Sex and Vengeance Pt. 04

"They make them for training dogs. I don't approve." Hainora whispered, breath hot in her ear. "But I do enjoy making people squirm with them. Now ask me nicely to use you, and if you do a good enough job, I'll consider letting you hold the controller."

Dreya swallowed, licking her lips, testing to see if her tongue still worked after the novelty of the shock. When it did, she paused to consider her words, then spoke.

"Please, Lady Starshadow, fuck me like a whore. Make me scream and cry and use me for your pleasure."

"Not bad." Hainora whispered back, nipping at an earlobe and making her shiver. "But not quite good enough to get the controls."

It was no surprise at all when Hainora entered her without warning. Dreya had already learned to expect to be used as and when her captor saw fit, without warm up or notice, in their short time together. But the lack of shock did nothing to keep her from crying out in pain at the sudden thrust into her pussy of three of the larger woman's fingers side by side, biting down hard on her lip and hissing through her teeth. The sudden stretch burned, even as aroused and needy as she was, and reignited the faded throb of the whip marks on her labia into a new momentary brilliance.

"Be glad I'm warming you up at all." Hainora mocked, pumping her fingers in. Each movement hurt a little less, and Dreya struggled to relax, to let her clenching muscles go slack and ease into the stretch. Nothing so large had ever been inside her, and the knowledge they still didn't match the girth of the cock that was soon to take their place brought a momentary chill of panic down her spine that she forced away. She wanted this, despite - or maybe, she was realizing,because of - how badly it would hurt.

Biting down harder, she surrendered herself into the sensation of those large, rough digits penetrating her, letting the pain and pleasure mingle without trying to distinguish them. It was easier that way. The totality of the sensation was all-encompassing, and it was too hard to swim against the tide and try to pick one thread from the rest. Accepting it let it sink deeper and deeper into her, reuniting with the warm place she'd discovered during her beating, rekindling the flame there as well as in her cunt. Her hissing gasps turned slowly to moans with Hainora working into her, and when the collar suddenly fired, she cried out as much in delight as shock. It burned terribly and the jerk of her head was unsettlingly alien, but the road to her secret place had been opened again and the electric fire poured into it.

When the fingers withdrew, she took the chance for a deep breath, tensing against the cuffs, fingers looping around the length of rope that bound her to the hanging panel. Her heart pounded in her throat, each moment an eternity. And then there was the pain of the stretch again, the sudden push into her from behind, and she cried out hoarsely, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that unfocused from the overwhelming sensation of Hainora penetrating her. She felt even bigger than she looked, just the tip of her cock stretching her near to the edge. It burned terribly, and the pain rippled through her entire body, catching her breath in her throat. Every nerve in her pussy was firing at once, overstimulated and under pressure unlike anything it'd felt, and it was all she could do to ride the mixed wave of sensations through that first awful, exquisite moment without breaking.

Every inch that pushed into her made her shudder, her inner walls spasming madly around Hainora's cock, struggling to adjust. Some instinct made her tense and squeeze before she could manage to consciously relax it, and the fresh wave of pain cut deep into that deep warm pool, and she nearly came then and there from the sheer exquisiteness of the sensation. She was vaguely aware of Hainora's grunts of efforts as she forced deeper into her, vaguely aware of the rough hand that curled at the back of her collar for leverage - but they were mere impressions next to the rising wave of submissive bliss that was blossoming inside her, the sublime ecstasy of being reduced to a thing, a hole to fuck, a toy to make scream.

And then the collar kicked her in the neck again, and she plunged back into that strange eternal moment between the sensation and the experience. Hainora was fucking her. The collar burned. Her nectar was flooding from her pussy, squirting messily onto the bare wood of the floor where the rug was turned up. And then there was nothing but sensation and her awareness flickered out, as though her brain could process only the acts or the enormity of the orgasm, not both. She writhed and panted blindly, twisting in the void of her pleasure and agony. Her cunt felt like it was splitting apart as Hainora pounded deeper into her and battered at her cervix, and the pain anchored her in that space, kept her there, a prisoner of her own climax.

And then, as distressingly quickly as before, she snapped back into her own body, shuddering and quaking, babbling incoherently - half-said swear words mumbling into moans and squeals. But Hainora didn't stop, didn't slow down, didn't seem to care at all that she'd cum. She pounded harder into her, using her for her own ends, and Dreya cried and gasped and grit her teeth through the awful, wonderful ordeal. Each thrust made her stomach turn with the queer sensation - not quite pain, certainly not any kind of pleasure she could call by the name - of that oversized cock ramming against her cervix, sliding over it to push into the narrow spaces surrounding it, stretching her deeper and wider than biology had ever intended.

Panting, gasping, dangling from the ropes, Dreya endured. It was the only option left to her, and she endured, and she was proud. Proud that she could survive it - that despite the pain she was still here, still alive. Proud that she was making her captor happy. No disgust rose this time to disrupt her sense of bliss at the thought. Each brutal thrust solidified it in her mind - this was where she was meant to be, who she was meant to be. A whore, a hole, happy and content in the simple purity of service. The pain faded slowly, her body finally relenting to the relentless stretching and relaxing, and she pushed back into the thrusts, grinding her apple bottom into her captor. Most of her was still outside, would always be outside, but that was alright. She was taking as much as she could.

Time stretched, and Dreya knew it wasn't just her loss of proportion, the narrowing of her world into that cock, her pussy, and the delirious mixture of sensations the two made together. She was sweating from the effort of simply being fucked so hard, her body gleaming, muscles aching. There was a new pain blossoming inside her, bruises on her insides. They'd been fucking long enough for them to swell and form, and each thrust ached sweetly now, like the mirror of that first burning stretch. Each shock of the collar made her jump and curse, sent bolts of pain straight through her that seemed to vibrate in her clit now as they faded from her throat, but she didn't cum again. She was too tired, too burned out on sensation to do anything but drift in it, carried by her pride, by the peace inside her, and by the waves of pleasure and pain that radiated through ehr body.

When Hainora finally came, flooding her pussy in her deepest spaces with cum, she was almost disappointed. She'd wanted it to last forever, even as sore as she was, as tired. Her throat burned from the screaming, her fingers were numb, and her cunt wouldn't ever be the same, but she'd still wanted it to go on. But it was over, and she sighed, letting her head flop forward limply against her chest in her bondage as the powerfully built elf withdrew from her body with a wet slurping sound. Semen and her juices splattered onto the floor, dripping from her cunt - the word felt right, now, she realized. She had a cunt, not a pussy, not a sex or a slit or a vagina. A cunt. Whores had cunts, and she was a whore, so she had a cunt. She giggled deliriously at the thought.

The camera clicked a few times around her and she paid it no mind, too busy delighting in her realization. Whores had cunts. Of course. It was why the word was so dirty and obscene. It was why she used it as an insult. Whores were licentious and their cunts were obscene; ladies were delicate and their pussies were too; or worse, their 'flowers', as her mother had called it. Much better to have a cunt.

Hainora's touch to her cheek stirred her from her thoughts and she lifted her head, looking out at her captor with a stupid grin. The wine glass pressed to her lips again and she soothed her throat with the sweet cool contents, licking her lips gratefully when it was withdrawn.

"You're quite a specimen, Dreya. I don't think I've ever seen someone so aroused by her own perversion, except Bliss."

"Mn..." Dreya nuzzled into the hand, unable to form words to reply. Her tongue wouldn't work. She wanted to thank the cruel woman, and curse at her, and demand to be untied all at once. But her mouth wouldn't make words, so she settled for leaning into the touch.

"I wish we'd met under different circumstances. Did you get your vengeance?"

"...uhuh...?" Had she told her? Did she blurt it out when she was cumming? She'd have blushed, if she had the energy.

"I wasn't totally honest with you." Hainora confided, voice hushed as she stared Dreya in the eyes, smiling softly. "When I told you I never had the knack at the Art, I mean. I don't have the knack at the High Art, but the Subtle Art, well. I'm very good at that."

Dreya's eyes widened a fraction of an inch, and her stomach went icy cold. Hainora was a telepath, and the entire night, the entire hunt, she'd been the prey - not Hainora. All of it clicked. The way she seemed to know just when to stop or start. The confidence in the knives, the spanking, the blow to her cunt. Even the way she'd said all the right things in the gallery. She'd been playing her, reading her thoughts, tricking her into thinking she was ever in control.

"If it'd been under better circumstances, we might have become very good friends." Hainora continued, as she stared at her in shock and sudden terror. She wanted to vomit. She'd abandoned the lust for revenge, but now it was back anyway, turned against her. "But that can't happen, since you came here to hurt my wife."

Her captor stepped away, her naked body gleaming in the dim light. She must've stripped between the flogging and the fuck without Dreya realizing. She'd been too far away during the actual fuck, her cock just too large, for their skin to touch. A cigarette was produced from the convenient tin on the writing table, and the larger woman lit it and brought it to her lips, staring at Dreya. Her smile faded, and a genuine wistfulness replaced it, a sadness in the eyes.

"We won't meet again." Hainora took another drag, let the smoke billow. "And now that you know what you need but you can't get it... Well. That's your punishment for coming here to trick me, for wanting to hurt my wife. I liked you, too. It's a shame."

Dreya tried to form words, but none would come still. The shocks had stripped her voice away, numbed her tongue for the time being. Instead, she wept, tears pouring down her cheeks. Tears of shame at her mistakes, tears of fear for her future, tears of rage at being deceived, tricked, abused. She'd set out to use Hainora, and in exchange, she was ruined. Her back throbbed and burned, robbed of all its erotic charge. The bruises now simply hurt. Her cunt hurt, her throat, her tits and her lips and even her toes all hurt. The cuffs and the collar were as heavy as lead, pinning her there.

When Hainora untied her, she crumpled limp to the floor and buried her face in her hands, curling up to hide from the world. When she finally looked up, her captor was gone and she was utterly, terribly alone.

__________

Poor Dreya. But then, you mess with the bull, you get the horns, right? Tune in next time to find out if Dreya can ever go back to being a prim and proper nobleman's wife or if her life is ruined forever by the knowledge that just behind doors in all her favourite bars and clubs, women in suits are getting impossible kicks from things she'll never know.

The Art, of course, is magic. Elves are always magical, afterall, and why should these two be any different? If Dreya had had any sense, she'd have made sure to double check she wasn't walking into a master of the Subtle Art's den, but then, that wouldn't be nearly as fun to write. Sometimes you've just gotta let them make big enough mistakes that when they get fucked by them, they get fucked so damn hard you'd think their name was Asa Akira.

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