The young slave never got used to the punishments her Master assigned her. Partly because he always varied the methods by which he chose to reprimand her, and partly because they felt so damn good. Even when her ass was stinging from an extended flogging, or her tits were bound up so tight they were bright red, the pain was still laced with lust and a sadistic level of joy.
Now, as she lay back in her seat, legs spread wide, she fought desperately not to moan. The small plastic cylinders sealed over her nipples sucked so hard that she felt as though they were about to tear away. Instead, they continued to swell, shifting from their ordinary pale shade of pink to an angry red and, at length, a bruised purple. Something about the hue they took on only served to arouse her more, and the lancing pains they sent across her chest set her tingling all over.
The two dildos that were pounding her pussy, though they had begun slowly, were increasing their pace with every passing moment. One thick and contoured, the other small and smooth, they worked as a unit to build up her mounting orgasm; for every thrust of the thick, life-like rubber dick, the small toy retreated, only to shoot back in once more as the larger one pulled out. Despite its diminutive size, it was the smaller toy that left her gasping for breath, for the little vibrator in the tip packed a powerful punch and her insides squirmed as it buzzed one second against her clit, the second deep inside her.
Master was good at setting up her punishments, and both toys were attached to machines, with the larger dildo mounted on a static machine and the smaller one descending on a writhing pipe dropping from above her head. The frame of the torturous device kept her legs in place with thick metal cuffs, though her arms were free: the tight, fingerless latex gloves ascending almost to her shoulders a reminder of why she was here. Master had intended for them to attend a gala together put on by one of his fetish friends. Though she had selected the gloves easily enough, the slave had found it difficult to pick which outfit she thought Master would like to see her in most. Master’s patience had run thin, and after the slave had passed on her third outfit he had dragged her down to the dungeon, set up her punishment and locked her in place. With a gentle chuckle, he had left her there to attend the gala alone.
As the dildos sped up again, the slave let out a long, low moan. Her short cropped hair was plastered to her forehead as she threw back her head in ecstasy. She hoped Master came home soon: she had already climaxed twice, the effort of it leaving her shuddering, and she didn’t know if she could take the toys for much longer if they continued to boost their pace. Still, part of her hoped he didn’t come home for hours: the pain only accentuated the pleasure, eliciting deeper, more animal groans and eventually, she knew, lacing her orgasms with a perfect agony that would reduce her to a babbling mess. Besides, Master always fucked her the hardest after she had been tortured into a mindless little slut, and the more her nipples ached, her pussy throbbed, the more she craved a rough, violent fucking…
Thanks for reading!
Keep up to date with new releases by following me elsewhere: