Chapter 27
She thought he was through when he moved out of sight, but then she felt his hands spreading her legs, and the motherfucker sucked her clit into another snakebite device.
She damned near screamed, but managed to hold it in. No way to keep her breathing quiet, but he’d specifically said no vocalizations, so hopefully she wasn’t breaking his rules.
But on top of gasping for air, her hips involuntarily jerked, trying to rid her of the pain on her clit, and that only made the ropes pull and torque, sending fresh fire through her shoulders and back.
She bit her lip hard to keep from involuntarily vocalizing her pain.
He didn’t walk away. Just stood and watched her, his hand still on her left thigh. She tried to bring her breathing under control, and eventually, it slowed a little. Wasn’t so frantic.
But fuck, her nipples and clit were still screaming while the damned suction pulled everything to the surface — raw nerve endings, heated blood, and no telling what else.
Eventually, he walked to the wall, lifted her back where she’d been before, and then made his way to his bed. She heard him undress, the sheets rustle, the mattress shift under his weight. Long minutes later, his breathing slowed and deepened into the steady rhythm of sleep.
She hung there, nipples and clit throbbing under the relentless suction, body aching from the pose, mind spinning with the knowledge that he was right there, asleep, while she suffered for him.
The suction was cruel at first — tight, pulling, making her flesh swell and ache. Over time, it eased slightly as her body adjusted, but the ache never fully left. Every so often she’d shift, trying to find relief, and the ropes would remind her there was none.
She lost track of time. The moon moved. She heard two owls in the distance.
He woke maybe two hours later. She heard him pad across the hardwood, and then the floor came closer once again.
When she was lowered, he stepped in close and — without saying a word — yanked the suction bulbs off both nipples at the same time.
He squeezed her nipples hard, twisting them between thumb and forefinger, the pinch turning into a deep, burning ache that arrowed straight to her core. His fingers were like steel, working and manipulating them cruelly, and she barely managed not to cry out.
And then he was at her clit, standing between her thighs to hold them apart, and he twisted the suction device off before squeezing the raw, inflamed nub.
He smacked it a half dozen times and then went back to squeezing.
He pulled on it, stretched it, smacked it some more.
Her hips jerked in her bondage, desperate, and she locked her mouth closed hard with the effort of not screaming.
A thin, bitten-off whine crawled up her chest, but she choked it down, teeth grinding together, her whole body straining to keep anything from spilling out.
He squeezed her clit more before he put the suction device back on, wrenching a strangled gasp out of her.
Back to her nipples, where he squeezed and twisted a little more before reapplying the devices.
And then he returned to the wall, lifted her into the air again, and climbed back into bed like nothing had happened.
She gasped air in and out, over and over, her ribs opening and closing, making her sway upside down in the ropes.
Tears flowed from her eyes, over her forehead, and into her hair.
Every nerve in her clit was alive and awake, and she couldn’t help but pump her hips, making the ropes on her thighs and waist rub and chafe.
Her nipples were on fire, and she was afraid if she started crying, she’d make vocal sounds, so she desperately tried to just breathe through the constant throbbing pressure and blazing heat on her most sensitive parts.
He checked on her twice more during the night.
Each time the pattern was the same: remove the bulbs, torment her swollen nipples and clit, reapply the suction.
Each time, she had to fight not to moan or whimper.
Each time, the pain woke already raw nerve endings up all over again, reminding her exactly who she belonged to in these ropes.
And in between, she dozed on and off. She watched the moon. Listened to the owls, to the coyotes in the distance. Tried not to pump her hips.
The last check came when the moon was headed toward the horizon but the sun hadn’t started lighting the sky yet.
He removed the bulbs again, tortured her nipples and clit, but before he reapplied them, he reached for something else.
She felt the plug press against her asshole and knew what was coming. No prep, no stretching, he just pressed it in, stretching her open without mercy until it seated deep inside her.
He turned it on, reinstalled the three suction cups, and he was gone, lifting back into the air.
He’d put the plug on a random routine. Sometimes low and teasing, sometimes sharp and intense, sometimes pulsing in waves that made her hips jerk. She couldn’t predict it. Couldn’t brace for it. It kept her constantly aware, constantly on edge, her body primed and hypersensitive.
There was no more dozing. She’d start to drift off and the plug would alter its intensity, or would go from a steady vibe to one that felt like a racecar driver revving his engine over and over. And over. And over.
She hung there as the sky gradually brightened. She couldn’t see the actual sunrise, so she envisaged the map in her head and figured out she was facing northwest. Slowly, the trees went from silhouettes to textured colors, and the valley emerged from shadow.
Her body ached everywhere. Her nipples and clit throbbed from hours of suction and torment. The random vibrations in her ass kept her clit pulsing and her pussy clenching around nothing. Every muscle protested the sustained position.
She was exhausted. She was aching. She was desperate.
But she was completely silent and utterly owned.
The sky was fully light when she heard him up again.
He went to the bathroom to pee first, and it reminded her that she needed to do that, too.
When he came out, he slowly lowered her once again, removed the suction bulbs from her nipples and clit, but left the vibrating plug in place.
Taking the suction off her nipples fucking hurt, and the plug still in her ass chose that moment to switch to the most annoying vibration pattern.
But he seemed oblivious while he wound rope around each bent leg near her knees — and then used long ropes anchored to points on the wall to pull her knees wide open.
He shortened the ropes, stretching her legs even farther apart, leaving her even more exposed and vulnerable. She felt cool air on her innermost lips. On her swollen clit.
“You can scream,” he told her, voice low and calm, “but no words.”
And then the pain started.
She couldn’t see him. She was looking at the back of a sofa now, so she had no idea what he was using on her clit. Sharp bursts of pain. Over and over. Eventually, she thought he might be using a rubber band to pop it.
Over and over, pain snapped against millions of swollen, oversensitive nerves.
She easily recognized his next instrument of torture — a fucking electric toothbrush, its bristles buzzing mercilessly against the raw tissues, rapidly becoming even more inflamed and excoriated. More sensitive. Fucking flayed.
Next was a cruel plastic beaded flogger aimed directly at her clit, followed by a plugged-in vibrator alternately pressing hard and then barely touching.
Next, he used some kind of mini-cane on it, battering it over and over. A heavy chopstick, maybe?
He’d occasionally use the toothbrush again, or the rubber band. The harsh plastic flogger.
He was relentless. Endless. Focusing solely on the most nerve-dense part of her body with the single-minded focus of a man who took pride in all the ways he could hurt her. Could break her down to nothing but pain and desperation.
She was determined not to beg. For one thing, she didn’t want him to silence her, but it was also a point of obedience. And maybe a little pride.
She bit her lip until it bled, screamed into the empty air, thrashed as much as the ropes allowed, but she refused to beg.
Until she couldn’t hold it back anymore when the toothbrush came out for the umpteenth time and she was already so fucking raw.
“Please!” The word tore out of her, raw and desperate. “Please have mercy!”
- - - ? - - -
He stopped, walked to her front, and showed her a large binder clip, metal jaws glinting in the morning light. His gaze locked on hers — calm, expectant, utterly in control.
No commands. She knew what he wanted, and he expected her to give it to him.
For one long, dreadful moment their eyes held while he waited for her to comply, and she considered refusing.
But this was about submission, about agreeing he was in control, so she opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out.
He fastened the binder clip on, and she screamed all over again. The crushing, shocking pain was more than she’d expected, and it traveled all through her mouth, the weight dragging her tongue from her mouth.
Tears flooded her eyes, but he was gone. Back between her legs.
He used the plastic flogger this time instead of the toothbrush. But slower, and not as hard.
It still hurt like fuck, but the very fact he’d backed off was… disappointing.
That wasn’t the deal. This was supposed to be about what he wanted to do to her. What made his dick hard. The cruelty he needed to inflict.
If she could dictate the intensity, the whole thing fell apart. She didn't want a sadist who pulled his punches when she complained. She wanted one who knew better than she did what she needed.
The flogger stopped, and he walked back around to her. Squatted low, so his face was on the same level as hers.
And even upside down, she could recognize his smirk.
“Hmmm. Little girls shouldn’t ask for things they don’t want.”
Then he stood and he was gone.