Sadist's Fire Pt. 03: Wedding

And it was a joy ride of exhilaration. The screams and cries of pain. The way his whip made my pussy feel like it was mutilated and marred... and then the way it never ever was. He was so good, the most magnificent demon, at causing hot agony without wounding. And now I was his, actually his. Because oh my God, I had his collar!

The weeks leading up seemed a daunting thought when he let me go like that because I was already choked up with dread, tendrils of exhilaration rising up from my heart, fear scratching down my spine like chilling nails on a chalkboard. It was awful, the worst, the absolute darkest of desires I couldn't stay away from.

It was delicious. I went home and masturbated four times over with a slutty array of toys. And then I tried to calm myself down and the only thing that worked was to draw another portrait of him and this time I let my romantic hell thoughts loose. I drew him sitting in a twisted throne, his nails clawed and jagged. A whip hung around his neck, its tail curling down to form a pet snake that he caressed with that loving attention I had seen from him those first nights. Flames danced behind him, along with demons and suffering souls.

When I was done I tilted my head, criticizing everything I could see wrong with it because that's what every artist does. And then I handled it the way I knew best and drank a beer to drown out that criticism and took a picture to send to him because I knew he'd want to hear what I would confess with the picture.

I'm scared of you. And I'm obsessed because I'm scared of you. And I'm scared that if I get too comfortable I'll turn into a really selfish and bad person like my other relationships. I thought I should tell you before the weekend because... well, the intensity seems like what other people talk about when they mention "the next level".

He answered back with something that made me smile gladly. We have a lot of conversations to have before that weekend. We'll talk about it. I'd like you to come to my office every night starting Monday.

I toyed with my collar, stroking it. Yes, Master. Because his role as my master was never permitted relaxation, I knew.

I obeyed him after work Monday and enjoyed the wild feeling of going from my underground engineering and programming office to go to his office in the sky and kneel at his feet instead. And he met me at the elevator, rather than having me go to his office like usual, studying my clothes with a faint smile. "Good evening, Toy."

"Good evening, Master. Master?" He paused at my question and I swallowed fearfully before I managed to ask in a rush, "May I give you a kiss?"

He held out his arms in response and I grinned at the invitation, enjoying the thought of having earned his affection. I lifted on my toes, feeling like a scruffy little Toy compared to my master in his suit. I pressed my lips up to his with the intention of being a well mannered little slave in his arms. But I couldn't. He was amazing and he was so cold and harsh and oftentimes mean whenever he talked of other people. He didn't bother with the pretense of being a humanitarian and was not at all very charming. And I loved him for all of that. I adored him. As soon as I was given permission, I moaned against him and licked his lips in pleading desire, delighted that my master found me to his liking. And how hard he was! I trailed my fingers over his shoulder and delighted in the way he felt so solid even in a suit. He was a fortress of a man.

He growled, evidently turned on by my filthy kiss, and pulled away with a stern glint in his eyes that made me shiver. "Naughty girl. Our conversations these nights are to be at arm's length. You're not getting cock during these weeks. Behave yourself."

I trembled, excited and scared and eager. What he had managed to do to me in this short little while was sinful. I was a slut for the slightest fears now, equating it with pleasure. And pain? Oh, I wasn't his little pain slut in full yet and I knew that. But his training had taken enough effect that I turned deviously hot just to consider what I would be like when he did have me built up with a nice, rough pain tolerance. I could see the end where I begged him to whip my pussy to make me cum from it, just so I could feel that intensity. "Yes, Master. Please talk with me to distract me, please."

He laughed. "I don't believe you'll find much distraction here, doll. I'm going to make you into a fucking twisted little creature, you know that, don't you?"

I grinned and rubbed my cheek against his palm where he cradled it. "I think I was probably already like that, Master."

His voice was warm with affection. "You were, weren't you? God, I still masturbate to the thought of that third time you came back to me. Remember it?" I nodded eagerly because how could I forget? "I was a very bad Sir that night. Hurting Dustin was supposed to be my release like always, but I couldn't see it as anything other than a build up for what I was going to do to you."

I kissed his palm. "It was a weird orgasm. No touching or anything and... I don't know. It just happened. Mindgasm. You're magic."

"I'm torture, actually, but that's something I want to talk about. Come with me and same rules as before. Do not lie, ask what you want, and I extend the same courtesies."

"Yes, Master." He caught me by my wrist and I loved the way he dragged me along, not looking back to see if I wanted to follow or if I was keeping up. Of course I was doing both of those things. I was his slave.

And then he started the routine we would have for those next nights and I couldn't decide if this amplified the feeling of growing exhilaration or gave me some kind of distraction or neither. He had me kneel to the side and I looked up at him while he stroked my hair. And then he quietly questioned me about things like why I had been so attracted to him and why I so apparently adored him. And I knew without doubt that this wasn't him looking for compliments, nothing like that. No, he was gently curious, methodically testing me and I had an understanding as to why.

He wanted to make sure I wasn't fucking crazy, wanted to avoid Stockholm syndrome accusations that he might turn on himself. Because I knew my master and his darker forms of play would have been tarnished if he thought something like that fueled me. He would have seen it in the same light that he saw botched scar work. He couldn't deal with that kind of thing and refused to continue if he thought he might feel guilt in later scenes or thought I might seriously have problems. He was thorough as all hell too. He asked me about my other artwork of him, asked me how I felt it made me see him. I answered honestly, telling him all of my secret thoughts, and then calmly asked what he thought.

He smiled. "I think you're a romantic, dangerously so, but I also think you had needs that you were avoiding. I gave you an outlet for those needs and now you express gratitude in obsession. A few questions in return. Does that seem correct and how dangerous is the obsession?"

He forced me to look inward and consider things like that which was probably good for me. An hour went by during these nights where we merely spoke. There wasn't any sex and sometimes he paused his deep questions to give me a break by asking about favorite movies of mine and that kind of thing. Night after night. I waited for him to make me strip naked, waited for him to torture my nipples in that absentminded way he had but he didn't.

Everything was carefully planned during these nights. His touch was minimal, only the stroking of my hair, and he kept me at arm's length save for a few reprieves where he gave me permission to hug and kiss him. But for the most part he kept our contact to the mental stimulation and I realized how clever it was on his part. He wasn't just making sure I was stable and resilient.

He was reinforcing who I was while he did it. He made me look in his eyes when I told him my likes and dislikes, made me sit up straight and be secure in my answers. It was a joy to see, to get to be on the other end of it. I started to listen to his tone behind every question, carefully paying attention to the cadence and the change in inflection. Maybe it sounds boring and, to an outsider, it might have been exactly that. Even to see it, it might have seemed like a very stagnant ritual, but it wasn't. It was carefully done, a routine he had me follow every night so we could get to know each other, not as Master and slave, but as people.

Who were also Master and slave, though, because I stayed kneeling even during this. And that wasn't lost on me either. He still looked down at me with a sense of possession in his eye and never let me forget where we stood.

Day after day. When I went home I started to feel sick with nerves and I wasn't allowed to touch myself or cum. That was another rule. Sex wasn't part of this and it made me quiver just to think about what state I would be in when he finally had me. An entire extended weekend as a slave to this godawful demon was everything I never dared to have a nightmare about. I paced restlessly and tossed in my sleep enough to make a total mess out of my bed.

Another day down. Then another, then another.

And then finally there were no more days and he let me leave his office with a different command. "My place. 7." He stroked a hand down my breasts and I whimpered, so fucking horny and dying from his careful interrogation.

"Yes, Master." I threw myself on his mercy. "I'm scared!"

And he laughed because he didn't have any of that and I thrilled with the knowledge. "Don't bother with that, little fucktoy. Whatever you're scared of, it isn't bad enough."

He sent me on my way with that threat and my heart went crazy. With terror? No. With so much love that it hurt.

————

I stood outside his door and swallowed and I had to make myself knock in the same way someone has to force themselves to rush through a terrifying moment. I danced on my toes and then he answered and he stood there and he was smiling down at me and it was the last chance I had to say "no way" because he was going to hurt me and love hurting me but then he grabbed my arm while I was racing through those thoughts-

And I was in the door and it was far too late. His eyes were alight with the darkest glint and he tugged me into his arms by my collar so that I squealed fearfully. And then I moaned when I met his lips, grinding against his thigh where it was between my legs. He didn't bother with pretense and I loved him for it. "This isn't a social call so let's get rid of these, you reckless, twisted little fuck." He said the cruel words with such affection like always and tore through my shirt so that I went wide eyed with the solid strength he displayed. I had seen his martial arts pictures and trophies but for the most part he had resorted to things like scissors when he wanted to rid me of my clothes. Now he was an animal, ripping them apart with excitement in his eyes. He was eager, terrifyingly so, as if he was unwrapping his Toy and I gasped at how hot the thought made me, imagining myself bound up for Christmas so that he could cut me free and play with me. I sobbed when he freed my breasts and pinched my nipples, like he hadn't done in weeks. He laughed softly at my reaction and slapped them, watching the flesh bounce with a fevered glint in his eyes. "Such a pretty little plaything. Don't worry, we'll build your tolerance back up. Poor baby, that was too much of a break from pain play. Here. Let's dress you back in more appropriate clothes."

And I knew what that meant. He tugged off my skirt and my panties, shoving those between my lips with the command to suck them clean. And then he got out the heavy leather that made me most afraid and most horny. First was the eye mask and he strapped that nice and secure. Then, he went to my arms and I felt the long forearm cuffs buckled to them before he fixed me in a loose reverse prayer that made me dance happily in his arms. It was such a painful and strenuous position, a continual source of mild pain after a while, and after practice and stretching me he had built me to the point that I could stay in that position for quite a while. And the loose way he did it then? Oh, it made me moan because I knew he planned on keeping me that way for a decent time. This was going to hurt. I shivered, cum dripping between my legs, and he laughed at the sight. "God, you're foul. Let's make you fucking filthier, break you so that you crave pain." Oh yes, please. This was what I had been wanting all along, this horrible nightmare and this blindness and these cruel threats. No pity, no mercy. Just a cold slaver to teach me my new life.

He fixed me in ankle cuffs next, another set that comfortably strapped and were long leather harness styles. And then he ended by taking the panties out of my mouth and stuffing it with something I also knew well. I had become very familiar with the inflatable gag toy that he pumped until it filled me so full I couldn't make more than soft squeaks around it. "Come with me. You know where I need you so I can get to work."

I nuzzled his hand, loving his gear and how restricted I was, how much of a helpless little fuck I was. How filthy it made me to willingly follow him, hoping it would hurt worse than I could imagine. All the fantasies of being pierced and restricted and marred by a slaver came to one hell of a delightful head and his weeks of reinforcement had done their job well. We were on the same wavelength. I was absolutely terrified and he could terrorize and torture me to his heart's content. And we both knew it.

Because we had a foundation now. And that's when it really sank in what he had done because I had trusted him before, but after his nurturing? I would let him hold my life in his hands with no questions asked. I knew him and he knew me. Which is something that sounds like it would be a comfort, right?

It wasn't. Whatever reservations there had been before we had known each other so well? I knew they were gone now. No more bars held, no more refrain. Just terrible playtime. He guided me into the dungeon and the darkness started and he was right. It had been useless to be afraid. Because I couldn't fearfully imagine how bad it would be at all.

————

He started me at the rack in the dungeon and by then I knew every structure in that place. He tethered me facing out, using the cuffs of my reverse prayer to secure me to the rack, kicking my feet wide apart and tethering the ankle bracers as well. I felt twine wrapped around my tits and blinked behind my gag, wondering how this was going to go, what nightmare was descending first. And then he kept wrapping my tits tightly until I started to shake, whimpering slightly through my nose. It didn't hurt exactly but I could feel them being bound nice and tight, afraid that it was too tight, wondering how it looked and if it was something grotesque. And he didn't speak this time. That was another terrible thing that I noticed right from the start. Always before he had softly spoken with that teacher's voice, telling me about his art of pain and how to amplify the sensations, how to watch the signs of when it was building too fast, how to make things last a nice, long time. Because, after all, Master couldn't have me tapping out before he'd had his fun. What was more, he wanted me to come back to his torture filled hands.

There was none of that anymore. Just heavy silence while he worked until my tits were jutted out and they felt swollen up, like they should burst. And that was what made the terror really sink bone deep, so that my adrenaline was nice and flowing by the time he started with the real pain.

The braided whip was hellish when it fell, where my tits were so swollen and ready for sensation. I squealed with the shock of it as best I could around my gag and he only laughed in soft amusement. He paused to trail a finger where he'd whipped so that I shook, recovering from it, and then did it again. A routine started and he went so slowly, building the pain with repetition and I cried behind the gag, remembering what he had already taught me. It was a kindness to go too slow...

Unless he planned on making me suffer for a nice long session and it was just the start, which was the actual case. He landed the whip, stroked, landed it harder, stroked, did a few times in succession so that I shouted, stroked, then the entire thing again. I snorted behind the gag, dancing in my tethers for him, tossing my head a little. He kept going until I felt sure there wasn't a place that hadn't felt the whip on my tits.

And then he clamped me with heavy clover clamps and it got worse, way worse. I started to snort nonstop, snot and tears leaking in an undignified manner so that I turned into a mess. Because he stroked the whip in heavier and meaner blows then, making me feel like my breasts were on fire. I had thought I'd known the capacity for pain in my sensitive tits but I had either forgotten very quickly or hadn't ever known because he kept going. And going. He was fucking relentless, pausing only to gently wipe my face before he cruelly went back to work, hurting me until I felt maimed, shredded. And then he kept going even then and I was still nowhere close to breaking which was the worst part. Because he had so carefully fortified me that my limits were massively scaled due to the sheer amount of trust I had in him. But of course that was for his desire and pleasure. He wanted to hear me shout for ages before he had to stop.

"What a good pain slut." He finally spoke the once, a soft reminder, and I sobbed all the harder for it because the words went through my head to comfort me. He took off the heavy clamps when he had to, then went back to whipping.

It already seemed like an eternity of pain when he finally unbound my tits and even then he was just getting started. He helped me stagger over to the table and bent me over it.

Then it was the flogger on my ass, to prime me up. Because the cane was next, twenty stripes of pure hell that obliterated my thoughts and made me feel like I had been in his dungeon for an age by the time he was done. But then he still wasn't done, taking me farther than he ever had with the strap over those cane stripes. And by then I felt insane, like a highlighter of infernal fire was being used to paint over the stripes of agony.

Like I was a canvas of some kind and he was painting me with the darkest of artworks.

I thought it might be a reprieve when he finally stopped, but it wasn't. Exhausted as I was, thoroughly beaten into a mindless trance, he took me to the iron archway structure and tethered me to six inch heels, securing every inch of me so there was no way I could fall, so that I was forced standing in the midst of my daze of pain. My whole body thrummed and I was left to cry pathetically, feeling ecstatic, feeling dark, feeling... defeated.

I had gone to the body suspension place, had already had a card to Sulfur's when I met him. I had played fun little kink games and then I thought I had played some dark games with him, had thought I knew what the endless abyss might look like. But just the first introduction session into my weekend with him and I knew I hadn't known shit. Everything I had done had been candy play bullshit compared to what was starting. My tits felt as if he'd sliced them open and my ass felt like something out of a nightmare. And even at the end of the harshest session thus far, I wasn't granted the reprieve of rest. I stood, wishing I could close my eyes in my forced darkness and bondage and relax in some way, then forced to accept that this harshest bondage in the archway was all I would be allowed.

His hand was cruel when he caught my face, his voice a dark growl of delight. "You wanted to be my pain slut instead of my whore. I hope you enjoy." And then he slapped my face and I loved it, adored him for all of this.