Chapter 13 #3
“If only you could see how beautiful you look, Holly. Your purple tits are bruising so perfectly, and you make such stunning rivers of blood.”
I imagine tiny trickles, like veins of scarlet trailing down my skin from so many needles.
His words give me pride, and his thumb against my clit gives me joy.
“Thank you, Master,” I manage to say.
“You’re so very welcome,” he says, pinching my clit gently. Pinching then circling. Pinching then circling.
I get white heat behind my eyes when the waves of orgasm begin to rise inside me, all the way through. I’m teetering on the edge for eternity, my master playing me just right until I’m whimpering like the whore I’m paid to be.
Please, oh fuck, yes, yes, yes!
My whole body is alight as I come for him, every single one of my nerve endings on fire, and I don’t care what is pleasure and what is pain anymore. All is one.
And all is perfect.
I’m free, even though I’m in shackles. My whimpers sound miles away as I come, my soul soaring high.
“It’s time,” Master says, and the stab of agony cuts through the waves like a sword blade.
My master pierces my clit with one of his razor sharp needles as I’m still coming down from my orgasm, and I hate him. I fucking hate him! But hell, I love him at the same time.
The throb of pure agony blots out everything. I can barely breathe, barely think, barely make a sound, but I’m still grinning in my hood.
Grinning, and sobbing, and flying so high it’s unreal.
“Now, let’s make you even more beautiful,” Master says, and I have no idea what he’s doing when I feel the soft sweep of satin against my thigh.
It’s a ribbon. He’s got a ribbon…
And I get it. I think I understand.
Seal it in.
He’s going to seal their cum inside me.
Master uses the needles in my pussy lips as anchors to lace my slit up like a corset.
I have a sick smile on my face as I feel him tie the bow.
“What colour is it?” I manage to ask.
“Scarlet. Matches the wonderful canvas.”
I try to imagine the pretty red bow.
“Just one final thing now, sweet whore. We want to see the ribbons strain on your cunt, trying to hold that cum in, and there is one sure way to do that. I want to make you strain.” He pauses. “Do you want to use your safe word? One word from that pretty mouth of yours and all this will be over.”
He’s prodding me. Testing me. But I will never relent.
I want him to fucking test me.
I’m lost in the realms of subspace, and I’m not coming back anytime soon.
“Never,” I say. “Make me look beautiful, Master. Strain my pussy. Make me bleed. I don’t care.”
He laughs. “Oh, you’re already bleeding, Holly.”
“Not enough…” I tell him, and brace myself, offering him my fucked up pussy as best as I can.
“Perfect slut. I knew we were right to keep you safe. And safe you are. Safe within The Agency. We will always protect you.”
I hear the truth in his words.
I feel safe for the first time in months. Truly safe from the world and its bitchiness and lies, out to get me.
I hear the rubber snap of gloves being stretched over his hands. I hear the squelch of a bottle. The characteristic sloppiness of lube. Master reaches under me and smears it over my asshole with gloved fingers, and then the other founders hoist my legs, just a touch higher.
Two lubed up fingers in my ass mean nothing to me. It’s three before I moan, and four before I squirm.
I still myself when I feel his thumb lining up. I suck in breaths, awaiting the glorious doom.
“This is going to stretch,” Master says. “It will make the ribbon pull tight, and the needles bite those tender pussy lips. It’s going to tear you a little. Do you understand?”
I nod for him.
“Answer me, Holly.”
“Yes, I understand.”
He pushes in, right to the knuckles.
“Is this what you want, Holly? Do you want to tear for me?”
I find the fire of hardcorer in the depths of me. My speared clit is singing as I answer my master.
“I want you to make my pretty laced cunt hurt so fucking bad for you, Master. I want you to make it as beautiful as you can.”
“That’s our girl, Holly. That’s our girl.”
It’s like the gates of Hell bursting open when my master pops his fist in my ass past the knuckles. He sinks in to the wrist, and my cry is so loud, echoing all around me. It really does make my cunt strain.
Everything is savage.
Everything is beautifully grotesque as he fist fucks me until I’m a used up fucking wreck.
His mouth drops to my laced-up cunt and he laps the ribbons, digging his tongue in to tease my speared clit, and even through the agony, it works. I come for him all over again.
I come for my fucked-up master like I’m in dreamland.
And then the cycle reverses.
He tugs his hand out of my ass and takes his gloves off. He unties the bow on my cunt and takes off the ribbon.
Every needle is a slice of cutting pain as it’s pulled free.
I wail like a banshee when the one is pulled from my clit, and Master gives me a gentle shh, getting to work on my thighs.
Other hands join in to help. Both ladders on my ribs being pulled out in sync, two needles at a time, until it’s only my throbbing tits remaining.
Master gives me a countdown from five until the needles are taken from my nipples, and I’m still reeling as the rest are pulled out. Circle after circle after circle.
My legs are unshackled and lowered before my tits are set free of their bindings, but my bandy thighs are useless, so strong hands hold me steady. I grit my teeth under my hood, and curse obscenities as the final twine is unravelled, and my tits are allowed to fall free.
Jesus fucking Christ, it’s agony when the blood starts flowing back into them. They are going to be fucked for days. Bruised for fucking weeks.
“Time’s up now, Holly,” Master says. “You’ll be escorted out now and helped with the aftercare. Then you’ll be driven home.”
“Thank you, Master,” I manage to say, and my shackled wrists are undone.
I’m lucky enough to be able to hold on to two strong elbows as I’m guided from the room. My legs are still bandy when I hear the original voice of the night saying thank you, I’ll take it from here.
“Are you ok?” he asks as he guides me down onto a soft seat.
“Yes, thanks. I mean, kind of.” I have the post subspace giggles, as I struggle for words. “Yeah. I’m ok.”
“Let’s get you a drink.”
He hands me an open bottle of water, and loosens my hood just enough to let me take a sip from inside.
“I’m going to be using some antiseptic wipes now,” he tells me. “They might sting a little.”
My giggles notch up. “Don’t worry. I don’t think it will top the scale somehow.”
I wonder how much blood he’s wiping away from my skin as he works. My heart is thumping on a high, and I don’t actually give a shit. I’m still elated from my gig with the founders, and elated I didn’t use my safe word, and elated by fucking everything.
I’m helped back into my dress, slowly, grateful I chose my outfit wisely as soon as the fabric glides against my prickled skin. My pumps are easy to slip my feet into, thank God.
I’m ready for home, ready for bed, but most of all I’m ready for Josh. More than anything in the entire universe right now, I’m ready for Josh.
I need him so much it aches as bad as my tits.
I’m gripping onto my carer’s elbow, on my way to the door when we stop suddenly.
“One sec!” a voice sounds out, and it’s a woman’s voice. A voice I know so well that my jaw drops. OH MY FUCKING GOD! I want to rip my hood off, but even in my shocked state I wouldn’t be that stupid.
“Hey, Ella,” Orla says to me, and lays a hand on my arm. “Woah, you nailed it there, girl. I’ve seen some five star hardcorers in my time, but that was epic. Great work.”
“You were watching? Were you in there?! Seriously?”
“I sometimes have a performance viewing, to check out the hardcorers,” she says. “But I’m a spectator through the viewing pane on the balcony, not in the scene itself. I just wanted to say hello. Hello and well done. You were brilliant.”
I get a fresh round of giggles.
“Hello and thanks. That’s amazing. Seriously, it’s amazing.”
I’d want to talk to her for hours if my body wasn’t on the verge of collapsing.
“You’d better get going,” she says, and I don’t argue, because I can’t. Once my fading adrenaline wears off, I’m going to be screwed.
“Just a couple of things first, though,” she says. “One is that we’ve rescheduled your calendar to give you recovery time, as we did last time. Nobody will be complaining, and you’ll be reimbursed for every job.”
“You don’t need to –”
“Stop,” she says. “Don’t even think about protesting. It’s standard.” She pauses. “What isn’t so standard is that we’ve done the same for Josh’s calendar, so he can support your recovery. We alerted him earlier, and he was very happy for the consideration.”
“Wow, that’s crazy. Just, um…” I sound so ditzy. “Thanks! Thank you!”
“Oh, and the other thing,” Orla says. “Your recovery period won’t be in a random townhouse Airbnb, Ella, not this time.”
I get a different kind of shiver up my back.
“What do you mean?”
I know she’s smiling. I can feel it. I just wish I could see it.
“You’re going home to Belgravia tonight, sweets. I spoke to Josh earlier, once the founders ruled that it would be entirely safe for you to do so.”
“I’m going where?! What?” My tears well up again to an entirely different tune. “I’m going home?”
“Yeah, you are. Josh has packed up your things. He’s waiting for you back in Belgravia.”
Fuck the elbow I’m balancing on, I throw myself into her arms, pain be damned.
I sob like a baby as I thank her, and thank the founders, and thank whole damn Agency, and thank the good Lord above. The wounds healing on the outside will be little more than scratches compared to the wounds that will be healing on the inside, once I get back home. They won’t even come close.
“Let me help you into the car,” my saviour says and all I can do is sob and sniffle as she walks me outside and eases me into the back seat.
“You’re amazing, Ella,” she says, and I giggle-sob at her words. “Enjoy your time off. You’ve earned it.”
The car door closes, and the driver takes me away. Away to what feels a whole new brilliant life awaiting. I’m hurting so bad, every bone, every muscle, every inch of bruised and battered flesh, but my tears are tears of joy as I cry, all the way… home.