Indentured (10 page)

I couldn’t answer. I didn’t even know what I’d say if I could. Difficult to restrain himself? But why was he
trying to do that at all?

I hadn’t come close to deciphering his meaning before he’d moved away again and started swinging the cane against my ass. Despite the extra padding I had there, it hurt worse than when he struck my legs. That had to be due to the shots he’d injected in me. There wasn’t any other good explanation.

Each blow had my body jerking, flailing against the bars and chains holding me spread out as I was. My cries turned frantic until I was nearly hiccupping in my quest for breath.

After the tenth swing, again he moved in to caress me. Or maul me. Whichever. He might have been aiming for the first, but my aching flesh told me it was the second.

He spoke again, but I was sobbing so hard, my incoherent thoughts focused so intently upon the pain I was in, I couldn’t possibly make out what he was saying. I felt nothing for a few moments, nothing new at least, and just hung there waiting for the next blow to fall.

Nothing happened.

Eventually, I made out the sounds of a camera shutter clicking behind me over and over and over again. He moved around in front of me where I could see him through my tears, still clicking, the zoom moving in tight on my purple, straining breasts and my dripping wet pussy and what had to be a very red, very wet face.

He disappeared behind me again, but when he returned, the camera was gone. He held the cane in his hands again.

With the tip of it, he poked and prodded at the clamps on my nipples until they popped off and I screamed from the pain of it. One at a time, he pushed the cane between the rubber bands and my breasts, manipulating the bands until they came free as well. I would have given my left foot to be able to put my hands to them, to put some pressure back on my breasts as all the blood in my body raced to redistribute itself just then. Instead, all I could do was fight for every breath I could take, my chest rising and falling at such a rapid pace it was a wonder my tits didn’t jiggle any more than they did.

His attention to my breasts left me in no doubt as to where the third set of ten blows would fall. He didn’t give me much time for the panic to set in, either. The second band had barely been gone for two seconds when the rattan was swinging through the air. It landed equally across both breasts, leaving an instantly red welt about half an inch above my nipples.

Most of his strikes hit them both equally, coming very close to the nipples but not quite connecting. But when he had three remaining, he aimed one to land directly over the right nipple only. The next repeated the process on the left nipple. He completed that set of ten by stepping back and swinging hard, the cane landing solidly over both nipples and leaving a deep, so-red-it-was-almost-black line where it struck.

As I looked down at my limp body, a sheen of combined sweat, tears, and drool covered my breasts in such a manner as to accentuate them even more somehow. It didn’t surprise me in the least, then, when he fetched his camera again and started snapping super close-ups of them.
After capturing them from every conceivable angle, he put the camera down so he could suckle, bite, squeeze, and knead my breasts with both hands and his mouth.

Even just his breath upon my tender flesh felt like such an intense pain after that thrashing that I jerked back against my bonds. He wouldn’t allow me to recoil, though. He feasted at my breasts until I was shuddering from my climax.

Again, he backed away and picked up the cane, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind he was about to torture my cunt.

Sure enough, he poked at the clamp on my clit until it popped off. I had no more voice left to scream, yet somehow I still had more tears within me to cry.

The blows came up between my legs, striking my swollen labia with the same intensity and ferocity as he’d caned me elsewhere. A few of the blows knocked against the base of my dildo, forcing it up deeper within me. Each of the last three strokes, he focused fully upon my clit. The sharp sting, the intense heat, only drew out the climax I was already suffering.

The camera followed the cane again, as he dropped to his knees and shot upward at my exposed sex.
He didn’t bother to rise after he was finished shooting, taking my clit between his teeth and flicking his pointed tongue against it, his fingers gripping the dildo in my cunt and forcing it in and out in time with his tongue work.

Sick as it was, battered and broken, I wanted nothing more in that moment than for him to take off his clothes, remove the dildo from my body, and replace it with his cock.

He did take off his clothes. But instead of fucking me, he left me hanging as I was, moved back over to where Mary hadn’t stopped coming from all the stimulation he’d given her, removed her double-headed dildo and the vibe, and drove himself balls-deep into Mary’s cunt.

For the rest of the evening, easily three hours or more, I watched him fuck Mary six ways to Sunday while I hung, aching, sore, incredibly weak and hungry, and so mind-fucked I couldn’t even tell you.

He pounded into her cunt from behind. He fucked her in the ass. He put her in a split over his lap and forced her to bounce down upon his huge cock. He chained her to the floor in a pile-driver, forced a huge dildo into her pussy, and then stretched her enough that he could fuck her
cunt with his cock right along with the dildo. Then he repeated that in her ass.

Pretty
much any position he could have fucked her in, he did. And the whole time while I watched, despite the fact that he’d just caned me to within an inch of my life, or at least it felt that way, I wished Mary and I could change places.

That only proved how mind-fucked I was. How had two days being his
property
done this to me? Or was I already like this, only I didn’t realize it because no one had handled me with such…well, such intensity?

I mean, there’s a huge difference between enjoying being tied up and spanked and fucked by any man who was willing, and having sex drugs injected into me, being kept constantly chained in extremely uncomfortable positions, being caned until I was covered in marks (despite the shot he’d given me that was supposed to prevent that), and
not
fucked. Wasn’t there?

I couldn’t very well deny that I was having some pretty intense orgasms, but I wanted more.

I wanted
him
.

Probably because he’d caned me hard enough to leave marks all over my body and made me come from it. Or maybe because he seemed so dispassionate all the time, yet he was sexy as hell and
kept me in a constant state of arousal. Or…well, there were any number of reasons I wanted him.

The problem was I wanted him, but he wouldn’t let me have him.

How was it possible to feel so incredibly sated at the same time as I felt more aroused than I ever had in my life, and yet also more frustrated than ought to be legal?

But that—all of it—was how I felt when he let out a shout and shot his semen into Mary’s ass for at least the third time that night, not counting the four times he’d come in her pussy.

When he stood, from my vantage point I watched a steady stream of cum dribbling down the insides of her thighs. He left her where she was and came over to me, his fingers instantly gripping my breasts.

The pain was so intense I looked down at them, shocked to discover the lines from my earlier caning had already faded to a soft pink, and there was no bruising to be found. Huh. Apparently that shot had done its job
, after all. Not that I should have been surprised by that fact, considering the others had also performed exactly as advertised.

I was too exhausted, too weak to even moan in complaint over anything he chose to do to me. Eventually, I felt the bonds at my wrists and ankles being removed, felt myself being carried by him from the living room to the bedroom. I passed out as he was strapping me to the cross
along the center of the wall of windows.

I doubt I was out long. When I awoke again, my arms were bound straight out from my sides to the horizontal bar of the cross. My legs had been drawn out and back behind me, my ankles chained to hooks in the floor. Apparently he’d removed the dildo and butt plug, because now there were two fucking machines ramming into me with even larger dildos than what I’d barely been able to withstand those last several hours. My insides cramped against the invasions, squeezing as though I’d be able to expel the intrusive objects.

After a moment of hazy consciousness, I realized I needed to pee. Badly. Which seemed odd, because I hadn’t had any liquids since lunch. My mouth was still filled with the cock gag, and I didn’t think it had been removed based on the soreness of my jaw. But then I felt a pinch in my arm, and looked over to see that I had an IV inserted. I followed the tubing up and saw that the bag hanging over me was nearly empty.

But none of that was what
had awakened me. No, it was Mary’s screams of ecstasy coming from the bed.

The bright light of the moon illuminated their sweaty, shimmering bodies even in the darkness of the room, my shadow falling over the bed. He had her arms bound to the headboard, her ankles bound to her wrists, while he pounded into her repeatedly.

I tried not to watch. The last thing I wanted to see or hear or think about right at this moment was him fucking someone other than me. I wanted
him
inside me—not these stupid toys attached to fucking machines, not the test subjects in the lab—
him
.

I failed.

I watched until he spent himself inside her again, rolled off her, and fell asleep. After a while, I calmed down enough again that I could ignore the needs of my bladder, ignore the toys and machines pushing me toward another orgasm, and sleep as well.

The next time I woke up, he was standing beside my cross, hanging a new IV bag that he’d already attached to my tube. I whimpered as loud as I could. Surely, he knew my bladder needed to be emptied after taking an entire bag already.

He kissed my forehead. His hands pressed against my slightly swollen lower abdomen, putting crazy pressure on my bladder. I whimpered louder, begging him in the only way I knew how.

Then he bent to the floor and stopped my fucking machines. Thank god.

When they stopped moving, the dildos were still deep inside me. He didn’t remove them, though. He picked up an alcohol wipe and rubbed it over the exposed parts of my labia, my clitoris, everything he could reach. Next he picked up a tube that didn’t look familiar at all. I followed the tubing to the other end, and realized it had a bag attached. A pee bag. He was going to put a catheter in me.

Holy fuck.

But at least that would mean I could pee.

It hurt in an unfamiliar way as he pushed the tubing inside me. But when he stopped, I felt a tiny bit of fluid drain into the tube before it stopped. He’d put a clamp on it.

Wild-eyed, I made as much noise as I could into my gag, but he just turned the fucking machines on again and picked up his camera, snapping shots of me repeatedly before returning to the bed. And, of course, he repositioned Mary and fucked her again before he went back to sleep.

It didn’t take long before both of them were snoring lightly.

I was not so lucky.

The machines kept forcing the dildos up into me, putting too much pressure on my otherwise already too full bladder. My arms and legs were stretched out so far, and had been supporting all my weight as I hung by them for so long, it seemed as though they might stop hurting so much if they just fell off. Every time I looked over at the IV bag, it was emptier; every time I glanced down at my abdomen, it was more swollen.

I’d been hearing an annoying whining sound, like a dog that needed to go out, for at least ten or fifteen minutes before I realized I was the one making the sounds.

Twisting my body against my bonds, I tried to somehow squirm away, to lighten the pressure against my bladder, but nothing helped.

I felt like I was sure to explode from the inside at any moment.

Finally, he woke again. He came over and rubbed both hands hard against my belly, then checked the state of my IV bag. He lifted the catheter tube from where it hung between my legs, flipped a switch at the clamp, and kissed me on the cheek.

I cried in relief, a fresh wave of tears flooding my cheeks as my emptying bladder flooded the bag. But I didn’t get total relief. Far from it. He flicked the clamp back into place after my bladder was only partially emptied.

The rest of the night went exactly like that. He’d fuck Mary for a while, they’d sleep, my bladder would get fuller until I couldn’t take it anymore, he’d release a bit of my urine, and then the process would start over again.

By the time morning rolled around and the sun was warming my backside, I’d had no sleep, my belly had bulged to a crazy degree, and he’d put at least four bags of IV fluids through my body.

The first thing he did when he woke was turn on another porn movie and fuck Mary leisurely in the ass, leaving me writhing in painful torment as I hung from the cross.

This time, though, when he finished with her, he released her bonds and sent her on her way with a sharp smack to her ass before coming to me.

His cock was still hard, covered in sweat and cum and the juices from both her pussy and her ass. He stopped the fucking machines and removed the dildos from me, then pushed the machines out of the way. He removed the IV port from my arm, then methodically released my arms from the cross, one strap at a time, lowering me to my knees while leaving my ankles still chained to the floor. Another chain lowered down from the ceiling, and he lifted my arms up and locked my wrists in place, keeping me from dropping any lower, and from touching the catheter.

For a moment, he left me like that, moving to an armoire on the opposite wall. When he returned, he had a leather thing belted around his waist and upper thighs, with more straps hanging down from it. Quicker than I could react, he removed the buckle holding my cock gag in and replaced it with his cock.

I gagged and choked on it, particularly because he was smothered in not only his dried-on cum but Mary’s juices. It smelled and tasted like stale sex and ass. But he forced himself all the way to the back of my throat and fastened those extra straps around my neck, preventing me from backing away even an inch.

My need to pee was so intense that I couldn’t concentrate on my revulsion, though. For that matter, I couldn’t concentrate on anything at all. He fucked my throat like that for a good half hour or more, not releasing the stopper on my catheter. When he finished, he unhooked me from everything, carried me into the dining room, catheter and all, and strapped me into my chair.

Mary had her uniform on again and brought out our breakfast. Mine consisted of a gigantic fruit and yogurt smoothie, a huge glass of orange juice, a glass of milk that was even bigger, and a bottle of water twice the size of my norm, each with a straw in it.

The last thing I wanted to think about was drinking, considering my bladder was so full I looked pregnant. But I was starving, and considering the fact that I hadn’t had anything to eat in nearly twenty-four hours but gobs of sperm, passing up a meal didn’t seem all that bright.

As if he could read my thoughts, he said, “
You won’t leave this table until you drink every last drop, slave, and that clamp is staying put while you’re at my dining room table.”

I knew as much, but that didn’t help.

I’d only gotten through half of the first drink by the time he’d eaten every bite of his pancakes, sausage, eggs, fruit, and protein shake. Once he was no longer focused on his own sustenance, he turned every bit of his attention to me.

His hands roved over my body while I tried to force the liquids down, pinching my tits and rubbing my clit, forcing long, strong fingers inside my pussy and asshole, toying with the catheter where it was emerging from my body, and kneading against my massively taut and tender abdomen.

My stomach was feeling as full as my lower abdomen now, and I could hear and feel the liquids sloshing around inside me. I struggled to keep swallowing, but by the time I’d finished all but the water, I was crying so hard from the pain of it all that I’d started hiccupping. Drinking while hiccupping is not easy, in case you weren’t aware of that. He chose that moment, while I was crying and hiccupping and frantic to pee, to photograph me some more.

Someho
w, I managed to get it all down.

When I finished, he unstrapped me and took me to the bathroom for my cleansing. Even with performing my daily enema, he still didn’t release the clamp on my catheter. It wasn’t until after we had both showered, he’d brushed my teeth and had me gargle, and he’d shaved every bit of my skin below the neck that he finally dropped to his knees and flipped the switch, allowing my bladder to empty so fast that it pushed me into a massive orgasm.

He left the catheter in (clamped closed, again) while he filled me with bigger, vibrating toys and took me to the gym for my morning exercise. Each of my water bottles was twice the size of the norm, just like at breakfast, and by now I knew it wasn’t worth risking a punishment to disobey. I drank every drop of water, and by the time my three hours in the gym were complete, I was just as desperate to pee as before.