Chapter 14
Knife watched Tuesday shake on hands and knees, the rope from her ponytail to the anal hook keeping her back in that gorgeous, deep curve.
Every tiny tremor traveled straight down the line, pulling her hair and shifting the hook inside her ass.
She was trying so hard to stay still. Trying so hard to be good.
It wasn’t going to be possible for her to stay still for long, though.
He picked up the Delrin this time, his favorite cane for this kind of work.
No wrapping, and no surface sting to distract from its purpose — driving past the surface layers, sinking deep into the muscle.
The thick, composite cane was designed to transfer the energy of the strike all the way to the bone with a dense, penetrating thud.
Delivered to the ass and thighs, the shock of it would impact some of the thickest muscles in the human body, creating deep, bone-aching bruises far below the surface.
He started at the top of her left thigh and laid the first strike just below the curve of her ass where the hamstring began.
She jerked hard, and the rope pulled taut between her hair and the hook.
Her back arched up for an involuntary second while she tried to protect her ass, still clenching hard around the cold steel, but she quickly caught herself and returned to position, her screams bouncing off the walls a half-second later.
He watched her work through the loop and come out the other side shaking, arms locked, trying to be still.
Second strike, lower. The center of the hamstring, where the nerve density was intense and the muscle was thick enough to absorb the impact and hold it, the ache building rather than fading.
He read the difference in her response this time, the way her hips dropped and the tremor in her arms deepened.
She screamed into the hood with every strike, but he mostly ignored it. He was more interested in the way her body reacted.
She crawled forward on the next strike, instincts overriding her submission, and he brought the cane down hard across her ass in three rapid, savage strokes, right over the worst of the bruises from earlier.
She froze, then backed up, and he smiled.
She learned fast.
He worked down the left leg methodically, finding each cluster, taking his time between strikes to let the previous one finish its sentence before he delivered the next.
The rope pulled with every flinch. The hook shifted with every pull.
Her hair kept her head back and her spine bent into the sharp arch, and there was nothing she could do about any of it except shake and stay up and take what he was giving her.
Because she’d already learned crawling away was not an option.
He switched to the right leg and started again from the top.
The backs of the calves next, and the quality changed — bone closer to the surface here, less cushion, the Delrin especially cruel with her legs directly on the floor.
Her responses were louder now, less controlled, the shaking in her arms threatening to give way.
He watched her fight to keep herself up, and he respected the fight enough not to back off.
His cock was so hard it hurt. He’d been hard most of the day, teasing himself with her body while he held back, only finding release twice. But watching her fight to stay still while he hurt her, watching her body surrender its last illusions of control — this was pushing him right to the edge.
He set the cane down and picked up the TENS remote.
The moment he turned it on, her whole body convulsed because the tiny pads on either side of her clit lit her up like a live wire.
She jerked hard, which yanked her hair, which yanked the hook, which made her screams fill the room.
He kept the current steady while he caned her thighs all over again, layering the two sensations until her overloaded nervous system had nowhere left to go — saturated in the dueling scourges of deep impact and searing electricity, trapped in place with only an anal hook and a single rope.
She’d gone from near-zero sensory input to more than the human mind is capable of handling, and he kept at it for a solid minute before he turned the unit off and held the cane at his side. Her back sagged lower while she breathed hard under the hood.
But he only gave her thirty seconds before he did it again, and his cock throbbed in time with her muffled screams. He needed to be inside her, but he made himself wait. He wanted her completely broken open before he sank into her ass.
But he was getting close, which meant it was time to introduce her feet to the Delrin.
He’d been saving this.
The sole of the human foot is full of dense nerve endings, has minimal muscle protection, and provides direct lines to some of the oldest alarm systems in the body.
Bastinado is in a class all by itself, and the first strike is always a revelation to someone who’s never experienced it.
Not because it’s the worst pain they’ve ever felt, but because it’s completely outside their experience of pain.
He placed the Delrin an inch above the sole of her right foot, lifted the wicked instrument, and delivered.
Her entire body responded. Not a flinch, but a full-system seizure of response, both legs convulsing, arms buckling, the rope snapping taut between hook and hair as her head wrenched back.
The sound she made inside the hood went straight to his dick and balls, and he would’ve come on the spot without the years of discipline he’d practiced.
He waited until she was back on all fours and then gave her three seconds before he took aim at her left foot.
Same response, maybe louder. Her arms gave out completely once again, and she caught herself on her forearms, the arch of her back even more extreme now with her upper body lower.
He worked both feet in alternating strikes, unhurried, two more strikes to each foot. He read her scent, sounds, and the intensity of her trembling.
Her scent told him she was still with him. Pain and arousal wound together so tight they were functionally a single thing, her body having long since stopped trying to distinguish between them. She was exactly where he wanted her.
He set the Delrin down and lifted the long fiberglass cane.
It was lighter in his hand. More flex, all whip — a completely different instrument from everything he’d used on her today. He held it for a moment, feeling the weight of it, the balance, considering placement.
They were nearing the end, so he decided on six more strikes before he sank into her heat.
He drew back and delivered the first one across the backs of both thighs simultaneously.
The crack of it was something she couldn’t hear, but she sure as hell felt it.
The sharp red line appeared a microsecond later, and her response was everything he’d been working toward all day: every remaining piece of control she’d been holding onto releasing at once in a sound that went straight through the hood and filled the room.
And may as well have been connected directly to his balls and dick.
He applied the second strike slightly lower, and the third at the top of her thighs, aiming so the fiberglass wrapped around to the side.
He watched her arms give up entirely. She was on her forearms, and the arch of her back was the most beautiful thing he’d seen all day, the rope pulled taut, the hook seated deep, her surrendering to the ropes and pain. She was his, and they both knew it in that moment. No words needed.
Fourth strike across the calves.
Fifth, the backs of her thighs again, crossing the first line at an angle.
He held the sixth for a long moment. Watched her shake. Watched her breathe in ragged pulls through the hood.
He delivered the sixth strike across the arches of her feet, a soft stroke so it wouldn’t split the skin, but she wouldn’t feel it as anything except one of the most painful things of the day.
Then he set the fiberglass down and just looked at her. Her back, ass, and thighs were a mess of red and purple bruises and welts. The rope marks still visible, and the fresh cane stripes were stark.
She was beautiful, and she was his.
His fuckbuddy, he silently corrected himself.
He stepped behind her, disconnected the rope from the anal hook, and pulled the cold steel free. Her asshole clenched around nothing, still twitching from the long hours of stretch and vibration.
- - - ? - - -
Tuesday could only stay in place, tremble, and fight for air, which came easier now that her spine wasn’t forced into the painful bend, but the sudden emptiness was a shock. She whimpered into the hood, hips shifting uselessly, trying to find something that wasn’t there.
Then something hard pressed against her pussy a half-second before thrusting inside. Smooth, not silicone. Either hard plastic or metal, maybe glass. It felt a little like a plug, and it stayed in when he released it.
She screamed when dozens of tiny teeth sank into her clit on both sides, the pain instant and vicious, and she instantly recognized an evil version of an alligator clamp, biting down on the swollen bundle of already raw nerves.
Before she could process it, the same sharp teeth closed on her left nipple, then her right.
A short chain quickly connected all three, tight enough the only way to survive it was to bow her back up, the reverse of how he’d forced it to bend all day.
New muscles screamed. Different ligaments protested.
The chain pulled tight enough that any movement of her torso yanked on her clit and nipples at the same time.
Fresh screams tore from her chest and throat when her entire groin ignited, and every joint in her body seized in the throes of agony.
It was several long minutes before she figured out the thing in her pussy was an e-stim plug, and the pads were still around her clit.