My voice was defeated. “Yes, master.” I spread my legs wider, so submissive and in such a headspace with his denial. I let him have me for his enjoyment, opening myself wider, arching myself even while I whimpered soft, pathetic little sounds of unrequited need. He switched to my asshole at the last minute and that was to cum inside of it. And then he knelt in front of me with an evil little smile and lapped my pussy in the shower, laughing when I whimpered in pleasure, delighting in my torture. That didn’t last as long but it served to amp me into madness. “Twenty minutes twice again, little fucktoy. Understood?”
“Yes, master.”
And it went like that. He fucked me three times a day while I cried. Although that night when I threw myself at his knees and begged for pain, I was sobbing, actually crying and pleading with him, and it made him pleased enough to fetch his cane. “Over the chair, Tuesday. This is mercy for you so I’m not going to help you. We can keep going until you decide you’ve had enough.”
I had to close my mouth tight to keep from begging him to stop when he started, knowing that he’d oblige as soon as the words left my lips and I needed the pain to focus. Each stroke was torture that took the edge off a worse torture and I arched up as a coping mechanism. “Good girl.” He cooed it over me, stroking me when I curled into his arms and whimpered. He didn’t get any easier with his gentleness.
He made me sleep in the chastity belt with both the anal and vaginal toy attachments instead, making it far worse. Six days became nine where I begged for more and more pain, where he started to make me reverently kiss his cane, where he pet me with that terrible strip of agony. Nine became twelve where my body started to get so confused in the worst ways. I sank into any torment he gave me, readily and eagerly, and our dynamic had turned into something with less talking between us but with far more depth. I started to turn fiendish at the thought of the cane because… here’s the thing.
It hurt like hell and at first it was to save me from my own arousal. But then, horrifically, it became tethered with that same arousal it was supposed to be saving me from. I had to start to focus on the pain for it to work at all when I was becoming so goddamn turned on by what he was doing and how effective his conditioning was.
Twelve turned to fourteen and when I went home, my head was bowed in defeat. I was broken and didn’t have any hope that he would ever let me up from this because he made it clear time and again that it aroused him so much, as much as it aroused me. And while the defeated feeling was dark, it wasn’t a miserable dark. It had transformed me, like every other dark thing he did to me, so that this was just hopeless desire.
He was waiting for me when I walked in the door and he had me in an instant, his assault rough and horny. He pulled my shirt over my head and threw it while I gasped up at him and then just as quickly fucked his fingers inside of me. The only times he spoke were to torture me with word porn and he did that while I whined desperately. “God, you’re always wet for me now. I don’t even have to work to make you ready for me when you’re this desperate. Taste how wet this pussy is for me, baby.” He shoved his fingers into my mouth while I suckled, my eyes closing because there really was so much cum it was obscene. He shoved my skirt down while barking at me to get out of my shoes and then I was lifted against the wall and his cock was free and-
“Mmmmph!” The sound was slutty around his fingers and my mouth parted with desire. Every motion he made brushed against my clit and I shook with the effort of holding off orgasm, of not climbing that ladder of pleasure, and I had practiced so much that it was becoming terrifyingly easy so long as I didn’t think about the cane and my wicked relationship with it. Even so, my clit felt swollen, engorged, dying for just that one touch and his permission… but I had lost hope for either of those things and I focused on his pleasure instead, opening for him to use.
Ivory purred against my ear, his hands forceful around my waist. “Who do you serve?” He whispered it, voice intent in my ear.
“You, master.” I cried it when he took his fingers from my mouth.
“Good girl. Look at me. I want to see it when you suffer for me.” Obediently, I did, meeting his eyes and staring into them for a bond that hurt. Pain giver and pain bearer. Depraved pride and pleasure radiated from his gaze and it gave me strength, made me stay sane. I shuddered when my body climbed up a notch of pleasure against my will and had to breathe to get control again. Ivory held me by my hair so I couldn’t look away and he could drink in every spasm and desperate fight I had to hold back. He chuckled at my pain. “Pretend your clit isn’t there. Just relax and take it.” I did that and this time was different than his other times using me. He moved slowly, making me feel every inch in a way that made me dread this. Had he masturbated before I got home? I didn’t know but if he had he could make this last for a long time.
“Yes, master.”
“Poor girl. You were begging me in your sleep, a little slut for me even then.”
I moaned because I didn’t doubt him. “I dreamed about the cane again,” I whimpered. Again, because he had made me tell him every terrible transformation he was putting me through, made me recant every dream and desire.
“Did you? You beautiful little pain slut of my toy.” He reached around me to smack my ass and I moaned. “It doesn’t even help anymore, does it? It makes you so fucking hot that even the cane can’t save you at the moment.” I cried into his neck but he grabbed my hair again, growling. “No, look at me.” And I obeyed because I’d do anything he asked after what he’d done to me.
“Are you pleased?” I finally asked it softly, whimpering it like a dog begging for a shred of approval.
His grip tightened and he growled, biting my bottom lip in a vicious tease of a kiss, as if he were too afraid he’d hurt me if he indulged in the real thing. “Am I fucking pleased? God, look at you. You’ve been bowing on my leash for a week now, you’ve licked my ankles without even being told when I sat down, and you’d lick my shoes clean if I told you to. You bend over even farther for me to use you easier and you let me see your suffering because you know I love it. You’re so covered in cane tracks and welts that I don’t even have a place left to torture you anymore until you heal and you’re begging for more like a wanton in your sleep. My God, am I fucking pleased?” He snarled and pulled out of me, taking me to the floor in the doorway instead, and I gasped with wide eyes when he thrust back inside me. He was on his knees over me, pulling me up at a strange angle that was nonetheless torturously deep and I moaned with a shocked sob of desire. “Let me show you how beyond pleased I am. Let me show you how goddamned ecstatic you make me.” He forced me back, impaling me as deep as he could in one fierce stroke while his other hand slapped my pussy right on my clit and I jolted, my body contorting as he ripped my control straight out of the stranglehold I’d had it in for two fucking weeks.