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“Oh my. I’ve always been incredibly turned on at the prospect of a strong dominant man biting me, sinking his teeth into my flesh; I’ve even masturbated to the fantasy of it.”
“You have, really?”
“Yes. Very much so. Oh, please Simon Sir, please bite me. I’d love it if you did. Please bite me anywhere you choose.”
He moved behind me. Then reached around my body and took hold of my breasts, still very tender from the lashing they had just received. I could feel his cock against my lower back and ass as he leaned into me. He was getting hard again. His strong fingers now squeezed deeper into my breasts. I felt his warm breath on my shoulder and knew exactly where he was contemplating sinking his teeth. All he needed was a tiny bit more encouragement:
“Fuck, yes. I beg of you….bite me, bite my shoulder, I want to feel the pain of your teeth digging into me. Bite me as hard as you want.”
He bit down into my shoulder, sending shivers through my spine, just as his hands mauled my breasts. The pain engulfed me. He let up on the bite for a few seconds, and then I gasped as he bit down a second time, even harder! My skin didn’t break, but his teeth indentations were clearly visible when he moved two inches further down. Then he clamped down again. He was enjoying this. His cock was now rock hard at my back. His hands continued pulling at my tits, with his fingertips digging even deeper.
I wanted to tell him to stop. Other clients had bitten me, but primarily during sex. This was different. This was deliberate, methodical biting. He was working his way down my shoulder, the same way people work their way down a cob of corn. I wanted to ask him to stop, but instead I found myself saying something entirely contrary:
“Bite the hell out of me.”
When he finally reached the end of my shoulder, he paused. I took the moment to catch my breath. I prayed, funnily enough, that he was content. The Reverend released my breasts, and shuffled back to the front of me. He was smiling. There was a little dribble of saliva running down his lip, to his chin. I don’t know why I said what I said.
“Do my tits.”
In a way, I was glad to be bound on a St. Andrew’s cross. Otherwise, I fear I might have pushed him away when I felt those sharp teeth bite into me. That said, I almost pulled my arms out of their sockets it hurt so bad. He nipped at my tits, and especially my nipples. Meanwhile, I was biting my own lip, using all my energy to stifle my cries.
“Aaaaaiiiiiieeee,” I squealed involuntarily.
“That was good!” he replied.
Strangely he then cupped the underside of my breasts, and pushed them upward. He wanted me to see his handiwork. My tits were a mess. First, they were bright pink all over; with unmistakable welts and lashes from the belt. There were scratches sporadically from where his fingernails dug in. There was a consistent pattern of teeth marks throughout, including on my raw tender nipples. Lastly, there were a few random wet streaks, from where my tears fell. Tears I tried to suppress, but which flowed regardless.
“I like the things you do to me,” I said, the tears still running down my face.
Simon glanced toward Lewis with a question, “Can I try anal with her? I’ve never done it before.”
Lewis’ reply was cold and emotionless, “Dude she’s a cunt…and today she’s your cunt. Do whatever the fuck you want with her.”
The former Reverend did fuck my ass, without removing me from the cross. Now I knew why Lewis had expertly elevated it earlier, so my height was right. When my intruder achieved orgasm, he grunted and gripped my already aching tits; nearly ripping them off my body. This time there was no pleasure for me. It was pain and nothing else. He stayed in my backside until his cock started to soften. When he pulled out, some of his seed leaked down my inner thigh, while some of it dripped out in dollops, landing on the floor between my legs where much of his earlier load still remained.
I was exhausted and hung there with as much of my weight supported by my aching arms as my wobbly legs. The two men left me while they talked. I don’t know what they discussed. They were within hearing distance, but I simply did not have the strength to listen. I was spent. I smiled softly when Lewis returned to untie me, sometime later. Had I slept? My Master then lowered me to the ground, and I took a moment to rub my wrists, feeling the rope burn; rub my shoulders, feeling the ache; and very softly rub my breasts, feeling the frayed skin and bite marks.
Lewis whispered to me, “Simon is done for today. I’m going to walk him to the door.”
“Thank-you Master, I only hope my performance was satisfactory,” I whispered in return.
“You were enchanting as usual,” he said very quietly, leaning in. But then Lewis looked over his shoulder at Simon, and spoke quite loudly, “Simon – the slut here has something she wants to ask you, but is too shy to do so.”
I do?? I don’t have anything to ask him? Uh oh, I suspected Master was setting me up again.
Simon approached us as Lewis elaborated, “She wants your permission to cum. She wants to rub herself to orgasm, while she laps up the mess that dripped out of her.”
I turned a deep crimson red and couldn’t even imagine how depraved I must have appeared.
“What a dirty little thing you are, Abigail - a very degenerate little brat.”
I felt deeply humiliated. I wanted to explain that I didn’t really request this, but of course I’d never betray Lewis. Instead I slowly bent forward, like a three-legged puppy eating out of a bowl. I say three-legged because my right arm was reaching between my legs. The cum was cold, and utterly disgusting. There was one main pool of it in the middle, surrounded by random globs. I couldn’t support myself properly and decided to lie right down on the floor. This was much easier. I lapped at the biggest spot first, just as two of my fingers found my clit. I was keenly aware of the two men, standing over me, looking down at me. I felt pathetic. That said, my clit was responding. In fact, it was responding big time. I was hotter than a firecracker. I felt so ashamed and yet, I did want to cum. Maybe Lewis wasn’t so wrong after all. As I licked-up the mess on the floor, I gave myself a thundering orgasm that left me breathless. I didn’t dare look up at the men, but I knew they were smiling at my insatiable need.
The last thing I felt was something landing on my shoulder.
The once respected and former Pastor of my church, Reverend Simon Watson, had spit on me.
CHAPTER 17: REVERSE INTERVIEW
The next morning…
It was so wonderful to wake up at Lewis’ suite the next morning. The only other time I slept there was the infamous night with Veronica. We had a lovely conversation in bed, very much reminiscent of our mornings in Paris. We talked about the session the day before, and then Lewis examined my body to see how the wounds were progressing. My tits had taken the brunt of it, and the evidence was there. The bite locations were already turning an angry purple, with tiny imprints from individual teeth easily visible.
We reminisced about the past year, and how things were unfolding between us.
“I want to ask you something?” Lewis said, in a tone of voice I had never heard before.
“Of course Sir,” I replied. For a second I got worried. He had never once sought permission to ask me anything.
“It’s nothing bad,” he reassured me. It was obvious he’d noticed my look of concern and wanted to put me at ease. “But first, is there anything you want to ask me?”
“Um, no Master…I think I’m good.” I was lying. There were a million questions I wanted to ask Lewis along the way. It’s not that I was afraid; it was that it was not my place. I trusted him implicitly. I was in good hands. I was in his hands. Any questions I had were pushed to the back of my mind. Until now.
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“Abby, just as you have always been honest with me, I will be completely honest with you. Go ahead and ask me anything you want. The door is open.”
“Are we going to do a reverse-interview?” I joked.
“You could say that,” he chuckled. “This is the closest to ‘switching’ we’ll ever get.” We both laughed again.
I sat up. I did have one burning question and I thought I’d start there: “Sir, when you share me or pimp me out, and other men fuck me – does it make you think less of me?”
“Not at all, hun. Why on earth would you think that? I would never do it if it made me think any less of you.” Lewis’ comments lead to a tangent conversation. He explained very rationally how he did not equate a woman’s level of sexual activity with her morals, or integrity, or values, or ethics. He went on to suggest that a woman’s loyalty, or devotion, or intelligence isn’t measured by the number of cocks that have fucked her, but rather who she is as a person.
“So, when I stayed behind to fuck Victor, you didn’t lose respect for me?”
“Quite the contrary. I am incredibly aroused and attracted to women who have a high sex drive. I didn’t lose respect for you, if anything it made me desire you all the more.”
“Does that include Grekko, Sir? I mean I fucked his foot for God’s sake. You must think I’m a freak.”
“I’m the one who sent you there, and I’d think you’re the freak? I love the fact you’re such a little tramp, you’d shove anything up there for relief.” I giggled and Lewis chuckled. Still I felt relieved.
“Did you ever worry about me, Sir? I mean, I know everyone was pre-cleared by the network and all that, but did you ever think I might break?”
