Dark as Ivory Pt. 02

"Please," I whimpered when he paused. "Please..." It was so soft and weak and pathetic. I thought we were at 20 but didn't know for sure anymore. I had lost track.

I heard the ripping sound and for all of 20 seconds I had hope that he was done with hurting me. The weights from my clamps shifted under me across the table and I breathed deep breaths, thinking of how bad they would hurt when he removed them. But then all my hopes were shot to hell when I felt his fingers thrust in my asshole with lubricant and then felt the broad head of the cock that had caused so much pain in my pussy, but now it pressed to my asshole.

I panicked, seriously panicked. The cane stripes were like lines of fire all over my ass and thighs and he was big, too big. I struggled and he laughed at my efforts. "Go on, then, fight me. But this lube will let anything in that little hole and besides, you're such a whore that you want this. But if you keep fighting I'm not going to let you cum."

I went dead still, instantly, shaking. I didn't know what this was but it felt like one hell of a punishment so I hadn't dared hope for an orgasm. When he suggested I could have one I grabbed hold of the thought like a lifeline and even managed to arch for him. He laughed behind me at my acquiescence and pressed inside my hole while I tried my best to relax and take it.

I definitely didn't do a very good job. His cock felt like it was ripping me apart, lubricant or no, and he pressed inch by inch... by inch. He was merciless and slow, while my world narrowed down to nothing but the cock that was the most massive thing I'd ever felt. It was a hundred times worse than the toys. I moaned when his balls tapped my pussy, the feel of the denim of his jeans inflaming cane strikes that flared with his movements.

I vibrated beneath him and I couldn't think. All I had was feeling and all of that was feral. He lifted me from the table, holding me up by my hair while he taunted me, his voice cruel and unforgiving. "Now, let's correct some things. These tits? These are my fucking tits, Tuesday, do you understand?" He yanked the heavy chain so that I squealed in torment.

"Yes, sir! Yes, master!"

He released the chain but then he did something worse and caned the tops of my breasts three times quickly before he switched to the tender underside. My asshole pulsed on his cock with every torture. "Tell me then. Whose tits are they?"

"They're your tits! They're yours!" I shouted it and I'd sing it if he wanted me to. If it would please him so he would show me mercy.

"That's right. Mine." I choked when he released the clamps, my world spinning behind the blindfold. Before I got my bearing he pulled partially out of my ass and reached down to pinch and twist a cane track, a particularly brutal one by the way it felt. "Now, you little fucking whore, whose tortured ass is this?"

He shook me by my hair, his intensity and furious command rising. "Yours, master." I mewled it desperately. "It's your tortured ass."

"Good girl." But he gave me more pain instead of a reprieve, squeezing and slapping my asscheek before he abruptly thrust inside my asshole. He fucked in a punishment rhythm, possessing me more than words with his cock and his hands still holding me still. He worked me into a painful frenzy before he stopped and I moaned in protest. "Whose gaping, foul asshole is this? Whose tight little hole am I ruining?"

His words sizzled through me after his brutality and cruelty. I felt enslaved and owned, filthy and desecrated. There was a tempest burning through me, a dangerous storm that felt like it wouldn't stop building until it killed me and burned out my nerve endings. "It's your gaping, foul asshole. Your tight little hole to ruin." It came out breathy and surrendered.

"Good girl. And whose dripping, greedy cunt is this? Whose horny little pussy am I ignoring to hurt you instead?"

I squealed when his fingers brushed over the slit of my sex, forgetting that I was even capable of feeling pleasure in the midst of all the torture but I felt a lot of pleasure. I felt a fucking ton of pleasure.

"Yours!" I shouted it, eager and needy, squealing desolately for him to keep going and finish this and I didn't even care how he did it anymore. I just knew he would and could. I just knew that I was lost in that whirlwind inside me but he had the keys to the kingdom. "It's your dripping, greedy cunt to ignore to hurt me instead!"

"Good girl." It felt like I had earned those two words and I savored the way they felt rolling across my body. The way they made me arch to him in impossibly deep, mindless submission. He laughed and gave me a few more thrusts before he stilled again. "And what about this swollen little clit? Whose is that?" His fingers were on my pussy again, spreading me. They brushed across my lips and I squealed, eyes going wide when he flicked my piercing. But then he lifted my ring and I felt pain with whatever clamp device he applied right on my clit.

I pant through the answer, fucking myself back on his cock as a coping mechanism. "Your swollen clit, master! It's yours!"

"Good girl." He banged into me, making me pant and struggle in my cuffs, his body an unforgivable force while he held me and hurt me harder. His cock had passed the point of pain and was into a wide, terrible stretching pressure that transformed my subspace into something hotter and blissful. My nerve endings screamed and he didn't give me an ounce of pleasure. He fucked my asshole with dominant possession and all of me hurt from his punishment.

I sobbed, trembling when he stopped and lifted me by my hair again, holding me up at an angle. I heard something opened on the table, rustling that made me both salivate for whatever came next and shake with dread for the pain that went with it. "Once again, so I know you understand it, one more time. Whose tits are these?"

Before I could answer I felt him use one hand to hold my breast still and felt something touch the top. And then torture and pain lanced through me as whatever he held was punctured and forced into the flesh of my breast. I cried harder, struggling. "What are you doing? Don't, please, don't! Oh God, no!" I screeched it because another pressure started, followed by the sharp, hot pain, and I couldn't do anything to escape.

"I'm torturing you," he answered softly, amused, and again I felt that sharp hatred of his amusement, that he could feel it so cruelly when my world was being ripped apart by his smallest whims. "I thought of nailing these tits and being meaner but there wasn't much to play with you here, so nice, pretty needles will have to do through the meat of them instead." His words were deliberately nauseating and I choked on bile again when I felt another on the other breast, sweat coating me as the pain rose and fell in such sharp shocks. "And why am I piercing these tits? Whose tits are they?" He said it almost pleasantly, conversationally, and I felt something that made me cry all the harder even while he pierced me again.

His cock was turning even fucking harder inside of me with his arousal. He was horny as fuck from what he was doing to me, from the hell he was giving me. From the fact that I was sobbing in actual misery for him. "I- it's..." I couldn't fucking think to give him what he wanted. "Please."

He growled softly. "I was going to be kind and stop at two through each since that's a nice, even number and you really have been such a good girl. But it seems you need some more torture to help you think."

I squealed when he added another needle and my teeth chattered. And there was something else. I arched back on that harsh cock inside of me and there was something like an abyss on the verge of swallowing me, like I was approaching a timeless event horizon. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing at all. There was only pain and my dark, horrible world of surrender to him and he felt more like my master and cruel owner than he ever had. That event built ever higher and I was almost scared of it.

A needle went through my other tit and he paused, waiting. "Well, little Tuesday? I asked you a question."

I gasped, panting. I knew the answer. I could think enough to say it, too. So why didn't I?

"Alright, then, naughty little whore." Another pierce that made me cry and whimper. I wondered if there was any blood to them and my cane tracks, hoped there was. I wanted these marks of his to be terrible and harsh to look at in the mirror. I wanted to be able to see my body and flinch at the sight of them when they garishly reminded me of this wild possession.

And then there was the second pierce, always in the same place on the other tit, always even. "They're your tits to hurt and pierce and nail." It came out a hoarse whisper, a lost little sound that was only capable of parroting him.

"That's fucking right." He shoved me forward and pulled out of me to slap my ass, pinching a cane track before he slapped again. His cock brutalized me when he started again and his fist was in my hair, painfully holding me. "My tits, Tuesday. My cunt, my clit, my asshole, my ass. Those are my lips and my throat and my tongue." He reached around to grasp my throat with his other hand, releasing my cuffed wrists and suffocating me instead. "My air to take from you."

I barely whispered the words with the last of my breath. "Yours, master. Yes, master." I wasn't sure he even heard and I didn't even care because I was lost to him. That dark abyss was growing more demanding in its pull and my body was chanting his, his, his, his... his cunt and clit. His everything. He could have killed me then and I wouldn't have even been aware enough to protest him. I realized he had released me to let me breathe and couldn't remember when. He was flicking the clip on my clit instead, railing my asshole so hard that I didn't think I'd ever be the same.

The orgasm roared through me, shrieked like a demon inside of me. I heard hard laughter over the roaring in my ears and felt my mouth covered but I didn't care how loud I was, didn't care that he was laughing at me, didn't care about anything except every last shudder of exquisite agony.

I don't know what was after that for a few minutes. Maybe I passed out or was simply lost to orgasm aftershocks. What I did know was I came back to him and he was growling through his own wild orgasm and that growl set me off again in a smaller shock of pleasure because it wasn't his usual growl. It was harder, laced with feral animalism. And it thrilled me how that growl owned me. Those sounds of his were punctuated with soft breaths of amusement when he felt me squeezing on his cock some more.

I went still on the table when he pulled out of me but my legs collapsed like last time and I had a brief terror that the table wouldn't hold me and I would bring it down. But that didn't happen. He held me up with a calming shush sound and I felt the knife at my ankles, cutting through the ropes. He removed the clit clip and I fell at his knees, my head falling in a bow of exhausted submission, my asshole sore. I felt a tugging at my breasts, but no pain, and it took me a full minute to realize he was removing the needles. "Don't move, pretty little whore. You be a good girl while I clean the blood you've given me."

"Yes, master." I kept my head bowed, respectful, afraid of him, in awe of him.

When he came back I leaned to his touch, lifting to him with a soft whimper while he cleaned the tops of my breasts. I was practically liquid in his hands, moving how he guided me, falling forward when he gently nudged me so that he could clean my ass with the soft cloth he used. He washed my pussy and hurting asshole afterwards while I shivered. "Now, what lesson did I teach you?"

"It's your tits you're cleaning and your pussy and ass, master."

"That's right, Tuesday. This is my body to use and abuse, no one else's, understood? I give you pain and make you cum. Those orgasms are gifts from me and I say how much they hurt and how much torture you take. From now on this is mine, sweet little whore." His hands rattled the chain tethering my cuffs and I shuddered with the harsh gesture, at odds with the gentle way he pet my hair.

"Yes, master." I was happy to agree to it, thrilled with what he had done in a way that almost horrified me. How could I like that? And yet I did. I loved him a little bit for what he'd done, for how cruel he had the balls to be while he was so careful at the same time. So, being his? It hadn't been planned but I didn't give a shit. "I'm yours."

"Good girl. I'm going to make you my pain craving slut. I'm going to condition your body to need it to even be able to cum, baby. And it's going to be a nightmare that others would dread and I'm going to make you love every second. Your little boy toys don't deserve a chance to touch you anyway."

"W-what?" Didn't deserve it? How was I supposed to take that?

He kissed my head. "You heard me. You would be wasted in a vanilla relationship. Now, same rules as before." He removed the chain from my cuffs and I wasn't sure I was ready for him to let me up from the bondage. But he wasn't quite done either and I was grateful for it. He bent me forward to rub cream on my ass and then on my breasts and I lifted my head in the direction I thought he was, wondering if I was pleasing to him now. "Sweet little whore. See how nice I can be when you behave?"

"Y-yes, master."

He chuckled and settled me back on my knees, placing the phone in my hands. I cradled it and there was a smile in his voice. "When it rings you may take off the blindfold, but until it does stay right where you are."

"Yes, master."

There was silence for a long time like last time while I shifted on my knees and waited quietly, feeling a strange feeling. It was kin to the last scene he'd done, where I'd felt hollow and emptied by his force. My body was sore in a hundred places but every shift that ignited some heat left me hot and needy. I sniffled, a few tears leaking from the blindfold, because I loved it. I loved every sore feeling and my caned tits and the needles and holy hell, the needles. The phone broke my reverie and I lifted it.

"Hello," I said softly.

Like the last time, he didn't answer and I swallowed nervously, tearing the blindfold off, wondering if he would be waiting to get in a party with me again when I got home. But then that thought scattered because I saw what he'd left me.

It was the kind of dress I only dreamed about, a red dress with chiffon gracefully making a cover skirt, and a matching shawl went with it. It was a soft delight when I put it on and immediately never wanted to take it off. He had left my jeans this time and that made me laugh and feel grateful. They would fit just fine in my backpack and I'd start running out if he kept taking them. I had way too many shirts but not as many jeans and little to no skirts or dresses. I pranced in my new one, using the shawl to cover the lettering I had put on my tits since it hadn't fully faded. I cleaned over my back room and closed up, rushing to get home even while I danced and turned a circle. I felt owned and sexually charged. Someone knew how fucked up I was and that someone didn't just accept me. He enjoyed it and reveled in it. He was just as bad. This felt like cloud nine and I thought about his voice in my ear, thought about how rough he was and his scent. Because he smelled like my own personal aphrodisiac. Or maybe that was because he already so aroused me. I didn't message him even though it was hard to refrain. I just didn't want to break the spell. I wanted to feel his lead some more, like a rope around my throat, like the way he'd taken my breath.

I still wore my cuffs even with the gorgeous dress because they made me happy. All of it made me happy. He hadn't abandoned me, hadn't left. No. He had been even hotter and harder than before, owning and possessive of me and I loved that.

The violence that had sparked in his fingertips from the first time had been slower this time, but somehow worse, harder, more intense. It might have sounded crazy, but it felt like a form of romance. Instead of the capricious use from before, this had been an obvious build of desire and kind of dance, carefully measured in its steps. I wondered if that was an anomaly for him, if it was because I had raised his ire with my game gone wrong, or if this was something I could keep expecting. He had talked about owning me like it was something I should keep expecting. But would it be like that? Hard pain lessons that would change me? Because I had to admit to myself that this level of intensity would indeed change me. How could it not? Whatever he wanted me to learn when I was in that hell with him would be lessons that would remain with me due to the pure sensation that accompanied them.

It was scary, kind of, when I also considered his threats of conditioning me because now he had given me absolute proof that he could. Even if he walked out of my life, I would feel like his possession for weeks after this.

I walked in my door and locked it and then went to my PlayStation. I knew he wouldn't talk about this act with the kink messenger because he still kept the two personas separate to play a black game and I wouldn't dare break that. It would feel like sacrilege and even worse than wrong in this mood, where I waited eagerly for him to take my reins and guide me where he willed. But as soon as I logged on, there was an invite already waiting for me from him.

My heart fluttered with excitement and I put on my headset. "Hello."

He was smiling when he answered. I could hear it and it made me smile too. "Hello, little Tuesday." He paused and when he spoke next it was quite soft. "I have to ask you a question before we continue, baby. I don't mean to break the game or the fun and I know you love it when you're not asked and just taken but there are some things that require confirmation. Are you alright with being exclusive together?"

I curled up gracefully in my dress because it was so delicate feeling that it made me feel soft and dreamlike when I was wearing it. "It wasn't the plan, but I'm okay with it, yes. Does that mean I get all of your terrible attention as well?"

"Yes. And that's what I was going to say. If this is the case, it's not just you who doesn't see anyone else. It's me as well and you'll be the vessel I go to whenever I have any urges, any at all. I haven't tried that very much before because while one playmate can deal with some types of pain and kinks, they might not be able to handle another. While one playmate might be okay with sitting in ice water and laying still while I eat and fuck her cold pussy for a necrophiliac game, another one shudders at the thought but can get into having her tits nailed. I have a wide array and if you agree to this, all of that attention goes to you."

I shuddered at the thought because I knew he had dark arrays and they were wildly varied. He loved everything from hard piss humiliation to body suspension with needles when his partner wasn't willing. But I was still smiling and I laughed a small breathy sound, weak and wry. "I'm... yes, I'm okay with that, master. Even if I don't like something, my masochism makes me like to suffer it all the more. It's kind of a plight, to be honest. It's something I could never find the words to explain to other partners, especially soft dom types. They wanted someone to come to them willingly and I understood but I wanted to be forced too. I wanted to not like it, to hate them even. I first noticed it as a kid, so I think I'm just... wired that way. But yes, that's okay."

He sighed in my ear. "I love the way you are. It makes perfect sense to me, to want the struggle, to crave the rape fantasy to be as close to real as you can make it. Alright, baby, I'm glad to hear it. We'll give it a try. You said you noticed it as a kid. Tell me."