Dark as Ivory Pt. 03

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I didn't even react when I heard the cane tap beside me after the door opened again. I just waited for it to coat my whip marks or stripe the insides of my thighs under my stitched pussy. But the cane didn't fall. There was just more small laughter and the blindfold was removed instead. I blinked, taking in the dungeon that I had only seen in videos and my first real sight of it was with the eyes of hopelessness he had given me. "Welcome home," he had said. I wondered where he would take me next when he tired of this. The rack, perhaps, where he could make me stand and hold the bars with weights hanging from my tits? The throne of a chair where he'd drive me insane with edging? Maybe he would take orgasms away entirely and I would be left only to whatever bliss I had found in his torture. Or maybe he would tie me to the padded bed and make me serve him sexually, with his cruel electro toys that he sometimes used, upping their intensity while making me blow him. When I wasn't quick enough in pleasuring him, I suffered so much wild pain.

Finally, when I considered all of this, my gaze fell on him where he stood to the side of me, his face smiling in intense satisfaction. My screams had obviously been his delight and whatever look he saw in my eyes gave him incredible pleasure. Somehow, in this state, he was more beautiful than I'd ever seen him. My sadist god. I didn't know what had started the thought of him like that but he was almost too much for me to look on in the moment. My gaze lowered, but he lifted the cane he held and tapped it against my cheek. "No. Look at me. I want to see your eyes some more." When I obeyed, he purred and abruptly licked the side of my cheek obscenely, turning his face to whisper. "Such delicious fucking tears. My God, that look. Smile for the camera."

He stood back and I couldn't smile around the cock gag even if I wanted to. But he did indeed have his phone and he took the pictures. He went to my pussy as well, stitched as it was, and I spasmed at the thought of it again, which made him laugh. I felt his fingertips stroke me and he paused while he was trying to get a certain picture image. When he had it to his liking it was obvious. "Would you like to see how much of a filthy little fucktoy you are, how goddamn foul you are?"

He lifted his phone to show me the picture, watching my reaction.

My eyes went wide and I moaned around the cock gag. Fucking hell. Holy God fucking hell. He laughed at the look of horror I must have had that instantly became the hottest arousal I had ever known. Because he had gotten a picture of his fingertips, held slightly away from my pussy, with cum stranded all over them and dripping from me. The black stitches were covered in my cream.

I snorted and tossed my head and Flatline's eyes went fucking satanic with his heat. "There it fucking is," he growled.

He cut through the rope above me that held my anal hook through my gloves and collar and pulled it out of me. I snorted in shock and a lot of fear, dancing on my toes because I didn't know what this switch of his mood meant.

I learned when he disappeared behind me for a moment and then came back and I realized he had been lubricating himself. He thrust into my asshole, as brutal as brutal could be, and I screamed around my gag, in both misery and ecstasy. He snarled behind me and thrust again, his sounds so fucking feral it made me feel even hornier. And he didn't stop there.

He grabbed the rope that held the board and cut it as well, pulling the rope tails to hear me squeal. He fucked me like he hated me, with more intensity than ever, and his cock was so damn hard with the pure lust ride he got from torturing me so hard. Without the ropes holding me, my body threatened to collapse but Flatline wasn't having that shit. He held me by the gloves that still bound my hands behind me, jerking them like reins and pulling me back to fuck me even harder.

I squealed behind my gag and thrashed with desperation, my whole body alive and so hot that it was a transforming moment to tie my trust to him all the tighter. The memory of those strange mental orgasms screamed through my head and there was so much pain still and he had me bent forward with the spreader bar holding me wide, my body nothing but nerve endings that he commanded.

I threw back my head with the force of the orgasm that ripped through me, shrieks of shock and bliss and humiliation and all the best things. This was the most intense he had ever taken me and he punished me on his cock as violently as he ever had, turning me inside out.

And then my world went black while he was still using my only free hole like his toy and I floated in heaven.

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I moaned, turned over, and then moaned again. All of me felt so sore, so used, so... replete. I grinned into the big fluffy comforter that was my favorite, nuzzling it, and grinned wider when a whip mark on my back throbbed. A hand stroked my hair and my eyes snapped open.

He was staring at me with a smile that made me feel whole and treasured. Deep satisfaction filled me at that smile, a terrifying kind of it. And I remembered nights of restlessness, when I'd been panicked, where he tied me in his bondage and settled me. And I knew now that it wasn't because of the bondage and never had been, but it had always been because of him.

"How dare you," I said softly while he laid beside me and watched.

He lifted an eyebrow, lips rising, and stroked his fingers down my cheek. "How dare I what, mouthy little slave?"

I stretched and moaned and flinched at the pain. The wounds of his nails and stitches brushed lightly against the blanket and it felt like sandpaper, no matter how soft it was. "How dare you let me wake up all free and not in hopeless hell anymore."

Ivory laughed and it was musical to my ears because I was in love with him. I was so in love with this dark god of pain that it hurt my chest. "That is truly terrible of me, isn't it?"

I giggled and nodded. "Without any bondage at all and everything. I'm filing a management complaint."

"I'll have to send it to the owner." He winked and I wanted to curl closer to him but didn't dare move from where he'd put me.

So instead, I said those words. Those little words that were so damn terrifying. "I love you."

"Too," he said softly.

"Huh?" I tilted my head, as if he said my name.

He smiled. "Your phrase now is 'I love you, too'." I tilted my head curiously and he rolled over, getting his phone. He opened a picture up and showed it to me.

On my tits, in marker and before he'd nailed me to the board, were the words "I love you".

I launched myself to his arms, fear or no fear, and he growled with delight at my response, turning onto his back so I was straddling him. I was wet, so wet and ready for him still, that he filled me easily now. And I got to do something else for the first time. When he filled me so full and the world turned to bliss, I cried out his name. "Ivory!"

He thrust up inside of me, the kind of hard thrust that hit me with painful delight while my pussy still felt tender from where he'd sewn me. "Yes, my love?"

His smile was wicked when he went still while I stared down at him, wide eyed and frantic for more of that exact kind of movement. "Please, Ivory, please."

He obliged, thrusting again, and I squealed. "Yes, baby?"

"Ivory, master, Ivory, Ivory, please, please, master!" I cried the words in a list and he laughed, lifting me in that punishment rhythm I loved so much. "Oh my God, oh my God, I'm so sore, it's so good..."

He purred beneath me and held me down to grind into me while I shook with orgasm. "It's such a good thing for you to be nice and hurting, isn't it baby?"

"Oh, yes, master. I love how you hurt me."

"Oh, I noticed. I should have left that pussy sewn shut and used your asshole instead to remind you what a little pain slut you are." He laughed when I squealed, milking him with the pleasure his words gave me. All I could think of were those strange paingasms and how much more intense they were than orgasms, how much I wanted more of them and didn't want more of them at the same time. "Christ, Tuesday. I love you."

"I love you, too." I smiled, breathless, flushed with pleasure and the words came easy when I was in that state, though when I came down it seemed mortifying how cheesy he had fucking turned me. Seriously? I not only met his eyes while we fucked but also confessed to love while looking in them? What kind of sappy ass movie shit was that?

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After he crossed the "I love you" line with me, he started to have romantic moods every now and again. I learned to dread them.

On the first occasion, he sent me a bouquet of roses that were carved out of wood because he had discovered than I didn't like real flowers or balloons. I cried like a child when they wilted or went down, which he had learned with the rose from his collaring me. At first I was delighted, clasping a hand to my mouth when they were delivered to my work midday. And then I was wary because I didn't know this mood of his.

He was already home waiting for me when I arrived and he wasn't drinking scotch which usually meant he wanted a rough session in the dungeon and intended to get drunk on me instead. "Hello, my pretty love. Did you have a good day?"

I grinned, still wary, but nonetheless in love with my flowers. "It was amazing. But I'm sure you already know part of it."

He chuckled and gestured to the table, where I obediently placed the beautiful fake flowers in the center. "It was the least I could do after my rose, pretty girl. And I've been in a rather romantic mood the past couple of days."

I blinked and trembled because he was clipping my leash to my collar and grabbing a pair of scissors from the drawers. He casually cut through the pretty shirt he had gotten me, this one a graphic tee, while I watched and waited. "I thought I would enjoy this one on you, but there's no red in it, pretty little fae." He had me take off my skirt while he watched, his eyes appreciatively going to my pussy since he had commanded me to no underwear. "Why do I have you wear skirts without panties, little slave?"

I obediently answered, instantly, and my arousal was already climbing. "To be available for you, master, whenever it pleases you."

"Such a good girl. Come with me, little pet." He rattled the leash and I went to his side, hesitantly, but that caused him to frown. "I see the collar isn't enough tonight. Move faster when I say, Tuesday."

I whimpered when he switched the leash clip from my collar to my nose ring and now I definitely jumped at his command, eager to avoid anything pulling on that sensitive ring. The first time I hadn't moved fast enough, he had left me tethered in the dungeon with the leash tied through a hook in the ceiling. I was forced on tiptoe for an hour and, like the night with my tits and the board, I learned quickly the pain of it and jumped when the leash was clipped to it. But he mostly didn't do that anymore so long as I scurried like a mouse to follow him.

This time he did. He took me to the archway rack, tapping the side while I looked at the whipping post once and shuddered. His smile was odd, something that made me nervous until I figured out which mood he was in.

This time it didn't take long to figure out his mood. He started with my cuffs, pulling my wrists apart so that they were down at my sides but stretched out. The ankle cuffs were next and he cuffed those as wide as he made the spreader bar. He used the leash attached to my nose ring and tethered it above me in a humiliation hold. I trembled because that humiliation made me sure his romance would be... harsh.

And then he approached me with the cock gag and the blindfold harness and I felt tears in my eyes already. He hadn't even started yet but I knew what the cock gag meant. He had burned it into me.

"Ah, such pretty tears. I haven't even done anything, baby." He lifted the gag. "Is this why you're crying?"

"Yes. Yes, master." My voice was scared and pathetic.

"Why cry at the gag, lovely? Is something wrong with it?"

He knew there was nothing wrong with it. Our exchange was a lead up to one moment where he would ask a specific question. "No, sir. Nothing's wrong with it."

"Is it because of what the cock gag means, baby?" I nodded slightly, the motion pulling on my ring, and waited for the next question which lit me up like a flame with its twisted answer. "What does the cock gag mean for the night, little Tuesday?"

"It means that I'm your p-pain slut."

"Very good, pretty girl. Some nights I prefer my little whore but I'm feeling too romantic tonight. I prefer my sweet pain slut instead. Open for the gag, Tuesday. Behave yourself. You know you don't need to talk for this and you know how I prefer you to make less sound." I opened helplessly, my face feeling stretched with the gag and the taut leash in my nose ring. He fit me with the blindfold next. "All you need to worry about is suffering for me."

I trembled all over already, scared because when he said the phrase "pain slut" he meant dark experiences like the first night I'd been in his dungeon. This time was no different. He always ceased speaking because he didn't want anything from me and said he had no reason to talk to a little torture toy. He didn't need to when he wanted me to hurt.

The cane was first this time. Sometimes he liked to torture me all over with it, but this time he evidently decided he wanted to focus on one specifically tender area and that was my thighs. I squealed behind my gag when he started with the insides of my thighs. He flicked his wrists in efficient, brutal stripes, alternating between my each leg. He worked his way down too, going low to my knees where the marks would show when he made me wear shorts and walk in the park with him. He paced around me and eventually made it to the backs of my knees and thighs and here, it was obvious that he could have a much better swing with the cane. I felt the intensity of the stripes that I knew would be bloody. He had trained me with the cane so hard and well that I could tell now when my body would show my blood. I was screaming with every flick, each line like a paint of pure fire. It was as if he had brushed over my flesh with kerosene and then struck a match. And my screams and tears didn't stop him. He kept going until I had that raw feeling in my throat like the first night, that feeling of screaming so much for so little sound to make it through the cock gag.

I sobbed when he stopped, shaking, my head held all the way back because I couldn't find the strength to even stand, let alone stay on my toes. My master decided to help with that. By "help me" I mean that he got a standing beam and attached a thick dildo to it. When he had it positioned beneath me, he used a crank pedal to fit it inside me, forcing me still with the toy and that steel beam that was so heavy and sturdy that I couldn't carry it. Impaled and held up, with my ankles still pulled so painfully apart, he tilted my head even further with the leash attached to my nose ring so that everything was stretched and painful and sore. Next, he came back with a leather harness that he fit even over the gag and he spoke for the first time with it, slapping my face. "You make too much fucking noise even through that cock down your goddamned throat."

I whimpered once, through my nose, but then went still like I had that first night, my ass and thighs throbbing with so many stripes. And there would be no sound escaping from that second strip of leather gear covering. It was wide, going up to my nose, and cinched tight.

When he placed something sharp at the tip of my breast, I moaned and there was only the smallest escape of any sound at all this time. A nail again? I quivered. No, it was the needles again, not that that was much comfort. Where the nails were through the edge of my breasts, the needles were something he always applied into a nauseating area. He didn't use those like surface play piercings, preferring to lynch them a little deeper in the flesh, and this time he didn't just play with the small amount of four needles he had before. He made something that felt like half circles around my tits that broke into lines down my stomach. And the lines, blessedly, were play piercing style. It was a small mercy when there were so many needles that I lost count and only knew the feeling of sweat breaking over my flesh with the soreness and the pain. I tried to make some sound partially through his working, tried desperately to get through to him that I wasn't sure how much of this I could take.

In answer, he stopped his pattern and went up to my nipples, making me squeal with the application of needles through those. My desperate sounds were always only ever met with pain and more pain, my body his torture toy. His punishments for my sounds were always long too. This time he didn't stop after he placed three needles through each nipple. He went down to my pussy and I squealed the most silent shouts while he skewered above and below my clit, that swollen bit of flesh around my piercing. And with those I felt something like a cork placed at the ends of the needles so they wouldn't pierce my thighs.

After that I lost hope again and he kept going with his pattern, whatever it was, and I didn't even care because if he wasn't satisfied by the end of the needles, it would be the whip or something else. I just cried, suffering. And then I spasmed in that feeling of horrible pleasure, pure humiliation from how I enjoyed what he did to me. "Filthy little fuck." He growled it and his voice was right by my ear. "Maso fucktoy." He licked up my face in the obscene way he had and kissed my lips over all the leather keeping me quiet. "Smile for the camera." It was a laughable command. I was in agony and my lips weren't even visible. He laughed at his own sick joke too while I spasmed again on the shaft impaling me, my body betraying me with the amount of mental pleasure this gave me.

"Don't cum." He snarled it in my ear when he finally surged into my ass. "Don't cum from me fucking you. This is for me, understood? You got your pleasure from the pain like you should but a fucking, even in your little asshole? No, that's too good for a degraded little masochistic whore like you."

I obeyed, easily holding back orgasm after those spasms had rocked me. There was something about them that made them so intense even orgasms paled in comparison. He used my body like his toy. And then he left me there to sit on my cock, held in painful bondage while my whole body throbbed and I couldn't do anything to rub it away.

I waited... and waited. But he didn't come back. My body started to burn with the stretch of his horrible bondage and I shifted on the toy, hurting. And it was only getting more intense. Once more I spasmed in one of those tormented mental orgasms, milking the toy. Finally I heard him again and he pulled off the leather harness cover for my gag. I felt him remove the hollow inside of it, pulling my head even farther back my hair.

And then something was poured down my throat and I moaned because I recognized the taste for what it was. How many times had I been in my bathroom and drank my piss because it made me so goddamned hot? But it was nothing, fucking nothing so good as being degraded by Ivory while he poured his own piss down my throat. My body went off like a firecracker to this fantasy, so that I was shaking and trying to swallow through my chokes of pleasure. I got it down, swallowing the massive amount he fed me.

And then I passed out, body still pulsating around the wide toy that had become the center of my world.

When I woke back up, I was chained to his bed spread eagle and when I turned my head to the side, he had taped a picture of me up, one of the ones he had taken after what he'd done. Because he had made a heart with over a hundred needles. "Romantic, isn't it, little slave?"