Indentured (9 page)

But he walked over to the bed and opened a drawer in his nightstand, taking out a camera. For a few moments, he fiddled with the lens and some buttons and knobs, but then he took up a stance and started snapping pictures of me.

The longer I sat upon the sawhorse, the faster my tears fell and the more intensely I sweated. Rivulets of perspiration were pouring down my body, dripping onto the marble floors beneath me, and still he snapped away.

Eventually, he set the camera down on his nightstand and returned to me. The height of the sawhorse was such that even if my legs were fully straight, I wouldn’t quite be able to touch the ground. He drew his hands over my sweat-soaked body, gently but possessively marking me with his touch as he placed a kiss to my forehead.

“I’m going to make an album of you. One day, we’ll look back through all the pictures and choose which ones to recreate.”

A whimper bubbled up through me, but was muffled against the cock gag in my mouth.

His mouth came down on my left breast. He suckled and bit, and within seconds I was climaxing despite my pain because of the sensitivity. But he didn’t ease up. For at least ten minutes, he licked and nibbled and tugged and twisted my nipples, keeping me in a maelstrom-like orgasm until I passed out.

The only sleep I got the whole night was in those moments where I passed out from the intensity of my orgasms. The pressure on my clit was just too much, particularly when combined with the fullness I felt from my dildo and butt plug, and the cold air blowing across my wet, sweaty nipples.

When I awoke in the morning, it was to the sights and sounds of another porn flick—a woman being impaled by two ginormous dildos while she hung from a cross very similar to the one in the middle of the wall
, being whipped and flogged and caned—and of my owner fucking Mary again.

This time, he had her chained to the floor with her body contorted in some sort of pretzel shape with her ass and cunt up in the air.
Against my will, I started climaxing again just from the visual before me.

He looked up when he heard me gurgling with my release, his smile dark and dangerous. “You’ve had quite the eventful night.”

Moments later, the maid started squealing her release and he shot his cum into her pussy then left her, coming over to suckle and squeeze my breasts again and prolong my orgasm.

Our day proceeded almos
t exactly like the day before. He took me through my shower and ablutions first. He inserted a new, bigger dildo and butt plug. No undergarments this time as he set me to work in the gym. I was so exhausted, I was often falling down against the machinery, but because of the restraints, they still kept driving me forward. Another shower. Still bigger toys placed inside me. Lunch, during which he kept reaching across to tweak my nipples or pinch my clit.

But then, instead of putting me back into my metal underwear once we were in his lab, he did something I hadn’t expected. He put the ring gag in my mouth, forcing my jaw wide. That wasn’t exactly unexpected. But then he removed the dildo from my pussy and fitted a new set of metal panties on me…one which left my pussy completely exposed and only covered my ass. He didn’t put my bra on me either. He strapped my wrists to my ankles, my elbows to my knees, and then he carried me over and dropped me on the white pallet, ignoring my tears and whimpers.

Those men had huge cocks…much bigger than the dildos I’d had inside me which already felt too big by half.

As soon as I was within their reach,
one was on top of me and trying to force his cock into my tight opening. I screamed in pain, but another man’s cock filled my mouth and pressed down into my throat, silencing me. Still another straddled my chest and pressed my tits around his cock, using them like a pussy.

The friction and pressure on my clit and nipples was too much. I came like a freight train within seconds, and my orgasms didn’t really stop much the entire afternoon. By halfway through, my pussy had finally stretched enough to where I didn’t feel like they were ripping me open each time they pushed inside.

A few times, when I was somewhat aware of what was going on around me, I noticed that my owner was standing nearby with his camera, snapping pictures of me again.

When at last
he pulled me free from the pile and tossed me into the stall for hosing off, I couldn’t stop shaking from the ways I’d been used. I was experiencing residual orgasms, little tremors that kept racing through my limbs despite the fact that I was receiving no more stimulation.

This time, though, he placed the nozzle of the hose inside the opening of my sex, forcing a finger in with it to pull and allow somewhere for the water to escape. I hadn’t realized it was possible to have a more intense orgasm than I already had until that moment.
The soap stung inside my used and abused channel, but the stinging wasn’t enough to override the pleasure. Or was it the pain that was causing the pleasure? I couldn’t really be sure any more.

I mean, yeah, I’d been getting off on being spanked and whatnot for a while. But this was a different kind of pain altogether. Was it really what was behind my state of constant arousal and release?

I wasn’t granted much time to ponder these sorts of things. He finished hosing me off, had me gargle and rinse my mouth thoroughly, inserted larger toys into both of my openings, and then he carried me over to the chair again to sit on his lap for a while.

Well, really I was straddling him more than sitting on him—my front to his front, my overly used pussy pressing down against his hard cock.

After a moment, he kissed me, a hard, open-mouthed, tongue-thrusting, possessive kiss that seemed to go on forever. Several minutes of that went by, me leaning into him for more even though I was upset with him, before he softened the kiss. After a while, it was this tender, almost loving sort of kiss, one I’d rarely experienced in my life. I wasn’t sure what to do with that. It left me feeling vulnerable. Finally, he pulled back and just stared at me.

He stared at me so long—not saying anything, not touching me, just staring—that I got frustrated. I mean, clearly he was a man who liked sex or he wouldn’t be banging Mary every morning. He’d given me to his pack of sex-fiend test subjects to fuck at will, but he hadn’t had sex with me.

What was the point of spending a million dollars on me if he wasn’t going to use me for that purpose?

It was confusing, to say the least.

“Why haven’t you fucked me?” I said, startled to hear my voice was still that husky, raspy sounding voice from all my screaming.

He slapped my cheek so fast I couldn’t duck away, and immediately pulled me up by the hair with his other hand. Tears sprang to my eyes and I sucked in a breath.

“What did I tell you about that word?” His voice was controlled, but those dark eyes flashed with anger.

I racked my memory for something he might have told me, finally remembering. “That it’s not appropriate language for a slave.”

He tightened his grip. “That it’s not appropriate language for a slave,
Sir
.”

But I couldn’t seem to make myself do it. He was slapping me and letting others fuck me like a pack of dogs and leaving me to suffer all night on some insane torture device, and he wanted me t
o call him Sir, like I respected him? I just couldn’t go there. Not right now.

So I refused to say anything at all, despite the fact that he slapped me again and pulled so hard on my hair I thought some of it might rip out.

After a long stand-off, his lips twitched into a frown. “You had been doing so well, slave. I’d thought to give you a break to relax as a reward for your efforts and good behavior, but you’ve responded with insolence. You’ve used language I’ve forbidden. You’ve spoken uninvited. You’ve dared to question what I choose to do with my property. And you’ve neglected to speak to me with the respect I’m due.”

All I could do was blink in response.

In a flash, he’d forced the cock gag back into my mouth, latched it behind my head, and removed the straps binding my arms and legs together.

I thought he might make me crawl behind him,
since he’d warned me it would be expected at some point, but apparently that would take too long. He hefted me over his shoulder and carried me out to the living room as, I was beginning to learn, he was wont to do. With the flick of a light switch, a bar lowered from the ceiling and another rose from the floor. He slapped my wrists into the cuffs at each end of the overhead bar, then repeated the process with my ankles on the lower bar, until I was forced to hang from them with my body spread out in an X.

Then he walked over to the same switch and flicked it again, and it stretched my body taut. He stopped it just at the point where my shoulders and hips and elbows and knees felt they would pop if they were pulled any further.

Before he returned to me, he took a flogger off the wall, one with knots at the ends of each fall, which looked like it would hurt worse than any flogger I’d experienced before.

It did.

Each swing stung, biting into my flesh and leaving red welts. It didn’t quite break my skin, but it came very close. He struck me everywhere: my ass, my thighs, my back, my belly, my breasts, my pussy. The blows to my breasts and pussy were the worst by far, and after a series of them landing in very specific areas, it seemed like he was targeting my nipples and clit.

No surprise there, really.

I was crying, screaming, shaking, and coming all at once. I couldn’t control any of it. He flogged me for ten minutes, until my whole body was fevered, like a ball of stinging fire and frayed nerve endings.

Finally, he returned the flog
ger to its position on the wall and then stood in front of me with some huge rubber bands. He put one of the bands on each of my breasts, and it squeezed them in new and crazy ways. Almost immediately, they turned a purplish color and stood up straight at attention.

Then he took some metal objects from his pants pocket, clamps which he attached to each nipple and my clit. I was panting for breath, unable to stop my tears.

“You will hang there and think about your behavior.”

Then he turned on his heel and went into the dining room. Mary was standing in her uniform beside the table. He spoke to her briefly—I couldn’t hear what they said—and then she removed
every stitch of her clothes and sat in my chair, happily waiting while he locked her into position.

Mary ate
what should have been my meal with relish. Every few minutes as he ate, he would reach over and play with her breasts or run his fingers over her sex.

He never touched me while I ate, other than to force my head down into my food.
Definitely not in such an intimate way as that.

It made me
jealous, not to mention hungry.

As much activity as I was getting, regardless of the fact that I was tied up while getting it, I was burning through the calories I was
being granted at a frenzied pace.

But
she
was getting my meal.

After they finished, he drew a cloth over her face to clean her, then released her from the chair. But instead of him having her
put her clothes back on again and leaving, or allowing her to go to the lab like she had yesterday, he brought her into the living room and strapped her down to one of his lumpy-shaped pieces of furniture. Her back was arched, her arms straight overhead, her legs nearly in a full split, and her ass high in the air, leaving both her holes at the ready.

And she was right in front of me, where I could see her dripping wet pussy in all its open glory.

He walked to an armoire, selected a few items, and returned to her. First he put a monstrous, black, double-headed dildo in her, pushing it deep into both her pussy and her ass until she squealed and wiggled her hips.

A sharp smack to her ass got her to hold still. Then he put one of those m
agic wands right up to her clit, propped it to stay there, and turned it to high.

She started shouting her orgasms pretty much right away, and I was so entranced by watching her that I neglected to
pay any attention to what he was doing. He regained my attention with the swish of a cane just before it connected square over the back of my thighs.

“So,” he said, rubbing the rattan cane over my backside, “you had ten minutes of the flogger. I think now you need ten strokes of the cane in each of four very specific places, since you had four very specific infractions.”

I screamed into my gag and shook my head, but he was already pulling the cane back for the next blow. By the time he completed ten strikes to my legs, I was already sobbing, blubbering, and thoroughly incoherent with pain. I didn’t know how I would survive another thirty strikes, particularly since almost any other area of my body he might choose would be less suited to receiving a caning—some of them terrifyingly less suited.

I felt him move in closer behind me, the heat of his body only adding fuel to the inferno that was mine. His hands cupped my ass cheeks for a moment and squeezed them before moving his hands down to my thighs, drawing his fingers harshly over the lines his cane had left in my flesh. I hissed in a breath around my gag from the pain.

“Your bottom is going to feel this hot to the touch in a minute. It will be difficult for me to restrain myself from fucking your ass once I’ve caned it. Did you know that?” His hands moved around me to cup my breasts and flick the clamps on them, then down to toy with the clamp on my clit, until my sobs increased ten times over what they had been.