by Ratadder
I lay here and the silence breaks only when I shatter it myself.
My voice I don't choose to use. Why bother? When I'm alone, it
just underlines the helplessness, to hear my voice speaking in
empty rooms. To hear myself talking to no one is to break out of
this place inside my mind, to be yanked out from hiding, to lose
the thin cotton-covering of my inward focus.
Small protection, but I take what I can, when I can. When you're
flayed bare any protection is ...something.
And when I'm not alone? Speaking is not required. Not anymore. Not
allowed. Another fine reason to stay silent now. Training.
Practice.
But the ambient noise I sometimes can't avoid. Links of metal
chains scrape against each other if I so much as shift. I don't
want to, but my muscles protest my instinct to lay perfectly
still. Every tiny metallic chink brings me back to my body, my
physicality... all that I am now. Back to my bonds, as if the
thick bands of leather, snug at ankles and wrist, weren't enough
of a reminder.
Shift. Clink.
I don't want to be in my body. Not until I'm forced. Not now. Not
yet. Not while time is still meaningless. Not when I have no idea
how long I will lay, lashed down and open, this cloth over my eyes
the only covering anywhere on me. Surrounded by darkness, even
with my eyes open. Black on black and when I think too much about
that it takes everything in me to stay calm, stay still. To
remember my place. I'm not in a hole in the ground.
I'm in a hole in my soul.
But I'm not underground. Madness may be close, but not that
particular madness. This dark is thick but warm. This dark tastes
different. This dark is defined, purposeful. It has an end... of
sorts. Then a beginning again, over and over, but always an end. A
promised end. A threatened end.
I wonder not for the first time if this makes it better, or worse.
My lack of sight helps to make the tiniest of sounds threaten the
encompassing silence. My head when it rolls on the sheet, the soft
susurrus of my hair against cloth... my breathing... the sound of
my throat working when I swallow...
Shift. Clink.
And here I am again. In myself. Present and feeling my limbs,
feeling the cuffs, feeling the position I'm stretched in. Not
uncomfortably. Just uncomfortably open. Accessible. I refuse the
small moan that wants to leave my throat, hating the tingle
coursing through my groin at the acknowledgment. Accessible. The
slight range of movement provided by the chains almost makes it
worse... I think it would be better if they held me stretched to
my limit, unmoving, taut. But then I'm always thinking something
else would be better than what is. So far I've usually been wrong.
But the fact that I can move... just so far... it invites the
twitch of my muscles, makes the catch when the chain reaches its
limit all the more hopeless... all the more final. Makes
uncomfortable warmth pool in my crotch.
Shift. Clink. Catch...
Not the sounds I wait for, endlessly. The sounds I know are
coming. Eventually. He's coming. When, I don't know. Time...
time... I laugh, then wince, swallowing it back quickly, trying to
wriggle back into my head, out of my body. Let time fade again, to
a surreal backdrop. When? When. When he gets here. There is no
other time for me. Time is a continuum of when he is here, and
when he isn't here.
But I do know he's coming.
He must be coming.
A man I once owned, owns me. Holds a much more tangible leash than
the nanocyte lead I jerked and tugged at my leisure. Even when
he's not here, he's here. No matter where I retreat internally,
he's there waiting for me. He's crawled inside me and I'll never
be rid of him. Even when I get out of here. If I ever get out of
here. Maybe I won't. Maybe he'll keep me.
At this stage, I can think of worse things. I won't be of much use
for anything else. Not now. Not anymore. Not after... this.
I hate these thoughts. I hate when my own thoughts scare me more
than his voice. Too much time on my hands. On my hand? Too much
time and dark and almost-silence to keep my mind from twisting in
on itself and playing out the endless reel of my choices and my
choices and my choices.
The choices I made knowing what they meant and the choices I made
thinking I knew and the choices I made already regretting them
and the choices I made from necessity and the choices I made in
anger and in stupidity and in arrogance...
And the choices I made that landed me here.
Stupidity? Arrogance? Necessity? Some combination of all? None of
the above?
Want?
A deal with the devil for a soul I counted cheap. A soul already
sold and gone and defective anyway. Damaged, like shop-soiled
goods presented as worthwhile merchandise with an actual fair
price value. Me, giggling madly inside at the con I was offering.
How was I supposed to know it was still in there... still
reachable... still vulnerable. Still wanting.
So now I bow again before his stone authority. Our previous
bureaucratic imbalance of power an ironic counterpoint to our
current... arrangement. That the balance shifted to me in the
interim is more of a cruel joke, a poking reminder of my own
mistakes, my own-
And between one breath and the next, whether it's been three
minutes or three hours or three days, he's here. I can smell him.
The air changes, charges. Suddenly, I feel hot. Stillness is
almost impossible now, and so much more important. Before I can
control it my breath is louder and faster in my own ears.
Oh god.
The door is well-oiled for just this reason. The carpet thick and
absorbing his steps. I never hear him arrive. My sense spin. I
have no idea where he is, I just know he is here.
The interminable wait is over, and as usual, I suddenly can't
imagine why I wanted it to end. The soft, warm, dark quiet seems a
safe haven I instantly want back, even though moments ago I
couldn't bear it. Something crawls just under my skin, something I
refuse to call fear even as I scent it in the light sweat
springing up all over me. My throaty swallow sounds obscenely loud
and I press my lips together to try to force my breathing through
my nose, slower... slower...
All I succeed in doing is flaring my nostrils and drowning in the
aroma of my own fear as my lungs continue to suck air rapidly. The
dark surrounding me is no longer a source of potential panic, not
when real panic stands so close.
He lets me wait. Knowing.
And even as I regret wanting this now that it is here, the wanting
grows sharper within. An ache. The ache. Low down and so deep, so
very deep. My gut tightens and then the dull thwap of leather
snapping against leather close by makes everything tighten, makes
my breath catch on a not-quite-gasp.
Close, so close... where? Something brushes me and I tense then
try to force my muscles to relax. Fingers, slightly rough despite
a desk job. Thick, warm, rounded, and so gentle. Stroking,
tracing... ah fuck... tracing the old wounds, all the wounds.
Every single one, unerring. Each and every scar that I know
without my eyes because I've lived with them in the mirror. The
white lines, the pink lines, the raised and the flat. The ones
that remain slightly numb and the ones that have faded to only a
visible mark, but that still call up the memory of the original
hurt when his fingers coast, when his palm smoothes. Teasing,
teasing. Coaxing a twitching response from thickening flesh left
pointedly untouched. Up and down, the stroking, all over my torso
and sides and arm and I can't stop, I can't stay quiet, I can feel
my quivering, and no... not there... not...
I can't keep still, can't keep the racking shudder from coursing
through me as that hand touches there, that place, that ugly
emptiness. His hand slides possessively over shifting numbness and
sensation, and phantom nerves jerk and tingle. I want to plead
with him to stop, not there, anywhere but there, but words can't
come even if I would let them out, because I can barely breathe.
Don'tdon'tdon't... please...
And then it's gone and something... something else is trailing
down my leg, startling me with the sudden change, making my skin
tingle, making my thighs ache to pull inward, to close. Tickling
down, more than one strand, individual tracks tracing, teasing,
all the way to my foot and back up my other leg, sliding over my
thigh, between my legs and... oh god...
It's all I can do to lay still as the languid strips tangle and
catch in the hair at my crotch, pulling just enough to coax
another impossible contraction from my inner thigh muscles.
Swirling then, buttery soft brushes over my filling cock and jesus
when did I get that hard. The contact is exquisite and unexpected,
and a small, hoarse cry is yanked from my throat as the leather
drags maddeningly slowly over my obediently responsive flesh.
Gone. I catch my breath and try to keep my mouth closed. Try to
regulate my breathing through my nose again. Pace myself. My body
is simmering already. My blood pounds through me and every nerve
ending quivers. I hear him moving but nothing touches me.
Something clinks... my chains?... but I lay perfectly still,
inviting no rebuke. My cock is surging, hardening further without
any tactile encouragement, so well-trained I want to scream, cry,
rail at him.
Rail at myself.
Instead I stay still. Quiet. Waiting.
"Roll over."
That voice. Ah god, that rough, low voice. A relief I didn't know
I was waiting for rolls through me like a spring-thaw flood. I
never remember until something confirms that it's him... I never
remember the fears that grip me in shadowed moments. That one of
these times it won't be him. That he'll have loaned me out, having
figured out how much of a punishment that would be, perhaps come
along to stand by and watch... comment... offer knowing
suggestions... snicker and taunt while my body is expertly worked
by another...
But it's him. Which should be no relief at all, really. And I'm
moving before I consciously tell my limbs to do so, reacting to
the soft command on instinct, moaning my relief and my fear.
Rolling to my left, my shackled right wrist drags the chain across
the straight metal rod at the head of the bed, with a smooth hiss
of metal moving easily. One of the few time the lack of the left
arm helps rather than hinders. The chains attached to my ankles
drag against each other as I roll to my stomach, my cock welcoming
the press of the bed, snuggling into the warm contact. Already my
legs are spreading of their own will and I hear the chinking
finality as he refastens each chain, widening my thighs further as
he secures my ankles.
And the leather is back, gliding faster over the backs of my legs
now, tormenting my inner thighs yet again from this new and no
less harrowing angle. Teasing my ass, trailing between the cheeks,
then over each, again and again, then lifting away and... FUCK!
The sear of the strike on my ass brings a helpless grunt, and I
hate the noise more than the pain. The noise means lack of
control. I can't be losing it already. I desperately try to
swallow all sound but the lash is back, landing again, landing
harder, and the lines of fire double across my ass and I don't
quite manage silence. My ass pulses more than my cock as each
individual stripe from the flogger sings loudly.
The first are always the worst, I always think. Until the rest
come.
But that hand is back, stroking, stroking. I shiver under the
gentle touch, the heat diffusing to a generalized thrum, settling
pleasantly, my entire ass tingling. His palm caresses each cheek
separately... soothingly... and it's work not to press back into
it. Then it's gone and...
Fire... oh god it's worse, it's heat, pain, pain, heat, the
lashes come fast and regular, and I can't stop the moans, my ass
burns, each angle slightly different, hitting new flesh, crossing
earlier welts. I can't... I can't... I buck and surge under the
flying fire, my bonds keeping me anchored wide as the straps paint
my thighs with liquid heat and I grunt and groan and holler into
the bed when my assflesh is tormented yet again on the flogger's
journey up to my shoulders. My arm wrenches against the chain as I
jerk anew, but the pain in my remaining wrist is nothing to the
swelling ache that blossoms fresh with each agonizing lick, each
penetrating snap that echoes in my ears.
No settling, no thrumming, no tingle. No pause lets any of the
pleasanter after-affects rise. Pain ripples through me in
ever-widening circles and still the blows continue. Constantly
shifting attention keeps my entire backside alive and sizzling,
but always returns to my tortured ass and I twist and writhe
desperately, hearing my own moans and yelps but as helpless to
stop them as I am to evade the strap catching me from every side,
every conceivable angle. Stopstopstop... enough, I'm burning
alive, roasting... my ass is steaming... flares of pain exploding
unbearably now with every slash of the leather and-
Gone. Gasping, trembling, face pressed to the bed. Hand, fingers,
oh sweet, oh heaven... that gentle hand, calming then stirring my
raw, rioting nerves, chasing sparks across my skin. I can't keep
still. I can't. I try but my hips are responding and oh, so hard,
I'm so hard... the blood pooling thickly in my groin, chased there
by the strapping, throbbing in my cock... that hand so delicious,
dragging out the burn... the sheet so soft the bed so firm and
muscles pull tight and I'm squirming, thighs spreading, knees
digging, hips thrusting, pressing, rubbing, cock hot and hard and
humping the mattress... oh yes... heat surges and I'm so
achingly aroused, so ready, so-
"Don't move until I tell you."
The hand leaves and I want to whimper but I still on command.
Obey. My cock screams a protest, wanting to rub, to chafe, take
advantage of the full press of trapped contact, burrow against the
now-damp sheet, grind in frantic rhythm. Laying still is a purer
torture than the flogging. My balls ache, swollen full and heavy,
pulsing gently in time with the teeming blood heating my ass, my
thighs, my back. Still. Stay still.
"Up on your knees."
No. Oh god no... not this... don't... I can't... no...
"Mmm...nuh..."
I groan it aloud before I can bite my tongue and my punishment for
forgetting myself is swift and harsh. The hand that lands on my so
sore right asscheek sends waves of impossible fiery pain through
my ass and I almost bounce against the bed, sinking my teeth into
my tongue and swallowing my whimper.
"Was that a complaint?"
My entire body shudders before I can recapture my stillness, and I
lift my head enough to shake it no. No words. No voice. I have no
voice. My tongue is for him alone. He decides how I use it. Obey.
Just obey.
"Then get up."
The quiet, harsh words pull my muscles into compliance.
Obeyobeyobey... sings my mind, panicky. I can feel something
pulling apart inside me, inside my chest, inside my head. I can
guess what's coming. And I can't... I can't take it... it's too
much too soon after the last time. No protection. It's all gone...
worn away by a cruel, ruthless expertise I didn't expect, didn't
suspect, until it was far far too late. I've got nothing left,
nothing to hold to, nothing to hide behind... nothing but
obedience to the punishment. Give. Bend. Break...
Blind and obedient, I kneel up slowly, instantly mourning the loss
of pressure against my erection, balancing awkwardly on my only
hand. I hear the rustle, feel the brushes as the sling is pulled
beneath me. Want to scream, but won't. Don't. I breathe through my
nose and try to center my wildly spinning mind as I hear him
working, connecting up the sling to its supports.
"Lie down."
I sink forward, knowing what to expect, feeling my chest then
stomach come into contact, letting the smooth, strong material
catch me up inches above the bed. My arm muscles relax, my legs go
limp, the sling supports me from chin to groin. Suspended, my feet
and fingers brushing the bed, the darkness somehow feels more
complete, surrounding me... I'm weightless, hanging, helpless.
I've been helpless all along. Why does the sling make it worse?
And I have my answer as he adjusts the sling, adjusts my legs,
making sure the sling catches me just at the hip bones, my chained
legs dangling... and worse... the worst yet... the heavy weight of
my engorged cock and balls swaying helplessly between my spread
thighs. Pendulous. Exposed. Aching. Nothing to rub against, press
against, rest against... not even my own thigh or stomach... their
own heaviness pulling them down and keeping them from touching
anything at all. I want to twist and writhe again, my arousal
intensifying absurdly now that nothing can so much as brush my
throbbing flesh, dangling in midair. I lay as still as I possibly
can, inviting no further punishment in this position. I bite my
lip, my cheeks feeling as hot as my ass, as his big hands reach
between my legs, under me, and humiliatingly adjust me there as
well... impersonally... underscoring just how helpless I am, how I
exist for his pleasure.
Spread out for him on display, ass-up and chained down, and I
can't help but picture how I must look from where he stands and I
mentally cringe all over again.
I groan as his businesslike touch makes the contact all the
worse... a deep, involuntary sound ripped from my throat as I long
to thrust my begging organ against that disdainful hand. I won't,
I can't... stay stillstillstill... no movement. But it's too late
already, the groan my undoing, and his hands change subtly, his
touch lingering, altering. My inability to close my legs, to
protect myself in any way, makes the touch more invasive and makes
me whimper in my head. I curse my inability to stay silent and
wish for a gag. He never gives me a gag anymore. He knows... he
knows...
And this is doing no good. No mental effort at distraction can
block the incredible sensations of his suddenly
entirely-too-personal fingers, palms, as both hands play between
my stretched legs gleefully. One surrounds my balls, and my
swollen flesh spills over his hand, his teasing fingers rubbing my
distended sac from all sides, cupping tenderly with his palm. His
other hand wraps warmly around my thick hanging cock, not too
loose, not too tight, snug and delicious, daring me to thrust as
he coaxes ripples of glorious sensation that reverberate through
my groin. Toomuchtoomuch... can't stay still... every muscle in my
body tremors with the effort to remain motionless as both hands
fondle and stroke me like a tolerated pet kitten, his thumb
teasing, teasing over the tip of my cock, finding the hot, telling
fluid there.
That constant, helpless leaking of my cock intensifies my sense of
my own lack of control, of my body's traitorous, carefully-tutored
response to him. The wetness embarrasses me, makes the whimpering
louder in my head, sends me scrambling backwards into the dark
even as it anchors me in my sensations. Whether he knows or not,
his hand strokes over my pulsating ass, quieting my internal
struggle, leaving my cock and balls to swing free and untouched
again... bereft.
The hand glides over me, up my back, and he's moving. I barely
have time to breathe relief that I kept still through his petting
before I feel his grip twisting painfully in my hair, a harsh hold
tilting my head and keeping me right where he wants me. A wash of
aroma suddenly floods my darkness and I suck in hungrily through
my nose... taste him at the back of my throat... heady musk of
leather and him, oh him... testosterone scents the air and my
cock twitches in instinctive, hated response. I've smelled many
men, but that he should make my mouth water makes a scream
ricochet off the inside of my skull. The more he debases me the
more I respond and even my hate wears thin when-
"Take it. Swallow it. No gagging."
The command tears through me, all thought stops. Obedience surges
to the fore. I learn well, eventually, and that tone I recognize.
My body recognizes almost quicker than my brain, tactile memory of
the consequences of past disobedience bypassing my neurons and
parting my lips. The smooth nudge of his cock presses against my
lips and invades, always bigger than I remember, no pause for me
to adjust. The sharp taste of him overwhelms me and his sharper
hiss accompanies a jerk of fingers tangled tightly in my hair. I
can't say if the tug of pain in my scalp or the sound of his
displeasure transmits the warning, but I instantly realize my
mistake and panic, relaxing my jaw further, stretching wider,
working my lips over my teeth to cushion his erection. My tongue
slurps noisily, and I start to pull at him rhythmically, sucking
at the hot, hard flesh with no preliminaries. I know what he wants
from me, and this isn't about showing finesse or talent. It's
about opening, taking him in, letting him rend me apart, and I
do... I do...
But he wants more. My energetic suckling merely delays the
inevitable and without warning he's thrusting... his hand holds my
head immobile and this, this is what it's really about... it's
about lying still and spreading wide, taking the face-fucking I
deserve, while he treats me like the debased fuckhole I am.
Reminding me of my place, who I am, why I'm here, why he's here,
why he's doing this to me, why I need it, why I take it, why I
deserve it... why I want it... and oh god that's the worst...
This is punishment, boy, and don't you forget it.
His cock drives deeper, scraping the roof of my mouth and forcing
its way down my throat, battering and burning and I can't suck it
in and my throat muscles constrict and
ohfuckcan'tbreathecan'tbreathe... don'tpanic... and
thrustthrustthrust... open... take it, take it, take it...
nogagging... and I know that means nofuckinggaggingorelse and I
fight the reflex trained out of me. I blank out everything and
become the hole, take the battering as best I can, reaction tears
soaking my blindfold... concentrate on trying to stay open,
sucking air wetly through my nose each instant he pulls back to
thrust again. It takes all I have, all I am, I have no sense of
anything else and the sudden rip of fire across my back and ass
shocks me breathless all over again. My eyes are wide open in
shock and staring into bottomless black and my raw skin screams
for mercy as the flogger strikes in steady time with each
plundering thrust of his cock down my aching, crushedglass throat.
The moans come involuntarily, pumped up from my chest like
helpless, living things, writhing muffled around my mouthful,
throatful-
GONE... all gone... just as suddenly as that first strike of
leather, and my emptied mouth stays open and gasping, saliva
dripping down my puffy lips, my lungs bursting with fresh air, but
I'm still the hole... his hole, his bruised and open hole. My
shoulders and ass teem and throb, each awakened stripe hotter than
the burn surrounding it. I come back to myself slowly and my teeth
click together as my exhausted jaw collapses on itself, catching
back the small whimpers still coursing through me. I snuffle
against my full sinuses and swallow carefully, my abraded throat
protesting but needing the moisture. The taste of him permeates my
mouth, my nose. Inside me, all through me... he takes me over,
again and again, and there's a freedom in his ownership I've never
known...
Where is he? I can hear... I work to center myself, but I feel
tattered and soulscared. He's a master at this, at the sudden
shifts, the changing attacks. He's taken me apart piece by piece
by piece by piece so many times now... sometimes taking slow,
sexsoaked hours upon hours, sometimes finishing quick and brutal.
And the dark silence between the dismantlings hasn't been enough
to put myself back together anymore. Each time I come apart
quicker, and the pieces scatter further, it's harder to regroup...
harder to hold anything back...
Where is he... I know what must be coming, I know what must be
next... I slow my breathing with an effort, my ears tuning
desperately for the slightest clue, but the minute sounds he makes
as he moves through the room only tell me he is beside me rather
than in front of me now. They provide no warning at all for the
sudden hand delving into the crack of my sore ass proprietarily,
spreading my cheeks with that same casual, impersonal touch. And
as much as I knew it was coming eventually, it's still
devastating, every time. He forces the soft, tenderized flesh
apart with thumb on one side, fingers on the other, and I want to
wriggle impossibly at the invasion, the affront, at the feel of my
asshole being exposed so easily.
My face flames again.
Oh god no, oh yes... oh please. I can't... I need it, please
don't... My entire awareness is instantly back in my groin, my
blood-congested pelvis, my primed ass... and my brutalized throat
fades to nothing with reproachful twinges. My mind screams with
familiar confused panic while my body instantly responds with
shameful acquiescence. His one hand holds me exposed, his other
fingers press directly into my hole, and I feel the slickness of
warm lube easing their slide as my anus stretches readily around
them.
Being stroked open in this position makes me press my burning face
into the sling, the humiliating sensation of defenselessness
overshadowed only by the terrible, galling knowledge that the lube
is only the smallest part of the reason he probes so easily. My
puckered hole welcomes the two thick fingers working in and out,
welcomes them with an eagerness, an openness, that scalds me. I
desperately want to ride back against the prodding intrusion...
yes, there, oh god yes, more...
The feel of his fingers just there, inside me, answers the ache
that started up with the thrashing, that started up when I felt
his presence in the room, that started up before he even showed up
today... the hated ache that never really goes away. Not anymore.
That it's him makes it so much worse. That it's him makes it
as good as it is. That it's him making me feel this... helpless
and at his mercy and his mercy doesn't exist. It's so goddamn good
and I can't stand it, not one more time, I hate the pure want
boiling up within me, spreading through me. His insistence on my
pleasure is the cruelest punishment of all. He won't let me deny
any of it, not even to myself...
His fingers leave me breathless and my asshole flutters as he
withdraws, and I squirm in desperate embarrassment all over again.
I'm empty and I need to be filled and if I could hate this I'd be
safer but he makes me want it so bad. And then he's there...
cockhead nudging, hands gripping my throbbing ass cheeks firmly,
holding them wide, and then pressing... easing past the loosened
gate with an ease that makes me whimper.
He mounts me and one steady thrust and oh god he's in, that
cock... that cock... so full sofull too much... oh glorious...
riding into me, pushing me open and stuffing me full, stretching
me, all the way in, no pause, bigger even than in my mouth and I
take it all and can't stop moaning. Oh fuck oh fuck... the feeling
the feeling, the feeling is insane, I'm insane, I'm his, he owns
this ass, and as if at the thought my ass muscles spasm,
tightening helplessly on the thick column of flesh impaling me,
owning me... it shrivels my soul that he can make me feel this,
make me want this feeling, over and over, and I need it so bad,
fill me fill me fill me up with your anger and your power and your
revenge and your hate and your cock...
He stays perfectly still and my plundered ass can do nothing but
accept, his balls resting hot and heavy against my aching sac. I
try to relax fully but my ass wants to remind me of how big he is,
how hard, how full I am... gripping and tightening... and the
intensity of the feeling makes me long to squirm but I stay as
still as he is, obedient, obedient. Oh please, I'm being good,
aren't I... please... I can be good, I can... I can do this right.
Let me show you, let me make it up, take it all... take all I can
give. Fuck me hard but just fuck me... take me there, take me
out of me... make me beg, make me scream, make me need...
Make me pay...
I'm only what he makes me... I'm clay, thrown spinning on the
wheel while he molds and kneads and pinches the soft sticky stuff
of me, working my body to his satisfaction...
He pulls out and then he's back, oh that cock, the slow slide and
thrust dragging over my prostate with agonizing sureness... and
out... and in, and every penetration is as bad as the first, as
good as the first, as sweet and hot and wet and terrible...
opening me all over again, all the way in and I can't take it but
I have no choice, it's all that I am. His hands tighten on my ass
cheeks, fingers biting into the inflamed plumpness, and I curse
not for the first time the easy handholds my body provides.
Holding me wide open makes his thrusts all the more there, as if
they need the help, but my asshole can't contract even if it
wanted to and my slicked flesh throbs with need. Thrust and pull
out, in and back out, and I whimper with the itching ache
pulsing up inside me where his cock teases again and again.
I want to watch it going in, I want to watch my ass take it, watch
him pound my pink opening, watch my flesh give and accept... I
whine and instantly try to close down the thought but the mental
images are there, here in the dark with me, and I'm too far gone
for any form of control and it ratchets up my arousal another
impossible notch. My breath comes in ragged gasps and I'm mewling
before I can stop, a helpless inarticulate sound with each
inthrust but he doesn't seem to mind and I couldn't stop even if
he did and his cock just keeps riding, pumping, slow measured
drives that angle just right every time and my own cock throbs
with every nudge against that gland... even though I know he's
not even trying because it's not about my pleasure, the pleasure
is just part of the punishment. The punishment... my swollen and
tender balls protest every slap of his against them... overfull
from too many rounds of this game, even this is too much for them.
This time... yes... this time, please, please, I can't take this
anymore, I need, I've been good, I know I deserve it, I know I
need it, but I've been so good, I've tried so hard, I've paid,
haven't I... haven't I paid enough...
"...please..."
I hear but hardly recognize my voice in the word, the plea... my
lips are moving against the sling but nothing else makes it past
my throat, my mind can't string a coherent thought let alone
sentence and the only thing beating through my brain is more of
the same please... pleasepleaseplease... oh god please...
And my answer comes in the form of a band wrapping snuggly around
the base of my cock and snapping tight with a tiny, deadly click.
NOOOOOOOOO... oh god NO...
A wordless, keening whine rises and I bite the sling and whimper
as the cock ring instantly intensifies the throbbing in my
erection, the trapped blood pounding in the impossibly swelling
flesh. Release denied, this cock is his... just a small
reminder. My head shakes in pleading negation but I know better
than to complain or vocalize. Ican'tIcan't... my hips are twisting
against my will but my cock... my hand jerks against its chain
helplessly, helplessly reaching, anything to touch that tortured
flesh, that-
I freeze... what the fuck... oh GOD... something... oh oh oh
oh... my entire body trembles, my throat forming helpless "unh"s
as something brushes my bursting cock and balls. Something
unbearable. Oh god oh god what is this... wings of bees, rose
petals, Mulderlips... soft and silky and barely there but so
there... everywhere... surrounding my fat cock, my heavy sac,
grazing every surface of my dangling sex-
Oh FUCK... he's back, he's in, I'm stuffed with that cock, he's
thrusting up my ass and my nerve endings scream overload and oh
god it's it's it's... it's torture of course it's torture but I
can't TAKE IT... I can't stop it but I can't take it and groans
rip through me as every thrust fills me, rocks my body in the
gently swaying sling and my cock and balls bounce and swing
through thisthisthis... sensation, back and forth and back and
forth and back through thethethe...
Feathers... oh fuck it's feathers... all over my crotch, just my
crotch...
It's hell... it's everywhere... my crotch is surrounded and
there's no escape... I'm... I can't... I can't stop, I cry out, my
mouth won't close, I can't stop, can't stop crying out, over and
over, can't stop gasping and every thrust forces my ass open,
every thrust moves me, every thrust teases tickling touches up and
down and all over my bound cock, my turgid balls. The torment
knows no end, no beginning no edges no limits and my cries fill
the room, fill my ears. My cock pulsates with a frantic life all
it's own and the cock ring ensures the agony... my balls pulling
up helplessly but no release, nothing but this constant-
The heavy slap of his hand against my ass has me yelping, has me
jumping in the sling, jerking helplessly and my bonds hold me
fast, there's nowhere to go and my ass is on fire and my cock...
my cock... my cock is...
Oh help me oh help me I can't... this is perfection, intolerable
perfection... my cock... my ass... I can't stand it for one more
second but it doesn't stop and I have no choice but to endure and
I just take it and take it and no matter how much I think I can't
there's no end and I just do...
His hands strike again and again, one cheek then the other, and
the pain chases the pleasure chases the torment chases the... I'm
on overload... he's moving faster, cock and hands, and I can't
breathe but I'm still choking and crying out and my yelps become
sobs and my tears saturate the blindfold and course my cheeks. My
ass is fucked and spanked and spanked and fucked and I'm twisting
and wriggling and no movement can get me away from the maddening
titillation of those feathers kissing my cock, licking my balls-
And he's coming, jerking, I hear his roar of pleasure, completion,
triumph... and I sob anew... it's over... I'm in pieces on the
floor, destroyed, shattered. His fingers squeeze my inflamed
cheeks and his hips rock hard against my spread ass in final
spasms, and I squirm helplessly, trying for something, anything, I
need more, I need touch, I need release, I need I need I need
Ineedneedneed...
I chase the impossible, I know it's done and my sobbing is louder
in my ears, my wracked body shaking with hopeless pain, anger,
anguish, shame... nothing more than I deserve, and is it enough
yet, is it enough? He stills and stands as I whimper and whine and
lose all the dignity that's been stripped from me piece by piece
by piece. I go as still as I can as he pulls out, my abused ass
wanting nothing more than something else inside it, filling it,
filling the emptiness, prodding that gland, bringing on the orgasm
I needneedneed... I try to still my shaking, knowing it's over and
done and my only salvation now is to move as little as possible,
try not to disturb those infuriating feathers that drive me mad...
mad...
I can't... not quite... I'm quivering in my bonds, humiliated and
wrecked, the sling still rocking gently, my entire body screaming
with sensation, with denied climax. He's still in the room but not
touching, nowhere near me. I try to swallow my sobs, knowing they
move my body, keep the feathering torment at a fever pitch. My
balls feel like lead weights, already aching with lack of release,
the dull throbbing promising long discomfort. Again. I want to rub
them, cradle them. My hand jerks fitfully before I can force it to
stillness again. My dripping, ignored cock pulses huge against the
snug strap, twitching with every feathering touch. I want to shut
out my body but it's beyond any possibility... my gut aching and
my ass burning and my prostate pulsing... the sloppy wet feel of
my greased and stretched asshole, my buttocks contracting
helplessly...
Does the punishment fit the crime? Does the punishment fit the
crimes... is it enough... will it ever be enough... give it to me
again, it's not enough for me... make me give it all up, make me
beg and scream and crawl and plead... make me take it until I
don't even remember why...
Deliver me. Please...
Play my body, pluck my strings like the virtuoso you are, call
forth the wailing tune of need and grief and want... want...
He doesn't even ask anymore. He hasn't asked for answers since I
still wasn't answering. I could hold nothing back now. I hang in
this sling with the sodden blindfold wet against my face and want
nothing more than the freedom of a question. Ask me anything...
let me give... give me a way out...
Please. Just ask. Make this mean something. Take this surrender...
accept it... make it complete.
A hand strokes my head without warning but I don't jerk. I lay
perfectly still and feel the wonderful, terrible gentleness as
that hand smoothes my hair, caresses my cheeks, touching the
tears. I don't move... don't move... just accept...
Don't go. Stay. Don't go.
The fingers slide tenderly off my face, and a whimper catches in
my throat. I hear the door this time, when it shuts with a thunk.
And I'm alone. Alone in the room, in the sling, in my bonds, in my
tormented traitor of a body, in my shredded mind. Alone. In the
black dark. In the silence. With my breathing.
With my regrets.
And time has no meaning.
I hang and I drift. Time passes as only time does... as only time
doesn't. Marked only by the gradual changes in my suffering body -
my slowing breathing, the settling burn in my beaten ass, my
cooling sweat, my flagging erection that can't completely die,
with the cock ring still secure and the feathers deviling my
crotch. That intolerable itch and tickle that I can only
tolerate... and tolerate...
My body recovers little by little, hour by hour, as much as it
can. My mind, my self... that's harder. Trickier. I lose where to
start. Lost... lost... adrift... Mastered and cracking, in the
warm thick dark, no defenses left to rebuild. His cruel, deft
touch reaches into all the deepest places locked tight and hidden
away... pries them open with little care or concern, pries them
open with fingers of sensation, crowbars of revenge, then leaves
them exposed and open and raw.
He makes me a willing conspirator in my own destruction. I want to
kneel up and thank him for every soulshattering session, every
vengeful torture he wrecks on my tainted existence, every payment
he exacts for debts too deep, too abiding, to ever be absolved.
Wash me clean... let me pay in suffering, in subjugation...
And how... how can I survive... how can I survive with these
thoughts let out of their lockboxes, released from their hidden
crevices... dug up and laid achingly bare. The faultlines and
cracks in my psyche widening and gaping. How can I-
Who?
How long... the door. I can hear the door open. Hear the door
close. He makes no noise. Who is making noise? Staff identify
themselves... I stiffen and groan as the draft from the door
closing stirs the agonizing feathers into a swirl of motion. No
identification is forthcoming. Panic stirs. The same breeze brings
me a scent... some scent... not him, but someone... oh god...
no...
The careless rustle of clothing being removed fills the room.
ime becomes meaningless.
