks that land on my unprotected shoulders, or in my hair, burn like bacon grease. In a surprisingly short time she finishes, explaining every step along the way. From the wire brush and grinding wheel to the darkening chemical carefully brushed over the exposed steel. Her work finished she cleans up.
She whispers in my ear.
“First rule; No words.”
She takes off her pants then slides down her panties. A quick hop and she sits on the wooden beam, her pussy in my face. With a few quick movements she removes the hated gag. I work my mouth and tongue, reveling in my sudden freedom, even as my jaw aches with the movement.
I breathe in to thank her. The cold side of my mind reminds me that I’m not allowed to speak just in time. Thankful? I feel thankful? Towards her? Sudden overwhelming rage burns through me. Impotent rage. What could I do? Bite the sensitive flesh inches from my mouth? She couldn’t free me without getting tools, and that means I’d need to release her. I don’t dare.
A squirt bottle appears, inches from my face. I open my mouth, eager for a drink, and she squirts the water in. I greedily drink the entire thing, shoving my traitorous emotions down.
She scoots forward. Her pussy suddenly filling my vision. I know what she expects. I lick, feeling for her clit. Once I find it, I start sucking and licking. I want this over with as quickly as possible.
To my surprise, she scoots out of reach.
She grabs an ear in each hand and twists. I cry out at the sudden surge of pain.
Speaking slowly and carefully, enunciating every word she says, “This. Isn’t. A. Race. It’s not about speed, it’s about pleasure. Stay away from my clit, except for the occasional touch, until I say otherwise. Take your time.”
She scoots back into place. I choke back my rage and follow her orders.
“Do a good job, and I’ll let you eat and drink.”
My cold mind takes over. I nuzzle her pussy like an obedient pet. I suck and lick everything in reach, trying to extend her pleasure as long as possible. I take her to the edge, then I back off. Slow down. I focus my attention on her labia and vagina, going slow, taking her down, then building back up.
The sounds of her pleasure, rising and falling, fills me with impotent rage and humiliation. My jaw and tongue ache, this time from too much movement, long before she allows me to bring her.
When she finally finishes, I lay there, my eyes closed, still helpless. I hope she releases me soon. I just want my arms back. I want to stand up. I want to move. Anything is better than this. She leans against the wall, a languid smile on her lips.
Several long minutes pass before it occurs to me. I don’t even hope for freedom anymore. Release no longer means escaping. It no longer means going back to my life. Release is being able to stand up. I close my eyes and begin to silently cry.
“I have good news and bad news.”
At the jarring sound of her voice in the quiet room, I open my eyes, suddenly scared. I thought I pleased her!
She continues to talk while freeing me from my bonds.
“First the good news. You did an exceptional job. You earned a meal.”
She helps me to the floor. The strap-on moves, it’s still uncomfortable, but I do my best to ignore it. I’ll wait for her to leave. My arms and legs, after the extended mistreatment, feel numb and strange. It takes several tries before I rise on wobbly legs.
“Now for the bad news. This was fun, but last time was better.”
Scared, I whisper. “Please.”
The sound barely leaves my mouth before she backhands me into the wall, falling to all fours. She grabs my neck in one strong hand and pins me. Her rock-hard fingers wrap around my neck, under the collar. I can’t breathe. With her free hand she punches me in the stomach. One. Two. Three. Instinctively, I curl into a protective ball. But held up against the wall, it’s like doing a sit-up. Gradually, gravity wins, and my stomach is exposed again. Four. Five. Six.
She hisses into my ear. “This is your last warning. If you ever utter so much as a single word again, this will feel like kindness in comparison.”
She flips me over, pressing my face into the wall. My panties jerk down, and the strap-on is finally pulled free. The sudden void a welcome relief.
I’m flipped back around, and she holds it in front of my face. Its smooth surface is shiny, metallic, and… small. It’s hard to believe it caused so much pain.
“It’s my smallest strap-on, designed for anal play… In your case, it’s for raw, lubeless, anal fucking. It’s the only strap-on I’ll use for anal play without lube.”
“I have three larger ones for punishment. Want to know what I call them?”
I don’t want to know, but my cold mind nods yes.
“‘brutal’, ‘agony’, and ‘death’. You just experienced the one called ‘playful.’ Do you understand?”
I frantically nod my head.
“There are three rules. You already know the first one. The other two have the same penalty.”
“No words. No biting. Don’t attack my face.”
“You can fight. Hell, I want you to fight! If you manage to hold me off, I’ll even leave you alone for a full day.”
She drops me to the floor and leaves before I can recover. This time the light stays on. For the first time, I’m free to examine my prison.
Everything is white. Walls, ceiling, and floor are solid concrete painted white. The left and right walls are simple smooth surfaces, completely unblemished. The front wall, empty except for the wooden beam I was strapped to. The smooth ceiling has recessed lighting.
While the back wall is also white concrete, everything else is different. There are two sets of drawers recessed in the wall. Three on the left, and three on the right. Two doors are in the center of the room. Like everything else, the drawers and doors are white. There is a comfortable looking chair with matching end table in one corner.
The floor has a slight slope, everything angles towards a drain hole in the center. The only other thing on the floor is the chain. It runs from my collar to a small pile in the corner.
The chain is the only thing that isn’t white. My cold mind drives me to stop. Check the chain. That’s the most important thing. I follow it back to the pile in the corner. Hopefully I’ll figure out some way to free myself. When I reach the end, my heart sinks. I had hoped for something screwed into the floor. Something I could work loose in time.
The chain isn’t attached to the floor. It’s part of the floor. I shiver with cold sweat. I feel as though someone punched me in the stomach. My cold mind notes that it really does feel like being punched in the stomach, now that it has a real experience to compare. Then it calmly removes escape from my goals. I collapse to my knees, overwhelmed by the churning dread. Survival is the only thing I have left.
A door opens behind me. I spin around, and she is there with a paper bag and a plate of food. Mac-n-cheese. Fried chicken. Steamed asparagus. They smell delicious. She sets the plate down on the end table, and smiles at me. My eyes flicker between her and the food. I’m so hungry.
“As I told you before, it’s permanent and impossible to remove. The chain is threaded through rebar. I couldn’t budge it before pouring the concrete. Now? Nothing less than a jackhammer would do.”
She asks, “Have you tested to see how far it reaches?” I shake my head, and she gestures for me to find out. The chain, anchored in one corner of the room, is long enough for me to reach most of the room. The only things I can’t reach are the door out, and the set of drawers furthest from my corner.
After a quick glance to make sure she isn’t upset, I check the drawers I can reach. The first one has a few basics. Makeup. Fingernail clippers. Hair trimmer, Waxing supplies. Things like that. Fuck, I don’t see any razors. I hate waxing.
The second drawer is full of clothing. Well, if you can call it that. A drawer full of lingerie.
The last drawer is empty.
She takes a couple bowls out of the bag and puts them on the floor. Stainless steel bowls. From the pet store. Opening one of the drawers, she takes out a water hose and connects it to a recessed spigot, and uses it to fill the water bowl, then empties a pouch of powder into it. Seeing my expression, she rolls her eyes.
“Don’t be stupid. It’s crushed vitamins. Go pick up the plate, but don’t eat yet.”
I nod my head eagerly, and head for the plate. It smells heavenly, but I don’t trust her. A thump behind me attracts my attention, and I turn in time to see a second ugly brown potato land in my food bowl.
She sits in the comfortable chair and holds her hands out for the plate. With a resigned sigh, I pass it to her. She snaps her fingers and points at the fork. I quickly hand it to her. She takes a few bites, clearly enjoying her dinner.
She begins speaking, between bites. “You are only allowed to eat and drink from your bowls, or directly from me.” I nod, thinking about the water bottle earlier.
“Don’t drink from the hose, and don’t fill your water bowl. All food and drink comes through me.”
“You are my pet, and you will eat like it. On all fours, with mouth and tongue. Go! Eat. Drink.”
My cheeks heat with anger. Or is it humiliation? Either way I lean down to take a bite of the lumpy baked potato, only it’s not baked. It’s raw. The texture isn’t bad, but the taste leaves a lot to be desired. I’m hungry enough to eat both without complaint. Moving to the water, I start to drink. Licking doesn’t work well, but I figure out how to suck it up using my lips. To my disgust, the water soon tastes of her musky pussy. Some of the dried mess sticking to my face has been washing off into the water. Disgusting.
She says. “Oops, I set your bowls down backwards. Turn them around so your name is visible.”
Wondering what little humiliation this will be, I adjust them. The text, my new name, is the same on both. “Twat.” I turn back to her smiling face and take the opportunity to learn her name. I point at myself, then the bowl, then I point at her and shrug my shoulders. “Twat, wants to know my name?” I nod. “My name is Mistress.” I try to keep my face expressionless as I nod understanding. Fucking bitch.
Words. Speech. Losing that is almost worse than everything else. Only the most basic forms of communication are available. Somehow, I don’t see her letting me explain myself with a game of charades. No, It’s very deliberate. Speech is part of what differentiates us from animals. I’m limited to the vocabulary of a dog. I can whine at my bowl for food. I can cry out in pain. I can indicate yes or no.
She stands up and stretches.
“Twat, pets don’t belong on the furniture. At least not without permission.”
“Keep yourself, and the room, clean. Your pussy and legs stay smooth and hairless. Dress for my pleasure. There are consequences for failure.”
“I’ll allow several hours of light. I suggest you use them to prepare for my return.” Then she leaves.
The water is cold, and the waxing is… uncomfortable, but I’m as ready as I can be when the lights go out. I collapse on the floor, holding my head, and quietly cry. What day is it? What time is it? When will she return? Any second? Hours? Days? I just don’t know. God, why is the light switch outside the room? Why doesn’t she let me sit on the chair? I remember being bored without a book to read. I didn’t know what the word meant. No sound. No light. Just time. So much time. How long have I waited? Certainly hours? I’ll never know. I can’t ask.
I question my fading memories. How can they be real? They feel so soft and flimsy compared to Mistress. I remember every second with Mistress. She is a painful explosion of sensations and emotions. Every moment burns brightly. My body aches from her touch long after she leaves. Dreams. They must be dreams. Do I even exist when Mistress leaves? Does anything?
The light suddenly turns on. I look up in time to see her arrive. She is dragging a simple steel framed bed. She leaves for a second, then returns with a mattress. She drops the mattress on the bed and kicks it into the center of the room.
She smiles cruelly. “It’s time to play!”
My heart is suddenly in my throat. I back away as she approaches. My back hits the wall, and I start sliding down it, eyes locked on her flushed face. She is excited, in more ways than one. Her nipples, clearly visible through her thin tight shirt, are hard. She licks her lips, and I flinch.
She suddenly charges. I scream and run. In my panic, I forget about the collar. I run to the only exit. My collar jerks to a stop and I slam into the floor. Her crushing weight lands on my back, knocking the breath out of me. My wrists twist up behind me, and a heartbeat later she has me in a lock. Fuck. I can’t escape. The unnatural position stops me cold. Steel bands suddenly click into place around my wrist. Handcuffs. My hands are trapped behind my back. She picks me up and throws me onto the small bed. I try to squirm away, but she is on me in a flash. My cold mind stops me from screaming “No” just in time. I scream in wordless fear as we struggle.
I remember her comment about how much fun raping my ass was, and it gives me strength. I manage to squirm off the bed, scooting and rolling towards the wall. Before I reach the wall, she picks me up, and I’m back on the bed again. She grabs a leg. With another click, I’m chained to the bed. I continue to struggle, but she takes my free leg, and locks in place with a snap.
I’m lying face up, sideways across the bed. My hands are cuffed behind my back. My legs are spread painfully wide. One leg is cuffed to the foot of the bed, and the other is attached to the head.
With the casual certainty of victory, she slowly walks around the bed. Grinning, chest heaving, savoring her triumph. She takes the chain attached to my collar, pulls it tight, and locks it in place.
She stands there, looking down at me. The lingerie is worse than being naked. Her eyes drink in my body. She runs a hand up my leg. I whimper and flinch away from her touch. She reaches between my legs. She looks me in the eyes as her fingers begin to explore my helpless flesh. I close my eyes when I feel her fingers slide inside. Suddenly a hand brutally twists a breast.
She snarls, “Look at me while I rape you!”
I scream, eyes snapping open. I look at her, my body suddenly trembling. I watch her face. Eager and excited, she slowly strips me. Some pieces are easy to remove, others are ripped from my body. In the end I’m left with nothing. I was wrong. Lingerie was better.
I watch the pleasure on her face with a combination of rage, fear, and embarrassment. I’ve never had a lover enjoy the sight of my body as much as she is. Of course, back then I could say no. Perhaps that’s the difference.
Suddenly gentle, she plays with my breasts. First with her hands, then by licking and sucking. Her hands caress my body while her mouth teases my nipples. My body reacts. I’m not to blame when my body reacts to stimulation. I don’t like it. I don’t deserve it. It even makes sense. Fear makes you more aware of your body and has a strange effect on your emotions. I know it’s nothing to be ashamed of…
But it’s the only thing I have left. She has taken everything from me, and now she is controlling my body. Despair. Anger. Humiliation. Misery. They all flood my mind. Tears drip down my face as I lay there. Her attention moves down. Her careful touch and constant attention have left my body much more sensitive than normal. Ready for a lover’s touch. The relentless sensations drive me on, closer and closer to orgasm. I bite my lip, trying to ignore her invading fingers. Her persistent tongue.
My orgasm hits. I scream in helpless frustrated pleasure. It’s the most intense one I’ve ever had. As I crest, everything changes. The hand teasing a nipple suddenly grinds a thumbnail into it. The gentle sucking on my clit turns into teeth as she bites down and pulls. Two gentle fingers exploring my vagina turn into four fingernails grinding into my sensitive labia. My scream turns into pure pain. For several long minutes, nothing changes. Neither my screams nor her sadistically painful touch.
The pain ends. For a moment nothing happens, but then she kisses me. Her tongue tastes of my pussy, but I don’t dare resist. Better this than her teeth.
“That was fun Twat, but now it’s time for the main event.”
I’m surprised when she forces the ball gag back into my mouth. The surprise turns into terror when she holds up a large box of pins.
“This box holds a thousand. I wonder how many it’ll take before I cum?”
She strips then straddles my head, facing my body. Her pussy grinds into my face once, then sits still. My heart hammers in my chest. I’ve got to escape! I have no leverage. I can’t throw her off. I’m as helpless as I was on the wooden beam, but I’m far more exposed. My panicked breathing is loud in my ears. I flinch at her soft caress. Fear thick in my throat.
She gently pinches my clit, hard enough to hold it in place, but not so hard that it hurts. Apparently she isn’t going to start slow. I feel the sharp pain of the needle. I whimper as she drives it in. The sensation is strange. There is more than the pain. Hospital needles are razor sharp and slide through flesh effortlessly.
Pins slide and catch. She places another pin against my clit and begins to push. First, I feel the point, sharp and painful. The pressure slowly builds, pushing against my skin. It indents, forming a cone. It’s the most painful part, and I whimper that pain into her crotch. Relief comes when it breaks through my skin. The pressure needed to pierce my skin is much more than what is required to move through my flesh. When the pin breaks through, the indention springs back to normal, that action drives it deep into my body, even though her hand doesn’t move. Once the pin is inside me it catches again. The building pressure is painful, but my flesh quickly gives way. It slides into me. It stops. Pain filled pressure builds. Release. It catches again. Painful pressure. Release.
I lay there, helpless, in pain, whimpering with each new pin. Finally, she begins a slow grind. Her orgasm is my only escape. This isn’t like before. The first time she raped me it was intense pain. I wasn’t aware of anything else, just the pain. This hurts less, but it’s constantly changing. She is finished with my clit. At least for now. My left nipple. That’s her next target. One through the center, then she pushes them in at an angle. She does the same for my right nipple. By the time she finishes, her grinding is frantic, and she is gasping for breath. Please cum. Please.
She suddenly freezes, body clenching in ecstasy. Thank God. After a long moment she relaxes, breathing heavily. I lay there, waiting impatiently for her to dismount. The cold part of my mind noting that I barely noticed the liquid coating my face. The scent of her musk. Her pussy. Fear and pain pushed me past it all.
She slides back far enough to see my face and says, “If you’re curious, it took 75 pins. I wonder how many the next one will take!”
Ignoring my sudden panicked struggles, she slides back into place, and the slow grind starts over. Sobbing, unable to bear anymore, but terrified of speaking, I feel helpless in a way that transcends any physical state.
She pulls one of my pussy lips straight and tight, I scream when she slowly forces a needle through it. She didn’t go through the thin piece of skin as expected. She went the other way… through the entire length of flesh.
It’s a new level of pain. Like before, pain builds with the initial pressure, but this time there is no catch and release. It just builds. The pin slowly sides in without release. The pain just keeps building until she finishes with the needle and does it again. And again. I’m lost in the pain. A long helpless rising scream followed by a few gasping moments of relief while she picks up the next one. Then the pain, the scream, and another short break.
Her second orgasm coincides with the last needle. Both lips are stretched tight, and I’m gasping in pain. Her body locks, trembling in ecstasy, then she collapses, squirming with pleasure, driving the needles deeper. I scream in new agony. Her pleasure filled gasps slow.
Eventually she slides off, every movement causing a new wave of pain. Once again, her eyes roam my exposed body. Grinning, she strokes some of the many needles. I tremble and whimper. She quietly hums to herself as she removes them. She pulls them out, one at a time. Sometimes she twists them before pulling them out. Sometimes she pushes them deeper, only to remove them later. The pain is sharp, but I don’t protest, even as her amused smile widens. Compared to placing them, it’s almost kind.
I keep comparing my recent memories to the time before. So different. My life is full of emotions and sensations. So strong. So vivid. But my old memories are dull and faded. They can’t be real.
Finished with the needles, she puts them back in a drawer, and takes out a larger strap-on, and slowly walks towards me, an amused smile on her face. Fuck, it’s much larger than the small one she used last time. My panicked breathing is loud and fast. My heart thunders in my ears. Oh, God, please no. Not again. It hurt so fucking much.
Her fingers run through the slime coating my face. She removes the ball gag and slides her slick fingers inside my mouth. She pushes more and more of her tart cum down my throat. I’m happy for any delay. She speaks to me as her fingers play with my mouth.
“Should I release you, relax on the bed, and enjoy a nice old-fashioned fucking. Slow and gentle at first, but hard and fast at the end. Does my little Twat want to fuck me to heaven?”
I quickly nod my head. Yes. Please! That sounds so much better than everything else we have done.
She releases the chain and frees my legs. Finally, she lifts me up and takes off the handcuffs.
She passes the strap-on over, and lays back, eyes hooded, smirking up at me.
The straps confuse me at first, but I figure out how to put it on and move into missionary position. I’ve always loved this position, it’s so intimate. You can’t help but look into your lovers’ eyes. I’ve never experienced it from this side. My heart pounds as I gently slide in, trying to ignore the painful rubbing against my tender flesh. I’m far more sensitive than normal. I begin to gently rock. Making love to my Mistress.
She whispers, “Look into my eyes.”
Brown sounds so common and plain, but her eyes are incredible. Dark and light shades dance in her eyes, an intricate pattern of colors like chocolate swirled with caramel. Beautiful and sweet.
Her legs wrap around me, pulling me tight. I move faster. She rides me as I ride her. Both of us gasping with pleasure. Her hands cup my bouncing breasts and she plays with them. My nipples are already hard and sensitive. Both from her cruel needles and from this intimate moment. I whimper at the painful pleasure.
I lean down and kiss her, she tastes wonderful. My tongue explores her mouth, wordlessly begging her to stay with me. Her hand cups my cheek, and I lean into the touch. I adjust my stance, using her legs for support, and my left hand as a brace. My right hand gently caresses her cheek.
I kiss my way down her neck, tasting the beads of sweat on her skin. Lick my way up her breast, gently sucking and teasing her nipple.
Thrusting into her, I move faster and faster. She rides the wave, but I hold my pleasure back. Mistress is more important than me. Mistress always comes first. Mistress cums first. She screams her pleasure, body arching against me, fingernails carving her ecstasy into my back. I join her. Sobbing, tears falling, and I don’t know why. I’ve never experienced anything so real and wonderful.
I collapse, holding her in my arms, panting with exhaustion, hoping I pleased her. We lay there in companionable silence. I drift off to sleep, gently stroking her body.
I wake to the sound of Mistress filling my water dish. She drops two raw potatoes into my food bowl before walking over and patting me on the head. I’m happy, she seems pleased.
“You are a good girl. The bed is yours, at least for now.”
I grin, nodding happily.
She says, “You earned a truly special treat. You may speak one sentence. I’ll answer any question as truthfully as I can. Consider your words carefully. I may never give you another chance.”
My cold mind has so many questions. Finally, it decides to ask about our location, and Mistresses name. I ignore it. I know what I want to say.
“Mistress, I love you.”
She leans down and kisses me. Our tongues dance. I gently stroke my fingers along her skin, down her body, and softly caress her butt. Meanwhile, her hands cup my breasts, thumbs stroking my nipples until they harden.
Pinching my nipples between her thumbs and forefingers she suddenly grinds her thumbnail into me. I whimper into her mouth. She pulls harder, twisting in opposite directions, and I scream. It seems impossible for so much pain to come from a couple fingers, but she is my Mistress. I’m sure she can cause even more. As though she can read my mind, Mistress thumbnail suddenly breaks skin and I writhe in agony.
After a long moment, she releases me.
I sit. Crying. The gouges from her fingernails slowly fill with blood and drip down my breasts.
She grabs my chin and forces me to look up into her eyes.
“Do you still love me?”
I start to nod my head, but this is to important. I’m willing to accept her punishment. I meet her eyes. I want her to understand the truth of my words.
I say, “Mistress, I’ll always love you. You are the only real thing in my world.”
She smiles a contented smile, then walks to a drawer and takes out the strap-on that caused so much pain the first time I was blessed by her touch.
She sets it on the bed next to me and says, “Remind me to start with that when I return.”
I nod happily. Mistress will return! I watch Mistress leave.
My cold mind no longer feels cold. It’s a burning furnace of rage. If it doesn’t love Mistress, it’s my enemy. I ruthlessly begin to destroy that part of me. It screams in agony, but I ignore it.
Alone in my head, I watch the door close.
A few seconds later the lights go out.
The white room turns black.
I wait for her to return.
I want her to return.
I am nothing.
She is all.
My Mistress is the world.