He threw me by the hair at my Master’s feet, and I curled into a little ball, trying to cry as quietly as I could. I had never been lent to another Man before, and the weekend had been… hellish.
Every part of me was sore; my cunt and ass were stretched beyond recognition, my throat hurt, and there were welts that I was sure were going to blossom into beautiful bruises tomorrow. My knees were scraped and raw, along with my wrists and ankles.
It had been a great weekend, but I was glad to be home. I forced my muscles to move, to put me into the low bow I knew was expected. Even that simple uncoiling hurt, but as I stretched my hands out toward Him, my forehead to the floor, my breathing came a little easier. I let out one heaving, sobbing breath, as my mind calmed. Being in this position, before Him, always did that to me, an involuntary response that filled me with overwhelming gratitude.
I knelt there, and I cried, and I was so happy to be at His feet.
“I’m afraid I’ve been a little disappointed in Your slave’s performance, Lucien.” His words filled the space around us. “I’ve paid You a lot of money, and I expected to get my money’s worth.”
My veins iced. I heard the words, certainly, but it was as if the meaning of them just evaporated in my mind. How could He say that? I had done everything that had been asked of me, endured every torture, submitted to every indignity. The calmness that I had felt a moment ago, dissolved into a puddle of anxiety. A deep shivering fear crawling over my skin, and I wanted so badly to ask, to protest.
But I dared not.
It was not my place to question a Man’s judgement of me. I was merely an object, a toy to be used. Still, the scarlet blush of humiliation washed over my cheeks at His renouncement, and I was glad to be facing the ground. It hurt, more than all the wounds on my skin, to know that I had disappointed Him.
The fear of what my Master would do to me, now, transmuted that hurt into a screaming panic. I struggled to maintain an even breath, but I could feel the deep shaking terror in my body.
My Master’s voice floated over me, chilling my limbs, as He addressed the other Man. “That is unfortunate, Dominic. I take pride in even the least of my possessions, and it is discouraging to hear that she has not lived up to Your expectations.” He stood up and moved to put the toe of his boot against the side of my head, nothing hard, but with the promise of pain to come. “Perhaps I could offer You the opportunity to punish her now?”
There was a moment of silence before He responded. “That’ll do. I’d like to see cane welts on her ass.”
“You heard the Man, slave,” my Master said, this time kicking me squarely in the side of my ribs. “Go fetch the cane and present yourself over the bench for His punishment.”
I scrambled to my feet as the dull ache splashed through my torso. I tried not to think, not to feel, as I rushed to the toy room and retrieved the implement He had requested. Still, my tears felt cool on my cheeks. I tried not to guess the reason for why He had said what He did.
I was a toy, a slave. It was not for me to parce the meaning of whet I had done, or not done, to warrant His disappointment.
A toy. A slave. An object to use. Those words formed a continual refrain in my head.
My breathing was fast and shallow as I knelt to present the cane to Him, holding it aloft as my gaze was directed downward. I felt Him take it from me, and I desperately wanted to look up, to look at His face, to ask why He was doing this. I could not, I dared not. Instead, I said the only thing that was appropriate for me to say. “This cunt is sorry for not being all that You wanted, Sir. I welcome Your punishment.”
“Good,” He said, and it sounded like there was the hint of a smile on His face.
He didn’t sound angry. That confused me, as I crawled over to the spanking bench and laid across it. I wished I could see His face, to see the expression that went along with that intonation and the unspoken words between the two Men.
Just a toy. An object to use.
The first cut of the cane surprised me, and it took half a second for the pain to register. A deep line of fire seared into my ass, and I squeezed my hands into fists as the throbbing matched the rhythm of my breath. The second strike ripped a scream from my lips, and the third rewarded Him my helpless sobbing.
My body writhed with each vicious cut, laid on top of all the strikes He had placed there over the weekend.
I imagined the neat purple lines appearing across my skin, as the pain of one stroke bled into the next. My mind was nothing but a staticky mess, as He landed stroke after stroke. I felt myself fall into that burning, devastating pain, and I was content, through my weeping, to be chastised for my failing in my service.
I screamed as the immense rightness of this, as the correctness of what he was doing, staggered me. He was doing the right thing, to make me suffer for failing to please Him.
I laid there, still, and the next strike was twice as hard. The pain of it erased my thoughts, and everything distilled down to air in my lungs and the black, sucking currents of agony. I realized I had been screaming, only when the pain reversed for a moment, and I could hear something other than my frantic heartbeat.
He hit me again and again, so many times than it was impossible to keep count. His punishment went on, until the last tenuous vestiges of my humanity slipped away under the rhythm of His strikes.
I felt a hand slip through my hair, like a chain anchoring me to reality, before I slipped too deep. My Master wretched my head up so I could see His face. He looked like the eye of the storm.
He was the storm, the black ocean, the current that wrapped around my mind and pulled me into my own destruction.
“Gorgeous. That empty look in your eyes.” His voice cut through the blackness that threatened to engulf me.
I felt myself smile, in spite of the burning pain on my ass.
“Thank You, Master.” Even as I was, His praise was a rare commodity and I treasured it.
He took His cock out, and it was already hard and ready. I opened my mouth without thinking, and He buried it to the hilt, all the way down my throat. I felt my eyes roll back in my head at the pleasure of having Him fill me.
“Keep going,” He said to the other Man.
My throat convulsed, as Dominic laid another brutal stroke across my battered skin. I would have screamed had I had air to do so, but with the cock embedded in my throat, that was a beautiful impossibility. I squirmed, letting the pain wash over me, clenching and trying not to gag.
His breath escaped in a quiet hiss. “Fuck,” He whispered, as He wrapped both His hands on the sides of my head and dragged His cock from between my lips.
My cunt clenched, and I could feel liquid drip down the inside of my thighs, as He plunged Himself back into my throat. The punishing melody of His long strokes matched rhythm of cuts of the cane. In moments — or maybe an hour, for time itself had become meaningless in the face of my torture — I felt Him push Himself all the way down and groan His orgasm all the way down my throat.
“Enough,” He said, as He pulled out, gently tucking Himself back into His jeans. “That’s enough. Slave, get on your knees.”
I poured myself off of the bench and into a kneeling position in the floor.
My ass felt like burning embers as I rested it against my heels. Tears stained my cheeks and strings if drool yawned from my chin, down onto my tits. Relief washed over me, to be duly punished, and I rested my upturned palms on my thighs. “Thank You, Master.”
His palm connected with my cheek, rocketing my head to the side. “You’re welcome.”
He returned to His chair and sat down, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. “Now, Dominic. Now that You’ve taken Your pound of flesh from her, I’m going to take mine. Tell me exactly how she failed You.”
Like what you’re reading?
Support my work on Patreon or Ream to get early access to new stories and chapters, vote on the next update, or suggest an idea for a new story!
Photo by Dynamic Wang on Unsplash