Chapter 33
No. No. Nooo.
I scream out, I scream with a terror I’ve never felt.
I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t… but she still shocks me, still hurts me.
Just like the man did.
She shoves the prod into me, brutalises me as she thrusts it over and over and I’m begging, screaming, pleading for her to stop.
“You have to enjoy this, Dog.” She says, her voice so fucking serene, so out of place for where we are.
It hurts too much. It feels like she’s ripping me in two.
“Your body is a thing to use. You have to learn to enjoy pain as well as pleasure.”
My eyes roll back. I think for one blessed moment that I might just pass out but then she’s leaning over me, slapping me so hard it’s like my soul is dragged back into my body.
“Your cunt is for your Master’s pleasure, however he decides to take it.”
Fire explodes inside me. That probe shocks not just my pussy but insides, my uterus, it feels like she’s burning my organs up.
“You will enjoy this.” She says, sounding like a demon now, sounding like a thing possessed. “Your body will learn to take whatever it is given, will learn to embrace it all like the eager little cumslut you are.”
I can’t cry, I have no tears left.
I try to scream and the sound rips, it tears at my throat in such a way that I know my voice is broken too.
I am broken.
And I want to die. I want to die so badly.
Please, just make it end. Make it all end.
But it doesn’t. Mistress just keeps fucking me, keeps brutalising me, raping me over and over with that same cattle prod.
“That’s it, come like the whore you are.”
Salvia drools down my face. My body is splayed, stretched. I feel like I’m on some medieval torture device, some sort of rack, but it’s not secrets they want from me.
A toy is rammed down my throat, locked in place with a leather gag that presses into my head. It’s so big I can barely breathe, and I’ve already vomited on it more times than I can count.
Of course, vomiting earns me a punishment. The toy in my arse gets stretched a little wider every time I commit such a cardinal sin. I think my arsehole is so big now you could fit an entire fist up it.
Mistress is kneeling over me, the leather of her trousers brushing against the naked exposed flesh of my legs. She’s forcing a toy into my vagina that’s ridged in a way she tells me is meant to make my insides bleed.
Apparently, men like that. Apparently, my master will especially enjoy that when he fucks me.
Does he want to pretend I’m a virgin again? Or does he want to imagine his cock is so big it can cause that much damage when he penetrates me?
There’s a vibration on the end of it. It’s a monstrous thing, meant to confuse my insides, meant to trick me into believing I’m enjoying this, that I want this.
At first I cried and I begged for mercy beneath the cock in my mouth, but Mistress was quick to teach me that my wants, my opinions don’t matter in this.
“You’re going to do it.” She hisses, all but punching me with the ten-inch monster. “Stop fighting it and embrace what you are.”
I whimper, feeling the horrific pain shoot through my chest. She bound my breasts, bound them so tightly I think my piercings might actually drop out. My flesh has turned from an awful purple to something close to black now. Will my Master want me if I’m titless? Is that some weird kink he has?
I hear footsteps, I see the movement and tense more as the other man, the man who trained me before my mistress walks in.
He looks at me, his lips curled as if he’s amused by something.
“Well?” He says.
“The stupid bitch is too stubborn for her own good.” Mistress says.
The man laughs. “Want a hand?”
Mistress shakes her head. “No, but you can grab a seat, watch how I break her.”
Something explodes. That thing in me seems to turn into a battering ram, and a wave of vomit rushes up before I can stop it.
The cock down my throat does nothing to help the bile and it fills my mouth, trickles down the corners of my lips, pours out my nose while it feels like something in my head screams.
I’m drowning. Choking. Choking on my own vomit.
“Leave her be.” The woman’s voice says, but it feels distant. “She’s already done it enough times to have learned her lesson.”
A snort answers that.
My body heaves, my chest hurts more than ever and that thing in my arse grows another few horrific inches.
The harsh bite of the leather restraints around my wrists and ankles is the only grounding counterpoint to the dizzying currents of horrific pleasure and pain twisting deep inside me.
“Breathe,” The woman commands. “The body cannot accept what the mind resists…”
I try to obey, sucking in a ragged gasp as the man adjusts the angle of the intrusion in my arse.
The toy is smooth and unyielding, a tapered silicone shaft that he’s been relentlessly working inside me for what feels like hours.
The initial sharp protest of my body has dulled, transmuted into a throbbing, full awful ache that makes it hard to focus on anything else.
Each millimetre of progress is a violation, stretching nerves I never knew I possessed, lighting up corners of my brain with shocking, unwelcome sparks.
“Good dog,” He murmurs, his voice a low rumble close to my ear. His hand rests on the small of my back, a gesture that could be comforting if it weren’t for the context. “You’re taking it so well. Your body is learning to welcome it.”
Shame flushes through me, hot and immediate. Welcoming it. That’s the most horrifying part. The pain is no longer just pain. It’s braided with something else, something darkly sensual. Arousal pools in my core, a traitorous heat that slickens me, making the other violation easier.
I am a whore.
I am everything he wanted me to be.
Everything my parents would be disgusted by.
I am bent over a padded bench, my chest pressed to the leather, my hips elevated and spread wide by the restraints.
The woman stands behind me, and in her hands is what can only be described as a tentacle.
It’s a grotesque thing, sculpted from pearlescent silicone, thicker than any cock could possibly be, covered in massive, swirling nodules.
I don’t understand what the point of it is. I don’t understand why they are doing this. What pleasure can a person get in hurting someone the way they are me?
She presses the blunt, glistening tip against my entrance and I tense more, preparing for the pain I know is coming.
A choked sob escapes my lips as the head begins to push past my tight ring of muscle. It’s too much. It’s impossible. The stretch is an agonizing, a tearing, a burning sensation that screams through my entire pelvis.
I try to pull away, but the restraints hold me fast, and I’m prisoner to this onslaught.
“That’s it, dog.” The woman instructs calmly, not ceasing her brutal advance. “Let your cunt embrace it.”
I whimper, my attention swinging back to the fullness in my rear.
The man is moving the toy there now, making an in-and-out motion that rubs against the thin membrane separating the two intrusions.
The dual pressure is overwhelming. The pain from the tentacle’s invasion is sharp and specific, but the movement from behind is a blunt, rhythmic pressure that massages a spot so deep and primal it makes my vision blur.
And then, something shifts.
Tears stream down my face, tears of humiliation. I am being fucked like an object, stretched and filled beyond what any human being should be able to endure. Every movement they make, every tiny adjustment sends reverberations through my entire nervous system.
They begin a synchronized rhythm. His shockingly deep thrusts from behind, her more languid brutal movements from the front. They are playing my body like an instrument, their actions creating a crossfire of sensation that obliterates thought.
I can’t scream, I can’t even cry. All the screaming I did before ripped my vocal chords, and they take my silence now as acquiescence.
I want it to stop. I need this to stop. Please god, please just do something. End this. Kill me if that’s what it takes. If I have to have a massive heart attack right now then fine, I will take that, I will happily die if that’s my only way out.
A phone rings. The sound is so jarringly mundane, a flat tone in the symphony of my degradation. The man stills instantly. There’s a moment of silence then a soft, sharp intake of breath.
“It’s him,” He says, his voice low and suddenly devoid of its earlier warmth. “Master is on his way back.”
The air in the room changes. The focused intensity sharpens into something edged with urgency. The woman freezes, the tentacle lodged deep within me.
“This bitch isn’t ready yet,” she says and for the first time, I hear a flicker of something akin to concern in her voice. It’s not concern for me, but for the outcome. For the standard that clearly must be met.
“Well then, we have this evening now to make her ready,” The man replies, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The words send a jolt of pure, undiluted fear through the haze of everything I am enduring.
He is coming.
With a new, frantic energy, they resume. His thrusts become harder, faster, the toy in my rear a punishing piston. The woman begins to pump the tentacle in and out with a brutal efficiency, the nodules raking my insides, stoking the fire into an inferno.
And I am screaming, but the screams are guttural, born of overwhelming sensation.
The two sources of sensation collide in the core of me, a critical mass of pleasure-pain that detonates like a bomb.
My back arches against the restraints as an awful climax tears through me, violent and seismic.
It’s not a wave; it’s a tsunami, obliterating everything in its path; the fear, the shame, the very sense of myself.
The world fractures into a blinding white light and with a final, shuddering gasp I surrender completely, falling into a deep, welcome nothingness.