Ember
He walked me to the center of the room, where he’d opened my folding sawhorse. The top surface was perhaps two inches wide, and the legs adjusted so you could make it different heights. He had me straddle it while it was low, and then he brought it up until I had to stand on tiptoe to keep from putting my weight on my cunt.
Able and his trainers had taught me to think of it as a cunt, but I’d quickly learned my teammates had a problem with that word. I had to remember to call it something else around them, and I’d landed on something I overheard someone else use. Hoohaw. It was a silly word, but it worked in public.
In private, however, it would always be my cunt.
Dementor bound my calves to the stabilizer bars on the side of the sawhorse. Unfortunately, the extra bondage didn’t help support my weight. If anything, it made the position even more unsettling.
I was in pain, I was guaranteed to be in more pain with every passing minute, and I had no means of escape. It’s hard to explain my body’s reaction, because it freaked out and settled down at the same time. My heart raced, my stomach somersaulted, and yet, my mind acknowledged that I’d given up control and being terrified served no purpose. Totally different reactions, but they happened simultaneously.
“I left your shirt on the other night so I wouldn’t be tempted to torture those gorgeous tits. At the time, I had no idea of their beauty. Looking at them now? I can’t wait to turn them bright red.”
Able hadn’t been much of a talker, and I’d always wished for some warning of what was about to happen. Now, however, I wanted Dementor to shut up and get started already. Damn, I needed this.
He started with his hands. Pinching, pulling, twisting, slapping. Within minutes, it felt like I was at my limit, and I’d given him hours.
But I knew from experience, when there’s no choice but to last, you can last.
But I could stop this now. I had a safeword. Did I really want the safeword?
No. I didn’t.
And yet, I’d been the one to insist.
He pulled both nipples forward, so I had to bend my body down. The sawhorse crushed my clit, and it felt like Dementor’s fingers were a half-pound of pressure from ripping my breasts off my chest. Or maybe just the nipples. I screamed and yelped, but he didn’t let up.
“Ask me to hit them instead of pulling.”
“Please hit them!” The words were out of my mouth before I considered the ramifications. I wanted the pain to stop, but it was possible I’d just conscripted myself to much worse pain.
He made sure I had my balance when I straightened, and then he made a show of unbuckling his belt and removing it.
My nipples were on fire, and they throbbed.
My cunt bore most of my weight and it hurt something awful, but it was still bearable. I had no doubts I’d be in agony before long though.
Dementor didn’t double his belt, he used it like a strap and struck my breasts with the end. However, he started with soft strikes and worked his way up. By the time he was putting muscle behind the hits, I leaned into the strikes because I needed the next one. Craved it. It didn’t matter that leaning forward drove my clit harder into the rough texture of the sawhorse. All that mattered was the next strike of the harsh leather to my breasts and nipples.
The heat. The impact. The percussion. The sharp, biting pain.
At some point, he put industrial clamps on my nipples. I remember shrieking in pain and begging him to take them off, but it never occurred to me to use my safeword. I was his toy, and toys don’t speak up unless they’re at risk of serious injury.
By the time he took me off the sawhorse, my entire chest was glowing red, and my cunt hurt in ways I can’t describe.
And I knew he’d be fucking it soon. Why bother bruising it all to hell and back on the horse if you aren’t going to stick your dick in it later, right?
But I was wrong. Well, not completely wrong because he did, indeed, pound the hell out of me, but he alternated hurting me with making me feel good, and at times, he ramped up the pain slowly, so I could stay on top of it as he gave it to me. Other times, he mercilessly jack-hammered my cunt so the pain overwhelmed me, but never for terribly long. He was truly turning out to be the best kind of sadist.
Dementor
The little swan didn’t just like pain, she exulted in it. I left her on the sawhorse longer than I’d originally planned because I was positive she’d have been disappointed if I’d taken her off at thirty minutes. Someday, I’d put her on a real one for five or six hours and watch her deal with it long term, but tonight was about hands-on playing with her.
And so, I released her from it, sat her on her bench so I could get to her hands, and freed her arms from behind her back. I’d meant to put her on her back, but my plans changed.
Before her shoulders had enough time to recover, I bent her over the sawhorse and connected her ankles to the horse’s legs, so she couldn’t pull them together. Next, her wrists got the same treatment on the other side.
Now her abused asshole and cunt were high in the air, all spread out and waiting to be spanked and belted. I’d do her ass cheeks, too. I wanted to see it a nice shade of burgundy.
“What do you want first? Spatula, wooden spoon, belt, or my hand? And don’t tell me whatever pleases me. I want to hear from you.”
“Your hand, please.”
I rested my hand on her ass and it damned near covered both cheeks. “You sure about that?”
She blew out a breath. “Not at all, Sir.”
“Want to ask for something else?”
“The spatula, maybe?”
I walked to the sofa, where I’d laid everything out, and lifted the spatula. It was quite large and I was certain it would sting, but it probably wouldn’t have much impact. “Yes, I think this will be good to start with.”
The thing is, I didn’t intend to use the spatula end. Instead, I held it so the handle would be what hit her, and I aimed for her asshole so it would hit like a thick cane.
She wasn’t expecting it, and her asshole spasmed beautifully after the first strike. She yelped and then screamed, and the sound filled the room.
I waited until she was silent before asking, “Still a bit tender from your assfucking the other night?”
“Yes, Sir, and the fucking sawhorse.”
Right, because she’d leaned forward and back, hopelessly trying to put her weight on something that didn’t hurt.
I spent the next hour using every implement, and striking every inch of her ass, the backs of her thighs, her cunt, and her asshole. I even spread her cheeks with one hand so I could use the handle of the wooden spoon to beat her asshole until the tears flowed from her eyes and her screams echoed back despite all the curtains and fabrics in the room.
I jammed four fingers in her asshole a few times — often while I was beating her thighs, and I thought she’d come unglued. It wouldn’t have taken much at all to send her into a screaming orgasm, but I wanted to wait until I had my dick buried in her for that.
When I finally untied her and settled her in the center of her bed, she was wrung out and exhausted, and badly in need of a dozen or so orgasms. I’d edged her several times in those two hours, but never enough to get her there.