Except suffer.
Maybe it wouldn’t amuse him to make me suffer for very long? He always loved my sex. Maybe he would want that instead. His words had been romantic and maybe he wanted me to break and tell him I loved him and that would be it.
Maybe?
Minutes passed. I think it was minutes. It felt like hours where I lifted painfully on my toes and cried and did nothing else while he didn’t even watch me.
I jumped in a mix of hope and terror when the door opened again. But it fast just turned to terror when he didn’t speak again. He lowered the board my tits were nailed to but didn’t remove the nails and I shook at the weight hanging from my breasts.
And then I heard the whip and choked, shaking more. He was evil, more evil than any other game, like this. It was the whip from his videos, or one like it, and I knew that when he abruptly cracked it by my ear, not hitting me, but scaring me. It worked and I screamed behind the gag again, forgetting to not move and snorting when the hook caught me. The next stripe actually did strike me and I jumped again, swallowing frantically as best I could around the gag.
I learned something. The cane was generally the more painful implement, but nothing followed the rules with Flatline – Ivory, I amended to myself – and he made the whip somehow even worse than the cane. I don’t know how, but he utilized it to full effect with every lash, the hiss and crack turning into nightmarish sounds. He made every strike even, too, so that the tail snapped across my back in something like a roll of pain with every little bit of fire being on a narrow strip like the cane.
Something else? It was terrible, but it was also like a song across my back and thighs. Every now and again I would feel a soft tickle of blood and he moved in a rhythm that was almost lulling. I quit counting at ten and he kept going and behind the mask my world felt strangely surreal, as if I were just this side of unconscious. And perhaps I was. I kept seeing that first video of his dungeon replay in my head, where he’d cracked the whip against the post and I had been so horny for it. This was every bit the next level I could have ever hoped for, too, so terrible that I was drowning in pain.
I was quiet near the end of it, though, and he rehung the board on my tits so that I was forced to wait in more pain again. Okay. The whip. He had shown me his whip and it was a horrible thing that I already wanted again, but not at the moment. And maybe that was what he’d wanted to show me? Maybe that was his way of breaking me into saying I loved him and if I just did it he would let me down from this hell? My breasts throbbed and I felt like I was hanging from them and the hook in my asshole alone by now, but it was hard to stay standing on my toes for so long. It hurt so bad.
But… as my whip lashes throbbed I considered how beautiful he was when I couldn’t even see him. Just from the feel of him dancing with that whip, he was beautiful.
————
When the door opened again I squealed at the sound, trying to turn to him, tossing to get his attention. How long had he left me again? I felt as if I were dying by then. Each second was more than I could bear and I needed to beg. I’d give anything just for the gag to be removed so he could hear my voice and maybe understand that I couldn’t take anymore. He chuckled at the sight of me and I must have been a mess. But I didn’t care because he undid the straps of the gag and it was the only hope I had now.
“Please!” I screamed it, howled it. “Please tell me what to do! Please, I don’t know what you want!”
But then he laughed at those words and I sobbed out miserably because my hopes were dashed to fucking pieces at the sound of that laugh. Every one of them evaporated, vaporized like so many useless delusions. “What I want? Whatever do you mean, Tuesday?”
His voice was so pleasant, goddamn him, and I remembered how much I hated his laugh all over again, that laugh he so casually gave while my world was agony at his whim. “How do I p-please you, master? P-please tell me what to do.”
“Oh, but I thought you understood. You are doing it, Tuesday. I don’t want you to do anything, exactly. I just want to see my pain slut tortured some more. That was your last chance to talk. Open your mouth back for the gag.”
“No! No, please!” I squealed it, panicked and shaking and dying a little.
For an answer, he slapped me and I broke down into sobs. But when he spoke, it made me cry all the harder because it was absolute menace. “Open your fucking mouth or I’ll sew your cunt closed too, and you’ll stand here for another hour.”
I screamed but it was a different scream than my others. This one was a wildfire scream from… something. I say that because I don’t even know exactly what it was. My body was in agony and it was far too much for me to physically orgasm to. And yet my mind shot so high into mental arousal that it was something like an orgasm. Maybe it even was a fucking orgasm. I don’t know but it was more intense than anything I’d ever had, even the night he’d raped me, and it was from pure masochism and the humiliation of being brought this low.
He was laughing when I came back into any kind of coherent thought, and the gag was locked back in place. “Well, I was going to save it for punishment but that was such a strong reaction. I can’t resist that when it just begs for me to follow through my threat, can I?”
I shivered once, but didn’t make another sound. I didn’t deserve to make another sound because he had heard that hidden, terrible desire as much as I had felt it. There was no hiding whatever had happened to me at his threat, at how my body craved him to do what he said.
Only small, hopeless whimpers escaped me when I felt his hands, clad in talc gloves, at my sex and felt the needle pierce me to start his stitch work. I shuddered with each pull and my face flamed when I heard him laugh. “Such a messy fucking cunt for being tortured.” But still, I didn’t make a sound. I was broken, his agony having done what he liked it to do, having taken me to that place he spoke of where there was only darkness. We had never been to this level of dark before, though, had never been so deep in it that I felt like I would never see the light again, that there was truly no hope for escape and he would hold me imprisoned this way forever.
My body shuddered violently again midway through, though this time I no longer screamed. He still noticed and had to clean me again before he could continue. “I know you’re a little maso whore, but try to control yourself.”
His words made me cry and he laughed at it in his amusement.
Each stitch took me both deeper and higher. I was floating, flying, my tortured tits only amplifying the effects. By the time I heard him pull his gloves off and the door opened and closed again, I was like an ethereal ghost of a creature, ready for more. My body felt opened to his pain in the same way he forced it to open to his cock. I felt empty, completely dead and cold, but it wasn’t bad. It was an amazing kind of peace where he was my cruel god and master and my existence was simple.