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“You touched a gun that you knew you should not.”
Whip. The hard crack as it hit my skin made me dread my nipples splitting.
I choked out a gasp.
“Whatever you thought you might do...” Whip. “...you will never think that again, little bitch.”
His speech ended but he circled me, laying it on so fast that I wrenched myself everywhere in an attempt to escape. My arms ached from the strain. I’d thought Gregor was harsh but I’d have bruises on my breasts already.
The fire laced me, seared me, and sent me spiraling into a litany of muffled screams.
Then he halted, leaving me dangling and shuddering.
Something hard and lubricated probed at my ass, squeezing into me inexorably, as he wedged me in place with his legs and a hand on my stomach.
In...further, I felt myself stretching though I was crying again.
“A size bigger than I planned. It fits. Just.” With teeth, he claimed a big chunk of my shoulder then pushed the plug all the way in.
Too big. Keening from the hurt, I attempted twisting sideways and got exactly nowhere. His palm smacked onto the end of the plug, jolting it deeper.
Pieter came around to my front and tucked his fingers into the chain of the leash either side of my mouth so that I had to look into his eyes. The pressure on my neck increased. Air rasped in my throat.
Panicking, desperate not to be strangled, I went up high on my toes, but he screwed the leash tighter.
The violence I saw in his eyes. The lust for hurting me.
This monster couldn’t be the Pieter I went to bed with. Something had happened. Just me? Just putting my hands on the rifle? I wished I’d never gone near it. This fear unraveled me, tore me to shivering pieces, until my legs trembled and the blood in my veins seemed to become worms of dread.
I had no savior here. My savior had become my torturer.
“I’m going to fuck you there later and you won’t like it, then I’m going to make you like it and come hard, then I might hurt you again. And not in a good way. You’re going to bleed. Learn from this. Are you learning? Nod.”
Though tears streamed down my face, I nodded and nodded, until he stopped me.
“Good.” He untangled his fingers and slapped my face, twice. “Good.”
Then he flogged me and caned me, covering me everywhere with a fetish artist’s playground of welts and bruises. More, and more again. He stalked past, studying his work.
I wanted him to stop, pleaded in my head for some impossible rescue, please, please, please, and knew no one was coming.
“Pretty, pretty stripes.”
Then around again, I heard the dance of his steps, the swish of leather and stick. I swayed, spun. Distantly he muttered no blood.
The last strikes of the whip were like leaves drifting silently onto a mountain of leaves. They didn’t register in significance. I was gone, elsewhere. Only the gasps and rasping sounds of my breathing came to my ears.
A whisper: Yes.
Then he pulled that plug from me and his cock shoved in. Red-hot pain. That made me scream and awaken.
“You’re fine,” he said, his words thick and harsh. “I’m in. Just.” Another shove, rocking me on my toes, then a grunt from him, and my inhalation became a whine. “A little more.”
The implacable surge of his cock as he slowly thrust further must rival childbirth. Burning, tearing pain. The circle of muscle seemed to stretch beyond what was possible. My teeth clamped onto the leash and I bit down as if I thought to crunch through the metal. The hold of rope, metal, and his hands on my hips made getting away impossible. I wrapped my fingers in the rope above and whimpered as he began fucking me in earnest.
A millennium later, his fingers clawed my stomach and I felt the swell of his cum inside. Then he released me from all the bindings except the leash in my mouth and laid me gently down on a blanket on the concrete.
My arms flopped at my sides and I groaned, eyes half open.
