Nightmare Master Pt. 02

He chuckled and the atmosphere changed like it had then as well. "Aww, how much fun we can have together with nights like these all the time." He kept fitting and locking... and he did fit them all.

I pant a little when he finished and he stared down at the heavy, swinging metal between my legs with obvious delight. He seemed to drink in the way I tried to be more still, the way I tried to keep the weight from shaking so much. "Now, that does look painful. Let's see what we can do to make them swing. But first, I think you had a question for me earlier."

"M-master?" I couldn't think and he smiled at me, pausing to caress my cheek. The action felt strange when my world was so much hell.

"Poor little torture rabbit. It's alright, Master knows what a maso like you needs and I'll take care of you. You asked me why things seem to work with you and I when it didn't with others, Honey."

Christ, it felt like I was thinking to a past age where there wasn't so much burning pressure tugging on my pussy's lips, stretching them. I sniffled, wishing I could clean the tears off my face. "I remember, Master." It seemed strange to me, with that much adrenaline racing through me, that I had been so terrified with what that other room meant.

Broken and hurting at his mercy, held in suspension, my world was narrowed down to pleasing him and suffering. He stroked my hair and I couldn't stop the smile again. It just hurt that damn bad that every last soft touch was a grace of the most amorous intent. "Sweet little rabbit." He tugged the clover clamp chains so that I yelped and went stiff before falling back in still surrender, shivering. "See, it works between you and I for the same reason I'm starting to get so fucking horny every time I see these tears you give me. I've always loved tears and blood, but your tears... those are something truly special. It's starting to get where I see them and already want to fuck you into bliss. Want to know why?"

I watched him warily and nodded so that his smile widened before he licked up my cheek, purring eagerly to the taste. "Because you're such a maso slut in such a complete way, Honey, that the more tears I see in your eyes, the more drenched it means your cunt is."

I shrieked when he slapped the metal clamps between my legs and then yanked one side of them apart so that I screamed from it... only to scream again when he pumped two fingers inside of me, my eyes going wide with the foul sound, while he laughed over me. "God, that sound. Such a horny fucking girl you are for all this pain and that dildo must be massive when it's pumped. Such a tight fit it is." He worked anyway, forcefully thrusting his fingers, so that I thrashed in the suspension ropes. "Look at you, you little slut. You probably want some more pain if you liked what you've already gotten this much and you're definitely craving a nice hard struggle and rape."

"Oh, my God, no!" I shouted it when he slapped his other hand against the shaking forceps, when he spanked rapidly to watch the metal clink together.

"Oh, yes." He looked, to me, like the demon mask should be welded to his face because he'd earned it so well. But his eyes were in that transcendent zone I had seen them the night before. This was him in the way that the mad laughter and freedom in the agony was me.

I couldn't stop one of those smiles then, the breathless, almost crazed kind. The rush was so intense, it flooded everything. "No," I whispered, but it was a flirt.

He laughed at the sight of it and paced away from me again, turning on more of that playful, twisted hard rock before he got one of his whips. "Look at you. You truly earned those wings earlier." I shrieked when he stood back and flicked the whip in a striping slice, but it didn't touch me.

Because he was just getting his bearing, figuring out his distance and aim. It was perfect, of course, the radius around him gauged so he wouldn't harm me without intention and he wouldn't mar any of his precious chamber. But of course there was a lot of intention to that first one. He took a second stripe to solidify his bearing, staring at the pincers between my legs with vicious deliberation.

And then he flicked for real, almost lazily, his eyes alive in the most sinful way. I thrashed and yelped when the clamping pincers were jarred and they shook almost violently, evil silver tinkling against more silver. He whipped my thigh with a smile and didn't even hit a clamp, except the action made me shake them anyway, torturing myself for him. A third whip line made my sanity feel shredded and I laughed again. A fourth and I finally reached it more fully with him, that perfect headspace. It might have taken longer due to that terror from the slave's rooms and what those piercings might mean.

But then, under the pain, I just. Quit. Caring. It felt like a mental vacation. What did I care about any of that, when he was the demonic god that finally made me feel safe and whole and free. I looked up at him, swinging in the coiled ropes, and met his intense gaze, felt his sparking excitement and his eager joy.

And knew, without a doubt, that, even if I was in danger in one way, I had also never been safer. He paced to me, switching the whip handle to his other hand, and jerked the clover clamp chains so that I shrieked. His lips curved up in response to the sound and he shushed me in that way that only he could do... then stroked his hand up my abused pussy, so that I took a shuddering, laughing breath with the sudden assault of that much pleasure when it came at such a high price. My mind had a lot of vague, racing thought trails about the nature of contrasts and how my pussy had never felt so sensitive in my life.

"Look at you," he breathed. "Like a fucking goddess."

"It hurts. It's so bad..." It came out a begging whisper. And I didn't think it was begging for mercy anymore.

He smiled and I felt like his lips should be dripping with sin every time he did. "Does it? Let's wind you up a little more, if this is what bad does for you."

"Oh, no..." My head fell back and I closed my eyes when he squeezed the inflation bulb and my asshole was forced painfully wider.

But then he followed it up with leaning closer over me, lowering his face between my legs to give a single, long lick up my slit, to my clit. I couldn't keep from shrieking wildly, stunned with a sunburst of sensation. Some of it was good, a lot of it was awful, but the best of it was downright hellish. "Look at how red you get between the eyes of the hooks. Jesus fucking Christ, it looks like torture should look. See it?"

I had to force myself to look down between my legs, where he stroked his fingertips down to touch the massive eyes of the cruel clamps. It was a different kind of terrible to see it because it was horribly reddened, dark with cut off blood flow and garish with so much weight and pressure. Against his pale, stroking fingertip, it looked vulgar, my pussy's flesh turned into something grotesque.

Breathe. I made myself do it, then choked, then looked up to him, unable to keep from that slow, stunned smile of exhilaration. It felt like this physical elation, fueled by adrenaline, that I could take these things. He smiled back down at me, standing over me in my oh, so humiliating suspension. "Fucking maso slut," he purred, stroking my chin.

I shrieked, tears wet in my eyes even while I giggled with how he flicked my already wounded flesh. He went to work in cruel, rapid flicking, too, right between those eye holes and all around it, making sure to hit every tortured spot where he knew it would most hurt. "Evil, awful Master!"

He slapped his palm between my legs, right in the middle of all that medical silver, so that it shuddered and sent cascades of agony through me. "Can't argue that." He spanked in a rhythm, hard spanks that went with the beat of his playful rock music and his eyes were so fucking alive, so much like a god in his home. Once again, I had that sensation that weights had been lifted from his shoulders, and I had been the one who took him there, my body's tortured sense of masochism his release.

For the first time, it didn't feel like something I should hate, didn't feel like something that made me wonder why I was born sick and messed up. It made me happy and free and-

And his. "Master!" I yelped it when the sudden wave of sensation turned into too much and it was the kind of thing that took my breath away with how abrupt it was.

He didn't even need me to ask. But he never had needed that. He chuckled darkly and grasped some of those pincers, pulling them apart and wide open. I watched the way he stared at the visual with pure violent lust and quivered at how awful and hot with pain it was to feel. But I couldn't look with him. I couldn't because I didn't have permission and I'd lose control if I did see that horrible image. But then he smiled at me, his eyes moving slowly back up to meet mine. "I'll count this as having your slutty asshole stuffed enough. Go on."

I looked down. He had grasped the four pincers that held my inner labia and he had them, not just spread, but pulled wide apart. The lips were obscenely stretched and the flesh was something that looked like it should be in a gory movie. The sight made me more aware of the pain than even before and my asshole pulsed around the huge toy.

I orgasmed with a screech and it was a good thing that he had so tightly tied me in suspension because I would have hurt myself otherwise. My body throbbed with the force of it and it felt like a death of some kind, or a rebirth. I don't know, but it was like the world ceased to exist for a moment. There was nothing but pure agony.

Except it was a fucking orgasm.

————

I collapsed when he put me in my cage that night. I couldn't even flirt and talk with him when he bathed me, although I did stir sleepily when he caressed the whip lashes he'd left. "When you've recovered more from harder scenes like the first one, I think we should let your pussy have a turn with the play piercing needles and we'll have to work up to much more impact..." he'd said softly, and I'd shuddered happily.

After my orgasm, I had been totally submissive to the depths of my soul and he'd known. He'd turned quieter with a pleased, soothed smile, as if the level of that amount of control was his OxyContin. It took his pain, took his stress, and made him fly with wings like the ones he'd given me. I'd never forget the image of him releasing the weighted clamps and standing back again, stroking the whip before he snapped it. I'd been beyond protesting by then, been deep in the waves and smiling soft, almost insane smiles with every added lash.

But of course, it was the gift of masochism that I could traverse the dark insanity and come back whole. After he'd broken with a growl and removed the monster dildo in my asshole, he'd lowered the suspension ropes holding me upright, so that I was spread out and at the perfect height for him to fuck me while I found the strength to finally shout and struggle. Because I knew it turned him on more when I didn't like it. "No! No, please! It hurts so bad after being filled like that! It hurts, sir, please don't."

He'd growled and shoved inside of me in one swift motion, laughing at me. "What a fucking liar. You can't tell me that hurt you when I could fill you up so easily. My God, look at this asshole after it's been so dilated. That hole is almost worthless." He pounded inside of me, his eyes closing with bliss even while his lips parted with the pleasure it gave him.

Because his words made me cry and it excited him. "Imagine how it's going to be after a few more sessions. I'll have to buy more g-strings for you to wear so that I can see how it gapes behind the fabric. We'll have entire fun little forays dedicated to releasing the inflation and pumping you back up until that little hole of yours stays wide open for me."

"No, please don't, Master! Please, I hate the dildo so much, it's awful!"

He'd started really getting rough with his pace then, his eyes blazing with sadistic ecstasy. "Okay, little rape bunny, we don't have to use that one. I can use the other, bigger one."

I'd burst into tears at the thought of it and he'd orgasmed with a growl, his body turning tight with shaking tension when the force of it shook through his musculature. He'd been laughing at the end because I'd orgasmed again with him, twitching around him.

And I do remember parts of the bath, like his cleaning my whip licks and stroking his hand over my hole. Because he took the moment to gently reassure me. "Just so you know, little Honey, I won't gape you until it doesn't give me pleasure anymore. If that's what you're worried about, don't be. I'll always give your tight little asshole enough time to recover." He'd held me from behind, stroking the cloth down between my legs while he whispered his erotic threats. "I wouldn't dream of training you well enough that it wouldn't hurt you anymore, wouldn't dream of a time when I couldn't feel it squeezing my dick with how much I hurt you."

"Oh, god..."

He'd chuckled and I was too weak to even protest. But then it got worse when he tugged me along by my collar to the side of his bed. "At times, I'll allow you to sleep in the slave's toy room. But after sessions like this one, Honey stays with me in her cage or in my bed, at a later time. Repeat it from me. 'Honey sleeps with Master'."

"Honey sleeps with Master." Honey bunny. Such a cute name. Hadn't I protested that at another point because it seemed so humiliating? Why would I ever do that? The cum I dripped for Master pleased him and was part of that wild hedonistic creature that took him to his freedom.

"Good girl." I smiled, shivering. "We'll start to train your masochism well. You already have so much of it and with those orgasms as hard as I can make them, it won't take long for you to crave those dark joy games. And then, of course, eventually you won't want orgasms any other way at all. I can see you cry all the time when you dread what you start to need from me."

I whimpered so that he chuckled, and crawled into my cage when prompted, shivering at the thoughts of his evil, long term conditioning. The ultimate, permanent torture, forced to love my masochism, subject to it as a sole source of pleasure. I slept in restlessness, waking up from gasping nightmares where my pussy throbbed, and I must have cried out because his bedside light came on and I went still, worried I had irritated him.

But he only watched me for a moment, then tilted his head, as if considering before he stood up. He opened the cage door and tugged me by my collar scruff again so that I throbbed all the harder. "Oh, please!"

His cock was huge and hard when he filled my asshole and I sobbed, wanting to beg him to stop, needing him to make me full and whole. "I've always wondered about the dreams of maso sluts." I moaned, thinking he probably didn't want to know. "I imagine it must be a wild place of the kind a sadist can't even fathom. Sadists often have their violence or domination or degradation fantasies to temper their dreams, but a masochist? Oh, how horrible must you dream when given the safe freedom to fly in the nightmares, to bask in the terror?"

I came with a cry, somewhere in a strange place. I think a lot of the effect was how strenuous his continual torment through the weekend ended up being. Think of it like spending the day at the lake or spending hours swimming against the tide while playing in the ocean. It's so much fun playing that you don't notice the exhaustion.

The exhaustion set in... and everything else was finally allowed to rise in a wave that made me a fiendish, frightened, horny little creature. Fight him? Even when I had that background terror of what was in that other room? I couldn't. He had beaten too hard, had tortured too effectively, and then taken me to hardest pleasure so wildly. "Thank you, Master," I whispered when he finished his own release, inside my asshole of course.

"You're very welcome. Come back to your cage, but let me fix it first." His fixing it entailed him placing the bedding in the crawl opening of the cage door and setting me only partially inside. "When I have to wake up and fuck my little nightmare fueled, horny bunny, I don't want to have to work too hard over it." I whimpered when I realized he could easily tug me back and fuck me in the new position. "Don't worry, slutty little rabbit. Fortunately for you, I tend to approve of and value these things in a slave. I'll take care of you. Back to sleep now."

Take care of me. I whimpered when it was all too clear that he was conditioning me to be darker, to addict me to the fear and the struggle. He liked me as his little rape bunny.

When I was starting to get cozy at his knees, he found ways to encourage me to struggle even so, and I suddenly had a dark insight that his slavery and conditioning would ensure I never got cozy enough to enjoy his use and abuse. I would struggle always under his careful nurturing, twisted control, and adoring sadism.

I woke up again, scared with thoughts of those rings in the slave's toy room, in such a dark place, the darkest I'd ever been in my life. Hot arousal felt like it flooded me and I didn't just crave, I felt like I was burning. My pussy was so sore and there was lingering torment from the play piercing session and my breasts had light amounts of bruising. It felt right when he used me again, when he shushed me to soothe me, holding my head down even while he had my ass up, like a little whore bunny.

Darker than me. Demon masks. Roses as red as my blood. Torment conditioning.

Oh, no.

—————

"You did so well this weekend. Did you have fun, Honey?"

I was shocked and I didn't know what to make of this session. It only served to enforce the sense of unreality that had taken hold of my world with my lurid nightmares and long night. I had grotesque images of being a soul trapped in a cage from something out of a level of Doom Eternal. Except, in the dreams, playful hard rock pulsed around me instead of the metal track to the game and he stood outside the bars of my prison, wearing a king's twisted crown, made of sharp points rather than jewels. And he'd had the demon mask from the first night, except it was no longer a mask. The teeth of it moved when he spoke, as part of his face.

"Sometimes they send me a special soul, a promising one. Let's see how promising you truly are. You'll find I'm quite good at pressing the limits of extreme even in this place..."

"Honey." He stroked my hair and I stared at him and then stared down to where he was tethering my wrist to a torturer's cross. I called it that because it was a modified Saint Andrew's Cross, with extra slats for more options. He worked at the harsh leather cuffs at my wrist, strapping me nice and secure. "Like the cross?"

I finally looked back to him, still processing, still in a strange mental place. "Yes, Master, I've never seen one like it."

He stroked my hair, smiling, his demon mask a fit to his stark hair that morning. "I made it."

I blinked. "Oh?"

He started on another strap, his voice thoughtful. "Mhm. I worked a lot of the wood I use, actually. It felt more perfect that way." He touched my nose. "The BDSM furniture I found wasn't quite... enough."

I couldn't stop a breathless giggle. Of course it wasn't. "And I d-did have fun. You're not hurting me." I said the last, staring at him curiously, feeling strange that he wasn't doing so and apparently this wasn't even really a scene.

He kissed my forehead. "I think I'd rather see my little slave tethered in submission for the morning. How do we feel? Nice and cozy?"

I shifted on my cross and then nodded. "Yes, Master. Master?"

He tilted his head, coming back to me with the eye mask that would blind me to his terrible dungeon and evil, gleaming toys. Somehow, I wasn't as scared of being blind in that place as I would have thought. But, then, I had a lot of feelings that confused me, ones inspired by the other room. Even more confusing, there was the emotion that seemed to fuel him and the fact that he wasn't hurting me.