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The Rental

"A true account of the first time my master and I rented out a dungeon"

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As we approached the small, nondescript building standing among other nondescript buildings in a nondescript neighborhood, thoughts raced through my head. Was I ready to go through with this? With everything that it entailed? With so many possibilities?

And how would our interactions with the owner be like? Would it be embarrassing? After all, there was really only one reason for us being there, at that nondescript building in a nondescript neighborhood.

When we arrived, the door was locked. We exchanged glances, the bitter cold preventing us from seeing much past our heavy scarves and hats, only a slither of our faces visible under the layers of wool. Soon those layers would be peeled off, I thought, in a mix of anticipation and apprehension. The few minutes we spent outside, waiting for someone to open up the place, felt like hours, partly because of the freezing wind biting at our bones and partly because the nervousness that had been slowly growing in my stomach all day was now just too much to bear.

“Are you here for the rental?”

The solitary female voice caught me by surprise, and as I turned I was face to face with the owner. The one person in the world, besides the two of us, who knew my secret. Who could now identify my face and recognize my name, and know for a fact, and have evidence, of my true nature, of what I had been so good at masking for my entire life.

The thought made me want to sink into the ground. Yet I was happily surprised to note that she looked like any average person, a nondescript human being. The whole situation didn’t seem to add up, with such a normal looking place and a normal looking person, yet in what was going to soon turn into a definitely not normal, non-average situation. Or was I making it more than it was, and it really was quite normal?

She let us in with the most unassuming, matter-of-fact attitude I could hope for. The inside of the building was quite cozy, for a place of its kind, with a nicely decorated hallway leading to its variously themed rooms. As we walked into the one we had been assigned, the contrast between the owner’s attitude and our surroundings was suddenly too sharp to ignore. She gave us a tour of the room and its “amenities.” There was a bondage table, a cross, a swing. There were chains and ropes and handcuffs, made of metal and leather and fabric. There was a whole wall of paddles, canes, and floggers, of all kinds of sizes and materials. There was a crate of dildos, vibrators, and butt plugs. Menacing masks and whole-body bondage suits were neatly displayed on mannequins hung from one corner of the wall, looming over us in ominous invitation.

Our host handled each tool with expertise like it was just any other random object. I found it hard to keep up. Luckily for me, my master took note of everything, paying close attention to our hosts’ demonstrations, even asking questions. How was he so level-headed in this outlandish scenario?

Then we were alone. Out coats finally off and our faces visible, I turned towards my master with a questioning, slightly awkward, look. This was new. The sight of the room alone had made me already aware of a certain warmth between my legs, and at the same time, it was so much to take in that I would have had no idea where to start.

But he was over me in no time, pushing my thoughts and fears to the back of my mind as he pressed me against the wall, one hand choking my neck and the other driving both of mine above my head, his lips biting and his breath warm against my face, still chilly from the outside. If he had wanted to take me there and then, I would have been more than ready. But of course, that would have to wait.

Just as quickly as it had begun, the kissing and sucking on my neck was abruptly interrupted. Not more than a second passed, though, before his hands roughly turned my whole body to face one of the several dark wooden poles attached to the wall. I waited for a brief moment while he fetched something behind me. I soon discovered it was a bright red collar - my favorite color! - with a large metal ring attached to the front. He secured it around my neck and I immediately felt owned, nothing more than a toy for my master to play with. This feeling was strengthened as he fastened a heavy chain to the ring and then attached its other end to one of the hooks protruding from the pole above my head. The segment of chain was short enough that it pulled my neck upward at an uncomfortable angle.

“Keep your legs spread and your butt up.” He ordered, bending me at the waist. I was smart enough to obey, even though this caused my neck to be stretched a little farther and made the collar bite into my skin.

He started spanking my backside using his hand. While it did not feel particularly painful, as I was still fully clothed, the knowledge that there was much more, so much more to come was enough to make the wetness in between my legs grow.

“Stay in that position while I clean the bondage table.”

Fair enough; who knows what had happened on that same, scary looking yet nicely padded apparatus, with its chains and hooks and hanging ropes. The room came with a set of cleaning products, so I watched as my master sprayed the leather of the padding and proceeded to clean it. I wondered if I should have been the one assigned this task. Yet I knew his gesture was only a way to torture me a little bit before anything had even started, forcing me to stay still and keep myself together in that awkward position despite everything that was around me.

Possibly because he knew I would not feel as much pain with my jeans still on, his hand had landed on me with particular intensity, and the stinging was now transforming into an impossibly unbearable itch. He was so intent on his task that I didn’t think he would notice if I rubbed my cheeks just a little bit, just for a short second. But of course, he did.

He looked back at me just as my hand was leaving my backside and returning quickly to its position against the pole.

“What are you doing?” His voice was calm yet chilling as he approached me.

“Uhm, uh… Nothing!”

“Don’t lie to me.”

I regretted lying as soon as his cold stare pierced through me.

“I… was rubbing my butt. I’m sorry...”

Two sharp slaps to my face interrupted me. I knew they weren’t strong, but they still made my head spin in shock, and my flesh burn.

“Well, seems like you can’t obey even simple instructions…”

He started, as he unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down to my ankles together with my underwear.

“... so I’ll have to take some measures to keep you in place.”

Leaving me there, my upper body still clothed but my butt and thighs fully naked and exposed in their upraised position, he briefly left to inspect the wide selection of bondage tools we had at our disposal.

He returned with a pair of adjustable leather handcuffs, which he promptly used to tie my hands behind my back. Now I was leaning into the pole without the help of my hands, my face pressed against it while my butt was still forced outward. He looked at me briefly as if deciding on something, then I felt his hands adjust the chain connecting the collar to the pole, making it even shorter and forcing my neck up a little more, just enough for it to start being painful on top of being uncomfortable.

His hand returned to its previous task, but this time the spanks stung earnestly. I could only imagine my cheeks jiggling and turning a darker shade of pink under each one of his slaps. It was still fully within my capabilities to take this first punishment without much protesting, however, with only a few muffled gasps here and there when a particularly strong swat would catch me by surprise.

Soon, he was done. It had hurt, but not too much. I knew he was just preparing me for what was to come, though, and that of itself was beyond arousing. A solitary finger tantalized my sex, first slowly making its way up the inside of my thigh and then lazily checking the wetness around my opening. I was sure my master would not be disappointed.

He then left me there for a few more minutes, my sex wild with frustration, my joints threatening to cramp under their strain, as he finished cleaning. When everything was ready, he finally released the grip around my neck, detaching the chain and allowing me to stand normally. He undid the link tying the two handcuffs together, but left them on.

“Remove the rest of your clothes. When you’re done, put on the ones you brought with you.”

 

With as much grace as I could muster, I removed the warm sweater and shirt that had protected me from the freezing weather outside. I then reached into my bag and proceeded to re-clothe my naked body, though to a much lesser extent, with what my master had chosen for me earlier.

 My new attire consisted of a lacy black bra, covered with a see-through black crop-top. My legs were enveloped by a pair of embroidered thigh high stockings. But the centerpiece were my new panties, which I had bought specifically for this occasion and of which I was very proud of. The front looked like normal lingerie, with black embroidering over smooth red silk. However, the back consisted merely of a net of elastic strings meeting together in a small bow right where my crack ended, practically leaving the entirety of my butt cheeks exposed. A look at my master’s face assured me that he approved of this look as much as I did.

“Now undress me.”

I did as I was told, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it off of him revealing his chest. I then did the same to his pants, and finally - not without a nod of encouragement from my master – I removed his underwear. Seeing his already erect shaft so close to my face, his scent invading my nostrils made me so hungry for it. I had to mentally restrain myself from taking it inside my mouth there and then.

Instead, I let him pull me by my arm and followed his instructions as I made my way on top of the bondage bed. I lay down on it on my back, the cold leather pleasant against the already warmed skin of my back. He first fixed the handcuffs back together, this time with my hands tight above my head and attached to a link of rope that was part of the apparatus.

This allowed him to pull at the rope and tighten my arms above me. He then found another pair of similar leather cuffs and attached them to each of my ankles. The cuffs were then themselves fixed to a long spreader bar which kept my legs wide open. I struggled pointlessly against my restraints, not so much in an attempt to escape, but rather because the feeling of helplessness in being immobilized alone was enough to inflame my lust once more.

My master watched me with a smile, fully aware of what this treatment was doing to me. Somehow that frustrated me even more, and I could not stop testing my bonds as he briefly left to choose from the wide array of instruments of torture.

He came back with a large flogger made up of soft but thick leather. I had never experienced its touch before, so I started sweating in wonder and anticipation as he teased me, brushing its tips against the inside of my thighs. The sensation was strangely sensual and I almost lost myself to its caress, when a sharp blow to the tender skin near my crotch brought me back to reality.

The blows of the flogger were not exceptionally hard, but they landed on the unprepared skin of my thighs with a regular, fast beat. Each sting built on the previous ones and their sum were soon unbearable, this time giving me a real reason to struggle against my ties, yet still unsuccessfully. The burn followed down my thighs and all the way to my shins, then back up and dangerously close to my sex. As I winced and shook, my master made sure not an inch of my legs was left unmarked.

When the rain of strokes seemed to finally end I breathed a sigh of releif, but it was not for long. I felt my master’s hands lifting my back just enough to undo my bra, then yanking it and the crop-top up exposing my chest.

The flogger made its way up my torso, giving light strokes to my belly and then finally focusing on my bare breasts, making me squirm in a vain attempt to escape the never-ending torment. Only when my breasts seemed to be as colored as the rest of the front of my body did he seem satisfied with his work. I deduced he wasn’t going to let much of my body go without pain today.

Still panting from all the squirming, I watched as he untied the handcuffs and without much instructions needed I removed my bra and crop-top entirely, leaving only my panties and stockings on.

“Turn around and lay on your belly.”

I figured it was time for the other side. I gave him a questioning look as I realized my ankles were still tied to the spreader bar which complicated the maneuver he had just requested. His steady gaze told me to deal with it, though, and I awkwardly managed to turn on myself all the while keeping my legs spread wide. Just as I finished, he tied the handcuffs back to the rope in front of my face, keeping my arms pulled in front of me.

The flogger returned to punish me, this time hitting my bottom, the back of my thighs and shins, and occasionally my back. This felt less strenuous than the previous treatment, partly because my butt had already been warmed a bit, partly because the skin of my back was not quite as sensitive as that of my breasts. The lashes were rapid and thorough, though, and I imagined my backside was now probably as evenly colored as my front.

When the onslaught stopped momentarily, I wondered what my master had in store next. I could not help but twist my neck enough to glance at what he had gathered from one of the walls. When I saw it was one of the several displayed paddles, an especially long wooden one, my heart sank a little. As he caressed my cheeks with it, I readied myself for its imminent impact. I suddenly regretted wearing those panties, which left my butt cheeks entirely exposed, as I was now not even granted the slim protection of their fabric.

He raised the paddle and I immediately flinched, clenching my butt in preparation, but for nothing. He tricked me like this several times, raising the instrument as if with the intention of hitting me, but then simply returning it to my skin in a caress that would make me wiggle in frustration. He knew that the expectation of pain was almost more arousing than the pain itself.

Then, just as I had started not to react to his feints, a sharp blow landed straight on my right butt cheek. It made a loud crack, but not as loud as the yelp I let out as I was flooded with sensation. Before I could recuperate, a second blow landed on my other cheek, just as powerful and piercing. I arched my back and tried to kick my restrained legs, my body tensing under the inexplicable agony that each blow brought with it. It must have only been a few swats, but I was ready to beg for it to stop when my master put the paddle down.

He turned my reddened face towards him and pulled out what looked like an hourglass.

“This is going to count ten minutes exactly from the moment I turn it over.”

He paused momentarily, allowing my imagination to run wild with questions about what was going to happen to me in those ten minutes.

“I will use the paddle on you until the time runs out.”

At that, my face dropped and I looked at him with horror.

“No! Please! I can’t take it! I really can’t!”

He just stared at me as I begged out of genuine fear. Those few swats had already been unbearable, and they probably had taken less than a minute to inflict. I did not even want to imagine what ten minutes of that would feel like.

He turned the hourglass and I kept begging for his mercy until I saw him grip the flogger once more rather than the paddle. I would have never thought the sting of the flogger would feel as welcome as it did then. Yet he made sure those ten minutes would count, and focused on my butt with particularly intense blows for what felt like forever. I gave a quick glance at the hourglass and realized it was still only halfway through the ten minutes. When I looked back, I watched in horror as I realized my master was now holding the paddle again. Just as I was about to beg again, he said; “Because you begged so much, I will only give you three spanks on each side, but I will make them count. I want you to count them.”

Thankful that I had roused some mercy in him, but still terrified of those few swats, I readied my already sore bottom for the imminent sting whose pain I had previously discovered. The first swat landed on my left butt cheek with a loud crack, sending a jolt of pain through my body and making me gasp for air.

“One.”

A second one landed exactly over the area covered by the previous one and I jerked involuntarily.

“Two.”, I said in a small voice.

The third was the hardest one, and it again hit exactly the same area. I felt tears forming at the corners of my eyes as I squirmed in vain.

“T-three.”

I could not believe it had only been three swats and I was already in such a state. The three blows to the other side were administered in the same fashion, and by the end, I was a mess of tears.

When they finished I was unbelievably happy, but as I looked back to the hourglass I realized there were still a few minutes left. My thoughts were cut short by the flogger, which began hitting my punished skin once again, this time on top of the welts left by the paddle. While it burned, it did not even come close to what I had just felt, and I endured it until I saw the last remaining grains of sand of the hourglass drip down, and it was finally over.

Or so I thought. As it turned out, the spanking was just one of the many ways my master had planned to torment me that day.

I felt his hands undoing my bonds and I was finally able to stretch my joints. He turned me over so that I was on my back again, the tender skin of my butt hurting as it pressed on the padded surface. My legs were spread, my panties peeled off, and I felt his tongue drawing circles inside my thighs, a slippery trail of sensation haunting me with its coyness. I could see it all, his face so close to my sex I could almost feel its heat. The built up frustration was so unbearable that I just wanted to push myself into him, but I knew doing so would have cost me dearly. So I clenched my fists and withstood the teasing.

Suddenly, I let out a moan as his tongue finally started playing with my most sensitive spot. I could almost feel my clit throb with arousal as he switched between brushing it tentatively and sucking on it hungrily.

When he stopped I was left quivering in a pool of saliva and of my own juices.

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He climbed on the table and started licking and kissing my entire body, drawing trails up my belly, circling my nipples and finally reaching my neck and ears. His hands kept my legs spread wide and I sensed his length slide along my slippery loins. As it glided through my open lips and brushed against my clit, it never entered me, I was driven into a frenzy. I tried giving myself some satisfaction by clenching my inner muscles, but it was no use. I needed it inside of me, now.

Instead, my master climbed towards my face so that each knee was on either side of it, his penis and balls right above my field of vision. He shoved it into my mouth unceremoniously, but I was so starved I took it eagerly in me. I could taste myself and him as I let him fuck my face roughly. I felt used and it almost made me choke, but at least I had something inside of me that could distract me from the agony spreading from between my legs.

He pulled out and before I knew, I felt his tip gently making its way inside my other entrance. My eyes had been closed shut during the previous treatment, but at this sensation, they opened in surprise as I could almost not believe he would ever satisfy me at this point. Just a couple thrusts inside of me were enough to disfigure my face from the intense pleasure they brought with them. I was so sensitized that every little movement made me want to scream. He fucked me slowly for what felt like hours, although it was probably only been a few minutes.

Then he pulled out. I returned to this world with a crash, my eyes searching for an explanation.

“I didn’t come if that’s what you were wondering.”

My master assured me. Did this mean there was more to come?

As I clenched my legs together, trying to savor whatever was left of the sensations I had just experienced, I saw him pull out a box containing all sorts of dildos.

“You can choose one.”

Excited at the idea of having something foreign inside of me, I looked through the selection at my disposal. I chose what looked like a good compromise between the various sizes; it was a bit wider than my master, though it didn’t look like it would be painful to insert. It was also way too long for it to fit entirely, and it made me wonder just how much of it I could take in.

“Play with it.”

I didn’t need much convincing. He just watched as I inserted it into my craving hole with my hands. I was surprised at how difficult it was to insert given its size, despite how wet I was. When I finally managed to slide it in and shove it back and forth a couple times, I let out a deep moan. It felt good, but not as good as when my master had been inside.

Regardless, I was truly starting to enjoy myself, sliding it in and out with ease at a steady tempo, when my master ordered me to stop.

“Easy, don’t get too carried away”, he reprimanded me.

“I want you to slide it inside of you as deep as you can.”

I obeyed, pushing it deep until I could no more. This thing was so long that there was still a good half of it sticking out of me.

“Below this table is a cage. I want you to enter it while keeping the dildo inside of you. If you let it drop, you will be punished.”

The bondage table we had been playing on was, in fact, resting on a cage - an actual cage - made of thick wooden bars.

I stared at my master as I processed his request. How was I supposed to get up, stand on my feet, and then crawl down all the while being impaled by that monstrosity I had chosen?

Not having much of a say, I first forced myself to sit up, clenching my muscles to make sure the dildo would not slip out in the process. I then gingerly got on my knees and put one leg on the floor and then the other. I was miraculously standing with that weight dangling in between my legs.

I once more got to my knees and somehow bent down enough so that I could start making my way through the opening of the cage. This part proved to be the toughest. I was so thoroughly pierced that with every movement the dildo pushed and pulled at my insides.

I was finally in the cage, the constrained space forcing me to be on my hands and knees. A hook was attached to the base of the cage and my master managed to fix my handcuffs to it. He also ran a chain through the ring in my collar and fixed it to the hook. He then closed the cage and disappeared from my field of vision.

I was there, the presence in my hole feeling enormous yet taunting me with its inactivity. My hands constrained so that I had no way of moving it or adjusting it. The chained collar a reminder that this was meant to be a punishment. I did not care. I could only clench my muscles in misery and hope that my master would not make me wait for too long. I hoped that the more time passed, the less I would feel the pangs of hunger caused by having to constantly clench my muscles to ensure the dildo would not fall out. In fact, it was just the opposite, and soon it felt like self-inflicted torture.

The worst part was that I could not see what my master was doing. For all I knew, he could have left the room, though given our location I judged that to be unlikely. Regardless, I felt abandoned and alone, my anguish ignored, forgotten.

After god knows how long, the door to the cage opened again. I turned my face toward my savior, immensely relieved to be once more the subject of his attention. He undid my bonds and I was allowed to remove the dildo - now almost hurting me - before getting it out.

“You did well, you didn’t let it come out. But I’m afraid I will have to chastise you more. I went easy on you with the earlier spanking, so we’ll have to make up for it.”

Not fully understanding what part of the spanking I had so far received had been “easy”, but not particularly willing to draw even more disciplining my way, I allowed myself to be bound to the St. Andrew’s cross. My wrists and ankles secured to each end and my back exposed, I could only bend my neck backward to get some insights into what my master had in store next.

My heart skipped a beat when I realized his hands were holding nothing less than a cane. A fucking cane. I’d had many new experiences that day, but that was one I was not looking forward to.

Its length brushed my still reddened flesh ever so slightly it almost tickled. I had only read about this instrument, but I was aware of its reputation. It's gentle caress was too much for me to bear, an omen of the fire that was soon to ensue. I was trembling with anticipation, realizing the suspense was actually making me want to feel the cane’s crack, and hating myself for it. I knew I was sure to regret it.

When the instrument was finally brought down on me, my entire body shook. The blow had left a stinging mark where it had landed, and soon enough it returned. My master was using the cane somewhat lightly, possibly because it was our first time. For all their relative lightness, the swats brought fire to my bottom, re-kindling the pain inflicted earlier that day. Every now and then, a very firm blow - harder and extremely painful - would catch me by surprise. They were sporadic and uneven, intermixed with a thousand lighter - but still agonizing strokes. It was excruciating.

“I’ll keep going until you beg for me to stop.”

This made me blush. I didn’t want to give in, to show myself as weak. I kept repeating to myself that I could take a little longer, that maybe if I waited he would stop and reward me for being so resilient. But that didn’t seem to be the case. Tears were forming in my eyes once more and I could not help but squirm, trying to escape the blows, but to no avail.

“Please, please stop! I can’t! It’s too much, please, I beg you!”, I heard myself yell in between cries.

It took some more for him to be satisfied with my begging, but then it was finally over. I stood there panting, the heat radiating from my swollen behind. I realized I was exhausted. I had been through so much already. Yet we were not done.

When his hands untied my wrists and ankles, I assumed I would be finally granted a more comfortable position. My hopes were crushed when I realized he just wanted to spin me around and tie me again so that now my front would be bound and exposed to him.

This gave me flashbacks to his earlier ministrations, and I hoped he would not get the flogger once again. I wondered what he was looking for in one of the cabinets until I saw what he was holding. My eyes grew wider, as all my expectations were defied. It was not the great pain that was coming my way, but possibly great pleasure: in his hands was that other legendary instrument I had always wanted to try but never had the chance to, that allegedly incredible stimulator, the magic wand.

My gaze followed it hungrily as my master plugged its cord into the wall and turned it on, letting out a light buzz. My sex was practically dripping with juices, the frustration from its neglect and the arousal derived from the pain now added to the imagination of what that mythical implement was soon going to do to it.

Then the wand’s round head made contact with my clit and IT. WAS. TOO. MUCH. My mouth open in an unrealized scream, my neck bent backward, my entire body convulsing and pulling at its bonds, my mind numb, I fought and struggled to escape the incomprehensible sensation spreading from between my legs. Was it pain? Was it pleasure? It was neither, or it was both, it was too much of something but I still don’t know what. My struggle was genuine and if I had not been restricted so well, I likely would have hit my master in my spasms.

When the wand left my tortured skin, the sensation did not leave immediately. It felt like my groin was still vibrating on its own, and a heat spread from it uncontrollably. I hung from the cross, panting, not fully aware of what had just happened. Was it normal for it to feel this way?

When I looked up I could see on my master’s face that he was unsure of whether he should continue. He likely had not expected such an extreme reaction from me. I tried to consider this myself. While it had felt like torture, the heat it left behind was like a void that wanted to be filled.

“Can… can you please continue?” I heard myself say in a small voice.

The look of concern on my master’s face turned into a smirk as he turned the wand back on and approached me.

“You like being tortured like this?” He asked as he pushed the wand against my spread open sex.

I vaguely muttered a “yes” in between my moans, unable once again to stay still, but this time enjoying the overwhelming vibrations that ran through my whole body. My master toyed with me, moving the wand back and forth, stimulating my clit and then my entrance and then back, making little circles. He would then spread my lips with his fingers so that the wand could more thoroughly assault my clit, and that would send me screaming and convulsing like nothing else. And while it was devastating, it also was incredible, and the more I wanted it to stop the more I craved it.

It felt like forever, but it was probably only a few minutes before my master turned the device off and took me with his shaft. The wand had not satiated me, it had merely increased my arousal to a previously unreached level, so the rhythmic pounding of his dick sent overwhelming waves of pleasure through me.

Probably because of his own frustrated arousal - he had not even come once yet - it was not too long before he hastily untied me, pushed me on my knees and started fucking my face with the intention of coming. When warm liquid started spurting out of him, I instinctively let it land across my face and rubbed it all over my cheeks and mouth. Retrospectively, I’m not sure why I didn’t simply swallow it as I usually do. I think I was so hungry for it that I wanted to feel it on my skin, to make myself dirty, to remind my master that I was his and his only. When I looked up at him I could see that he was not displeased with this; in fact, mixed with the pleasure from his relief, I could read surprise and slight amusement in his expression.

He let out a chuckle as he remarked, “I thought you’d swallow so that we wouldn’t make a mess…”

I simply smiled back, slightly embarrassed, but proud for having prevented a mess nonetheless by catching it all with my face.

I felt myself being pulled up and brought toward a contraption that had been described to us as a swing. It was a squared net created by intersecting leather straps, connected to the ceiling by cables attached to each of the net’s four angles. I sat on it as I would on a hammock, and was surprised at how comfortable this position was, though the leather straps dug cruelly into my rear. Two loops of leather were hanged at either side of the net and I rested my thighs inside each one, with the result that my legs were again kept spread wide. Other than that, I was - for the first time that day, perhaps - entirely unrestrained.

My master’s tongue returned to tantalize my sex and I squirmed and moaned in pleasure. How long was he going to continue with his games? Then it was gone and when I reopened my eyes I saw the magic wand had appeared again. As it landed on my already abused opening, my limbs jerked uncontrollably as they had before. However, this time they were not bound, and the loops holding my thighs apart were not meant to hold them tightly. In the frenzy that had taken me, my legs had come free and I could not stop them from closing onto the wand.

At that, the wand was promptly turned off and a rain of firm slaps landed on my thighs.

“Did I tell you to close your legs? Put them back up!” My master reprimanded me angrily.

I did as he instructed, and withstood as he continued spanking the insides of my thighs. He then slapped my sex directly, the impact of his hand on my swollen clit making me jump with pleasure and pain. The wand was back again, and this time I fought with all my strength to keep my legs in place. Being tied to the cross had actually been much easier, as I could let myself be engulfed by the vibration, both mind, and body. Now, I had to consciously focus my energy to restrain my movements without the help of actual bonds.

On top of that, I felt my much-delayed orgasm starting to build, somewhere deep between those waves of heat and agony. My master must have read that in me since he warned, “Whatever you do, don’t come. Not yet.”

I inwardly cursed myself as I fought against all my instincts, battling to control the ever-growing pleasure on top of restraining my convulsing body. Just when I thought I could resist no longer, my master would turn the wand off and deliver some more swats to my thighs, occasionally hitting my sex as well, making me want to scream. Then he would bring the wand back to its task, just long enough to bring me unbearably close to orgasm once again, and he would stop and repeat the process. He continued tormenting me like this, and I can only vaguely recall the swears I let out unwittingly.

By now, his penis had overcome its momentary satiation and was erect and ready once again. The wand finally thrown aside, I was pierced, again and again, the pleasure at this point indescribable. The force of the thrusts made the swing rock back and forth, their intensity growing each time gravity pulled the swing down towards him in our rhythm.

My hands gripped at the net and my body was inert as it was used so thoroughly, so forcefully, yet so fantastically. Finally, it was too much for my master, who came for the second time, this time pulling out just seconds before catching the sperm in his hand. Was it almost my turn, I wondered with whatever little brain power I had left.

The answer came to me in the form of the wand’s vibration against my clit and two fingers pushed inside my hole in a frantic rhythm.

“You can come whenever you’re ready.”

I did not need to be told twice, and I was soon so worked up that I finally let myself go. All the pent-up arousal that had been building up throughout that entire session - the teasing, the spanking, the tortuous denial of this moment - now peaked in an explosion that had me shaking for longer than it ever had.

The wand stayed with me as I rode my orgasm. But even as I felt it fade away, the vibrations continued. I opened my eyes in alarm and I realized my master had no intention of turning the wand off.

The orgasm had left me spent but overly sensitized, so I had to fight to an entirely new level in order to keep my legs from kicking my master away. My protests were ignored and I had no choice but to resist the assault on my sex. Yet somehow, somewhere in there a heat was starting to form again.

I could almost not believe it as the pleasure from minutes earlier returned in seconds to its former glory, and I was again on the brink of orgasm. I came for the second time, yelling who knows what, probably letting everyone in the building hear me - if they had not heard me already.

I thanked the gods when the wand was finally dropped away. My whole body was limp against the swing, twitching from time to time. All strength gone from my neck and arms, they hung down, pulled by gravity at the corners of the net.

“I’m done,” I announced.

I did not care anymore. There was not a single inch of my body that didn’t hurt, I felt stiff from all the convulsing, and I was exhausted.

“It looks like our time is up anyway!” I heard my master say.

Thank god!

He helped me down from the swing, and I just wished there had been a bed - or any comfortable surface, for that matter - so that I could rest and recover for just a little bit. But time was up, and I realized I would have to face the real world before that.

 Suddenly the magic of my submission shattered and I remembered who I was and where I was. I remembered we were at someone else’s rental and that someone knew what we had been up to - worse, probably had heard my not so subtle reactions. I pushed these thoughts at the back of my mind and focused on dressing up, re-layering my body in preparation for the cold.

When we were all ready to go, we briefly interacted with our host. We had been instructed to leave all the toys we had used on the bondage table so that they could be cleaned. This made l sense, but I could not bring myself to look up from the floor as the owner looked over the many implements we had used that day - the paddle, the flogger, the cane, the wand, the dildo, the cuffs, all seemingly narrating what had taken place in that room, what had been done to me, all evidence of what I was.

I was relieved as soon as we stepped out of that nondescript building and left that nondescript neighborhood behind. I could not wait to take a warm shower and cuddle in bed with my master. But, as I smiled to myself, I realized I would do anything to come back and do it all again.

 

Published 
Written by AmberStories
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