A Slave to Pleasure Pt. 02

I shuddered and allowed my master to position me in the middle of the floor about three feet from the foot of the bed. Mr. Robertson sat down on the mattress to remove his khaki shorts and white briefs, but first pulled his phone from a pocket and used it to play music while he prepared to watch me strip. After a few taps, a Bluetooth speaker played the opening chords of "Relax" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood. As he queued up the music, I took the time to stare at the old man's magnificent cock. It was truly enormous, at least 10 inches long and almost as thick as a soda can at the base. He finished with the music and caught my staring open-mouthed at his thick shaft. His mouth curled into a lazy, wicked smile:

"You'll have it soon enough, my little virgin whore. How can you be so desperate for my cock when you've never even been fucked before? I find it utterly charming and deeply erotic."

I nodded, still transfixed by the bobbing, twitching movements of his now fully-erect member. Even Mr. Robertson's enormous hands couldn't fully encompass his cock as he gripped it and began to stroke himself, watching my hungry eyes on him.

"Take your clothes off, slut. Do it slowly for Daddy."

I obeyed wordlessly, gripping the hem of my striped polo and slowly working it up to my waist. I swayed and bucked my hips to the music as I continued to work the shirt up my abdomen, pausing to cup my tits through the fabric before pulling the shirt taut and allowing my breasts to spill out onto my chest. Mr. Robertson exhaled as my huge tits bounced and swayed with the gyrations of my hips, and I swept the shirt all the way off in one quick motion. I began to turn my back to the old man as I moved my hands slowly back down my body, pausing to tweak my nipples before looping my thumbs beneath the elastic waistband of my white pleated skirt. Once my ass was in plain view, I spread my legs a few inches and slowly pulled down the fabric to expose myself to my master. From this angle, he would have an unimpeded view of my pussy and my asshole, but I didn't care: this was my role, to use my body in whatever way my Daddy commanded.

I straightened back up to face the old man on the bed, but he was already preparing the straps up by the headboard:

"Get over here now. It's time for you be punished. That body belongs to me and me alone--you need to know how much I loathe allowing other men to see you dressed like that. This punishment is for your own good, to show you exactly what happens when you act like a slut without Daddy's guidance."

I approached the bed and allowed the old man to guide me onto the mattress. I laid on my back as he fastened the restraints one by one around my wrists and ankles, testing the tension and ensuring that I was completely immobilized. When he was done, I found that I couldn't move even the slightest bit: the feeling was equal parts terrifying and thrilling.

I could only watch helplessly as the old man walked to the foot of the bed and picked up the leather riding crop. He set aside the mysterious clothes pins and tested the crop against his hand with a firm strike. The crop made contact with his palm, letting out a loud SMACK, and the old man chuckled:

"First, I will beat you for your insolence. Since you seemed to enjoy it while your friend sucked on your tits, let's see how you like this--"

The old man walked back up to the side of the bed, the tip of the riding crop trailing up my body as he moved closer to my head. His free hand cupped my left breast, and he began to knead it while rolling and pinching the nipple between his index finger and thumb. I squirmed and struggled against the restraints, but couldn't move a muscle as he worked me with his hand. His fingers pulled away suddenly and were replaced by a swift, blinding pain that seared across my nipple before my ears registered the sound of the impact. I screamed as if I had been bitten by a snake, the pain burning and lingering on the sensitive flesh of my areola. He leaned over and his mouth made contact with my stinging nipple, and I cried out as he sucked hard on the sensitive tip. My tormenter repeated this process several times on both of my breasts, smacking and sucking back and forth across the nipples and down onto my chest. He paused his assault on my tits to encourage my moans:

"That's right baby. Be vocal for me. Tell me how it feels to have my mouth on your hard, sensitive nipples."

I paused, embarrassed and somewhat unsure of how I should proceed with dirty-talk, but I opened my mouth and almost instinctually replied:

"The whip hurts but your mouth feels so good, Daddy. My nipples are all yours."

Mr. Robertson chuckled at my clumsy bedroom talk and turned his attention back to my breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and biting down with enough force that I screamed and attempted to buck against my restraints. Held in place by my bonds, I was forced to feel every single bit of the pleasure and pain that flowed from my nipples and radiated into my core, making my pussy throb with a desperate need I had never before experienced. I needed to be filled, to have my holes violated and stretched, to be fucked viciously and violently by my master.

I fought against the fire that raged in my belly and tried to focus on my nipples again. Mr. Robertson was suckling and biting and licking them with an intense, ceaseless pattern that had me moaning and bucking beneath the old man--compared to the pain of the whip, his mouth was heaven. He paused for a moment, and I had only seconds to collect my thoughts before a sharp pinch on my right nipple made me scream again in earnest. I looked down and finally realized what the clothes pins would be used for: makeshift clamps that would keep intense pressure on my erect nipples even as my master turned his attention to my soaked, throbbing pussy. The other clothes pin closed around my left nipple and I saw stars: the pain was sharper than anything I had yet experienced, drawing my focus even as the straps dug into my wrists and ankles.

"It's time to punish your pussy, my little whore. Normally I would use my mouth first, but this is a punishment after all, so I'll only use the toy to get you off. You will not cum until I specifically instruct you to do so. If you cum before I give you permission, we will start again from the beginning."

My knees quivered with anticipation against the restraints as Mr. Robertson picked up the massage wand and switched it on. A low, steady buzzing noise filled the room, and I groaned as the head of the massager was pressed to the delicate skin of my belly. The vibrations were like nothing I had ever felt before: they moved through me, settling in my most sensitive areas and making me squeal with delight. The old man laughed gleefully at my pleasure, encouraging me again to narrate my experience:

"Tell me how it feels, baby. Tell me how your nipples feel with the clamps and the vibration."

He moved the wand up the slope of my left breast towards my nipple, still pinched in the clothes pin, and I groaned lustily at the combined pain and pleasure:

"Fuck, the vibrations are making my nipples even harder and that makes the clamps hurt more. The pain makes it feel better, too--OHH"

I cut myself off with a loud moan when Mr. Robertson grabbed the other clothes pin and roughly shook it, making my breast jiggle and twitch violently. He spent several minutes working the wand across my clamped tits as he teased and pulled at the clothes pins, making me scream and beg him to stop. Eventually, tears began to stream down my face from the overwhelming stimulation on my nipples, and the old man tut-tutted at me:

"My dear, we haven't even gotten to that sweet pussy yet. Let's see how you handle that."

The wand began to slowly trail its way across my belly and down onto my inner thigh, where it looped in small circles, always narrowly avoiding contact with my throbbing cunt. I began to whine in protest, fighting against my restraints in an attempt to guide the wand onto my engorged and neglected clit. He finally skimmed the head of the wand along my pussy lips, and I let out a guttural moan: the vibrations had felt good on my nipples, but it felt unbelievable against my pussy. Even the light, teasing strokes made me gasp and cry out for more. After several minutes of teasing, he finally buried the head of the wand in my labia, and I threw my head back and screamed. The vibrations lit me up from the inside, electrifying my clit and sending waves of pleasure rolling through my entire body. The pain from the clamps on my nipples only heightened the radiating pleasure in my pussy. After only a few seconds, I was nearly at the cusp of a powerful orgasm, but the wand was quickly pulled away and I cried out in protest at my sabotaged orgasm. My master reproached me forcefully as I squirmed with frustration:

"I told you to wait for permission, you bitch. I've been forgiving up until now, but I will not tolerate you taking your pleasure whenever you like. You cum when I say so and ONLY when I say so."

He pressed the head of the massage wand against my pussy again and abruptly turned up the power: the vibrations were suddenly earth-shattering and overstimulated me to the point of pain. My tears started anew, and Mr. Robertson smiled cruelly at my panicked sobs. He began to rub the wand up and down the soaked slit of my pussy, lingering on my clit before sliding down to work the entrance of my virgin cunt. I fought violently against the restraints, desperate to escape the overwhelming vibrations coursing through my body. I felt an orgasm building in my belly once again, and I knew I wouldn't be able to stop it this time. I began to desperately beg for permission to have my release:

"Please, Daddy. Please let me cum for you. I promise I'll be a good girl, I'll do whatever you want, please just let me cum Daddy, it's too much..."

I trailed off with a low groan as the wand made contact with my clit and emptied my brain of all rational thought. I could no longer form rational sentences or even words: my mind was aglow with contrasting pain and pleasure from my nipples and my cunt. My thoughts became singularly focused on the overwhelming urge to cum. I needed it more than anything else in the world. I would do anything, be anything, and say anything if it meant I could just allow myself to climax.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I heard the words I was craving:

"Cum for me, you little slut. Cum for Daddy right this second."

My body responded almost instantaneously: my hips bucked upwards, straining hard against the restraints around my ankles. Every muscle in my body seemed to tense up all at once before releasing in waves of intense, glowing pleasure that radiated out from my core. It was not my first orgasm, but it was easily the most intense I'd ever had; my pillow/grinding board was nothing compared to the powerful massage wand pressed between my legs. I came for several minutes while Mr. Robertson continued to masturbate me with the vibrator, increasing the intensity of the vibrations every time my orgasm threatened to trail off. Each time I thought it was over, that buzzing would intensify again and I would be thrown headfirst back into the pulsing spasm of my climax. When I finally finished, I laid there half-numb and oddly warm, twitching involuntarily from the residual effects of my orgasm.

Mr. Robertson gave me only a few moments of rest before he began to work on my pussy again with the vibrator. As promised, he repeated that process two more times, torturously working me up to the brink of orgasm and then letting me down again, only allowing me to cum when I degraded myself by begging for release. I sobbed and fought like an animal against the bonds that held me down. The pleasure and pain were beyond intense: they were an all-consuming state of mind, a fever that emptied my brain and took over all of my senses. I didn't emerge from my sex-addled fit until Mr. Robertson finally released me from the massager's intoxicating vibrations.

After the third orgasm, I was drained beyond belief. Despite the fact that I had been tied to the bed for virtually the entire session, my muscles felt like I had just run a triathalon. Mr. Robertson released my restraints, but had me lay on the bed for several minutes to regain my balance before I sat up. Once he got me upright, he left to retrieve a bottle of cold water for me, and was only satisfied after he watched me drain the entire thing.

"No need to exhaust yourself. We have lots of work left to do, but you've satisfied me for today. I can tell you've learned your lesson. Let's get you dressed and on your way home--your parents will be home soon."

I was shocked at the realization that it was so late: I had been tied to Mr. Robertson's bed for almost five hours. I hadn't even realized how much time passed while I lay there, squirming and screaming and cumming for my master.

I stood on shaky legs and retrieved my clothes, which I pulled on slowly and carefully while Mr. Robertson held me for balance. The old man walked me to the door, tenderly stroking my face before we parted ways:

"Remember the rules, little one. I won't say that I don't enjoy punishing you, because I really do, but I like to balance pleasure and pain. If you can learn to behave, I'll show you how good Daddy can make you feel."

He leaned down and kissed me passionately, cupping my face with both of his hands as I leaned into his broad, muscled chest. He broke the kiss and planted a final peck on the crown of my head before gently pushing me away by my shoulders, pointing me towards my house.

"Go home and take a bath. Clean yourself up and have a relaxing night. You've done well today. I'll be in touch very soon."

The door closed behind me and I collected my things from my car before making my way slowly and carefully to my bathroom. I knew I should shower off the stink of sex, but my body was beyond exhausted. I mustered just enough energy to change into a t-shirt and underwear before collapsing into my bed.

To be continued :)