Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

User 109. Male. 40.

I like extreme BDSM, especially with newbies who are fresh to the scene. I have a dungeon set up at my home address, with a variety of equipment including a St Andrew’s cross, a bench, rack, shackles and gym horse. I love variety, and love reading a scene.

You have tits built for bondage and pain, so that would be a must on my list. I love pussy torture, so that would also be a must. Stretching and clamps a necessity.

I will use crops, paddles and whips, and I’ll leave extreme purple bruising on your ass, and both your outer and inner thighs. I’ll leave light lashes on your back and ribs, and bruising on your tits.

You’ll be gagged at points, bound at plenty of points, and I may push you hard enough for tears. However, I do use additional toys to keep pleasure levels high as well as pain.

My dungeon is soundproofed, so there is no need to worry about noise.

I like my submissives naked and ready to use from the moment they arrive in the dungeon.

Duration – 8 hours.

Proposal price – £10000.

I thoughtViv and Mark had a house to dream of, Daddy too, but this place is a whole other league. It’s out in the countryside, North East of London, and has a driveway at least half a mile long. I sit in the back of the cab, staring in wonder at the lit-up building at the end of the lane. It has to be a mansion. It has to be.

It sends a fresh hit of adrenaline through me, a weird concoction of abject fear and excitement, blending into a thicket of nerves inside my stomach.

“Whoa,” the cab driver comments as we reach the courtyard of the manor. “This is quite something.”

“Sure is,” I agree as I hand over the fare.

So much for running away from this place if I get freaked out. I wouldn’t even make it back to the road.

I click on arrived once the cab is off, standing in the glow of the courtyard lighting. It’s a cold night, and my bare legs are goosebumped. I’m wearing virtually nothing under my coat, just a short black dress that will pull off easily, and a lacy lingerie set. It won’t take me long to get out of it – naked and ready to use from the moment I arrive in User 109’s dungeon.

Use the door knocker, the message says, and I look at the huge arched doorway ahead. The twist of ivy looks magical in the warm glow of the lanterns on either side.

I’ll be quivering with fear and nerves for the next eight hours straight, so there is no point delaying the inevitable or trying to calm myself down. Ebony’s words play through my head – her concerns niggling like tickles at the back of my mind. Maybe she was right and this was too much for a newbie like me. I feel the urge to bolt, but keep walking until I reach the huge stone steps.

The door knocker looks fitting for a regal movie. A lion’s head with a huge ring coming from its mouth. It takes real force to thump it against the wood.

And then I wait.

Shivering.

Edgy.

Crapping myself with the grandeur and gravity of what is lying ahead for me behind this door.

The door doesn’t creak when it opens, just swings smoothly on huge hinges, showing a foyer lit up magnificently behind my client. He’s hidden in the shadows as he gestures me in with a welcome, and I could laugh a little as he finally appears before me in full lighting. Part of me had been picturing him like Hannibal Lecter, but no. Of course not.

User 109 is lean and imposing, yes, but he looks like more of an intellectual than a monster. He has a chiselled jaw, and hazel brown eyes behind his glasses, dressed in a plush dressing robe over a shirt and tie.

He smiles and asks for my coat and bag, which I hand over with a thank you. Weirdly, I feel more exposed than usual in such a tiny, basic outfit. Less of a confident, dressed up slut, out to impress her clients. Here, standing before him, I’m just me, without the mask of fishnets and corset lacing.

“Take off your shoes, please,” he tells me, and I nod before leaving them on the shoe rack. My bare feet are cold on his chequered floor tiles.

He makes no attempt at small talk, so I stay quiet, merely following. His energy deepens as he leads me through his house, through a corridor off to the right, and down a spiral stone staircase to another heavy wooden door.

Seems he wasn’t joking when he said dungeon. My instincts shoot back in as I stand there on the steps, white knuckles gripping the railing in a vice as he turns the key in the lock. I could run. My legs are tense and ready to bolt, all fantasies of sinking straight into a heady subspace all drying up to nothing.

Standing here – ready to enter a real-life dungeon, in a manor house off grid from the rest of the world, feels like full on insanity. The crazy feeling doesn’t ease off when the door swings open and I see the full scope of the wonder waiting inside. User 109 wasn’t exaggerating in his proposal, this a BDSM dungeon worthy of a specialist club. He has everything laid out to perfection, spaced out with plenty of room, and a whole host of implements lining the walls, all lit up with spotlights. He even has a gas style mask for cyber play.

I repeat my safe word in my head on loop, flag, flag, flag, flag, flag, but he addresses that angle as he closes the door behind us.

“You are free to use your safe word at any time, Holly. I will loosen you from your bonds and call you a cab immediately with no problem whatsoever. I will simply deduct whatever fee is remaining from your earnings.”

I nod at him. “Thank you.”

“If you are gagged, or unable to use your safe word, there is a rhythm of beats you can use with any part of your body available. Hands, feet, fingers, whatever is free.” He shows me by knocking the rhythm out on the wall beside us. Three, pause, four, pause, five, pause. “Any other noise or objections you make will be taken as part of the playtime. Please be as expressive as you need to be. Moans, begs, screams and protests are all perfectly acceptable, I will read them in line with the scene. I believe the proposal demonstrates what kind of experience is ahead for you, but do you have any questions?”

I’m still looking around in amazement. My eyes are fixated on the rack. I’ve never been on a rack before.

“No, thank you. No questions.”

“It’s Sir now, please.”

His tone is so sharp, my eyes flit straight back to his.

“Of course, yes. No questions, thank you, Sir.”

“Good girl. Now strip for me.”

He steps away for a full view as I pull my dress up and off, casting it away to the side. I unhook my bra and toss it down, then step out of my panties. I’ve never felt so naked in my life as User 109 – Sir -– paces around for a full 360. His eyes rove all over me, and I bow my head, fingers hooked together as my legs tremble. I can’t help it.

“You’re certain you’re ready for this experience?” he asks me, taking off his grand burgundy robe and hanging it on the back of the door. He’s fully suited underneath, in posh brogues.

“Yes, Sir,” I say, and feel a crazy need to defend myself, in case he deems me unworthy or something. “I love BDSM and pain play. I haven’t done it like this, no, but I can do, I promise. I want to. It’s why I starred the items on the naughty list, because it’s what I want. I need it.”

“It’s ok,” he says, with just the slightest hint of a smile. “You don’t have to sell your suitability to me. A yes would suffice.”

I take some breaths as the truth of my words sink in. I do want this. This is the stuff dreams are made of. It’s exactly the kind of thing I’ve been fantasising over for years, and it’s right here in front of me. I look at my Sir with stronger eyes.

“Yes, Sir. I’m certain I’m ready for this experience.”

“Excellent,” he says. “Then let’s get started.”

He directs me over to one of the large walls, where there are strong metal bars placed horizontally all the way up, like a ladder. He takes some leather cuffs from a side table, and I offer my wrists to him willingly. He buckles them tight, but professionally, checking their security before ordering me to stand with my back against the bars and raise my arms above my head, as far as they will go.

I do as I’m told with a yes, Sir, as I get in position. He fixes both cuffs to one of the bars, and I test them, tugging.

He’s good. There will be no slipping out of these.

“You have gorgeous tits,” he tells me, taking some bondage rope from the table. “Have you ever had them bound before?”

“Thank you, and yes, Sir.”

But it turns out that my idea of tit bondage and his idea of tit bondage are two very different things. I thought Connor was rough with rope when he bound my tits together, but Sir uses the thin rope like ribbon, one breast at a time, wrapping the cord around and around until they are darkening in seconds. Fuck, this isn’t like I’ve known it before. He uses a fresh piece of cord to bind them together, and I’m already moaning at that. I close my eyes as he wraps the rope around the back of my neck and uses it to hoist my bound tits higher.

My God, the blood is pumping through the rope. My tits are already pulsing.

It’s the kind of stuff from my favourite porn movies, and through the fear my endorphins are already beginning to flow, breaths shallowing.

I love tit bondage.

I love the way the sensations become so intense that you can come from your nipples alone – a solid thread of electric that runs straight from your tits to your clit.

This guy – Sir – could get me off in seconds, I’m sure.

He brushes my swollen nipples with his thumbs, teasing me as I squirm. I’m already spreading my legs like a whore, and he looks down, but doesn’t touch me.

“A true submissive,” he says. “Excellent.”

“I’m a good pain slut, Sir,” I tell him, breaths rasping.

“I’ve no doubt of that, but still. I’m sure we’ll find your limits tonight.”

Fuck, it sounds scary, coming from his mouth, but I’m already losing my head to everything but the sensations. He gives my tits time to swell, staring, and I start to pant, squirming in my bonds as they prickle. God, I wish he’d touch me. I want him to hurt them. To tease them. To use them. But he’s so calm, so stoic, so poised as he reaches slowly with both hands, his fingers gently gripping my nipples.

The sensation is incredible. I feel it all the way to my toes.

Sir is smirking as I moan, blinded by pain as he pinches my nipples sharp and hard. It makes me hiss. Makes me squirm and grunt as he stretches them before finally letting go.

“Good girl,” he says, moving to the table and coming back with two clamps.

He tightens them on my nipples, slowly for maximum effect. I writhe against my bonds, letting out a whimper.

“Spread your legs,” he says, and I do as I’m told, fighting the urge to beg him to touch me.

He’s careful not to brush my clit as he applies clamps to my pussy lips, just tugs at them to make sure they are clipped solid. Ah, the blood pumps there, too. This is good. So good.

Sirtakes a crop from the rack and taps it against his palm as he watches me squirming.

“Keep your legs spread wide,” he tells me, and I nod for him.

“Yes, Sir.”

He starts with gentle crop slaps on my thighs to warm them up, the speed of his slaps increasing into a barrage that spreads up and down, giving a blissful burn. He begins the sharper lashes amongst the taps, HARD, soft, soft, HARD, unpredictable. He uses the full length of my thighs, but stays just shy of my pussy, which has me reeling, because I want the tap of a crop on my clit so bad, I could scream.

I’m not at all prepared when he strikes my stomach and works his way up my rib cage. There are less taps now as he uses my flesh – just pure solid swipes with the crop. My hands are in tight fists as I try to enjoy the pain, but I’m struggling, crying out with every strike.

It’s like he can read me as he looks into my eyes.

He nudges my nipple clamps with the end of the crop and I moan fresh, squirming. He presses the tip against one of my swollen tits for aim and then raises it high to strike me. Fuck, how I flinch, knowing it will hurt like hell – but he’s only playing with me.

“Good,” he says. “Always be ready to expect the unexpected.”

He does slap my tits with the crop, but not with a belter. Each strike is carefully positioned, just hard enough to leave a stripe of white amidst the deep pink swelling. His taps are so much more intense on sensitive flesh, and I suck in deeper breaths, clenching my bruising thighs together.

I have no choice, because it’s so tender, it’s just too fucking good.

“NO!” he barks, and then rains punishment down on me. Heavy hard blows across my thighs until I’m crying out, shuffling them back apart for him. My heart is pounding right through my head.

“You will never take pleasure without my permission, is that understood?”

I nod. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I don’t give many chances. Next time your punishment will be significantly worse.”

“I understand, Sir. I’m sorry.”

“Time to get you moved,” he says, and unclips the cuffs above my head. My wrists are aching, and time is already lost to me. I have no idea how long we’ve been playing, but I’m already dazed.

“Have a drink,” he says, and offers me water direct from a glass. I take several sips with a thank you, Sir. It’s a welcome relief.

“On your front, please,” he says and pats the flogging bench.

I climb up gingerly, the clamps burning my nipples and pussy lips as he buckles my wrists and ankles to the frame. My tits fit perfectly over the front ledge, and every bounce will be magnificent in its wonder, setting me on fire with the pain.

Or so I think, until he lands the first heavy smack of a paddle against my ass cheeks with no warning whatsoever. I jolt forward, with a curse, but he doesn’t hold back, keeping up a heavy stream of blows that have me gritting my teeth, trying to stay quiet.

I’m fighting it. The natural response.

My arms are tense in my bonds, and my legs are straining against the cuffs, but he doesn’t slow down, or ease up, just smacks the same smarting flesh over and over, until my self-restraint loses its power.

My first whimper of pain sounds like a mewl, it’s so pathetic, but it opens the floodgates for more. Tiny whimpers turn to yelps, but my squirming makes no difference, he pelts me right the way across my ass and down my thighs without mercy, so fucking steady I’m fearing every strike.

“Don’t fight it,” he says. “Accept your submission.”

I nod amongst the yelps, but I can’t accept it without struggling. My body just isn’t there yet. My heart is thumping, and my bruising tits are bouncing back against the flogging bench and I’m sure I’m shaking all over, but he still keeps going. Keeps hitting me to the rhythm. And every time I think I’m coming to accept it, he changes position, or hits me harder, driving me closer and closer to an imaginary brink. The cliff keeps moving. The adrenaline keeps spiking.

“I’m not going to stop until you accept your submission,” he tells me.

“Yes, Sir,” I say, but it’s brain over body, holding onto the fight, even though I don’t want to. Giving up isn’t easy. My body doesn’t want to comply.

I flinch when he rubs his palm over my ass cheeks, and that simple touch makes me whimper.

“Your ass is so fucking red,” he tells me, and I hear the lust in his voice. “You’re quite a fighter, aren’t you?”

“I wasn’t lying, Sir. I’m a pain slut with high limits.”

“Yes, I can see that. And we’re going to break them.”

He resumes with the paddle, and there is no mercy whatsoever, only pain. My burning flesh is too sore to tense against it anymore, and flailing against my bonds does nothing. I’m powerless, and beginning to feel it.

My yelps get louder, curses interspersed, and those curses become screams, but it doesn’t hold him back. He uses me like an expert until I can feel the breakpoint coming. My screams are quietening, sucked in between hitched breaths as the tears start to come.

“Take it,” my Sir says, and I nod.

“Yes, Sir.”

He hits me harder, and the shakes start up – racking right through me – but they make me beautifully dizzy, the pain morphing as my adrenaline peaks and eases. The blows feel further away now… more distant… and my body starts reacting by rocking, not jerking.

I shift my weight from knee to knee and I take what I’m given. Without fight, without restraint, with nothing but silent tears.

The freedom in the release of control is pure, absolute bliss.

My Sir knows he’s broken me. He approaches me from the front and tips my chin up towards him.

I smile through the tears. “Thank you, Sir.”

“You’re welcome,” he tells me, and he’s smiling back. “And now, it’s time we truly begin.”

I’m in true subspace now, offering my arms and ankles willingly when he guides me over to the rack and stretches me tight. I’m smiling as he uses a dressage whip, stinging my front all over, then grinning as he flicks nasty strikes at my tits, leaving flashes of blood under the skin.

I cry and yelp and moan without care, staring up at him like he’s God himself, controlling my destiny, and all the while I want more. More. More.

I want him to use my pussy…

I want him to torture me and stretch me, and drive me crazy…

He strokes my forehead when he’s done with the dressage whip, and he reads the want in my eyes.

“Don’t worry, Holly. Good sluts always get their rewards.”

I’m staring as he walks away, wide-eyed when he returns with both a wand and a toy as thick as his wrist. For the first time in a while, I pull against my bonds.

His eyes are fierce, putting me right back in my place.

“Holly, who controls you in this space?”

“You, Sir.”

“Who does your body belong to?”

“You, Sir.”

“Who decides what pain and pleasure your cunt takes?”

I suck in a breath. “You, Sir.”

He loosens my ankle shackles from the rack but only to fasten them higher, making sure my clamped pussy is on full display for him. There is no escape for me in this position. My cunt belongs to him.

“Be a good girl,” he says, brushing his thumb across my clit, and it’s tender enough that I moan like a whore. “This is going to hurt,” he says when he pulls my pussy clamps apart, tugging to spread me open like a dirty butterfly.

I hear a jangle, and he binds my clamps to my thighs, pulled so tight that they sting and throb like a bastard, but I don’t care. The subspace is already back and consuming me.

The buzz of the wand is electric, literally. Sparks and crackles against my clit alongside the tremors that have me writhing, toes curled, panting for him.

I hear a squelch of lube and I don’t try to fight it, just let the pain slam hard as he shunts the beast of a dildo in my pussy, working it into my cunt as he zaps my clit to a rhythm.

He’s got me.

With the throb of my bound tits, and my bruised, lashed skin all over, I’m nothing more than a sensitive canvas, his to own. When he makes me come it’s from a subspace I haven’t known in years, if ever, transcending the pain into the ultimate place of submission.

My pussy clenches, waves of pleasure like veins pulsing through my entire body, and I’m crying out like a bitch gone insane, bucking as best as I can against him while he abuses my pussy like the greatest man alive.

I can’t believe this is happening to me.

I can’t believe the fantasies are really real.

“Stay there, Holly, nice and still,” he says in the aftermath, and I nod, sweat dripping from my forehead.

He raises my head and offers me more water from the glass, and I sip with gratitude. I’m so caught up in different sensations, I’m surprised I even know my own name. I have no concept of time, or how long he’s been using me, or how the hell bad my bruises are going to be in the morning, but I don’t care.

Nothing matters but being his plaything.

I squeal, but I’m smiling as he takes the clips from my nipples, tugging them first. I’m still swollen and tit bound, and Jesus Christ, it hurts. But his mouth doesn’t when he lowers his face to my tits, and sucks at them so gently. Oh my fucking God… his mouth doesn’t hurt at all.

The sensations building are intense in seconds, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. He sucks my nipples just right, sending ripples to my clit, and I can’t keep my mind.

I beg, in words that make no sense, just a long stream of bumbling whimpers that he intensifies by sliding a hand down and tugging the clamps on my pussy lips. My second orgasm is building on its own… but just one touch… one tiny touch of my clit would have me in hyperdrive. I’d be screaming from the rooftops.

If I could…

But my Sir pre-empts me.

He slaps a hand over my mouth, gagging me as he tickles my nipples with the end of his tongue, and finally he gives my clit the contact it craves, gentle little taps with his fingers that take my breath. A gentle tap, a nudge, a slow circle, and then… he rubs frantically and I’d scream, but I can’t. His hand is just too solid, so I’m moaning, delirious as I come for him, trembling in bonds, clamps and chains, spent and dripping with sweat and tears.

And then it’s his turn…

“Open your mouth for me, you good little slut,” he says when he takes his palm away.

He takes his cock out of his suit trousers, and I twist my head towards him, legs still open wide and pussy still sore with clamps. My tits are swollen so bad now they’re purple.

My Sir takes great pleasure, fisting his cock, its engorged head up close, so close my mouth waters at the pearl of precum that drips from it.

“Such a gorgeous little slut,” he says and then he takes my mouth, bulging out my cheek before fucking my throat like it’s just a hole for his service, and I’m grinning around his cock like a madwoman, wild with the thought of his cum.

I want to make my Sir come.

I want that more than anything.

He’s standing up tall when he does unload his balls for me, splattering my face and swollen purple tits with long filthy streams. I have my tongue out, moaning and begging, and he gives me his cock when he’s finished spurting, offering me the privilege of sucking him clean.

I’m so grateful, it’s insane.

I’m dizzy as hell when he does finally uncuff me. My tits pulse so bad when he frees them that I cross my arms against my cum-smeared chest, teeth gritted as he does the same to my pussy.

My body has taken a hell of a lot of punishment tonight.

User 109 leaves me on the rack for a few minutes to recover, watching me from the flogging bench with a smile on his face, and I realise again how he’s such a hot looking intellectual. I wonder who the hell he is.

It’s such a bizarre thought to realise I may never know.

I look around the room at the collection of implements we haven’t used yet. The gym horse, and the shackles from the ceiling and the St. Andrew’s cross, and the idea I won’t get to experience them feels horrific. I want to use everything, all with this one same man.

A man I don’t even know the name of.

“I had no idea how much of a painslut you’d be when I sent you the proposal,” he says, and I smile.

“Neither did I. I had my suspicions, but that was, um… quite an intense experience.”

He looks around. “There is plenty more to play with. Such a shame we won’t get the chance tonight.”

“We won’t?”

He shakes his head, and looks at his watch. “We have thirty-seven minutes left, and I want to make sure you are ok, in a clear headspace, fed, watered, and set for a cab home.”

Fuck, we’ve been here ages… and I just can’t…

I don’t care about being in a clear headspace, or fed and watered.

“It’s ok, Sir,” I tell him. “I don’t need that. You can keep playing.”

He gestures to my tits. “I appreciate the offer, but you need to give yourself time for recovery there. I was a little irresponsible on my timings and should never have kept you bound that long, but I was too transfixed by them.”

I couldn’t give a shit about my tits…

“And your pussy,” he tells me. “I think I may have torn you slightly.”

He seeks out a tissue and hands it over so I can wipe myself, but again, I don’t give a shit if he’s torn me. I want him to do it all over again.

But I can’t say that. I’m not allowed to discuss future dates, or more terms, or ask for any further information. So what the fuck can I say?

“That was incredible,” I tell him, like an idiot. “Beyond incredible. That’s the best BDSM experience I’ve ever had by miles.”

He waves my compliment aside. “Thank you, but there is no need for compliments. It’s most definitely me who should be thanking you.”

Like fuck it is. He really has no idea how much it means to me.

He brings a pack of wipes, and is so gentle as he cleans the cum from my face and my tits. So gentle it feels surreal. So gentle I’d give anything for him to fuck me. But of course I can’t ask for that.

He helps me up from the rack, and holds me secure as I get dressed. He gives me his robe as we go upstairs, and makes me a coffee and a club sandwich in his gorgeous, period style kitchen, insisting I down a big glass of juice for the sugar while he calls a cab for me.

But I don’t want it.

I don’t want to leave.

I hover at his doorway in my coat and heels when the cab arrives, but there is nothing I can do.

“Thank you, Holly, and goodnight,” he says, then looks out at the faint hint of dawn on the horizon. “Well, good morning. However you want to term it.”

“Goodnight, Sir,” I reply, and fuck it. I go in for a kiss on the lips but he shakes his head at me.

“That wasn’t in our proposal, and I never deviate. I’d love to, believe me, but I never do.”

Damn it.

I feel so dejected when I step outside, until I hear his voice behind me.

“Maybe I’ll change the proposal terms next time.”

I spin to him with a massive grin on my face.

“Next time? But I thought you liked newbies?”

He smirks so beautifully before he closes the door.

“For you, I may well make an exception.”

Holy shit, I’m a mashed-up ball of everything on the way back to London. I listen to the monotone chatter from the cab driver, nodding in the right places, but everything is whirring.

I check my account, and the huge amount of cash is already showing as a balance.

My review comes in just a few minutes later. It’s succinct and to the point, like him.

A true painslut, and an excellent entertainer. She makes the most incredible squeals when she orgasms, and cries incredible tears when she’s taking her punishment.

5 Stars.

I get a crazy glow, missing him already.

Damnit, is this how it’s going to be from here until forever? Morning after syndrome on fucking loop?

I lean against the back seat and have to laugh at the pit of want already forming. Here we go again.

Next time I’m going to pick something with no chance of morning after syndrome – another Viv and Mark kind of playtime. A threesome at least, with no BDSM. Nothing but filthy fun on a plate with no chance of me falling for a stranger.

Maybe I’m being overly optimistic at that, given recent events. But at least I can try.