He is sat naked. His hands are tightly tied behind his back, he can feel rough rope around his wrists, the wood biting into his arms. The seat of the chair had been removed long ago. His ankles are cuffed to the chair legs. He can barely move anything but his head. The room is dusky, the few low-wattage bulbs illuminating the deep red and black décor. It's the racks and shelving before him that he can't stop studying. Upon them were numerous devices of torture. Cold, hard, unforgiving metal; smoothed, shimmering, splintering wood; dark, rugged, roughing leather; spikes, locks and cages of differing sizes. Surgical looking things, designed to cause pain. A bit and bridle; with blinders? His ass cheeks are straining through the open seat and gravity is stretching his scrotum as far as it can. It resembles a sick, twisted version of a fairground side-show sport. Throw a ball at the balls, win a vocalisation of some kind. He moves a little and feels them swing slightly in the cool air. Is that a smile on his face? He strains a little against the ropes and cuffs, all part of the request. As are the crocodile-clamps on his nipples.
They pay good money for this. Gentlemen mostly, but the occasional woman will cross the threshold. All from different walks of life. From judges, prosecutors and cops, to the ones they try to catch, accuse and lock up, to doctors, surgeons, to chefs and farmers; they all have one thing in common. And when they are stripped naked of everything, there is not a single difference between them. When they reach that unguarded moment, when everything around them crumbles to meaningless dust, when their money pays for itself, every single one has that look in his, sometimes her, half opened eyes – pure, unadulterated, childlike bliss. To them it's a drug, it's their heroin. They remember that first time. Maybe it had been building up, maybe it was a whim, maybe it was accidental – regardless, they're all the same. They're chasing that feeling they felt that first time. That unexpected, overwhelming feeling. Everyone's been there, orgasm. It's that feeling that can't be described or replicated in any other way. They, just take it to a new level. A regular orgasm from regular sex is akin to a caffeine addict drinking decaf. They need coffee! Not a skinny macc with whipped cream, they want to mainline concentrated caffeine, no cream; but they'll take the whip.
Whips & paddles, gags and canes. Studs and spikes, ropes and chains. Muzzles, leashes, plugs and rings. Big dildos, little dildos, strap-ons, strap-ins. Masks or blindfolds, a bib 'n' brace. Vinyl, latex, leather and lace.
He had been in Rome for the last 3 weeks attending countless meetings, gatherings and all the rest that came with The Big City. He did enjoy what he did, but sometimes it just all got too much and he'd find himself just praying for it to be over. The great bonus to these trips was that he had a day or so to rest & recuperate before he had to bring the word back to his people. And, as usual, he had chosen Amsterdam. The City of Sin. He had joyfully jumped amongst the Amsterdamned. Coffee shops weren't his thing. He'd tried weed, once, with a girl, Mandy, from memory, and it had been his worst ever sexperience. He didn't like fear. Didn't want to pay for fear. He likes to be humiliated. He likes to be treated like shit. He wants a woman to overpower him, pin him down and kick him in the balls. He likes pain too.
He is tied to a chair, balls to the breeze. He smiles as he recalls past visits to the infamous city. His first time had been so nerve racking, tapping softly on the glass door, the address, from a close colleague, still clutched tightly in his damp hand. Matilda had been a large Austrian woman who had confidently demeaned and hurt him for two pleasurable hours. He and Matilda had maintained a healthy relationship for many years since. Then the Good Lord had chosen her to stand beside His throne, and he'd been forced to find a replacement mistress.
His third European trip so far and he was hoping not to be disappointed again. He knows how he likes it. Oh, he definitely knows how he likes it.
The many tails of the flogging whip slaps his bare, red ass leaving a hot sting in its wake.
'That wasn't a smile on your face now, was it?' her husky voice, Zelda's husky voice, says from behind him.
A sudden faint ache starts in his balls; the whip had tipped them. He shakes his head.
She tuts. 'This won't do, this won't do at all.' She moves in front of him and grasps the crocodile-clamps on his nipples, the flogger swings from a strap around her vinyl-clad wrist. The vinyl covering her body glints in the dull light. Her voluptuous breasts push themselves up, trying to escape the tight corset strapped around her slender frame. Below that, black and chrome panties. Large black boots encase her legs to the thigh, where a hint of black lace stocking peeks out. The 6” chrome heels look deliciously pointy.
His eyes trace the delicious lines of her body, down and up, down and up to her masked face. The black leather covered down to her sharp cheek bones, giving her a feline quality. Above the mask, her blood-red hair is pulled tight and high, the ends cooling lava as they flow down from the hair-tie.
She twists the clamps a little, smiling at his involuntary grimace. She likes it when they try to act tough.
'You will answer me when I ask a question,' she tweaks the clamps a bit more, 'understand?'
He grunts 'Yes.'
She twists the clamps a lot, 'Yes, what?'
'Yes Mistress Zelda!,' he blurts loudly.
She releases her grip. 'Just Mistress is fine, Slave.'
'Yes Mistress.'
The flogger comes down across his upper thigh, some of the thin leather ends flicking his penis. He squeals through clenched teeth.
'I didn't ask you a question, Slave.' She turns her back to him and rummages around the shelving.
'Do you like pain?'
'Yes Mistress.'
His eyes follow her as she disappears behind him holding something he can't see. She gives him an slap around the head.
'Eye's forward!'
His head flicks to the front.
'Now,' she says softly from just over his shoulder, 'I can't help but wonder how much pain you like.'
He feels a hand envelop his dangling balls, like a hand weighing up a projectile before making it fly. The hand squeezes. And squeezes. A grunt of air is forced from his nose.
'Do you like that?'
'Yes Mistress,' he pants.
'Would you like me to squeeze harder?'
'Yes Mistress,' excitement.
The grip is released and the tender testicles swing again.
'How much pain do you like, Slave?' her voice has moved away from him. 'Do you like this?'
The cold metal stings the hot skin of his ass.
'Yes!' he yelps.
Another strike on the other cheek. 'Yes what?'
'Yes Mistress.'
The cool metal gently strokes the hairy skin around the inflamed areas.
'Would you like it,' her voice is a husky whisper beside his ear, the metal rod caresses between ball-sac and asshole, 'if I inserted this metal rod into you?' the metal tickles his anus. 'Would you like that,' cold pressure against his anus, 'would you, Slave?'
He relaxes his sphincter, allowing the rod to enter him slightly. 'Yes Mistress!'
She feels his pleasure and retracts it from him.
The clang of metal on stone. Is that the faint odour of smoke?
'So you like it,' her voice was so close he could feel humidity in his ear, 'if I put things in you.'
Her gloved finger presses against him. He allows her entry. She only puts it in a little bit, but it's enough to make his opening express interest.
She gives a satisfied hum as she runs her tongue up and down his ear, then down his neck.
He shivers and moans with pleasure.
Her finger enters him some more and she feels him want to push back onto it.
'I think you would prefer the metal rod,' she waggles her finger a little, 'yes?'
A small gasp, then, 'No Mistress.'
'Oh,' she sounds shocked. 'Well, it that case,' she swiftly pulls her finger out, knowing his puckered little asshole would be gasping for it. 'I think you would definitely prefer the metal rod deep inside you,' she whispers.
He can feel heat near his skin.
'I think you would love it. Wouldn't you?'
'Yes Mistress.' Unsure.
It gets hotter down there.
'I think you definitely would, which is why I can't just fuck you with the rod.' She kisses his cheek. 'I wonder though,' her voice turns sinister as she breathes into his ear, 'if it was red hot, would you like it then?'
He feels the searing heat near his rectum, radiating to his balls.
'No Mistress!' panicking.
'Yes, yes,' she croons, 'fucked in the ass with a red hot poker.'
He feels the scorching heat so close.
'You will love this!' she says loudly; and plunges her finger deep inside him.
Alarmed squeals of terror echo around the room.
She laughs and tugs her finger out. His head falls to his chest, weary with relief, as she strolls over to the shelving before him.
He thinks back to his childhood. A young Donald is sat on the benches outside class talking with his friends, its nearly the end of lunch. He spent his break running madly around the playground with his friends and they are sat together, flushed and sweaty. Berta comes over with her friends in tow. Berta is a year above him and since his first day at the school she had bullied him. But he'd grown a bit recently and had started standing up for himself. Much to Berta's chagrin. Her attacks had become more spiteful.
Now she stands over him and he sits there in her large shadow, waiting for it.
'Why are you all sweaty Donald-Yuck? Have you been sucking on Davy Boyle's ding-a-ling?' Berta and her friends cackle.
He ignores her.
Berta begins to make slurping noises and mimics fellatio, her friends howl with laughter. She leans into him, slurp-slurp-slurping in his face. He leans back, but the wall is right there, she is crowding him, invading his space, getting right up in his face.
He pushes her and she stumbles backwards. 'Stupid fat cow,' he mutters at her.
Her eyes burn with hatred and she comes at him. Before he can react, her fist comes down and squishes his balls with a meaty thud.
Nerves burn and neurons scream. Innards burn and mouth screams.
But that's a natural response. The body knows it must protect those little spongy nuggets.
But, flowing through that river of pain was a current of pleasure. He could feel its presence at the back of his mind, yelling for attention over all the noise. He could feel it deep in his belly, tickling things he'd never felt before. He could feel it glowing from his battered bollocks, pushing warmth up, along and out of him; releasing, with it, a rush of endorphins and other chemicals.
Berta, who had taken steps back after her violent attack, now pointed at his crotch and started laughing, 'He's pee'd himself! He pee'd himself!'
He looks down in horror at the small dark patch spreading on his trousers. He can feel the warm, creamy, stickiness. With tears streaming down his face, he blunders through the mob around him and disappears to the toilets where he sits and cries, and cries, a very confused young man.
Zelda turns back to him, raises a leg and rests her sole on his naked leg. The sharp heel presses into his flesh. In her hands is a coil of thin red rope. It shimmers in the gloom as she coils it around her fists. She flexes it taut in front of his eyes and he watches it with interest as it quivers before him. She runs a rope-clad fist down his face, it's soft and shear on his skin; then down, caressing his neck. The boot is slowly removed from his leg, giving him more than a glimpse of the treasures beneath the shimmering panties. She bends to him, her bosom almost succeeding in escape. Her bright red lips brush his, teasing. Then she kisses him hard, her tongue exploring deep into his mouth. But before he can respond, she pulls the rope she has encircled around his neck. It is tight, cutting off most of his air. He is gasping for air, he needs air. Again, she kisses him hard, sucking from him every last molecule of oxygen. His vision starts to cave in, he is going under...
The rope is loosened and the air draws harshly back down his throat. He sits there breathing hard, his eyes blinking back the moisture that threatens to overflow and run down his face.
She encircles him, dragging the loose ends of rope over his body. A shiver of anticipation runs up his spine.
She is back in front of him. She crouches, her hands resting on his thighs, the rope ends dangle beside his balls. Her gloved hands move slowly on his thighs, the smooth plastic felt slimy to his clammy skin. They caress lower. A sly stroke of his cock makes it jump to life, gorging itself with blood. He feels her grab his testes, hard. A nasal grunt as she pulls them down, stretching his scrotum taut. Each hard squeeze is answered with a short hard intake of breath. She releases them and his bollocks return to dangling of their own accord, accept now something is tight around the base of his scrotum. He feels her hand encircle his semi-hard cock and slowly pump it fully erect. The rope encircles that as well.
She leans in and puts him in her mouth. Her wet tongue lashes the end, while her smooth palm slides up and down the glistening shaft. He can feel his balls getting very tight against the rope about them. He moans as she grips the head with her teeth and pulls away, her teeth rasping on the sensitive skin. A guttural sound from him as his moist cock dances in the cool air.
Suddenly the loops around neck and genitals are tightened, pulling each toward the other. He sees her expert hands tying the ends of the rope. Any movement of his head strains the scrotum painfully.
He likes it. He smiles, knowing she can't see.
'Is that a smile, Slave?'
Hesitation, then, 'Y-y-yes Mistress.'
She grabs his chin and reefs his head upwards. The pain is excruciating.
'Do you like this, Slave?'
'Yes Mistress,' a vocal intake of breath through gritted teeth.
A wicked smile on her pleasing lips.
She lets his head flop back down with relief. She goes back to the shelves.
She grabs a handful of his hair and pulls his head back, straining the rope taut. A flash as the riding crop comes down. A sharp sting as it flicks his cock. The rope pulls his junk upward, offering itself to her. Another slap, right on the end. A sharp intake of breath down a constricted airway. Another slap. His head is pushed back further, his cock now standing proudly, its head flaming red. The balls are straining up alongside their eternal partner. His face is red and flushed, his mouth grimacing, but his eyes full of pleasure. Another whack and the loving fire burns intensely.
A twist of the clamp on his nipple. He wasn't expecting that. He moans loudly, ecstatically. Then she pulls it off with a twist, tearing the skin and causing a sting that he can feel to the pit of his stomach.
'Oh my-' it's out before he realises it.
She releases his head, which flops to meet his erect penis. He can see delicious beads of blood on his nipple. She steps away from him.
'Did you say something?'
He is silent.
'Did you say something, you insignificant piece of shit?' she yells as the riding crop slaps his side, hard.
'Yes Mistress,' he says quietly.
'What?' the crop welts his thigh with a meaty whack.
'Yes Mistress!' he yells at her.
'You do not,' the leather tip of the crop rips off the other crocodile-clamp with a swoop, 'speak,' it crosses his thighs, 'unless,' it slaps one side of his body, 'spoken to!' then the other.
'Punishment,' she says and disappears from his view.
He can hear her clinking, then clanking something behind and below him.
Suddenly the chair is leant forward and over until he is on his knees. He can faintly see the hinges that secure the chair legs to the floor.
The crop slaps his kidneys, left then right, drawing from him a squeal making him resemble a pig, all trussed up, pink and naked, and strung to a rotisserie.
She likes this, and it will get better.
She moves to the walls either side of him and pulls the material from them, revealing ceiling to floor, mirrored walls. She watches him look at himself, all piggy like.
He watches as she gets on her knees behind him. And he sees, before he feels, the stinging slap on his exposed ass. Sees her produce a dildo from out of nowhere. Watches as she attaches it to her panties. Sees her slap his ass again; the pain is a distant sensation. Sees her lube her hand and wipe it up and down the plastic phallus. He watches her guide it between his red cheeks.
He closes his eyes.
She pushes it roughly into him, he grunts loudly in pain. And continues to do so as she fucks him hard. His sounds of pain steadily become sounds of pleasure. She slows right down, teasing him. She can imagine his little ass-hole contracting around her fake cock. He doesn't know that inside the panties is attached a small dildo of her own; each movement of her in him, was a movement in her. This was by far her favourite bit. But she can't get carried away and allow him to finish.
She inserts a small “bullet” vibrator inside her panties and fiddles it to sit on her clitoris. She continues to fuck him until she comes quietly to herself, all the while making sure his noises didn't indicate his climax. But she seems to have him in a good zone, a plateau. He is too busy enjoying himself, being fucked by a girl, to know that she had just flooded her knickers with pleasure.
She pulls almost out, and fucks him a few times with just the tip. Then she plunges herself all the way into him, earning a deep, dominated, grunt. And then fully withdraws her weapon.
He hangs his head in pleasure as various chemicals are continually released around his body and brain.
She slaps the fake shitty cock on his ass a couple of times, then proceeds to upright the chair and occupant. He can see her fixing it back to the floor. Then she is before him, straddling him, the plastic dick waving at his chest. He smells his own bum-rubbish stench.
'I want you to suck my dick, Slave. Would you like to suck my dick, Slave? Would you like to lick your own shit off of my dick?' she looks him dead in the eyes.
'N-no Mistress,' he says meekly.
'Oh?' she questions. 'I think you would like it.'
He shakes his head, 'No Mistress.'
She reaches between their legs, grips his balls in a fist and starts to squeeze, pull and roughly massage them. Her other hand joins in on his cock.
Eyes close and he moans pleasurably. The moans intensify, joined by panting. His body bucks against the restraints.
She stops.
He looks up at her, panting like a dog in heat, his wide eyes full of only one question.
'Would you like to suck my cock?' she asks sweetly.
His gaze averts to the floor and he says quietly, 'No Mistress.'
'That's a shame,' she kisses two of her fingers and places them gently on his junk. 'Goodbye.' She makes that she is getting off him.
'Wait!'
She looks at him and cocks her head slightly.
'I'll suck your cock,' he says quietly.
'I'm sorry?'
Louder, 'I'll suck your cock.'
She pouts, 'But you don't want to.' Another movement to get off.
'I would love to suck your cock,' he hurriedly blurts out.
She moves back to him. 'What would you like to suck off of it? To lick off of it?'
He looks up at her, like a scolded puppy dog.
'Well?' she prompts.
'I would love to lick the shit off of your cock, Mistress,' he says defiantly.
'Whose shit is it?' she waves the dong in his face.
'Mine,' he says meekly to the floor.
'Whose?'
'It is my shit, Mistress!'
She gives an airhead-giggle. 'I'm a silly goose,' another girlish giggle, 'what was it you want to do?'
'I would love to lick my shit off your cock. Mistress!'
'Good,' her beaming smile disappears. 'Do it.'
He looks down at the latex smeared with traces of lubricated shit.
'Do it,' she says again.
He lowers his head towards it, but just can't bring himself to do it.
His mouth is suddenly full of the sour tasting plastic, the noose around his neck tightly pulling his head down. Zelda fucks his mouth, making him gag and retch. She can feel herself building toward climax again and pulls herself out. This wasn't all for her enjoyment. She removes the little vibrator from her sopping panties and smears her juice over his mouth. He licks at her hand. She slaps his face with the other before getting off and crouching before him. He watches her intently.
She removes the rope from around his red and swollen balls and massages them a little to get the blood flowing again. He stretches his now free head back, bones crack loudly.
She grips his testicles in her gloved hand and gives it a short, hard squeeze. A gasp of air from him, his head still resting back. She pulls his balls down, stretching the wrinkled skin taut. Another hard squeeze. His cock starts engorging and growing again. She encircles her hand about it and begins to pump slowly up and down. Her other hand starts really mashing his testes, squeezing them as hard as they would to wring a wet cloth. His groans, moans and gasps of pleasure become grunts, yells and screams of pure ecstasy.
He is near climax. She knows. That's why they always come back to her, she knows. She can see in his eyes that he is close. Can hear in his sounds, can tell by his body, she could tell by his balls; they were starting to tighten right up.
He is almost there, almost over the edge, falling from the plateau into bliss.
She scrunches her hand around his testicles, mashing them in her palm; her other hand is held before his jiggling penis.
His orgasmic scream of pain is wrapped in layer after layer of pleasure and ecstasy.
He releases his physical orgasm into her hand and she manages to catch most of it, cradling it in her palm.
His head is drooped to his chest, his breathing deep and satisfied. She grabs a handful of hair, pulls his head upright and smears his cum over his mouth and face. He splutters at it, but she forces some of it between his lips.
She grins at him. He glares, but it quickly fades to a satisfied grin.
'Thank you,' he says quietly.
'Thank you, what?'
'Thank you Mistress,' he says quickly.
Another smile and she begins to free him.
He is walking alongside a canal in the setting sun's orange glow. The smell of the demeaning sex is still in his nose, and every time he gets a whiff he feels an excited tingle in his balls. He is flying home tonight. But he will be back. Definitely to see Zelda again, the woman is a gift from God Himself. His damaged nipples sting at the thought. He knows tomorrow will be back to normal; his congregation, his church, his field and flock. And he knows that the countdown will begin again. He prays that they will move the next Vatican meeting forward.
By J. Barrett
06/03/13
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