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Act II
S
Chapter 13 (lucky)
The world, born upon waking in strobe-light fashion as my eyes fluttered to life. My mouth was a desert with what felt like a boulder between my teeth, and my head reminded me I had been hit, hard, every time my heart pulsed. The last scene of consciousness played thru in my mind, dreamlike and I recalled slowly the events leading me here.
Tess. Abs contracted and arms moved to bring myself to a sitting position with no luck. Something was holding me down. I shook my head to clear the thick mountain fog in my brain, and looked down. The room was dark and I saw nothing. I was strapped to something though. A table? A gurney? It felt somewhat soft under my back. Thanks for the courtesy, fuckers.
They had gagged me and strapped me to something. This was not cool at all. I shook and pulled against the bonds. No luck there. Then I heard the same manner of sounds coming to my left. A muffled whimper in the darkness. Tess?
“Tess?” I asked into the black, although it came out more like “ ’eehhhhhsshh?”
A renewed whimpering and weird response came back, “AREW iiiishh at ouuu?” She was awake. And here with me. At least I knew where she was.
In a moment like creation, the black gave way to the industrial harshness of fluorescent lighting flickering to life and my eyes shut tight against the obnoxious ambush. I slowly opened them again, slices of light at a time, adjusting to the new stimulus.
The room was large, and open, but the tiling and solid boxy design made it seem oppressive, a prison; Sterile and harsh lighting, bland tiling on the floors and ceiling. Except in this room, the walls were covered with acoustic dampening pads. Past our feet, sunken centered into the wall, the heavily dark tinted eye of a two-way mirror. We were being watched. To the left of the voyeurs’ window, on Tess’s side of the room, was a large steel door about twice the width of a normal door, gray, abrasive, and no visible handle or hinges on this side. Designed to open out towards the rest of whatever complex we were in, and not designed for us to be able to open it. Ominous. I wasn’t a big fan of the situation.
I looked down when my eyes adjusted. I was still fully clothed, with straps across my chest, stomach, thighs, ankles and arms. I could rotate my head, feet, and hands and that was about it. I looked over at Tess, in somewhat of a more vulnerable position. She also was still fully clothed but she was strapped to a gynecological exam table. The back sat at about a 45 degree angle, stirrups out, with her feet strapped in.
Between the fear and terror, and the position she was in, a thread of arousal wove its way through my being. Her black hair had been carefully pulled into a ponytail high on her head and draped over the top back of the table to keep it out of the way. No, it actually seemed as if they had tied it, securing even her hair somewhere behind the table. Her head wasn’t moving, just those smoky, terrified, blue eyes begging salvation. I had none to offer and a dart of failure punctured my ego. I had brought her into this when I could keep her safe. And now safety was nowhere to be found in the standard seventy seven card tarot deck.
Her mouth was spread wide with a ring gag. A small line of drool spilled out of the right corner of her mouth as she looked over to me, helpless. They had modified the table, or added to it to make arm restraints. The pale undersides of her triceps and elbows, wrists and palms were well on display as her arms were strapped down straight up from her shoulders. She looked almost like she was cheering at a sporting event. The shallow caves of her armpits, an open exhibition.
I don’t think I had ever realized what a new layer that added to restraint and vulnerability. Most people secure the legs for access to the pussy and ass. And most overlook the vulnerable impact, the open exposure of armpits.
With her arms secured up, the rolling hills of her breasts were pulled high on her chest, swelling and receding with each panicked breath, peaked sharp with erect nipples. The room was a little chilly, but I also knew she was probably a little wet too.
In the elongated, awkward position, her torso was a smooth trail down her pink shirt, which had risen up, exposing the shallow bellybutton. Milky skin bridged the gap between shirt and skirt. With her thighs sloped up, pebbling slightly with the temperature, bent at the knee to accommodate the stirrups, the black skirt she had worn with pride earlier today had slid slightly, bunched a few inches from her waist. Anyone looking from any direction other than my parallel position would easily have visual access to all of her treasures.
Her legs were smooth, bleached, and a perfect contrasting background to the black ribbons lacing down her calves and ankles to her high heels. Her knees shook, anxiety pumping as thick as her crimson blood, through a body forecasting a crucifixion of suffering and a mind beseeching divine intercession or a dissociative escape to the tropical beaches of the future or the birthday party memories of her past. Inside I wept.
The acoustic dampening pads blocked all prayers and promises to all gods from every pantheon I could recall. Either that or they were on holiday or some drunken backyard cookout at Stonehenge.
Prometheus is flipping meat on the grill that Artemis brought in fresh, talking with Loki about how much they hate being chained to boulders. Odin and Zeus at one end of the table, slurring loud, obnoxious drunken words, each slapping a hand down hard on the wooden table to illustrate a point on how they knew the best way to properly rule a world. Hera and Frigg sitting off in lawn chairs by a fan discussing men’s inabilities to commit or stay faithful. Sekhmet and Apollo are tanning shirtless by the pool wearing expensive Prada sunglasses. Gaia and Jord discussing how everyone takes for granted that they’re the ones holding everything together and all the intricacies of sustaining a world. Hadur and Vulcan standing by the camp fire trying to outdo the other in roasting the perfect marshmallow. Hades is throwing a stick for Anubis to fetch while Osiris looks on, shaking his head mirthfully. Vishnu challenging Poseidon to a swimming race thinking his four arms will help him paddle faster while Poseidon stops him in his tracks by causing the water to boil and evaporate leaving nothing but a concrete bowl where the swimming pool used to be as Apollo mumbles passive-aggressive to Sekhmet, “What an asshole. And this is the thanks I get for bailing him out and helping him build Troy?” Balor and a Cyclops both abysmally sucking at darts, and off behind a fence somewhere, Tyr and Athena are having angry, violent rough sex, nails scratching skin off backs and teeth drawing deep blood with Athena thinking about making a movie called Millennia-Year Virgin.
The lights went out. I was enjoying my little daydream resting here and someone fucking ruined it. What the fuck was this? I tried to remain calm, but my breathing grew shallow and rapid with anticipation. To my left I heard Tess sobbing softly, sniffling and panting through the ring gag. If she was smoking, she’d be blowing rings. Ha! Oh the lame jokes that come about while coping with fear.
With sight gone, all we had to rely on was our hearing. And apart from our breathing, there were no other sounds. Minutes passed with my eyes constantly, frantically searching the darkness for something, anything. Tess slowly wound down from sobbing, to just sniffling. And a few minutes later, she was quiet again. “AREW, wha iiish ha’enin? Where arr wee?” My baritone answer was more like a vocal gesture at “I don’t know” than actually saying it. But I was sure she understood. The minutes stretched to what seemed like ten or twenty.
Breaking the silence like a rap ringtone during church, a loud unlocking sound came from the door. Seconds later it groaned open like the sound Monstro makes in Pinocchio. Eyes uselessly wide and ears straining, trying to push the limits of average human hearing for any clues as to what would happen next, I caught the shuffle of shoes against the tile. Not boots which would fall heavy, but more like orthopedic shoes designed for comfort. Like the shoes nurses wear. A light, even step, whoever it was was in no hurry and was probably a woman. Another set of footfalls entered the room, heavier sounding, a guy? Then a weird, caustic wheeling sound entered the room drowning out all the other sounds. Once the wheeling stopped, someone walked back out of the room, and the door moaned closed, then clanged, locked.
A second later, the fluorescents were back. And after my eyes adjusted I scanned the room. Between our tables sat a stainless steel cart that was wheeled in. It had a sterile blue drape over it at an awkward angle as if the side of the cart facing us had the side extended vertically, shielding us from seeing what lay on top.
I looked over at Tess, as she was looking at the cart, and she didn’t see a man dressed in all black, with a black surgical mask covering his face, standing behind her. She jumped and screamed as he spoke. “Hello, friends. First, you are captives here and no one knows and no one will help you. Welcome to my special room.” His hands stretched out to rest on Tess’s extended triceps. She tensed tight and shook visibly at the very unwelcomed touch. He continued, “Secondly, many things are going to happen to you here. If you do everything I ask, you might live.”
Déjà vu? Did this guy steal my lines? Fucker! That’s my job to be the creepy in-charge dude!
A pair of cold, soft hands came to rest around my temples. I jerked, off-guard. I had forgotten about her. It was a her right? As if reading my thoughts, a head appeared above mine, looking down. Red hair in pigtails, barely in view, fell from the sides of her neck. Was this the girl from the shop? What the fuck? Yes! Ears pierced all the same, cool emerald eyes stared back at me. But a surgical mask covering most of her face. Like I wouldn’t know? Whatever. I think Tess was too terrified to know who she was, but she was more concerned with the guy standing behind her than anything else.
Her eyes smiled down at me, and then out of nowhere, her right hand left my head and slapped my face so hard I saw spots. I yelled into the gag. The man in black spoke. “That’s right. This isn’t for fun. Well, not for you two. Not that you’ll be able to speak well, but, you can call me Master Mark and this is Mistress Brigitte. Lets get started shall we?”
I hated him. And his name? I Hated the alliteration. Fucking lame. And that cool, calm, condescending tone. That’s my bit. Fucking thief. I wanted his throat removed from between his head and collarbones by a pack of squirrels gnawing slowly.
3rd
They both walked easily over to the cart and the red headed girl from the shop removed the drape. She calmly folded it as if it were just a towel while she was doing the wash on some nondescript Tuesday night. Mark picked up something and walked toward Tess, a pair of scissors it appeared. She was trembling and her eyes saw nothing but the scissors.
He walked right up between her bound, open legs and smiled down at her. “I don’t care about your name. I don’t care about your feelings. I will call you whatever I feel like and I will do to you whatever I want. You’re here to learn how to be a good submissive girl.” His arm, with scissors in hand, extended down to rest, with the flat of the blades on her pussy. Her eyes pleaded and over and over she mumbled “Peease ont! Peease sop.”
He looked at her puzzled. “Didn’t I just tell you to call me Master?” With his other hand he slapped hard, twice, across each tit, a nauseous feeling radiating from the sting of the slaps to her gut, the scissors pushing flat, harder against her clit, cold.
“Peese Mas’er, sop peease mas’er.”
“That’s better. But no, I’m really not going to ‘peese sop’. I want you to realize the situation that you’re in. As utterly vulnerable as you’re sitting right now, I could do anything I wanted. But if you do as I ask, I’ll be fair to you in return.” He retracted the scissors and brought them up to her breasts. She flattened against the table as best she could, her only futile attempt at fleeing the instrument.
He idly traced figure eights with the cold point of the scissors around her breasts while he spoke, “Slut, it seems like you might understand after all. If you make that mistake again of not adding the respect of ‘Master’ with your requests or speech, there will be a far worse punishment in store for you.” He opened the scissors and slid them around one of the straps of her shirt. With a whisper of a snip, the fabric gave way and parted.
He repeated the action for her other strap and then placed the scissors across the exposed skin of her stomach, she flinched at the feel of the cold steel. With both hands free, he grabbed the delicate straps laying across her chest, and pulled them up, slowly tucking them behind her shoulders with the care of a father tucking in his children. The top of her chest was bare. With a surgeon’s detachment he picked back up the scissors. He placed a finger on her chin, tilted his head curiously to the side and said, “I want you to smile for me.” She had a confused look on her face and he quickly slapped her tits again. She squealed and tried as best as she could with a ring gag in her mouth to smile. “That’s better.”
His finger slid from her chin, down the center of her throat, down the middle of her chest, and dipped into her cleavage. “Mmm, it’s warm here. I wonder where else it’s warm.” She looked away, embarrassed. Looping a finger in the fabric of her shirt, he pulled it free an inch from her chest and brought the scissors around with the shirt between their blades. Making small, mechanical cuts, he worked his way down her shirt and then with a final snip near her bellybutton, the shirt was sliced down the center. Again, he set the scissors on her stomach and with both delicate hands and practiced fingers, he grabbed the fabric near her stomach and slowly pulled them open. Inch by inch, the cool room air met freshly exposed skin as inch by inch, the parting fabric exposed more of her body. He paused at the bottom swells of her breasts and looked her in the eyes. She had her eyes shut tight. “Open your eyes. I want your eyes always looking into mine until I tell you otherwise. Do not look away and do not shut them.” The icy blues opened and came to rest, afraid, open his.
“That’s better.” As he slowly parted the fabric, the shadowed swells of the underside of her breasts came into view. The ruined shirt opening marched on and the beautifully soft, milky skin of the bottoms of her breasts gave way to the darker skin of her areolas, pebbled and bumpy, and her erect nipples. Then on to the descending slope from hilltops up her breasts to the flat of her chest.
With the whole shirt free now, he slid it out from behind her. Her eyes still looking at his, but crying. Shameful tears traced trails slowly down the curves of her face. She cringed at the cold table on newly exposed back skin.
“I see you’re not wearing any panties. That’s rather whorish for being out at a mall. Were you trying to fuck someone there? I think only sluts would ever do that. I think you’re a slut.” A hand went to her left breast and kneaded it roughly, her eyes cringing and mouth grunting, drool spilling down her face with the tears. He lifted up the mound and placed the scissors underneath, her young skin holding firm to the metal. “That’s a good holding place. I like that. Do you like that, mallslut?” She shook her head no. “Oh, you don’t? Hmm.” Sliding the scissors out from under her breast, he looked at her. “Ah, you’ll like this much better then.”
His free hand reached out and cupped her forehead, pressing it firmly against the table as her breathing raced, shallow. He brought the scissors up to her mouth and gently tapped them against the ring gag. “This looks like a nice cup holder for them. I’d recommend you figure out how to cup the point of these scissors with your tongue so they don’t stab into the back of your throat. I plan on using that later, a lot, and it’d probably make it horrible for you if you had a cut there. Her eyes screamed no and her panting came even more rapidly as her horrified eyes fell from his and fixated on the scissors as he placed them at the opening of the ring gag and slowly guided them in. She hardened and flexed her tongue against the sharp point, pain etching across her face in a panicked grimace. As most of the weight was against the gag, it wasn’t heavy enough to pierce her tongue, but the pain was sharp and persistent.
He let go of the scissors and brought his hands to rest on her thighs, leaning his black pants into the intimate gap between her legs. He squeezed and kneaded the underside of one thigh, squishing the skin and fat around.
“You’re kindof fat aren’t you mallslut? Yeah, I’d say that’s pretty fat. No one likes fucking fat girls you know? Well, except really desperate guys, or guys that know that fat girls fuck better because they don’t get it as often.” Drew shouted something muffled which Master Mark dismissed as if he had not heard the outcry. Both the scissors and his words tried to break skin, the words actually succeeded and her eyes went back to his, hurt. “We’ll see if we can do something about that. Mistress Brigitte, Diet Level, 9. Exercise Plan, 9. She needs to lose at least 25 pounds.” Brigitte pulled a clipboard from the cart and wrote it down. He continued his inspection with the scissors bobbing a little more from their holder. Her tongue was tiring.
His hands found her lovehandles, squeezing and pinching small amounts of fat into rolls. “Belly, Rating, 3. Target, 6.” Brigitte wrote it down. His hands massaged deep up her stomach, fanning out to her ribs and grabbing hold of her breasts, squeezing. Tess exhaled hard as his fingers found her nipples and slowly started pinching. As the pressure increased her eyes narrowed in pain until she started squealing. He slowly pulled at them, pulling her breasts off of her chest, out from her body by the nipple. “Oww OWww OWWwww!”
He continued pulling the sensitive nubs, stretching the skin slowly, pulling her nipples from a few centimeters long to almost double their length. Her squealing became a scream. “EEEEEEaaaaaaaaaaah ssss’ooooop peeeese Maasss’err owwww!”
And he let go. “Pain Scale, Tits, Initial, 3. Tits, Target, 7. Endurance, Initial, 2. Target, 6.” Her sobbing began anew and her eyes cried out for mercy from the scissors, all of the pain in her tongue, and nipples, and tits, and the fact that she had no idea what he was talking about or why he sounded like he was grading her!
His hands tightened around her throat, closing off her air supply. Her eyes flared wide and after a few seconds her body started convulsing, struggling to breath. He released his grip. “I think the exercise will improve her lung capacity. We’ll let that fix itself. Breath Holding, Initial, 9 seconds. Target, 30.” Then he pinched at the sensitive tissues of the underside of her arms causing her to squeal again. “Tone arm muscles. Initial, 2. Fatty. Target, 6. Not as fat, Fattyslut.”
The scissors slowly began rattling loudly in the ring gag as her tongue was finally giving up. He walked over to the cart, and from the bottom shelf, slid out a small wooden stool. Mark placed it back between her legs and stood, looking down at her, “Now, you just learned that when I choose to do something to you, you will like it, and you will tell me you like it. And here is how you are to tell me.” He reached over and took hold of the scissors, sliding them free of her mouth and she breathed deep, exhaling relief. He placed them back under her breast for safe keeping. “When I do something, for example, placing the scissors under your fat cow tit, and ask you if you like it, you are to respond by saying, ‘Yes Master, slut loves it when you…’ and then whatever it is I did. You are never to refer to yourself in the first person. You are an object. A hole. Always refer to yourself as ‘slut’ or ‘her.’ So, now we’ll give it a try. I just placed the scissors under your fat cow tit. Do you like that?” He finished quickly and looked at her waiting.
She struggled with the words and her tired tongue and slowly said, “Yesh Mas’er, … s’ s’ s’luu lo’s it whe’ ‘ou ‘lace scissors un’er …her ….fa’ .. cow …tit.” She sniffled and stumbled over the last part, miserably humiliated at him calling her fat, and then having to admit she was fat, and it was upsetting referring to herself no longer as an “I” or “me” but only in the third person.
“Very good. You learn quickly. There’ll be a reward soon for that small step, slut. But now, let’s continue.” He pulled the scissors free of her tit, and grabbed hold of the hem of her skirt in the center between her legs. Tess’s eyes glazed a bit, this was growing to be too much already. Her forehead, chest, and armpits looked to be damp with the clammy perspiration of shock. Her mouth was a mess of spit that had leaked obscenely out of the sides of her mouth and above that, her eyes and cheeks were wet with tears.
With the same slow routine, the scissors mechanically marched their way through fabric, easing closer to her pussy. The closer he got, the harder she tried pressing her ass into the table, away from the sharp tool. Sliding cold steel against bare skin inches from her pussy, he finished the final cut and slowly opened his present.
“Would you look at that? The mallslut shaves. I appreciate you shaving slut, it saves me work. You are to keep that up.” He slid the scissors up under her tit again and she sighed. “Let’s take a look.” Reaching a hand up, he placed his index finger into the ring gag, she looked at him unsure of what to do. “I’m about to stick fingers deep into your pussy. If I were you, I’d probably want them lubed. You know, I don’t need lube.” And with that he started pulling his finger out of her mouth. She forcefully mumbled something incoherent and tried to jerk her head up to keep the finger in her mouth so she could lick it, but her head rebounded back, hard to the table against her hair being tied behind the table and she screamed.
“I’ll give you one last try. These gloves, unlubed, are pretty rough I hear.” He placed his index finger back at the entrance of the gag and waited. She brought her head up slowly, testing the medium of pulling her hair too hard, and trying to get his finger in her mouth. “You have five seconds.” He said, stoic, and began slowly counting down. At first, she was barely able to get to the tip of his finger without her hair pulling too painful. But as he reached 3, then 2, and she realized she really hadn’t lubed the finger at all, her head jerked hard against her hair and, screaming, she tried desperately to get her tongue as far up on the finger as it could go. At zero, he pulled his finger out and her head dropped back to the table, her eyes shut tight squealing away the pain.
He held the finger up and looked at it. “Not bad, I guess. But I don’t really care. It’s you that should be more concerned about this. Ok, now for my next finger.” Again, placing the tip of his middle finger at the entrance of the gag, she shut her eyes tight again and he began the count. She pulled her head up as far as she could, squealing in high-pitched pain while trying to work her tongue over the latex gloves. Tears began again and when he pulled his finger out her head crashed back to the table, banging against the padding, and she screamed in frustration and exhaustion.
“That’s ok slut, I never mind hearing you scream. Feel free to do that whenever you like. Unless I tell you not to of course. Alright, so we’ve got both fingers semi-lubed up. Let’s travel to the cave where all the magic happens!”
He sat down on the stool. Tess looked down at him. From the height of the table and his stool, she could only see his face, and his eyes staring intently at her vagina. Her knees tried to flex inward, involuntarily trying to block his entrance, with no success. Her legs were spread much too wide for any sort of resistance. Her scalp was on fire with the sharp, paper-cut-intense pain of having hair pulled out. Her tongue was sore and tired. Her breasts hurt something fierce and her nipples were still aching from the abuse. She gave up, closing her eyes, her head rolled to the side but she couldn’t even make that comfortable with her hair pulled so tight. Utterly frustrated, she cried softly, alone, unable to change the course of events of anything happening to her. She looked to Drew, who was laying restrained as she was, unable to help.
Tess could feel his relaxed breathing, warm air against the soft, cool folds of her delicate secrets. She closed her eyes tight and started her sadly familiar mantra in her mind, the string of words taking her safely away from the moment.
Her face exploded in pain and stars. “I told you to look me in the eyes slut. Don’t make me angry. It will be very, very bad for you if you do.”
Her escape defeated, she brought her lifeless blue eyes to rest in his. “Good. Don’t do that ever again. Any time I’m in your room, you are to only look at me in the eyes no matter what. I won’t repeat myself ever again.”
Her eyes followed him back down as she watched his eyes stare at places that she wanted to desperately to hide right now. Her body tingled slightly. She used to enjoy that feeling, like at the doctors office when he was looking into her ears with the scope and her body tingled like a reward for special attention being paid to it.
His rhythmic, warm breath made her think of calming ocean waves rolling up, warming the cool, and damp sand. The waves rolled in… warm moist swells…
The sun was setting in a fabulously gorgeous, colorful, fiery way on the horizon. I saw all shades of orange, salmon, carrot, pumpkin, persimmon, to reds, scarlet, puce, to yellows, golden, amber, saffron, tangerine, apricot, and a lot of other shades I can’t even remember the names for. It had been a hell of an awesome day at the shore with Drew. So unexpected, but that’s his way. He had surprised me with a dinner picnic! A year ago I would have laughed in the face of any guy that suggested something so lame and cliché as a beach picnic. I don’t like sand; it gets everywhere, or the sun. It just burns your skin. But with all we’ve been through, and where we are now, I kept the mocking to myself, smiled and said ok. It seemed important, like he had put time into planning this. …And the waves rolled in, warm moist swells, warming the sand.
“Uhhhh!” Tess groaned through the gag, uncomfortable pressure. Master Mike’s thumb and index fingers on both hands were slowly pinching and squeezing up and down her outer lips. Not entirely painful, just … uncomfortable. Her eyes were still locked on his. He had the stoic indifference of a butcher tenderizing meat. The pinching stopped and with the pads of his thumbs, he massaged the area around the lips, running his thumbs deep into the creases between her legs and pelvic region. Very, very weird, but the pain had eased and with the warm, rhythmic breathing on her, the waves rolled in… with their warm, moist swells…
He was actually a really good cook. Jackass-Of-All-Trades is what I called him sometimes, affectionately of course. He always groaned at my horrible puns. Oh, I had plenty of other names for when I wasn’t being affectionate. And there was always that one little thing I could always hold over his head. Now Who had Who hostage! Haha, but he’s adorable. He actually cooked my favorite, Chicken Marsala. It made the car smell wonderful; it was torture smelling it the whole time it took us to get to the shore. I don’t know if he planned that part or if it was just an innocent, indirect type of torture he slyly tried to take credit for. He did that smug, I’m-not-telling-but-I-know-the-answer grin that he does, even when he doesn’t know but just wants to look like he knows, or like he planned some well-ending accident on purpose because he had planned it all along. …And the waves rolled in, warm moist swells, warming the sand.
“Ggguuuhhhooo!” Tess groaned again, sharper pain this time but not too painful. Master Mike was still staring intently at her privates. His fingers had moved to her inner lips now. And… “Eeahh!” She squealed sharply. He was applying a pulsing pressure to her sensitive folds. The pain was increasing now. He was squeezing harder. She glared hard at his eyes to keep from shutting hers. He had a firm, pinching hold on her lips, just to the point of starting to be painful on the sensitive areas. She could feel her body responding in its feminine ways, and she despised it. She hated how women’s bodies acted sometimes, well, most times. Sometimes it did what you wanted, but most times, it just did whatever the fuck it wanted and you had to deal with it. But her pussy, in particular, with respect to it being touched by anyone, was like a blind, homeless guy begging for money. It didn’t matter who dropped what into his beggars cup, if he heard the cup rattle, he’d say thanks. You could drop fossilized dog shit into it, and as long as he heard that clinking sound, he’d still respond with thanks.
This piece of piping hot dog shit was messing with her beggar’s cup, and those stupid fucking beggar hormones were responding and saying thanks. She could feel the energy gathering, the subtle tingling and the strange but familiar dampness inside. She would be wet very soon, and from the position she was in, dripping soon after.
“Owwww aaaaha” she screamed. He was pulling her lips straight out from her body, to see how far they would stretch? They’re not rubber bands, you fucking piece of shit. The growing arousal apparently was bringing some spirit back to her. But goddamnit why was he doing this? She tried not to say anything because she’d probably just get punished for forgetting one of his rules or something. Fucking cockface!
She could feel the warmth of fresh blood rushing down there, down… to the sand, warming as the waves rolled in… the warm, moist, swelling…
He had everything planned out, really took some time in planning. I was impressed. So what did he want? The cynical, ever-vigilant skeptic, always on the lookout for rotten motive in its many guises. He had hand-minced fresh garlic cloves, and let them simmer in butter for a while. Then with a brush, he applied the fresh garlic butter to some homemade bread he had prepared. Butter was always eager to adopt, or copy, no, to steal the flavor of whatever or whoever it was around. Just like that Ashley bitch. Friends?! Even after two years ago when she went and… …and the waves rolled in, warm moist swells, warming the sand.
“Ah ahhh ahhhhh ahhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhhh!!!” She screamed in short but increasingly loud bursts over and over again as his flat hand slapped down hard against the freshly aroused, fully sensitive area between her legs. He kept slapping harder, and harder! And now since he had slapped so many times, the sore, tender pains from the first slaps were only echoing and amplifying the new pain of the next slaps.
Master Mark’s eyes seemed to now have a truly evil sparkle as she looked on through the blurry vision of a wall of tears and screaming. Her mouth was so dry! Between drooling and all the crying, Tess thought in an oddly random thread that maybe she was dehydrating?
*Splat* went his hand again, “AHHHH!” screamed her voice again. On some of the slaps, the worst of the slaps, she could feel individual fingers connecting, an index finger or middle finger landing cruelly between the folds, snapping quick against the most sensitive of buttons with bolts of lightening forking their way out, savagely radiating from that high concentration of nerve endings, throughout the rest of her body.
*Splat* “OWWWWWWWW” and she screamed. Over and over again. She lost count. The fighter in her gave way to the rational mind, make the pain stop!
*SPLAT* “Ahhhhaaahaaahaaah peeeeeeese maaaasss’errrrrrr peeeeeasssee ssssss’ooooooooop maaaaaaassss’errrrrrrrr!!!”
And then it was over. Flames had to be visible, rising from down there! Through the haze, she heard him say coldly, “Slaps to fuckhole before slut begged to stop, 37. Pain Scale, Pussy, Initial, 3. Pussy, Target, 7. Endurance, 6. Target 8.” He blew gently on her inflamed genitals. It made it worse! Like when a campfire was died down to all embers and you blew on them, they glowed even brighter, trying to relight the inferno.
Her legs shook and trembled. She had no control over them. The pain from the aggravated area radiated out. Her stomach hurt. Her legs hurt. Her ass hurt from being in this weird position. She didn’t even have to look down to know that the whole area was bright red, puffy, and already swelling and he was making it worse, fanning the flames with his cool breath as it blew… across the fiery, sun-burned sand… with the waves rolling in… hot… wet… swells…
We laid the blanket down over the sand. He brought the food out from the car, first the chicken, then the bread, and some small potatoes that he had cooked in the oven with some different herbs and stuff on them, and then the wine. I’ve never been much for the snobbery associated with the wine-crowd, but he seemed to know what went with what, without coming off like a prick. He set out the plates and I set out the forks and knives. The food wasn’t hot, but it was still a little warm. We were starving by the time we got everything set up. He served out the food and stuck a testing finger in his chicken, then grimaced. Sometimes, he’s a woman. ‘It tastes great!’ I said not wanting him to dwell too much on the temperature. Chewing the lukewarm chicken, I smiled at him and turned to look at the waves rolling in, with their warm wet swells, trying to cool the burning, hot sand.
“OWWW” she grunted against a new evil. Something thick was slowly bludgeoning against an opening meant as an exit. She shook her head and glared ‘no’ at the impassive maestro conducting this wretched symphony of experiments. She felt the thick object disappear, only seconds later to be replaced by a finger applying something to her butthole. Lube? Lube. Fuck. She groaned expecting a new pain.
“That’s right, mallslut. When you go to a mall with no panties like a whore, things like this happen. Alright, slut is prepped. Mistress Brigitte, if you could bring that pump over while I insert this.”
“Yes Sir.” Came the reply from the redhead.
Tess’s eyes darted fearfully from his eyes, to her and back, but not before he caught her.
“SLUT, I told you to only look at me. Now you have to be punished. It will come soon enough. We have another test or two to finish.” As he spoke, she could feel the thick object returning to her butt. She could feel him twisting the object left and right while adding a slow and steadily increasing pressure against her entrance. The sensation was strange and almost pleasant, but she knew as it passed over the speed bump of her sphincter, it would probably hurt. A lot.
She started to close her eyes again, to close out the impending pain, but kept them open and focused on the horrible man. The pressure increased and the pain slowly started. She pushed out, knowing it would make it easier on her instead of resisting. It was going to happen whether she wanted it or not.
As she pushed out, with a small, sharp pain, the thick object slid easily past the door and made itself at home in the sitting room. But it wasn’t content there; it wanted a whole house tour. She grunted as the object seemed to keep going deeper and deeper. She felt like the object had to be at least a foot and a half long as it felt like it was all the way into her intestines before it came to a grunting rest. But, she knew things up in her ass were much the opposite of side view mirrors. Things in your ass are generally smaller than they appear. Generally.
Her breathing came a little shallower. The object had stopped its inevitable procession, but it felt like it was pushing against her lungs. “Ok slut, now comes the fun part. The 9inch inflatable is in, now we get to inflate it.”
Panic shot through her like a current. Inflate? It? Bigger? HOW? She already felt completely full and horribly uncomfortable. If she thought it would have helped, she would have screamed for him to take it out. Instead she just grunted at the deep parasite, devouring what little security and comfort she had left.
She felt it wiggle around a little as he clipped a hose in place. Without preamble, she saw him labor a little to pump. Every time the pump plunger pushed down, a little more air filled the chamber, and a little more fear grew in her already terrified heart. There was no end to the torment? Pump, pump, pump… she could feel the object slowly applying pressure from the inside out, and it stretched most at the entrance. Pump, pump, pump… he had to be done soon! It was so uncomfortable and starting to hurt as her asshole was stretching to almost painful diameters. But he persisted. Pump… Pump…
“Oww owwwww” Pump… Pump… “OWWW ssss’op maaaasss’errr sss’ooop peeease!!” Pump… Pump… She jerked screaming against the bonds. “OWWWWWWW nooooooooo! Sssss’oooop maaaasssss’errrr peeease!!!” came the cries through the ring. Her breathing came in rough pants now as the object filled her in ways she had never experienced, painful ways she wish she’d never experience again.
“Ass Capacity, Initial, 12 pumps. Target, 20.” She screamed again hearing that. What did it all mean and how could she possibly have more?!? It hurt so badly, so deep! She felt like she had to use the bathroom even though she knew there was nothing there since she had thankfully used the enema this morning. Was it still the same day? Oh her ass hurt so badly. Please take it out, she repeated over and over in her head, silently willing him to comply.
She heard a small pop and the air slowly escaped the ruthless object. Oh thank fucking god, she thought! He could have torn everything down there with that thing! And the air rushed out of the object, blowing out over her spread legs and exposed pussy, blowing steady for a minute as it blew like… the cool breeze whispering over the waves as they rolled in… waves rolling up onto the insecure sand with its warm… moist… swells…
With the food hungrily consumed, we clear the utensils and dishes and set them aside. He rolls to his back with his arm out, my favorite unvoiced invitation. I put my head on my favorite organic pillow and we stare out at sea.
He speaks up, “Tess, we’ve been down an unbelievable path. There are times when I still just want to run away because I think you’ll tell about what happened and it’ll all be over. This is the classic, tragic tale where the guy knows so hard that he should just run. He’s seen clear as a street sign that the way he’s going will take him straight to his death. But the times when I don’t think about the past, and its just Tess, this gorgeous girl I met somewhere random or something, and there’s no history, I know I would never experience anything close to that feeling anywhere else or with anyone else.”
Down in the bottom of me, I feel like everything’s been moved around and displaced and rearranged and turned to mush by his words. I smile my brightest, a big happy smile and he looks at me, he oils out one of his quick one-liners, they always get me.
“Radiance even the sun turns to appreciate.”
Damn fucking boys when they’re smooth!
He speaks again, “I need to run to the car real quick, I forgot… the other bottle of wine.” And I slide off, laying, looking at the blue sky. I hear the car door open and close. We only brought one bottle? I remember packing only one. I rise up on elbows and crane my next to see what this scheming schemer boy is scheming at now. He’s looking at a small, black box in the palm of his hand and when he looks up, he sees me looking at him, and his hands go into his jacket pockets. “What are you doing?” I ask. Treachery was his reply with a dismissive, “Oh, nothing.”
“What’s in your pocket? What’s in the box?” I ask. He sighs.
“Do you trust me, Tess? Honestly. It’s a fair question because we’ve both done our share of deceiving.” He asks.
“Ultimately yes. I trust you up to the point where things seem sketchy to me. I trust you yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to be stupid or blindly trust.”
“I would never tell you or ask you to trust me. You know that. I just wanted to know if you did. And in those times that seemed sketchy, once you found out the reason it was always something for you, a surprise or treat, right?”
“Well yeah, but not all of your surprises I would have asked for given the option. Although, ultimately, I’m glad I received them or got to have the experience. Wait Hey! Smoothtalkin’ Con Man, don’t spin this. What’s in the box!” I asked half-joking, half-anxious at all the possible things it could be that were running through my like-wise scheming mind.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” And then he did that fucking smarty little smirk of his and kissed me as the wind blew through my hair and past us over the waves rolling in, with their gently loving swells rolling in warm, secure, and wet.
“Uuhh” she groaned against the predator prowling around the entrance of her cave. His finger had eased into the crease, but by the movements she realized he wasn’t aiming at penetration just yet and it made her sick. Drew was right there, watching this guy finger her, or worse, and she was going to start moaning here pretty soon! She was a slut! But she couldn’t help it! Her Body was the real slut, not her. Fucking blind beggar shit and stuff!
Even with the radiating heat and pain having died down a little and her ass still sore, Master Mark knew what he was doing, and everything started feeling better as he circled his finger around the entrance. She struggled to keep eye contact with him. The aroused part of her just wanted to lay back, close her eyes, and invite him in deeper. While the thinking, rational part wanted murder for putting her in this position. She couldn’t help it. A buffet of conflicting emotions fought a winner-less battle in her mind. Shame at being on display, with everyone watching; Humiliation at soon-to-be acting like a whore begging satisfaction; Fear of what he might do next; A growing feral lusting thirst that needed to be quenched; Rage at being the victim again; A confused, dawning realization that she enjoyed surrender and helplessness.
“Aaaaaah” a soft, feminine moan involuntarily escaped a mouth forced open by a ring.
“There it is.” He said, and the finger stopped. “Time till whorish levels of arousal, Initial, 1 minute 48 seconds. Target, 30 seconds.”
Her mind screamed. All that and nothing? Just another fucking grade? What the…
Without warning, the finger found its mark. Luckily she had been getting a regular amount of fucking lately, but his finger still roughly entered. She hissed in a gasp at the invasion. His finger pushed into her, the rest of the hand pushing hard, dull pressure against the lower regions of her body. It slid out again. After a second, it went roughly back in again to the sound of her grunting and moaning “Uhhaaaaa.” This time it went deeper. It had to have been his index finger, and as it curled upward, a wave of euphoria swept through her and she forgot all the pain. His finger slid out, sliding with lubed friction down the inside of her upper walls with his palm pressing against her clit. His hand rocked forward again, palm pressing and rubbing over her clit as the finger rubbed back into her tunnel and found that spot again.
“Mmmmmm” pleasure sounds leaked out of her open mouth as his hand repeated its actions. His finger sliding in and out, uninvited, unwelcome, but uninhibited, undeterred, unavoidable and quickly bringing her home. His mouth descended and warm, wet, found her clit and his tongue found its rhythm in time with the probing finger. Ohhh his tongue worked like a spell, cast over her and she was lost to feeling. His tongue circled countless times, gently sucking, his finger rubbing and massaging the trigger, tucked divine inside her.
“ohhh god…. Mmmm … ohhh… ohhhh” boiled over the ring. Her restrained hips wiggled helplessly, sharp tugs of pain as skin stuck and broke free from the vinyl table in what small movements she could make. His tongue flicked and darted, plumbing the recesses and lips closing and sucking at the folds. His hot breath blew over the area like a cool breeze over the… no… keep … focus… stay…
Her hips flared slightly as the digit was doubled and she was opened twice as wide, a little less wide than… who… what… “ohhhhhhhhh…. mmmm” her moans evolved into lustful, pleading whimpers, that wordless, telltale banner ascending the flagpole triumphant, showing those present that she approves.
The rhythm picked up, the marching drum on double-quick. His tongue, miracles; his fingers, sliding, massaging and now “ohhhhhhhhhhh god” scissoring and futtering inside, not deep enough, go deeper please, tongue licking right on the… fingers sliding into the… breath blowing over like… fingers rubbing against the… “ohhhh ohhhhhh” the… building… up… in… with… and… sluts coming… sooon… noooow
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” The PAIN! Her eyes flew open as she screamed higher and harder than she ever had before! The pain was so intense in her nipple, first one, and she shot off at light speed, headlong into the abyss of a reality shattering orgasm. She had no breath in her, her whole body thrashed and bucked for more and she was still trying to scream more, hoarse and wordless. She forcefully ripped air from the room for her lungs just to recycle it into another scream of pleasure and pain.
And he wasn’t done yet! “ohhh goooood ohhhhhhhhhh!” His fingers still viciously coaxing her... His tongue still savagely lashing against her… and the pain! Rapture!
She drank in huge gulps of air to fight off the closing darkness. Her world was closing fast and one orgasm was rapidly resonating into another wave!! Another! “OOOOOOHHHH GOOOOOOOOOOD” AND THE PAIN AGAIN!! Shooting through her other nipple!!! TOO MUCH! TOO EUPHORIC! TOO PERFECT!
The last sound she heard was screaming madness in her mind. She had no more air to pass over vocal chords to scream aloud anymore. And the world went black.
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