5. February 14 - Hour 3
“You’re such a dirty little slut, aren’t you?”
A sweet, amused chuckle reaches my ears and sends another wave of pleasure coursing through my body. I release those leather-clad fingers from my lips under duress, but I want more.
So much more.
I feel like a dirty little slut, and you know what, it feels fucking amazing. Impossibly, my pussy grows slicker with every step my captor takes. The sound of their shoe hitting the cement is a cinch in the collar of anticipation and pleasure, and I can’t wait for whatever’s next.
Another step.
A shiver runs through me. What will they do?
A crunch of a pebble underfoot.
Because if it’s as good as that last orgasm, I might find out if it’s possible to pass out from pleasure.
“Pay attention, slut.” Wet leather slaps against my ass.
I suck in a sharp breath and hold it. Every nerve in my body is on fire with waiting. What touch? What slide of fingers? What pressure will I find against my cunt that will send me off into the blissful fantasy I’ve dreamed of for years?
“How many men have you let touch you like this?” The demand is sharp, still mechanical, some device obviously changing the sound of their voice.
I shiver. “N-never.”
“Not even your husband?” A slide of that leather-clad palm across my back leaves a wake of heat before it vanishes.
“No.”
“Does he know how dirty you really are?” That voice is right in my ear, their breath brushing across my skin.
My nipples harden again. I rock forward on my toes, the floor still wet around my feet from where I squirted everywhere. I wish I had something to rub against, something to find that pressure I’m seeking.
“No,” I whisper, but even I can tell that my voice sounds far stronger now than it did before. I’m not as scared anymore. I just want to be touched, to be fucked, to be broken—shattered into a million little pieces and sewn back together again.
“Liar.”
The slap against my ass is hard this time. My entire body jerks, pushing into the wooden contraption.
“You know that pillories were built for punishment.” Another spank. “And you deserve this.” Another spank. “In fact, you’re such a dirty little slut that you need more.”
I hold my breath. My captor vanishes behind me, footsteps disappearing, a door closing. A pillory? Isn’t that what they used in the olden days to shame people who were accused of doing something wrong? My heart races. What would it be like to be on display like this in the middle of downtown?
The door again. My captor says nothing as they approach, just a cold hand between my legs as something round is pressed into my pussy.
“Don’t let that fall out, slut.”
I nod and wait.
Now what?
My ass cheeks are spread apart again, once more to the point of pain. I bite my cheek to hold in the whimper. The leather is cold and slick as it pushes into my butthole. The burning is so intense. I wince and clench my eyes shut, tears brimming along my lids. And then the finger is gone.
I breathe heavily, clearing my head.
“D-did you just put a f-finger in my ass?”
“Shut up.” The slap is directly to my cunt.
Biting my cheek, I keep my mouth shut.
“You’ll only speak when spoken to.”
Something sharp and cold runs down the center of my back, right along my spine. I have no idea what it is, but it leaves a wake of heat, burning heat that spreads to my sides and around my front to my ribs.
“Disobey again, and I’ll cut you…again.”
Cut me?
I swallow hard. Had I been cut? Is that what this pain is? But it doesn’t…hurt. Not like a normal cut would. Instead, it just feels good.
“Or…did you enjoy that, my little slut?”
Fuck, the added my is absolute perfection. I want to be the dirty little slut that belongs to this erotically sadistic captor. To be completely theirs would be… my brain can’t even comprehend. I hold my tongue, not saying a word.
Two fingers shove up my ass hard and fast. I cry out in pain, tears spilling from my eyes onto the cement below.
“I asked you a question, slut.”
“Yesssss…” I hiss through the pain. “Yesssss, I enjoyed that.”
They don’t answer. Instead, the fingers in my ass pump harder, faster.
The burn increases. It doesn’t feel good, not like I imagined it would.
Biting my lip until I taste blood, I hold back every noise I can possibly make.
That fear comes back into my body, the same fear that was there when I was first taken.
I’m not in control.
I’m not in power.
I may have fantasized about this, but the reality that I truly would be at the mercy of my captor with no other option wasn’t something I could dream about.
The sound hits my ears before the roar of pain. The whip hits me right between my shoulders, leaving instantly. My voice cracks, the scream echoing through the empty room. I press hard against the pillory, trying my damnedest to escape the pain that swoops through me.
My captor clucks their tongue, fingers still buried deep in my ass, and laughs. “That’s right, slut. Scream.”
Another whip.
My shoulder blades burn with pain, my back feels like blood is pouring out of it and down my ribs to drip on the floor. Am I bleeding? Or is that just sweat?
Another whip.
The fingers in my ass vanish, and I breathe in relief.
I’ll take whipping over that any day. The whipping gets harder, faster.
One right after the other. I barely have time to focus between each thrash.
But there’s something about the cadence of the voice, the rhythm of the words that’s so familiar.
I just need to be called slut one more time, and I’m sure I’ll know.
Clenching my eyes shut, I think back to every conversation, every interaction.
Could my captor be the same person I’ve been talking to for months now?