A bolt in the ceiling, the metal dull, gray, in the harsh light. She didn't know where the light was from. She remembered his leading of her into the room. The room was bland, sparsely decorated. Nothing of any memorable features to be found. She felt a dull throb in her shoulders. A brief test, an attempt to roll knots the knots loose, proved futile. She wrinkled her nose in confusion, a struggle to remember. A pinprick of light flowers in her thoughts.
The dart of a pink kitten tongue across parched lips. She remembers bruising kisses, bitten lips. Memories play across tortured flesh like a dulcimer hammer. The dull thud in her shoulders turning into needles. Her eyes lift, pupils dilating as they focus in on leather and rope. Wrists banded together in butter-soft leather, tight, biting into the skin. Hands clasped together, folded in prayer to her god. A rope, wound about her hands, strung though leather and fingers tethering her to the ceiling.
Her mind is brought back into focus. She could have been here minutes or hours. The last thing she remembered was a scream of pain, the stinging whip of a belt across her ass. A blazing streak of red leads like a path to her cunt, a marker of where the tip of the belt licked her clit, hurling her cruelly into orgasmic spasms, blacking her out.
Her head arches back at the sound of a door opening. She knows better than to turn her head, to reassure herself that it really is him who came back into the room, and not a stranger. A chill traverses her skin. She knows he's staring at her, a buyer inspecting cattle for perfection. She feels his heat at her back, his breath hot on her neck.
"You didn't think I was done with my cunt yet, did you?" There's a mirth in his tone. Her muscles relax a little. He's no longer upset with her. She took her punishments until now, a good girl. The feel of a hand at her throat tenses her again. A trickle of moisture glistens at her cunt, threatening to raindrop to the floor. Her feet are still splayed apart, forced apart by the bindings at her ankles. She's bent slightly forward, back arched, placing her ass on theatrical display. Just because he's pleased with her doesn't mean that he's done punishing her.
Fingers that stroke her throat gently, erotically tantalizing, stop. A slow increasing pressure on her neck. "Tell me what you want me to do. Be my good girl, and I'll stop." Teasing fingers trace patterns across her neck. He moves in, his other arm encircling her waist. She whimpers in soft irritation, fabric blocking her from the sensation she craves, skin against skin.
The dart of his tongue across the edge of her ear. A sharp intake of breath rattles her breathing. She bites down against her bottom lip in time with his feel of his teeth on her earlobe. His hands leave her body, rattle around in his pocket. He produces a delicate looking pair of nipple clamps, a sweetly agonizing adornment for him to decorate her with. He holds them up before her, allowing her to see what comes next.
"Pretty girl, lovely cunt. What better way for you to show your devotion than by wearing my gifts?" Fingers tease at her right nipple, a small raspberry against a honey background, fruit ripe, only his for the picking. Both clips in his right hand, he slides his left arm around her, her right breast roughly handled, flesh bruised, her nipple a hard pebble against his palm. Soft groans escape her throat, leg muscles tight, her cunt walls spasm in want around air. He repeats the same motions at her other breast. Moisture trickles from her.
A squeak of protest escapes her when he pulls rudely from her, her body shaking at the sudden lack of contact. Seconds pass, and still, nothing. The feel of his hands left her greedy and wanting. More time, a minute, a lifetime. She calls out. "Please. I need..." She trails off, never able to complete the need without his prompting.
A minute more, her thighs now slick with want. Stars strike across her vision, the sting of his hand across her face. Never to bruise, only for her undivided attention. "Really, my precious, my sweet, wet cunt, you must learn to tell me what you need." A cruelly loving smile twists his lips. He strokes her nipples one final time before applying the clamps. A hiss of air sucks in through clenched teeth.
The rough scratch of beard against the soft angles of her face, his mouth glues to her. His kiss parts her lips, his tongue seeking out the hidden corners of her mouth, as if searching to pull her soul into his being. She whimpers again, struggling against bonds not allowing her access to touch him. Fingers slip down her form, trailing drag lines in their wake. Mews of agonized pleasure break the silence.
"Tell me what you need. Be a good girl, and then you can come." His fingers roughly part her labia, middle and ring finger barging into her cunt an uninvited, very welcome guest. He pulls them slowly, so slowly from her, muscles rippling around his fingers, small vices trying to keep his hand buried deep. He feels her cunt pulse, her body shaking, begging to be filled again. With wet caresses, he circles her clit, alternating between fast and slow. He played her body like a beloved stringed instrument, plucking at the nerve running from nipples to cunt.
She lets out a sigh, jaw slack. He's pushing her out of herself, keeping the tightrope between agony and ecstasy taut, her balance on the wire shaky. He sinks to his knees. A warm puff of moist air rolls across her cunt. A flood threatens to break through, past his fingers, to coat his hand. He pulls his fingers from her, slaps her cunt. Her eyes water at the sting, at his bringing her back to attention. He's not ready for her to fall over the edge.
A moan in sweet pain. Her eyes roll back in her head. He slaps her cunt, again. "Look at me. I want my toy to see how I play with her." She fights to keep her focus locked on him, only him, nothing but him. He breathes in the scent of her. A slick of spit across her clit send tremors through her. Athena bound before him, his to do with what he wants. Helpless to fight against the onslaught of his lust. He drags his tongue from clit to asshole, back again, stopping to probe his tongue into her depths. She whimpers, rocking her hips, trying to fuck his tongue like a cock.
He ministers to her for a while longer, until he senses she's ready to break. Un-gluing his mouth from her cunt, he looks up at her face, his face bathed in her juice. Soon, too soon. He leaves her on the edge of a precipice. Agony written across her visage. Terrified he'll leave her without coming. He knows her too well.
"What scares you more, pet? That your pleasure is mine to give, or deny? Or that I'm on my knees before you?"
Her voice is shaky, quiet. He watches her screw up her nose in concentration, her mind at war with her body.
