The Bitch (7 page)

My sense of time
had left me. Minutes, hours…I had no clue how long I was alone like that,
twisting my body in any little way I could, trying to get myself off. It was no
use. Even if I found a little give in the restraints on my arms, the stupid
things connected to my legs kept me from moving down harder onto those damned
fucking machines.

I tried
whimpering a few times, but that didn’t help. If anyone was in the room with
me, they were well and truly ignoring me. My luck of late probably meant there
was no one in the room with me. Hell, there might not be anyone in the whole
building. Anything louder than a whimper wasn’t going to help me, so there was
no point in wasting my voice.

Right around the
point where every muscle in my body felt like it was one giant cramp, that was
when one of them returned to the room. I didn’t hear him come in. He didn’t say
anything. I didn’t have any warning at all before a series of sharp, stinging sensations
fell over my back.

I screamed into
my gag from the shock of it, though it didn’t really hurt. Pain, at this point,
was all relative. It surprised me more than it hurt me, though it definitely
wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

Then I heard a
swoosh through the air, just before the thing struck the back of my thigh. I
jerked against my bonds, squirming to somehow get away, but it was no use. It
kept coming and kept coming, and every time it hit me, I came a little closer
to that elusive orgasm that I’d been hovering near for so long.

Somewhere along
the way, my screams and whimpers turned to moans of need, and the stinging
turned to more of a thudding sensation. My entire back side felt hot and raw,
and somehow as though it had separated from the rest of me.

That was when
Davis moved in front of me and I got a look at the thing he’d been using on me.
A whip? No, more of a flogger, with black leather stringy things flying out
from the handle to strike me. He kept swinging it, flogging my stomach and arms
and breasts. Sometimes, it would strike me just next to my nipple, or only an
inch or so above my straining sex lips and that hot little button I wished he’d
touch. But he never quite struck them with it.

The building
climax was so close it was painful, far more painful than anything Davis was
doing to me. Hot tears filled my eyes and spilled down my cheeks at a rapid
clip, dripping to join my drool covering my chest. I jerked against my bonds,
trying to alter the position of my body so one of Davis’s blows might tickle
against my clit or my tit.

No luck.

The more I
squirmed, the longer he swung the flogger, moving in and around me, raining the
falls over almost every exposed bit of my flesh.

And somehow,
despite my tears and my frustration, I reveled in it. I wanted more. My head
dropped back and I let my mind go, and sensation reigned supreme.

That was when he
stopped and left me again.

It had to have
been at least an hour that I was left alone that time, probably longer.
Needless to say, I was unsuccessful in getting myself off, despite exhausting
myself in my variety of attempts.

This time when
they came back, it was both Bradford and Davis together. They came around in
front of me so I could see the floggers they each held before going to work on
me, both at the same time.

It took almost
no time for the raw need, that sexual hunger that kept pushing me forward
toward something seemingly unattainable, to come back full force.

The flogger
Bradford used had more bite, digging into my flesh with each swing so that I
yelped and jerked. Davis was using the same one as earlier, delivering thuds
each time he brought his arm forward.

By the time I
was shaking violently with my need for release, Davis had dropped his flogger.
He moved to somewhere behind me and was gone for a few minutes, though Bradford
never stopped his assault.

When Davis came
back, he had some sort of wand looking thing with a bulbous head at one end and
a cord hanging out the other. He flipped a switch on the handle of it, and I
heard the rapid vibrations only a second before he pressed it hard against my
clit.

I literally saw
stars at that point, bright colors exploding in my vision as my entire body
turned to boneless mush. I heard screams, and somehow vaguely recognized them
as my own, but I didn’t care. That orgasm gave birth to twin orgasms, triplets,
quintuplets and more. I kept coming and coming, one aching climax rolling into
another as I tried desperately to get away. But it was no use. I couldn’t move.
All I could do was come.

Eventually, they
left me alone, hanging like a limp mass from my bonds while the damned dildos
kept pressing into me from below.

Every time I’d
think maybe they’d finally forgotten about me or were going to let me have some
rest, they would come back and start again.

Floggers.
Vibrating wand. More orgasms than I knew how to handle. Hang like a wet noodle
and wait for more.

The fourth time
they came in, I started climaxing after about ten strokes from the flogger. I
didn’t stop, either, with wave after wave of orgasms rolling through me while
they abused me. That didn’t stop Davis from getting the torture-wand out and
holding it hard against my clit, though.

The next time
they joined me, I screamed with an orgasm as soon as the first falls touched my
skin. Their process didn’t change in the slightest. The pain of being flogged
was beginning to equate in my mind and body with sexual release.

I lost count of
how many times they repeated the process, but somewhere along the way they
stopped using that wand on my cunt. Then later, they turned off the fucking
machines and took the dildos out of me. It didn’t matter, though. I still came
like a screaming banshee each time they struck me with a flogger. Or a paddle.
Or a cane, a hand, a whip.

Time and space
and reality were all gone. I couldn’t focus on anything. Didn’t know where I
was or what I was doing, only that my entire existence was centered around that
damned nub at the top of my thighs, and my growing desire for something to
strike me.

I was floating
in a sex-crazed fog, unable to think of anything but how bad it hurt to orgasm,
and yet how much I wanted and needed it again.

The floating
sensation turned to stinging, almost like ant bites again, only covering every
bare inch of my flesh. I cried out, tried to get away, but strong arms wrapped
around me from behind and held me in place, forcing me to remain in whatever it
was that stung my body.

“Shhh. Hush now,
Fuck Toy.”

Slowly, my
predicament returned to me, a gradual return to sanity. The floating sensation
was because I was in a tub, filled with hot water and something scented that at
first stung where the falls had hit, but then soothed them.

Bradford was
behind me, holding my back to his front and keeping me down in the water. When
I stopped struggling to get away, his hands moved slowly but firmly over me,
massaging over all my aching limbs. It was almost soothing, apart from the fact
that he was still a crazy man I didn’t know who’d been calling me Fuck Toy and
treating me like a sex slave all weekend. If I let myself forget that part,
though, and just focused on the way he was holding me, I felt almost loved.

That had to be
the craziest realization of my life.

But it was true.

His hands
smoothed the water over my burning flesh, massaging my intensely sore muscles
with a surety that enthralled me.

I finally
stopped fighting him, stopped squirming to get away, because somehow the
message eventually got through to my brain that what he was doing felt good and
right.

Strong fingers
kneaded the aching muscles of my inner thighs, rubbing them over and over again
and drawing my knees apart. Even while that was happening, I was vaguely aware
of Bradford’s cock hardening, growing, pressing against my ass cheeks with its
heat. I didn’t care, though. Not anymore.

That wasn’t
quite true. I cared. I
wanted
it. I wanted that cock deep inside me,
splitting me open, thrusting into my sore, aching, burning, raw from overuse
holes over and over and over again while all I did was come.

But he didn’t
fuck me.

He turned me
around so I was facing him, drawing my legs up over his shoulders so he had a
clear view of my pussy. Bradford’s strong, long fingers spread my sex lips
apart, rubbing every bit of my sex in such a way that was painfully soothing.
He made sure that the scented, soothing oils in the bath water covered every
blessed inch of flesh that they’d been making use of. First two fingers, then
three, then his entire fist pressed up inside my channel, coating me with the
stuff.

It felt so good
and so painful, all at once, to have his hand deep inside my. Instinctively, I
started thrusting my hips, trying to take him deeper, trying to push my
engorged clit against anything at all.

“Be still, Fuck
Toy.” As if the murderous tone of his voice wasn’t enough to stop me (which, in
that state, it might not have been…), he grabbed a fistful of my hair with his
free hand and jerked until I stilled.

I lay there, my
head pulled into a dangerously close position by the water, unable to do
anything but watch his impassive face as he went about his business. After
spending a few minutes with his hand inside my sex, he pulled it out to repeat
the process on my very sore ass.

I knew better
than to object or to squirm, because a flick of his wrist would be all it would
take for him to pull my head beneath the surface of the water and cut off my
ability to breathe, but it wasn’t easy. My breaths came faster, tears poured
down my cheeks, and I broke into a sweat as he stretched my sphincter until
he’d pressed his entire fist inside.

Despite the fact
that the oils soothed my raw flesh, I was so desperate for him to remove his
hand from my ass that when he finally did, half the muscles in my body seized
into cramps from how tense I’d been.

But then he was
done.

He picked me up,
tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Thank god he did, because
I sincerely doubted I could walk or crawl after all that I’d been through all
day.

Davis was
waiting for us in some room I hadn’t been in before with a blindfold, a bunch
of rope, and something that looked suspiciously like a metal spider with
leather straps on either side.

The two of them
set to work together. Within minutes, I couldn’t see a thing, the
spidery-looking thing had been forced between my teeth and strapped into place,
forcing my mouth open wide, and I’d been tied up. Each of my calves were strapped
to the corresponding thigh, so that my heels were kicking against my ass. My
arms had been pulled behind my back, bent at the elbows, and tied into place.
If that wasn’t enough, both of them smeared some sort of lubricant all over my
cunt, my ass, and my breasts…but it wasn’t just any old lubricant. It tingled.
The longer it remained in place, the more intensely it tingled.

Without any
further warning, they tossed me as I was onto something soft—a bed?—and left
the room, closing the door behind them.

I was alone like
that for so long that I eventually fell asleep. Don’t ask me how that happened,
but I did. It had to be because I’d been so thoroughly used that I couldn’t
possibly stay awake a minute longer.

I’m not sure how
long I was asleep, flat on my stomach with my limbs tied behind me. I probably
would have slept longer, if not for the massive cock plunging down my throat
and blocking my airway.

I gagged on it
because I hadn’t been expecting it, but I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t close
my lips, bite down with my teeth…that spider gag prevented me from slowing it
in any way.

The sleek head
forced its way past my gag reflex and into my throat, and all the ridges and
veins slid over my tongue as he held my head tight by the hair, one hand beside
each ear, and face fucked me.