It was a long moment before I let His words register. Achingly slow, they seeped into my consciousness, like molten metal into a delicate mold.
Now I’m going to take mine.
The previous chapter of this story can be found here.
I had thought I understood pain. But in the wake of His words, I realized that I had underestimated the depth of meaning it could hold. My ass still hurt. It burned like a horrible, necessary melody, reverberating through my body. But the knowledge that my Master was not yet satisfied with my suffering, sliced open my psyche in a way that added a heartbreaking harmony to my pain. It was a thrumming thing inside of me, full of awful, agonizing dimensionality.
I could have begged. But I knew Him, and if He wanted me to beg, He would tell me.
I was a toy, an object. It was not my place to question a Man, much less the Man who owned me, body and soul.
I felt the breath leave my lungs, and some tension leaked from my muscles. If He decided that I was not done being punished, then I was not done being punished. The waves of emotion that curled through me, calmed, at that thought. He would decide. Fair or unfair, warranted or unwarranted, it was not important to me. Only His judgment mattered.
And, as if He were watching my thoughts and the nearly invisible motions of my body, His voice floated over me. “Good slave.”
A wash of goosebumps skittered over my skin, and I smiled, in spite of myself. My chest felt raw and empty, knowing that I was to continue suffering for Him, but that He seemed to see that particular beautiful turmoil etched into my mind. It calmed me.
“Now, Dominic,” He said. “Tell me how she has failed you.”
There was something I couldn’t place, in the tone of His voice, and I knew it would have made me afraid, had that tone been directed at me.
Dominic’s answer was a little unsteady, as if he had expected this to be over, too. “She refused to take my cock in her ass. Said it was dirty, and hurt too much.”
My mouth dropped open.
You lying piece of shit.
My ass was still gaped and sore from all the times he had hammered it with his cock, his fingers, and so many toys that I had lost count.
“I see. And what else?”
There was a pause, and then Dominic continued. “She wouldn’t let me suck those pretty little nipples. Said she didn’t like it.”
A white-hot static hummed from somewhere behind my eyes. Every instance of his mouth on my tits, this weekend, flashed through my mind. I thought about how my back had arched in pleasure, with his teeth ground into my sensitive buds.
“And she refused to drink my piss. You should have seen her cry, when I just had to piss all over her, instead.” He sighed, and it sounded overdramatic. “Ridiculous, for a toy for whom I had paid this much money.”
“For which, Dom,” my Master said, almost inaudible.
A scarlet blush bloomed over my cheeks, as a small, helpless noise escaped my lips. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My shoulders slumped, as I realized the depth of my powerlessness, here.
In truth, I had drunk almost nothing but his piss. I had lapped it up greedily, as he had looked down at me with a cruel smirk smeared across his face. I had drunk it, because it was my place to trade my dignity for a man’s amusement.
But I would not have the opportunity to defend myself today, to set the record straight.
I had no voice in this conversation. And that fact felt like a lead weight in my chest, like a hook dragging me, anchoring me, to the ground. This was a new kind of pain, different and supplemental to the physical pains of my body. This was a psychological wrenching, a true fucking that was both an insult and an injustice. A thought occurred to me in that moment, as I felt the ocean of my own defenselessness, in front of these two men. The cane strikes had made me cry; they had highlighted the weakness of my body. But this pain illustrated another type of weakness in me. I was nothing here, I had no voice. I truly was a toy, to be used and discarded and lied about. There was nothing for me to do, but accept it. The pain splitting through my mind, in response, was another highlight to my weakness.
I was weak. I was an object.
Expected to perform, but defenseless against any type of pain that a man chose to subject.
The truth of that statement seeped into the marrow of my bones, filled me up with a subservience that was deeper than I had otherwise recognized. Some tension that I hadn’t realized I had been holding, evaporated.
I would perform, I would be lied about, and that would become my truth.
I would be fucked.
Maybe if my Master asked me, I would tell him. But my lungs filled with the surety of breath, of my own suffering.
My mind emptied, and it felt good to be empty.
“Anything else?” The sentence was a question, but my Master’s inflection turned it into a statement. A drop of fear ran down my back; again, the tone made me want to shrink into the ground. I wondered if Dominic picked up on it.
There was a pause.
“No.” Clipped.
“Good.” My Master shifted in His seat, and directed the next words to me. “Kneel in front of me, slave.”
I knelt.
His slap came swift and hard, turning my head to the side as sparks of pain exploded across my cheek. “That is not how my slave acts.”
My lip trembled. His disappointment was a palpable, aching thing in my body.
Pain illustrates my weakness.
“I will show this man how my possession acts.” He sat back in His chair and crossed His legs. “Slave, put your fist in your ass.”
I blinked. “Yes, Master. May I… lube my fingers, first?”
“Do what is reasonable, but do not keep us waiting.”
I wasted no time. My fingers were over my tongue and down my throat, making myself gag and filling my mouth with that thick throat slime. I pulled my fingers from my mouth as strings of saliva yawned and broke from my lips. I turned around and bowed my head to the floor, giving my Master the view I knew He liked the best, before working one, two, three fingers in my ass. The stretch was its own unique pain, especially after a weekend of abuse, but I managed to work a fourth finger and the beginnings of my thumb, before I had to stop. It just wasn’t wet enough. I pulled my hand out, and pushed them back deep in my throat, feeling my cunt clench as I tasted myself. I gagged, and cupped the pool of spit in the palm of my hand, before covering my aching hole and pushing all my fingers back in. My shoulders ground against the floor beneath me, as I worked on relaxing my muscles.
In and out, in and out. Until my knuckles slipped into my own ass. I breathed through the ache, as I pulled my ass further apart with my other hand, giving me millimeters of extra space. He hadn’t told me when to stop, so I violated my hole over and over again, feeling the delicious, degrading gape with every thrust.
“Good enough, slave. Stop.”
Good enough. I basked in the praise, as effusive as He ever got.
I removed my fingers and brought them in front of me again, returning to my bow. My palm left a slimy handprint on the floor.
“On your back,” He said. “Play with your nipples, show us how needy you can be.”
I flipped over, sliding into the slippery mess I had left. I spread my legs and began to play with my nipples. They, too, were sensitive and sore from all the abuse they had suffered over the past few days, but as I pulled on them, I could feel the telltale clenching of my cunt. I let my back arch as I pulled and twisted them. My breath was ragged and tiny stricken sounds bubbled from my throat, before He allowed me to rest. My breast was covered in the mess from my hand, as the remains of saliva dripped down the curve of my ribs.
“Now, open your mouth.” My Master stood.
I obeyed.
He undid the button on His pants and dragged the zipper down, taking out His soft cock. I saw the stream of piss a second before it hit my mouth. Acrid liquid filled my mouth until it reached the precipice of my lips.
He stopped. “Swallow.”
I tried to close my mouth without spilling, but small rivulets of His piss ran down the side of my cheeks, to soak into my hair.
His expression did not waver, as He filled me up again and again until He was done. The back of my head sat in a cooling puddle, as He put His cock away again. “Do you remember, slave, what happens when you lie?”
Tears pricked my eyes, as I looked up at Him. “Yes, Master.”
“Go get it then, slave, and bring it back here.”
He sat back down, and scrambled to my feet, unable to swallow past the taste of piss and the lump at the back of my throat.