Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I stared into nothingness. It was utterly black behind my eye mask. For a while he didn’t move and he didn’t touch me. He could have been taking video. He could have left the room. I didn’t know.
Then I felt the bed dip and felt his hands on my face. He put something into my mouth, a hard ball gag that depressed my tongue. I shook my head, making urgent, muffled noises that went unheeded. He hurt my hair when he fastened it behind my head. I didn’t know what was worse, my hair pinched in the buckle, or my inability to shriek the way I wanted to.
“Sorry for the gag. Like I said, I’m feeling pissed today.”
I couldn’t respond to that statement even if I wanted to. He left and came back, and I heard the scissors, snip, snip, snip. The amber-beige dress was no more, cut to shreds, and I felt satisfied by that, because he’d bought it. The garter belt was snipped away too, though he could have easily unhooked it. But whatever. I had a drawer full of them. I didn’t even like this one that much.
Then he started playing with my nipples, and I thought, oh no. The clamps. I mewled behind the gag, like that might help. My legs jerked, trying to break free, but the pain came anyway, the piercing, terrifying bite of his satanic nipple clamps. I pictured them, black and evil looking, my tender pink nipples smashed within their grip. When I struggled, the clamps hurt worse, so I lay still, panting. I shook my head in silent protest. No, no, why are you doing this?
I heard the clink of a buckle and the whisper of his belt being pulled from his pant loops. A second later, I felt the hot pain of leather, heard the whap of impact along my inner thigh. I jumped, the clamps jingled and tugged, my nipples screamed. I screamed. I gnawed on the gag and tried to pull my legs together, but the stockings bound me tight. I wasn’t afraid of being killed anymore. He wasn’t a killer, he was a sadist. I was afraid of being hurt, and hurt, and hurt, and not being able to stop him, or scream loud enough for anyone to hear.
“I have a proposition for you,” he said, and then he whapped me on my other thigh. It wasn’t unbearable pain, but it still felt awful. My nipples throbbed, my thighs burned. He placed the belt between my tied-open thighs, over my exposed and vulnerable pussy. “I know you can’t talk right at this moment, but I want you to think about it. I want to pay you a weekly rate, and for that rate, I want you to stop seeing your other clients.”
I shook my head. He brought the belt down against my pussy lips. Whap. I jerked my legs and surged up on the bed, only to be pressed back down again.
“You’re not thinking about it,” he said. “You’re just thinking about the pain, which is okay. It’s what I want you to think about right now.”
He slapped my pussy with the belt again, the leather licking my sensitive lips. Then he moved back to my thighs, punishing me with the belt up and down the sensitive inner skin. When I was screaming behind the gag, when my legs trembled uncontrollably from the pain and heat, he moved back to slapping my pussy. It probably didn’t sound that loud in the room. You probably couldn’t have heard the impact from the hallway, but each blow made my whole body shake. The belt must have been worn, supple. It seemed to mold itself against my skin to hurt me more.
“Are you thinking about what I said?” he asked.
What had he said? A weekly rate. Ah, God, my pussy was so wet. Why was I wet? I was scared and suffering, in a world of pain.
“I don’t want to see you every day,” he said, continuing his earlier conversation. “That’s not the point. But when I want you, I want you to fucking be available.”
Whap.
“None of your other jackass clients know how to satisfy you. How to work you over.”
Whap.
“But I do.”
Whap.
What? He thought he was satisfying me right now? If I wasn’t bound and gagged, I’d probably be calling the police.
He stopped. “Look at you,” he said. “Look at you struggling, hurting. Are you pretending that gag is my cock in your mouth? You want me inside you?”
I shook my head, even though it made the clamps hurt worse. I shook my head hard, denying, protesting.
Lying.
He slapped my pussy again, this time with his hand. He shoved his fingers inside me and I could actually hear how wet I’d become.
“You’re so juicy from having your pussy whipped, it’s dripping onto the bed. You’re making a fucking mess, you little pain slut. Next time, I’m going to bring harder clamps. You need it harder. You want it harder.”