Beyond Limitsbyviolent intimacy©
He cannot think of a time when he was more afraid. Crouched on the floor, his naked body shivering in the cool room, he fights the growing sense of exposure and vulnerability. She is talking, but he is unable to concentrate clearly on her words. Submission, limits, rules, safewords, sex... the words wind around him like a tangible thing, constricting his chest and making him want to cry from the humiliation of his position at her feet.
"Break me," he had said. "Push me beyond my limits." Now he is questioning himself - not his desire to go through with this because that still burns him from the inside out, but whether he can handle it. A booted foot is thrust into his view; he grabs it, a desperate man in danger of drowning in his own compulsions, pressing his lips frantically to the fragrant leather. He hears her command to stand, the words spoken slowly in her low voice, and stumbles up onto shaky legs.
Her fingers on the tip of his swollen cock, nails scratching the sensitive glans; he groans and involuntarily jerks his hips away, earning himself a sharp slap for the misconduct. She does not touch his cock again, moving to fasten his shackled wrists to a tall post well above his head and high enough to force him onto his toes. He feels sweat starting to trickle down the side of his face, dripping onto his chest as he leans slightly forward, trying to ease the pressure on his shoulder joints. His feet are flat on the cool, tiled floor; he shifts them constantly, nervous energy making it impossible for him to stay still.
He spreads his legs on her order, the muscles in his thighs and calves protesting at the strenuous task. This exposes his scrotum from behind, he knows, the heavy balls hanging visibly between his legs, the knowledge only adding to his feelings of shame and helplessness. When the slender cane slices into his back the first time, he is unprepared for the burning explosion of pain that reverberates throughout his entire body. He finds himself silently thankful for the training that keeps him from falling out of position, his taut limbs screaming to be allowed to go limp. The second, third, fourth blows follow in quick succession, each one lower than the last; he imagines that he must have four, perfectly formed, red stripes down his back, ass, and legs.... But time for reflection is short, as she adds a dozen more stripes without a pause. By the time she stops, he is screaming and crying, his body pressed up against the post in its attempt to escape the merciless cane.
When he feels her probe between his throbbing asscheeks, he has to fight the protests rising in his throat. This is new to him and he has serious misgivings about his decision to be here. The safeword almost bursts out of him, but he grits his teeth and swallows, unexpectedly disturbed that his cock has remained rock hard throughout all this. Something breaks in him when her index finger penetrates his virgin asshole; he lets out a keening cry and slumps, seemingly oblivious to the way his arms are wrenched upwards, still fastened to the top of the post.
His mind races. "I'm not gay," he asserts to himself. He does not realize he has spoken it aloud until she pauses, and laughs at him. Her amusement makes him shrink back, prevented by his shackled arms from cowering in his humiliation. His full body blush serves only to accentuate the burning pain emanating from each of the cane welts as more blood pumps into them. He hangs his head, groaning softly.
"Silly boy." She sounds almost affectionate when she says that, removing the single finger from his ass with a half smile. Staring wordlessly at the strap-on she shows him, he once again chokes back the near irresistible urge to shout out the safeword. Then her fake cock is pressing into the crease where his buttock meets his leg; it feels incredibly big, and provokes images of his tiny puckered hole being forced wide open to take the hard intruder. She purrs softly in his ear, "We can do this the hard way or the easy way. Your choice."
The moment of indecision is fleeting. He knows he would not be able to suffer through her gentleness; if she were to slowly stretch his ass out before fucking him with that hard thing prodding insistently at the back of his thigh, he thinks he would die from the humiliation of being taken so. He wants her to crush him, to strip away any pretense of concern, and to force the submission from his very soul. His voice, though tremulous, is clear when he answers, "The hard way, Mistress. Please."
When the plastic shaft punches through his anus, barely slowed by the inevitable resistance of the tight muscle, he bites down on his lip to stop himself from screaming. The initial pain is the worst, next to it, he barely even notices the sting of his welted back and bleeding mouth. As she rapes his ass, reducing him to a whimpering, groaning slave to the cock he is impaled on, his own distended cock continues to throb, begging to be allowed release.
The unfamiliar fullness of being filled with a hard cock makes his head spin. Unable to reconcile the pleasurable feelings taking over his body with what is being done to him, he closes his eyes and gives up the last shreds of his control. The orgasm hits him so suddenly he does not have time to stop it or even ask for permission; with a choking cry, he climaxes, come jets into the empty air from his cock, some of it splattering onto the wall and the post he is chained to. He knows he will be punished, but just for that bittersweet moment, he does not care.