Nightmare Master Pt. 01

The low growl he gave me made me feel a kind of terrible elation. See, as a masochist I wanted to struggle my torment. I wanted to hate it. The problem with that was that as a submissive, I wanted to bow to it to better please my Dom, but struggling him did please him and it was horribly wonderful. "How adorable. But I think I will. Give me your hands like a good girl."

I sniffled and struggled a little. "No. No, please."

But he only laughed happily with my protesting and held up a chain with easy hooks at the end. It was humiliatingly simple for him to grasp a hand where he held me pinned. I shifted pathetically so that he tightened his hold and he turned a cuff to chain it, then threaded the slender chain through the O-ring of the other cuff, threaded it still through the O-ring of the collar. In the end, I shifted on my toes with my wrists up to my throat, on his leash. "Come on. Besides, you know you deserve this."

I moaned in fear and was forced to his side when he tugged me along, first taking me back to the stairs, where I watched when he gently tugged the needle from the patchwork bunny and placed the latter in his duffel bag. That first one he placed in a sharps container that was also from his duffel and I choked. "You have a sh-sharps container of y-your own."

He zipped the bag up and slung it over his shoulder before he touched my nose, winking behind his mask. "But of course. If I'm being kind enough to use something small like needles, then I prefer to use a lot of them. But you'll learn all this about Master."

I sniffled, then skipped along at his side when he used his chain leash to tug me, pausing to struggle only a few times, and each time was met with a harsh tug that made me choke a little. And standing outside the private dungeon - the one with a table in it, I knew - with a Master whose idea of kindness was the needles for play piercing made me finally think that I really was a maso who'd finally met my torture match.

And maybe I should have been more careful with what I wished for.

————

I shifted in the bondage he'd placed me in, shivering. I'd played a few games before and experienced a few different types of bondage, too. A lot of the Doms I played with didn't even use it sometimes, when they wanted to make a submissive hold still for punishment on her own and that was difficult to do at times. Of course, others figured out that bondage only aroused their playmate and used it for a type of reward to go with the sex, making the orgasm ride all the more intense.

He didn't fit either of those and he'd had to move the ceiling bars to strange positions. Of course, while he worked, he kept me gagged and tethered, on my knees in a corner, making me wait in fear while I watched. His bondage wasn't comfy and it wasn't anything that cared at all whether or not I was holding still of my own free will. But, of course, he didn't care about what I did of my own free will. The thought made me whimper and shiver when he caught me with a hand in my hair and dragged me up to the table. His touch was brutal when he released the chain, quickly tugging off my halter and skirt, then lifting me easily, forcing me on my hands and knees, bent over a bar that he chained to the table to ensure it would be still. He fixed me so that the bar was at my waist, cuffing my ankles wide apart first, then cuffing my wrists to the back of my collar so that I was forced helpless.

Not that he was done. It only got more strict from there. He used an inflatable anal toy to fill me up while I whimpered around the gag, but of course that only made him chuckle while he made sure it would stay put with a type of harness. That part separated into something like cords that went around my thighs, one that covered over the anal toy so that it would be held, but my pussy was left exposed for however he might like to torture it. He continued on the waist part of the harness, tethering me down to the bar with both that and with the bands around my thighs, so strict that I wasn't moving. I shifted as best I could, silently wishing he would say something, anything, but he just worked in a calm ritual.

I think that was the worst part of it, how much it obviously soothed him to do it when something terrible was going to happen to me. At the end, he trailed a fingertip up the instep of my foot so that I twitched and then he circled around to my front, watching me. It felt like a relief when he finally spoke. "There we are. Let's take this gag off so you can beg a little better."

I worked my jaw when he undid the bit gag, feeling in a state of shocked numbness that my nightmares were happening. He studied my eyes from behind his mask, while I watched him warily from my awkward position. I finally broke first and sniffled. "I'm scared."

His smile widened. "Good. Let's comfort you with some rules before we get started." I whimpered when he reached to the duffel bag at his feet, crouched as he was to hold my eyes. He lifted three sets - dear fucking God, who owned three of those monstrosities - of clover clamps. Huge ones. "First, that's my collar charm at your throat. You don't get to do things like brand yourself, no matter how much of a little maso slut you feel like being at night." He lifted me with a hand in my hair, so that I squeaked in pain from how he twisted his hand to make it hurt worse, but then I moaned in dread when he fitted one of the awful clamps to my nipples. And I tried to brace myself for it, I did, but they were clover clamps.

I sucked air through chattering teeth when it fell closed, the wave of pain so intense that it was momentarily nauseating. It wasn't that it was intolerable, exactly, because clamps had a factor of "getting used to it", if you will. The initial bite and taking them off were the bad parts. Once they were on, they hurt when tugged, but it wasn't quite as awful.

That one part, though, was stunning, at least to me. I choked when he fitted the other clamp, so that his voice turned menacing. "Breathe. There's a good rape bunny."

My vision blurred and my mind turned numb with the floating sensation that was subspace. "Yes, Master."

He stroked my hair, letting me fall back to the table. "Good girl." I moaned with the thought that his saying those words were the only reprieve and reward I would get. Pleasing him wasn't easy, was more of a trial, especially knowing that pleasure didn't come with doing it. It was something I had to do for the sake of it and that made it so much worse... and better for my inner submissive. "But, of course, rules aren't easy on their own. Little slaves need routines and some kind of structure and I wasn't a very fair Master to start off with, so we'll work to clarify together. For instance, slaves have a special kind of kiss for their Master."

I'll give you a hint. It was immediately clear that slaves didn't get to kiss their Master like equals would kiss, especially not sex slaves. I pressed my lips to his cock when he manipulated my head and nuzzled him like a loving little plaything, scared and flying so high in hellish submission. Somehow, with him, it didn't feel like I was fighting my masochism with my submission either. It felt like being forced to bow and being held down so strictly only made me tremble all the more with a darker kind of subspace... but one that was all the more consuming for how it came about. I didn't think, only felt the clamps when I shifted, wincing with how the silver brushed the table beneath me. His suit fabric felt soft, too, and that was a delight with all the harsh sensation around me. He laughed above me. "There we are. How sweet you can be, little bunny. Let's see how long you stay that way before you fight me again, like a fucking flirt." I shuddered in dread at that because I didn't think it'd be very long at all.

It felt like a loss when he pulled away again and I missed that greeting touch of his. It was the one kind touch he'd given me so far. Well... Save for when he stood over me at the end of the last one and dropped a red rose onto my lap. I shifted in my strict bondage when he stroked a hand through my hair. "You'll find rather quickly that I'm not a kind Master to have. Pain is another part of the routine you can get used to." I was right. I was so right. It wasn't long at all before I fought, or tried to in the most pathetic effort. I found out where those other two clover clamp sets went when he paced behind me and stroked a hand up my pussy. "So drenched, little rabbit, but that's okay. It's exciting for me, too." His laugh was dark over me and I screeched when he set one clamp at a time. He used one set of clamps to connect the right inner labia to the left outer one, then did the opposite with the second set of clamps, while I twisted my hands uselessly in my cuffs, squeaking like a mouse.

"No, please! Please, it hurts!"

I could watch him between my legs where they were spread and his lips curved upwards with my pleading. Instead of any reprieve, he brutally jerked the chains in tandem, watching at whatever obscene visual the lips of my sex must have made with how he pulled wide and apart, causing more and more pain with every tug. It only got more humiliating from there, too, when he met my gaze, that smile so lurid and twisted while he tortured, using both hands to pull me out and apart all over again, tugging each chain in a grotesque sync of a motion. It only served to reiterate how tightly I was bound down, so that I gasped and whimpered, writhing in pain, tears streaking my cheeks and he was just getting fucking started.

He was evil, the worst, and I pant when he stopped, shuddering, then yelped when he slapped his palm between my legs to jostle the clamp chains viciously. The after rush of the pain stunned me and that turned out to be a mercy when he got his next toy of choice.

It was a common enough aspect of sadists that they sometimes used a primer for their playmate. Most often, this could start as something like a flogging or a paddling, but the idea was that it worked best with an all over kind of toy, one that wasn't as heavy as they were going to end up. They wanted to start with something that would bring the blood to the surface, so that they could use something like a cane for longer on skin that had already been heated and braced, rather than be forced to stop when the sharp, abrupt shock was too much.

His wasn't a flogger or a paddle. Although... maybe in some demon's world, it was a kind of flogger. It was more like a lot of thin bamboo reeds tied together at the end, like miniature canes forming the worst flogger in the history of a masochist's life. And I had no doubt that, for him, that was the primer, just a warm up to what he was going to do.

I breathed when he started, one blow at a time. It helped to be forced down against that table, to stare at it and pant through each slash. It stung a hell of a lot worse than any flogger, that was for sure, but it actually wasn't nearly as bad as I would have expected. My inner masochist cheered me up with those soft meditations I had learned. One more, another, another, good little rape bunny, you can take it, you've taken worse. It was an undisciplined little meditation, true, but it always worked in the past, always. Every blow felt like a victory with a toy that looked so evil. I broke and squealed when he went lower on my thighs, then yelped louder when he jerked the chains between my legs in response. "Please, don't! Please, it hurts!"

He only slashed it harder on the other thigh so that I choked on a sob. "Hush. This doesn't end until I'm done with you and there's nothing you can do about that fact. Take what you're given."

I couldn't stop from crying at that, though it wasn't because of the truth of what he said. It was because those words sent arousal straight to my clit, like lightning sizzling through my abdomen, so hard that it made my sex feel heavy, so bad that it made the inside of me throb in hot, torturous need. I pant, then cried out in a broken, begging sound when he continued, one blow after another. And the other terrible part about it? Once again, it was the fact that he was so fucking controlled. Every last strike was absolutely deliberate, coldly calculated, and followed through with expert skill. My internal monologue broke and I dissolved into begging instead, but the crushing part about that, too?

I liked it more that way. I wanted him to force me, wanted him to be as cruel and terrible as that demon mask. "Please, what if you b-break me?"

"What if I do? You're mine to break." Fucking Jesus, I liked that, too. I was only getting hotter with the more he hurt me and it did hurt. He gave me five more slices of the sticks before he finally set it to the side, while I watched him between my legs again and would always be glad I did. As I played with him, I would learn little antics and quirks he had.

Like what he did then. He stared down at whatever my ass and thighs looked like with a satisfied smile of pleasure. One more time, he tugged the chains between my legs, his eyes sparking with arousal at the image of my lips being spread and stretched out. But then, when he stopped that, I moaned with the next action.

It was soft as could be, the way he delicately scraped his nails up the redness and marks that he'd left. It was stunning actually, how soft it felt in contrast with his words and how mean he was, but there was definitely something in it for him. Those hot sparks turned into something gentler for a brief moment while he trailed his nails up and down, and the way it felt so sensitive made me gasp with arousal. The pain was still there, but when he did that, it was something more ticklish, something... Fuck me, but it felt like my Master's form of sweet and sensual. It only got better when he lowered his face and kissed those marks, lightly scratching in the way a cat would knead its claws.

When he pulled away, he met my gaze and his smile was something that would make me go weak in the knees, if I wasn't already so damned weak from fear and pain. "Now that you're warmed up." For the next thing of his choice, he got a set of keys from his duffel bag in front of me and went to a side, private armoire.

It was a telling moment, that I might not have seen him around Sulfur's in the time I'd been there, but that he quite clearly had a great deal of history with the place and with Ash, that he had a locked cabinet of his own. I moaned when he delicately lifted a cane from it, one of the most evil sticks of fiberglass I'd ever seen in my life. It was long and thin, made for torture, and he trailed his hand up it in a slow, loving caress. I sniffled. "Oh, no." It was more a moan of dread than it was a plea.

He lifted me by my hair again and kissed my cheek, taking a moment to lick up a few of the tears there in that pervasive way he had. It was another of those gestures that filled me with some awful blend of horror and adoration, the way he loved my tears and so gently, delicately lapped at them when he did. "Oh, but yes." He took one more moment to release the clover clamps, watching me with careful amusement when the blood rushed back to my nipples, as if he was drinking in every reaction of pain I gave him. "Now, here's another reminder for you, little bunny slave. It helps for little maso sluts to admit they deserve it out loud, remember? I'll be kind again and give you the words. Say, 'I'm a filthy pain whore who deserves to be caned and raped'."

I felt this desolate sense of miserable submission, a hellish feeling that made the words pathetic and begging. "I'm a filthy pain whore who deserves to be caned and raped, M-master." And I added that last word because it soothed me to have the reminder that there was nothing I could do to stop him. The result was the darkest mental slave space I'd ever been to. I had had some deep subspace moments before, where my pleasure ceased to matter and only my Sir's did. But nothing came close to the all consuming space I soared to when I called him that, tied down and wishing I could escape, but so secure that it was never going to happen and I was trapped until he was satisfied. It was one thing to willingly reach the space of giving up my own needs to serve someone else.

Being forced to suffer to satisfy him, with no hope, no safewords, and no mercy? There wasn't anything like it. I closed my eyes, taking every last second to breathe, listening to his footsteps with a growing sense of fear. It felt like the moment when a roller coaster car slowly, so fucking slowly, crawls up the tracks to that first drop. His hand braced against my back and he took a moment to amuse himself with tugging the clamp chains between my legs, so that I whimpered and shook with the sharp torture.

And then he drew back and the strip of fiberglass in his hand cut the air before it connected across my ass. My eyes snapped open at the same time my mouth did, but I didn't even make a sound with the shock of it. I just stayed in a silent howl and since I couldn't find my way back to the meditation, he gave me one. "That's it. Take what you're given." He cut another stripe and that time I did yelp, like a wounded puppy, panting. "Be as loud as you like, poor little rabbit. No one can hear you except for me." He was awful! He was as terrible as his demon mask and his cane was the worst thing ever. I shouted with the next stripe, twisting violently to try to rip free of the cuffs that held my wrists tethered at my neck. Each one was like being painted with a line of fire. No one had ever come close to that harsh with cane tracks, no one! Another slice and my teeth chattered a little bit when his perfect timing didn't allow me long enough to fully process how bad it hurt, tears falling down my face in a mess. "Aww, how pretty you can cry, little bunny." Once upon a time, I had hated how cute I looked when crying because it made every Dom stop when I looked so pathetic while being hurt. He didn't stop. He striped me harder. "Show me a little more."

"Please..." It came out almost incoherent. "Please, it hurts. Please stop. Please."

"We've been over this, little rabbit." I choked on the next stripe, hating him when his voice was so calm and stable while I was in hell at his whim. "I'll stop when I'm done and there's nothing you can do about that, is there?"

Oh, God, it was torture. It was exquisite agony. "No, Master." The word felt soul deep, the thought of him as that a fact that was seared into my blood.

I tried to watch him between my legs, through a haze of pain. There came a moment for a lot of people when they were chasing orgasm, where they couldn't see straight and couldn't think straight anymore. For me, that moment was good, but there was nothing like the vision blur of torture and his torture was the most beautiful kind I'd ever been given. Still, though, I managed to focus enough to notice something else that made me feel owned beyond reprieve. It was the way he stared at the marks he was leaving. He still held one hand at my lower back and I watched him draw back the cane again, marveling over how gorgeous he looked as my tormentor in that suit of his. Part of me wanted to look away, but the darker part couldn't look away and, in that atmosphere, the second one easily won. I watched every second, the way his hand held firm the entire swing through, the way his eyes never wavered and he struck me with a kind of precise intent. It was horrifying when I felt a faint tickle on the so sensitive lines of hell across my ass, a tickle that made me shake.

I was bleeding. I'd only had a couple of occasions where someone drew my blood like that. The worst time was with a whip and it had been when a Dom was figuring out whips on my all too willing body. That had been the time that started to make Ash scared of who I played with because I couldn't say when to stop and that Dom hadn't meant to strike me so hard. He'd been horrified when he saw the streak of red on my flesh, wrung out with guilt and his ego flayed from a second of lost control. I'd stared down at it with a blinking fascination, unable to stop from touching my blood and tasting it, turning horny off of the thought.