my system at this tacit approval, driving me on. But soon it seems like an impossible task to hold myself back from coming, and I am afraid. About to come. Afraid .
Gilby’s big hand grips my hip, stopping my motion, and he pulls the billy club from my body.
“Still,” the Master commands me.
I hear Gilby moving around as my heart thunders, my poor, abused, too-empty cunt aching. Wanting. It’s only a few moments before he returns. The Master releases my tortured nipple and takes a step back before Gilby shoves me down onto the table, then pulls me so my legs hang off the edge. Very quickly he binds me to the table with rope, the slick little knots holding my legs spread wide, bound to the table legs. He does the same to my arms, the ropes tight around my wrists. My legs are shaking, but the ropes and the table take care of my unsteadiness. The choke-chain helps in its own strange way too.
I love this about being restrained—it’s as if I am being held safely in the arms of the ropes or the chains or the cuffs. Or Saran Wrap or bondage tape, or whatever it is anyone binds me with. It calms me. I take in a breath, try to relax as I push it out, the way Master Graham taught me. It seems like a thousand years ago, even though it’s only been a little over a year since he began training me.
Is it terrible that I can barely think of him already? That his memory is fading in the wake of the unusual and extreme conditions of the Training House, and my fascination with the beautiful Master? As I wait for whatever the cruel Gilby will do to me next?
Cruel. And crude. Yet elegantly so, in this fantastical setting. Yes, elegantly crude. I can still hardly believe it’s all real.
But Gilby’s voice brings me back to the moment.
“My fat dick is going into your ass soon enough, little slut. Into that sweet pink hole. It’s waiting for me to fill it. To fuck you until you can’t help but scream, despite the fact that I’ve told you not to. Think about that , Girl.”
And I do, even though the Master grabs my face in both his hands and squats down to look into my eyes, which is mesmerizing and beautiful and nearly unbearable. It makes my throat hurt to swallow the sobs—sobs that build and swell simply because his gaze is locked on mine, because even in this state of heavy subspace and rawness, I see something just as raw in his blue eyes, and it makes my heart ache.
Gilby begins to cane me, and it fucking hurts. I can tell it’s Lucite or some other man-made material. I feel the welts coming right up on my skin, the sting unbelievably sharp. He goes at the tender flesh of my ass cheeks, down the backs of my thighs, my calves, which would make me dance in my bonds if there were any give to them. But there’s not. There is no escape from the pain.
There’s no escape.
The thought makes me smile through the pain—a pain so vicious I’m not sure I can stand it. Yet at the same time my brain is pumping out endorphins and dopamine and God knows what else—and all the more because the Master is there with me, holding me, looking into my eyes as it’s happening, which is some beautiful mind fuck in itself. I’m dizzy and my traitorous pussy is weeping with desire. And all I want is for Gilby to keep caning me, to fuck my ass, no matter how huge he might be. To tear me apart while the Master watches.
When the caning stops and I hear the faint snick of a zipper, I know it’s time.
Chapter Four
There is no preamble. No warning. Just his thick fingers sliding into my cunt, then swiping the moisture back and onto my anus, pushing briefly inside. Then his huge hands part my ass cheeks and his condom-clad cock is at the entrance, the swollen head enormous against that small, pink pucker.
Oh God.
But God can’t help me now. No one can.
No one can help you.
My body goes loose and warm, and I tumble into those words.
Yes.
The Master smooths his palms over my cheeks, and his touch is unbelievably
Gilby’s big hand grips my hip, stopping my motion, and he pulls the billy club from my body.
“Still,” the Master commands me.
I hear Gilby moving around as my heart thunders, my poor, abused, too-empty cunt aching. Wanting. It’s only a few moments before he returns. The Master releases my tortured nipple and takes a step back before Gilby shoves me down onto the table, then pulls me so my legs hang off the edge. Very quickly he binds me to the table with rope, the slick little knots holding my legs spread wide, bound to the table legs. He does the same to my arms, the ropes tight around my wrists. My legs are shaking, but the ropes and the table take care of my unsteadiness. The choke-chain helps in its own strange way too.
I love this about being restrained—it’s as if I am being held safely in the arms of the ropes or the chains or the cuffs. Or Saran Wrap or bondage tape, or whatever it is anyone binds me with. It calms me. I take in a breath, try to relax as I push it out, the way Master Graham taught me. It seems like a thousand years ago, even though it’s only been a little over a year since he began training me.
Is it terrible that I can barely think of him already? That his memory is fading in the wake of the unusual and extreme conditions of the Training House, and my fascination with the beautiful Master? As I wait for whatever the cruel Gilby will do to me next?
Cruel. And crude. Yet elegantly so, in this fantastical setting. Yes, elegantly crude. I can still hardly believe it’s all real.
But Gilby’s voice brings me back to the moment.
“My fat dick is going into your ass soon enough, little slut. Into that sweet pink hole. It’s waiting for me to fill it. To fuck you until you can’t help but scream, despite the fact that I’ve told you not to. Think about that , Girl.”
And I do, even though the Master grabs my face in both his hands and squats down to look into my eyes, which is mesmerizing and beautiful and nearly unbearable. It makes my throat hurt to swallow the sobs—sobs that build and swell simply because his gaze is locked on mine, because even in this state of heavy subspace and rawness, I see something just as raw in his blue eyes, and it makes my heart ache.
Gilby begins to cane me, and it fucking hurts. I can tell it’s Lucite or some other man-made material. I feel the welts coming right up on my skin, the sting unbelievably sharp. He goes at the tender flesh of my ass cheeks, down the backs of my thighs, my calves, which would make me dance in my bonds if there were any give to them. But there’s not. There is no escape from the pain.
There’s no escape.
The thought makes me smile through the pain—a pain so vicious I’m not sure I can stand it. Yet at the same time my brain is pumping out endorphins and dopamine and God knows what else—and all the more because the Master is there with me, holding me, looking into my eyes as it’s happening, which is some beautiful mind fuck in itself. I’m dizzy and my traitorous pussy is weeping with desire. And all I want is for Gilby to keep caning me, to fuck my ass, no matter how huge he might be. To tear me apart while the Master watches.
When the caning stops and I hear the faint snick of a zipper, I know it’s time.
Chapter Four
There is no preamble. No warning. Just his thick fingers sliding into my cunt, then swiping the moisture back and onto my anus, pushing briefly inside. Then his huge hands part my ass cheeks and his condom-clad cock is at the entrance, the swollen head enormous against that small, pink pucker.
Oh God.
But God can’t help me now. No one can.
No one can help you.
My body goes loose and warm, and I tumble into those words.
Yes.
The Master smooths his palms over my cheeks, and his touch is unbelievably
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