But he continues. His obsession with cow teats is his only mission for the next few hours. And when he finishes, disconnects the tubes, and releases her tits from the table-vice, she cries at the sight of what he has done to her lovely breasts.
He admires the roadmap of finger bruises and bright red stripes, and is particularly intrigued with her blackish-red plum-shaped nipples. He pinches them, compressing them between his fingertips, and she holds perfectly still but her facial expressions speak volumes.
She did well for two hours of breast torture. His cock jerks in his slacks in anticipation of her next torture.
Spread wide and secured to the cross, he begins her next torture. Sucking deeply on each tit, she sharply inhales, holding herself steady even as he renews the pain in her breasts. His hand slips down between the V of her legs and finds her dripping. Her clit is a hard nub, but he likes it larger, more prominent and raw.
Toying with her clit, he thumps it, pinches it, and rolls it between his fingertips, all the while gorging on her luscious breasts. Juices coat his hand and he feeds his fingers to lick clean then kisses her deeply, sliding his tongue down her throat. Breaking away, he works quietly at a bench against the far wall, leaving her body dripping with lust and bound tightly to the cross.
Her agitation increases as time passes and he ignores her. Random thoughts flit through her mind. What is he doing over there? What is taking him so long? I’m on fire and have to be fucked. Unable to contain herself, she calls out to him.
“Please fuck me. Sir, Master, I need to be fucked hard, please fuck me, fuck me and make it hurt, please just fuck me.”
He smiles, takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. She continues to assail him with insults, not realizing that she is using “fighting words”, words that have consequences, painful consequences. She has no idea how much pain he can cause her, pain so intense that she will lose consciousness, and when she comes to, the pain will be worse than before.
“What’s wrong with you, aren’t you supposed to be my Master? Act like one and fuck me. Don’t just leave me hanging here you sick son of a bitch.”
Another long sigh as he evaluates his options. Unfortunately, she has yet to learn who serves whom. He could give a rat’s ass if she gets what she wants, her needs do not matter to him. What matters is his pleasure, his needs, and she must learn to put him first and foremost in her mind.
She should be begging to suck him, fuck him, and serve him. Instead, the self-centered bitch is demanding that he please her. He makes a decision. He is going to introduce her to clit torture, torture so severe that the last thing on her mind will be an orgasm. He will make sure that her clit will hurt with just the thought of arousal for days after he finishes.
Starting slowly, deciding on layers of different types of pain as the best approach, he swings the split leather slapper upwards and slams into her crotch. Her cunt lips protectively fold over her clit. Slapping upwards three fast hard strokes, her cunt lips begin to redden, tiny blue veins become visible under the taunt flesh.
Five vicious upward swings, direct hits all of them, the brittle leather tips of the clapper slice her cunt lips apart and her clit pops out, totally exposed. He pinches it, rolls it between his fingertips, tugs on it, and then smashes it back into her body with handle of the slapper.
Switching to a riding crop, he snaps the flexible wire stem between her legs. The double-ply four-inch square of thick tough leather slams into her cunt lips, rebounds slightly and smacks again. Screams of agony fill the sub-basement room, echoing off the walls. Although he loves it when she screams, it can become obnoxious after several hours.
Returning from his bench, he fits a harness around her head and pushes an inflatable cock gag down her throat. He smiles and carefully watches her expressions. He pumps the gag several times and notices her cheeks swelling. A few more pumps and the cock presses her tongue flat and lifts the roof of her mouth. Several more pumps and her eyes bulge, her airway is blocked, and her tonsils rest on the cock’s tip.
Ten slow motion snaps of the riding crop, well aimed, each crash of leather versus flesh is music to his ears, minus her muffled growls. Her clit hangs listless, beaten, swollen, but not quite ready for his taste. He places clover clamps on the top of her cunt lips and secures them around her legs, pulling the string tight to ensure her cunt lips are spread wide. Attaching another set of clamps to the middle of her cunt lips, he does the same, tying them around her legs. Finally, clamps on the lower lips, her clit fully exposed, but also both her holes.
Stepping back, he poises the crop on the floor between her legs and swings upwards with startling quickness, repeatedly slapping her naked female flesh. The force of the impacts sends shudders up her chest, even her tits shake from the sheer power of each hit. Again, deliberate, well aimed snaps of the wire sending leather soaring into her exposed folds. The burning, stinging, blazing pain is unimaginable. She is overwrought, her brain soaked with pain, her throat choking on the gag. Her knees give way but the belts hold her securely to the cross.
Back at the workbench, he assembles a wicked clawed clamp with a small bucket hanging from a foot long chain. Bending between her legs, he flicks her beaten clit, raw, dark red, yet fully aroused. Grasping her clit and pulling it completely free of its protective hood, he closes the clamp on the full length of the bud. Her body jerks and tries to shake it off, but the clamp holds tight, stretching her clit at least a quarter inch.
He swings the empty bucket between her thighs, laughing as she cringes under the pressure of the clamps. Scooping a cup of lead weights, he slowly pours them into the bucket. Her clit is drawn further down and the clamp bites deeply into the flesh to support the additional weight.
It sounds like she’s howling but it is difficult to tell for sure with the gag. Just as well, he is not finished with her clit. Scooping another cup, he slowly pours the lead weights watching as the bucket drops heavily towards the floor.
She cannot lower her body to ease the pain. It is like he is tearing her clit from her body, stretching it four full inches from its base. Feeling a bit ornery, he gives the bucket a push and watches her reaction as eight pounds of lead swings from her clit back and forth between her spread legs.
Drool oozes from around her lips, snot drains from her nose, tears flood her cheeks, and her eye lids bat frantically trying to communicate with him; she gives up, she is sorry, please stop.
Leaving her alone, soaked in pain, lost in agony, she attempts to think her way to freedom. She is sure that he is going to kill her at some point. It’s just a matter of time. Just when she thinks she has reached her absolute pain ceiling, her ready-to-die threshold, he raises the stakes. He has clearly demonstrated that pain is his specialty, a fetish that is near and dear to his black heart.
His focus on a particular area of torture is impressive, spending several HOURS on a single part of her body until he has fully explored it, used it, hurt it, and owns it. No variation. Total focus on increasing the pain, always adding layers upon layers of pain, until the pain becomes mind-numbing, then erotic, and then painful again, a very long tormented journey where he leaves his marks deep in her flesh, her bruises hard-earned badges as his sex slave.
He releases her clit; it hangs long with wicked bruises where the claws bit into the flesh. Bending to her, he sucks her elongated clit deep into his warm mouth, licking it with his tongue even as he suctions it to the back of his throat. Lavishing wet licks up and down the stem, and then biting down at the base. Her body spasms, her hips gyrate, but her clit is raw, super sensitive, almost painful, yet loving his mouth.
His face is suddenly drenched in cunt juices; she is close to an eruption of orgasmic bliss. He pulls back, kisses her, then allows her to lick her juices from his face.
Hormones rage through her veins, her lustful aroma fills the basement; even her whimpers have a certain rhythm. She is riding an emotional tsunami, a wave too powerful to resist.
Her addiction is firmly ingrained into her psyche; she needs and wants his brand of “foreplay” because the payoff is intoxicating and has become a deep-seat obsession. She is desperately overheated with unrestrained need.
Lost in her emotional avalanche, he catches her off-guard and swings straight up between her thighs landing hard against her battered clit; the solid leather strap lined with silver studs burns into her flesh. She jumps and tries to pull her legs together, but the strap slams into her crack again, the metal studs leave deep imprints in the soft tissue.
Again, another series of direct hits, the tissue between her thighs, her exposed clit, her gaping cunt, all repeatedly slapped with utmost precision. Each impact sends waves of heat pulsing through her. Several more direct hits only on the inside of her thighs, much worse pain yet after the initial impact, it too joins the flow of heat ransacking her body.
Another blow, crack of the impact far louder than before, the stinging more intense as her clit is battered once again, but she takes no notice. She is in a wild state of sexual arousal, barely conscience of what he is doing to her body.
Pain seeps deeper into her flesh, but she is gripped by a masochist fever that easily converts the pain into a blistering heat, a heat so intense that it propels her towards a sexual release of devastating proportions.
He strikes across her breasts and even as the air whooshes from lungs, her body hungers for more. She wants to plead with him to slam the leather across her breasts again, make them hurt even more than they do now.
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