I sobbed when he stopped, shaking, my head held all the way back because I couldn’t find the strength to even stand, let alone stay on my toes. My master decided to help with that. By “help me” I mean that he got a standing beam and attached a thick dildo to it. When he had it positioned beneath me, he used a crank pedal to fit it inside me, forcing me still with the toy and that steel beam that was so heavy and sturdy that I couldn’t carry it. Impaled and held up, with my ankles still pulled so painfully apart, he tilted my head even further with the leash attached to my nose ring so that everything was stretched and painful and sore. Next, he came back with a leather harness that he fit even over the gag and he spoke for the first time with it, slapping my face. “You make too much fucking noise even through that cock down your goddamned throat.”
I whimpered once, through my nose, but then went still like I had that first night, my ass and thighs throbbing with so many stripes. And there would be no sound escaping from that second strip of leather gear covering. It was wide, going up to my nose, and cinched tight.
When he placed something sharp at the tip of my breast, I moaned and there was only the smallest escape of any sound at all this time. A nail again? I quivered. No, it was the needles again, not that that was much comfort. Where the nails were through the edge of my breasts, the needles were something he always applied into a nauseating area. He didn’t use those like surface play piercings, preferring to lynch them a little deeper in the flesh, and this time he didn’t just play with the small amount of four needles he had before. He made something that felt like half circles around my tits that broke into lines down my stomach. And the lines, blessedly, were play piercing style. It was a small mercy when there were so many needles that I lost count and only knew the feeling of sweat breaking over my flesh with the soreness and the pain. I tried to make some sound partially through his working, tried desperately to get through to him that I wasn’t sure how much of this I could take.
In answer, he stopped his pattern and went up to my nipples, making me squeal with the application of needles through those. My desperate sounds were always only ever met with pain and more pain, my body his torture toy. His punishments for my sounds were always long too. This time he didn’t stop after he placed three needles through each nipple. He went down to my pussy and I squealed the most silent shouts while he skewered above and below my clit, that swollen bit of flesh around my piercing. And with those I felt something like a cork placed at the ends of the needles so they wouldn’t pierce my thighs.
After that I lost hope again and he kept going with his pattern, whatever it was, and I didn’t even care because if he wasn’t satisfied by the end of the needles, it would be the whip or something else. I just cried, suffering. And then I spasmed in that feeling of horrible pleasure, pure humiliation from how I enjoyed what he did to me. “Filthy little fuck.” He growled it and his voice was right by my ear. “Maso fucktoy.” He licked up my face in the obscene way he had and kissed my lips over all the leather keeping me quiet. “Smile for the camera.” It was a laughable command. I was in agony and my lips weren’t even visible. He laughed at his own sick joke too while I spasmed again on the shaft impaling me, my body betraying me with the amount of mental pleasure this gave me.
“Don’t cum.” He snarled it in my ear when he finally surged into my ass. “Don’t cum from me fucking you. This is for me, understood? You got your pleasure from the pain like you should but a fucking, even in your little asshole? No, that’s too good for a degraded little masochistic whore like you.”
I obeyed, easily holding back orgasm after those spasms had rocked me. There was something about them that made them so intense even orgasms paled in comparison. He used my body like his toy. And then he left me there to sit on my cock, held in painful bondage while my whole body throbbed and I couldn’t do anything to rub it away.
I waited… and waited. But he didn’t come back. My body started to burn with the stretch of his horrible bondage and I shifted on the toy, hurting. And it was only getting more intense. Once more I spasmed in one of those tormented mental orgasms, milking the toy. Finally I heard him again and he pulled off the leather harness cover for my gag. I felt him remove the hollow inside of it, pulling my head even farther back my hair.
And then something was poured down my throat and I moaned because I recognized the taste for what it was. How many times had I been in my bathroom and drank my piss because it made me so goddamned hot? But it was nothing, fucking nothing so good as being degraded by Ivory while he poured his own piss down my throat. My body went off like a firecracker to this fantasy, so that I was shaking and trying to swallow through my chokes of pleasure. I got it down, swallowing the massive amount he fed me.
And then I passed out, body still pulsating around the wide toy that had become the center of my world.
When I woke back up, I was chained to his bed spread eagle and when I turned my head to the side, he had taped a picture of me up, one of the ones he had taken after what he’d done. Because he had made a heart with over a hundred needles. “Romantic, isn’t it, little slave?”
I turned to see him in the doorway of our bathroom. “Yes, master,” I whispered. Because it was. “I love you, master.” Because I did.
He crawled over top of me for an answer and was inside me in a second, riding me hard and slow while the sheets chafed across the soreness in my ass.
————
There was also another proclivity he had. He, of course, knew when my period started or was about to start. For a while he left me alone on these days, except to make me hot cocoa or something comforting. Mine weren’t bad or anything but they made me sore and he studied me during this like he studied my reactions to everything. And then one day my soreness started the night before I would start, like it always did, and he was waiting for me when I got home, his eyes excited in a way that made me shiver. That gaze aroused me even though my pussy felt sore and raw at the moment and my body was weak all over. The night before was always the worst for me and he knew as much.
He circled around me right inside his door, kissing my temple. “Do you know there’s something I’ve never gotten to take advantage of and indulge in? You see, I had most of my forays in sex clubs and females are there for sex. Needless to say, I haven’t gotten to enjoy torturing a submissive while she’s already so nice and sensitive from this time. It seems like such a waste when there’s so much pain, so much feeling, to be capitalized. But now it occurred to me that I have a little slave whose purpose is to serve me in these ways. And I’m feeling a little romantic actually.”