Vishal's Whore Ch. 03

By now I'm accustomed to being summoned by Vishal's phone call. I know enough not to call him, he will contact me when he has need of me. But maybe 'need' is not quite the word. He doesn't need me, he just uses me and then discards me whenever he fancies.

My days are filed with the anticipation of when he will contact me and when I'll go to him again. It's the same pattern as last time. I can think of nothing else but him, his control over me and my explosive desire to his ministrations. I can concentrate on nothing else but the thoughts of his roughness with me. It's like a drug. And I know I'm addicted.

Vishal calls me in the middle of a meeting at work. I see my phone vibrating silently and his name flashing on the screen. My mind scrambles for an excuse, any excuse, to get out of the meeting and take his call. I absolutely cannot miss it! In the rush from the room, I don't even know what I murmur and barely register the dazed look of my boss as I flee from the room.

"Hello?" I whisper, answering the phone even before the door to the meeting room has closed behind me.

"Tonight at eight," he says. His warm voice fills my ear.

"Your place?" I ask him, ashamed at jumping as soon as he beckons. But I can't help it.

"Yes. Don't be late," he says and hangs up.

I know I cannot afford to be.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur. I'm already with him mentally and my boss lets me leave a half hour early in a fit of disgust when he sees I'm of no use. I try to make an excuse about some family issue but he waves it away and I'm out.

I reach home in record time and begin preparing myself for Vishal. I wash my hair with my favourite lemon-scented shampoo and then take a leisurely shower, soaping my body liberally and letting the warm water run over my tingling body. I shave my legs and pussy carefully, but take care not to touch myself otherwise. I let the anticipation build as I know the release will be that much stronger if I can keep going until he gets me off.

I deliberate over what to wear. Most of my wardrobe lands up over the bed as I pick out outfits and then discard them as unsuitable. I finally settle on a white silk button down shirt and my red skirt that falls just under my knee. The shirt is fine enough that you can see my white lacy bra through it. On my feet are strappy heels. I wear my hair loose and only swipe a bright red shade of lipstick and mascara as make up. It's a classic come fuck me get up and I feel sexy and desirable as I dab a bit of perfume between my breasts and on my wrists.

As I'm done dressing, I take a look at the clock and see that it's a full hour before I can leave the house for the drive down to his. In my anticipation, I've rushed through the preparations. I briefly debate whether to turn up early or to even call him to say I can be there earlier than he wanted, but then something in me tells me that it will not be welcome. I remember other instances where my effort to direct our encounters was met with punishment, and I resign myself to just waiting the extra time.

Prowling around the house impatiently, riffling through a couple of magazines and fiddling with inane programs on the television, I finally pass that wretched hour and when I'm ready to go, feel a wonderful anticipation curling in my belly. It takes me a half hour to drive down to his house.

When he answers the door, I notice his hair is curly and wet from a shower and he just has slacks on, leaving his chest bare. He nods at me and opens the door wider, knowing that I know what to do. I walk straight to his bedroom and get down on my knees at the edge of the bed.

"Very nice," he says in a low voice. "I've trained you well."

He moves in from behind me, takes a seat on the bed and trails a hand over my hair, moving it over the side of my face, coming to rest it on my neck, propping my chin up with his thumb. He looks into my eyes as his eyes register approval.

"Nice," he says again, this time referring to my appearance.

He then slashes a hand across my lips, smearing my perfectly applied blood red lipstick across my face.

"Too much perfection," he says. "I like things broken, in pain."

That sentence ratchets up my heartbeat and I remember what he has put me through in previous sessions. My eyes dart around the room, trying to spy what he has in store for me this time. But as much as I try, I cannot see any implement of torture. No ropes, no paddles and no clothespins.

He chuckles. "What are you looking for?" he asks in a silky voice.

"I... nothing... just for..."

"Yes? For what?"

"Vishal, I just wanted to see whether... I mean... for what I'm expected to do," I stammer.

"Ah," he says and leans back. "You're looking to see what I've planned for you today."

I nod and gulp.

"Don't worry, there won't be anything extra needed today. Just my hands," he says.

The words sound comforting but the look in his eyes stops me from giving up my nervous expectation completely. I know how he can be. I know he thrives on pain and humiliation. Whatever he has planned, whether with or without any objects of torture, will be his own brand of punishment.

He orders me to strip and get on the bed on all fours. When I am in position, he comes up behind me and positions himself snug against my bottom. His cock is perfectly aligned between my butt cheeks as he leans forward and grabs my hanging breasts. Squeezing both of them in his palms, he pulls me back. I move with the pull, pushing my ass more definitely into his crotch and grinding into him for good measure.

"Only what I instruct you to do, bitch. Don't get ahead of yourself," he growls in my ear as his fingers tweak my nipples painfully. "Did you forget the lessons?"

"No, God, no, sorry," I say hurriedly, biting down a cry from the treatment of his harsh fingers. "Please, I'm sorry. I won't do it again," I plead.

"Good, remember that," he says.

His hands continue to pull on my nipples. He pulls them out as much as he can from my body, holding them there and rotating them, twisting them cruelly. After a while of this torture, he brings his hands to cup my breasts and begins kneading them. He takes handfuls of my soft mounds and squeezes them like they are stress balls and he is trying to get a world's worth of frustration and anger out on them.

In no time at all, I feel them turning tender and bruised by his unforgiving massage and they begin to hurt and throb to his every touch. I feel the tears start at the back of my eyes and make no effort to stop them. One makes a trail as it slips down my nose and then drips off on the bed below me. I have my teeth clenched in order not to cry out as his hands become harder, if possible, and he is now squeezing my tender breasts mercilessly.

Just when I feel like I can't stop myself from crying out for him to stop, he starts to slow down and just cups my breasts. I feel him start humping me from behind. His cock is hard now and is sliding against the crack of my ass as he moves.

"Last time I didn't make you cum," he grunts into my ear.

I don't know whether to respond or just listen to him. I make a noncommittal noise.

"This time, I will," he continues.

My mind goes to work trying to figure out how he is going to accomplish that. Is he just going to fuck me from behind? That seems uncharacteristic of him but maybe he just wants to get off. Maybe once in a while he just wants straight sex without any pain to accompany it. I'm sure I'm going to be humiliated and paid for my services at the end of it though, that has been a constant, but maybe this time there won't be any discomfort or soreness for days afterwards.

"On your back," he commands suddenly.

I flip and land on my back in the middle of his bed, my head on the soft pillow.

He looks at me one moment and his brow furrows. "Maybe it would be better with you sitting up a bit," he says almost to himself.

I start sitting up and he pushes me back against the headboard. I land up in a position so that my shoulders are resting against the end but my hips are pushed forward about a foot from the edge of the bed. He then bends my legs and pulls my raised knees open and wide so that my pussy is gaping and vulnerably open to him.

I feel a hint of shame accompanied by a frisson of excitement pass through me. I feel wanton and exposed at the same time.

Vishal scoots over to a position between my spread legs, directly in front of me and touches my pussy gently. His fingers press lightly as he delves into my slit and slides them across, almost lazily. I'm wet through already from the excitement of waiting for this most of the day and his fingers just spread my warm wetness over my pussy.

Just when I've been lulled into a sense of drugged expectancy, he pinches one pussy lip and pulls on it, hard. I gasp and try to remain still, to not move with the pull. He twists cruelly and duplicates the move on the other side as I take my lower lip between my teeth in order to hold back a cry from the pain.

"So wet and rosy," he says, staring at my wide open pussy.

I feel him enter me then. Two fingers slide deep inside me until I can feel them buried up to their length. He plunges them in and out for a few minutes and I close my eyes and revel in the sensations. His other hand pinches my tender nipple and I feel the spiral of pleasure build until I feel an orgasm within reach. But before it can wash over me, he pulls out.

I almost cry out my disappointment but stop myself just in time. It won't do to beg or plead. He enjoys keeping me wanting. It's a part of his humiliation.

The next instant, I feel his fingers trying to enter me again and I move myself just a bit to accommodate him. There are more than two this time, and as he pushes into me, I realise what he is doing.

I open my eyes in panic and look down. I'm right.

Vishal has all five of his fingers straight and pressed close together and it is this that he is inserting into me.

I press my lips close together as his fingers disappear up to the knuckles. A sob wells up in my throat in apprehension. I have never been fisted before. I feel tears threatening at the back of my throat and start to move my hips back ever so slightly.

He'll have none of it. "Stay still," he orders.

"Please..." I whisper.

He stops inserting his fingers into me and looks up into my eyes. "What?"

I gulp nervously. "I've never had... that... done to me."

He smiles nastily. "So?" he asks, silkily.

My mouth is suddenly dry and I try to moisten my lips. I'm about to burst out crying. I cannot even imagine the pain that comes with inserting something that huge into my vagina. The thickest thing I've had in there before this is Vishal's cock, and it's about half the size of his fist. Taking his cock in proved to be a little painful in itself, but now this... I can't even imagine.

"Please," I say again, trying to tell him I cannot have that in me, I will rip apart, but not having the courage to say it in case he punishes me with something worse.

"Save it for someone who'll listen to your whingeing, whore," he says.

He pushes his fingers deeper into me and I feel the middle joints slide in. I begin sobbing in earnest now. I'm afraid. The pain has started and I feel like my pussy cannot expand anymore. His hand is not even halfway in. The pressure continues and I feel him opening me up even more, beyond what I feel is comfortable, beyond stretching as much as I can bear, pleasure slipping into pain into agony as he continues the assault.

I'm trying to struggle back on the bed now but he follows me and I can move no more when I feel the headboard against my back.

When I feel stretched almost beyond endurance, I feel something wedge up against me. It is the base of his fingers. A part of me can hardly believe he has that much of his hand already inside me, but a larger part is screaming about what is to come. I'm almost incoherent with agony and tears are running down my face freely now. Sobs rack my body.

A last push and his entire hand slides into me. I can't help but let out a little yelp as my control slips. My cunt is engorged beyond belief, burning unbearably from the assault.

"Vishal, please, no... please," I beg between sobs.

I am now in too much pain to even think about what he will do to me if I plead with him to show mercy. My entire being is concentrated in my cunt gaping open beyond what it can take. It's aflame. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can hurt more than this.

But I'm wrong.

Vishal moves his hand a bit; withdrawing the barest amount and pushing it back in. The burning intensifies and I feel like something down there is ripped. Somewhere at the back of my brain, I wonder if I'm bleeding on his sheets. My chest is tight from the sobs that are racking my entire frame and my breath comes in shallow gasps from trying to hold it in so that I don't scream out in agony. I bunch my fists around the sheets on his bed on either side of me and grit my teeth as a primeval growl escapes me.

His hand continues moving in and out slowly, and a low reverberation from my throat accompanies it. My hoarse voice follows his every movement. My parched throat needs water. Sweat pops out on my brow and on my upper lip as I give myself to the brutal fucking. Every nerve in my body is concentrated upon what's happening in my cunt.

"Look at me," Vishal commands.

My sightless gaze locks in on him and focuses. His eyes are glittering with excitement while my very insides feel like they are being churned by his punishing intrusion.

I don't know how I take the next few minutes. With my legs spread open and his hand inside me, I am literally fucked senseless. My world is reduced to what is happening to me. The in and out of his hand has me hanging on to his every motion as I remain as still as I can be, as if by holding myself still the pain will be any less.

Slowly but surely, to my utter disbelief, I feel pleasure collecting in the base of my stomach as the fisting continues. I stare into his eyes and let myself go, accepting the sensations. My stuffed cunt and the shameless way I'm spread before him registers in my mind as my arousal is stoked by what he is doing to me and my utter helplessness. I feel it build as he fucks me. I feel it rise as I grunt to his motions, as I'm fucked roughly, filled like never before.

I come, my body and being breaking into a thousand tiny parts, all suffused with the pain pleasure of it all, separating and coalescing into tiny shards of pure ecstasy, then coming together to hold me in suspension over the whirlwind ripping through my body. I can't breathe. I feel a blackness enfolding me as a cry tears itself out of my throat.

When I come to, Vishal's hand is still in me and he is looking into my eyes with a frown, calling to me softly.

I blink and focus on him. Taking a shuddering breath, I give in to the gulping sobs that overwhelm me.

He figures I'm okay and slides his hand out of me. The withdrawal hurts almost as much as when he was forcing it into me and since I am not ready for it, a shout escapes my lips.

"Shut up," he says harshly.

I try to muffle my sobs and tell myself it's over.

"Up on your hands and knees, bitch," he orders.

Tears flow down my face as I drag my tired body into position. Even though I haven't moved through it all, I feel like all the energy has been wrung out of me by the tense way I was holding myself all through the brutal fuck.

Vishal enters me from behind. My sore cunt hurts as his cock slides in, but I take it without complaint. The worst is over. This is nothing compared to what I have just been through.

He fucks me hard and fast, holding on to my waist and pounding into me from behind. This is a different kind of pain, almost a numbing kind. My breath leaves me with every vicious thrust of his thick cock into my cunt. His hips pound into me wildly and unmercifully until finally he is moaning his pleasure as he empties his cum into me.

As his cock leaves me with a wet sound, I drop down onto the bed, curling in on myself. I have never been used like this. Not even through all the humiliation and pain Vishal put me through before. The tying and the spanking is nothing compared to this. I feel like I have been hollowed out from the inside. My pussy still throbs with pain in time to every beat of my heart.

I feel Vishal leaving the bed and then hear a few sounds that indicate he is putting clothes on.

"What are you waiting for?" he asks me even before a minute has passed.

I look up at him towering over me. I know I need to leave. It has been like that every time. But I can't make my limbs move.

"Get up and out of here, bitch," he says. "Now."

Tears pool in my eyes as I heave my pitiful, bruised body off the bed. I move carefully, and as I stand up, I can hardly walk. Each step hurts my tender cunt. I'm afraid to even see what condition my battered pussy is in.

Vishal rifles through his wallet and throws bills on the bed. "Here," he says, "an extra thousand today. You were good. Satisfied my kinks perfectly."

I'm used to the humiliating payoff and gather the currency, stuffing it into my purse. I bend to pick up my clothes, flinching with pain, and dress up as rapidly as I can. I rub my face clear of the tear trails as best as I can and move to the door.

Vishal's voice follows me as I step out the door. "Till next time, whore."

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Author's note: I hope you enjoyed the story. Please don't forget to vote and leave comments on it. :)