Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Prepare yourself, Holly,” the man says. “Soon you will meet your master.”
I give a nod in my hood, my shackled hands clasped on my lap as I hear the men stand up and leave the room.
I feel so alone in the armchair once the silence reigns. My mind begins to dance, and I breathe deeply, embracing the stillness as my bare skin sparks with ideas of what’s to come.
Canes… crops… clamps…
Nettles?
Whatever it is, I know it’s going to be so very painful. But the beauty of submission is worth far more than my flesh will have to pay for it. I’ll pay gladly.
I will serve my master with every piece of my soul.
I may think I’m deep into the realms of serenity when I hear the door open again, but that quickly proves itself to be bullshit. My chains rattle as I push myself back in the chair, and I let out a whimper as a firm hand lands on my shoulder.
“It’s time, Holly. Get to your feet.”
The voice belongs to the man who stripped me when I got here.
The chains are heavy as he helps me up. They jangle loudly as he leads me along, blinded by my hood. The warmth of carpet under my feet soon turns to the cold hardness of tiles as he leads me into another room, and I get goosebumps at the memory of being here before.
This is the same room as I was in for the last founders’ proposal. The ambience of the place is unforgettable.
My guide gives me a simple arms up instruction before fastening my bound wrists onto a solid hook over my head. I screw my eyes closed when he uses a winch to raise me, precarious on my tiptoes as I strain to keep my position.
To keep my control.
But my control is here to be taken.
Trying to keep it is fighting a battle I’ll never win. Still, my body doesn’t surrender. The adrenaline of fight or flight is well into the red zone.
I hear my guide leave, and again, I’m alone.
I teeter on my tiptoes trying to keep my balance, but they fail me. My breaths are sharp and fast, my world spinning as the memories come flooding back.
The pain.
So much fucking pain.
And so much bliss on the other side of it…
My clients are watching me in my struggle to stay on my feet, I’d bet my life on it. Even though the room feels empty and my chains are echoing as they jangle, I know I’m being studied as I await my fate.
I wonder how many people will be using me tonight. I wonder how many cocks I’m going to take, and how many people are going to beat me and savage me. How many people are going to make me hurt.
A lot.
Through the fear, the excitement is blossoming.
I wonder how many cocks are hard over me right now.
How many people are so turned on at the thought of what they’re going to do to their dirty slut, winched and bound.
My clit sparks, crazy intense with the flood of adrenaline.
I rub my clammy thighs together, glad to feel how wet I am for the founders. I want them to know it.
My wet pussy never lies.
Last time I was in this position, I called out, desperate to know who was out there and what was coming next, but this time I bite my tongue. I’m a good little slut, ready to serve.
I’m in the middle of another attempt at standing on tiptoes when a string of footsteps thump across the hard floor in my direction. I sense myself being circled before one set of feet step up right in front of me. I sense the owner’s face in mine through my hood.
“Good evening, Holly,” he says. “I am your master tonight.”
“Good evening, Master.”
“Are you here to serve? To submit to my will at any cost?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Will you do my bidding, and the bidding of my fellow players, through pain and pleasure?”
“Yes, Master, I will.”
He grips my throat, just tight enough to make me shudder.
“Are you going to be a perfect little slut for us tonight?”
I smile under my hood.
“I’ll be a perfect slut for you, Master, I swear it.” I rock myself, unsteady. “And I’ll love it, Master. I’ll love being a slut for you. I’m desperate to be a filthy little whore and take everything I’m given.”
I try to sway towards him, parting my thighs.
“Please, Master, see how wet I am for you. Please, feel me. Touch me.”
He takes his hand from my throat, and I gasp when he slaps my pussy before taking hold and shoving at least three fingers inside.
“You are indeed a wet slut, aren’t you? That’s why we chose you, Holly. You’re such a beautiful, needy whore.”
I sink into the sensations. Fight or flight turns to all out pride at his words.
“Thank you, Master.”
“Did you enjoy the nettles last time?” he asks, and I nod with a smile on my face.
“I loved them. And I loved the clamps, and the bound tits, and the whips, and the stretching and the fucking. I loved all of it. Every single part.” I’m rambling, but I let my mouth run free. “I want it all again. Every single bit. I want to be even better. I want to take even more.”
“Shh,” he says. “You make no demands, Holly. You will get what you’re given, and give us everything we want in return. And tonight, my beautiful slut, you are going to be a canvas for us. A bleeding canvas.”
My breaths hitch at his words. Bleeding. What the hell does he mean?! Knife play? Are the founders going to cut me tonight? Are they going to razor blade me? Are they going to slice me to pieces?
My throat dries up at the rustling sound in front of me. My master is getting something ready. Preparing. Shit. I blink inside the hood, desperate for a glimpse, but I can’t see a thing.
“Tell me, have you been pierced before, Holly?” he asks, and runs something sharp and pointed down one of my heaving tits.
“Um, yeah. My ears, Master.”
My ears?!
How fucking embarrassing for an answer.
I yelp and feel like a total novice when he jabs a thin spike of a needle at the side of my nipple, because this is nothing whatsoever like a fucking ear piercing. It stings like fuck.
There’s something about needles that freaks me out. I’m glad I’m shackled upright, because my legs are literally quaking right now. I’m lightheaded as I hear more rustling, wondering what is coming next.
“Let’s get you ready, slut,” he says. “What a stunning canvas you’re going to make with these beautiful big tits bound tight.”
The twine he uses is so fine that it digs into my flesh like wire as he binds my tits, one after the other. It’s ribbon that comes next as he crushes them together and binds them as one.
I adore this sensation. The throb of my tits is a painful delight.
I can imagine them swelling pink as my master buckles a collar around my neck.
I can feel the O-ring against my throat, just underneath the hood binding.
I love the way he attaches a hook and binds my tits with one more round of ribbon and hoists them up.
This is perfection. Not only are my tits roped and swelling, but they are hung by my collar, pressure rising. It sends ripples of nerves all the way down my body. The throb of my tits makes my clit throb in tandem, and he’s already got me. I’m desperate.
“Fuck, yes,” I say through the fabric, and tip my head back as he flicks my swelling nipples.
“Beautiful,” he tells me. “Now, to turn you into a piece of sparkling, needled art. Do you want that, dirty girl? To be speared by metal thorns, and bleed tiny rivers? You’ll be laddered by so many pretty silver spears that you’ll shimmer under the lights. Do you want that?”
I’m so consumed by the pulse in my tits, that needle phobia suddenly doesn’t feel so bad.
“Yes, please, Master. I want to be a canvas for you.”
I gasp as he slides his fingers against my pussy. Just the slightest glance against my clit makes me groan.
“How about this tender cunt?” he asks. “How many needles do you think you’ll be able to take through those gorgeous pussy lips?”
My nerves buzz alongside my horniness at that. It’s so intense it makes me squirm in my shackles.
I know what I should say. I know what I want to say, but I have to take a deep breath before I can manage it.
“I’ll take as many as you’ll give me, Master. Use my cunt however you want.”
I cry out as he pinches my clit. Just a tease but enough to have me panting.
“And your most sacred places? How about just here?”
I can’t deny the damn nerves at that. I pause and stiffen, and he chuckles.
“Have I found a limit, Holly? Will you use your safe word if I want to force a needle through your swollen clit?”
I don’t want limits. I never do.
I breathe. I calm myself. I trust in the power of submission.
And then I spread my legs as wide as my shackled ankles allow, swaying in my bonds.
“No, Master. My clit is yours.”
“Really? We’ll see, shall we?”
Sensory deprivation is a beast for heightening disorientation. I flinch as fresh hands take hold of me from either side to keep me firmly in position. My tits are throbbing like hell, beginning to ache as well as spark, and I figure the needles will start there. I brace myself for it.
The hood makes it such a shock when my master targets my ribcage instead.
His pinch is savage as he grabs enough flesh for a decent piercing on my left side.
The jab of the needle makes me hiss in pain, but he gives me no time to recover, just pinches my flesh in a meticulous routine, going downwards, spearing me with fine needles and leaving them threaded through.
They must be barely a centimetre apart. So many of them, I lose count.
The train of pain they leave behind is nasty.
Prickles of throbbing hot pain that blur as one.
My master may have been right, even though I don’t want to admit it. I may not make it through this to the very end… the idea of him stabbing my swollen clit with a needle is insane…