Chastity
Pain like I’ve never known before explodes over my skin. I can hear the faint ringing from below, but I’m not sure if that’s from the bells or my own head. The wall in front begins to melt and morph into something scarier as the cracks explode, littering me with plaster and drywall. Safe. Secure. Owned. The words flit about in my brain, and I long to chase them, to hold onto them. Warm hands slide up my body, driving away the chill that threatens to envelop me. With a sigh, I lean into it, claiming every bit of warmth for myself.
The pain settles into the background like a low hum from a fluorescent bulb, filling my brain with that incessant noise. Gray edges my vision as cold, brown eyes stare into my soul. Terror seizes my heart as I try to swipe at him, force him away, but I’m stuck. Nothing moves. I must be on the examination table again.
White, hot pain zips across my ass, pulling me out of my delusion and into the present. With each blow, the bells jingle below, adding a musical quality to my cries. Again, that flash of agony bites across my skin, making me jerk and tighten the ropes. Dr. Rayne pauses and slides a finger between my skin and the ropes in several places before resuming his torture.
“Please. Come in my mouth. Please.”
“You cannot change the punishment after it’s already started, my dear. Next time, maybe beg for my cum first?”
I nod, tears streaming down my cheeks. Yes. Next time. If there is a next time. Another bite of pain keeps my brain locked into the here and now, not letting me slip back into my waking terrors. Another blow and jingle. As he continues his physical assault, my brain takes inventory of all the sensations rioting around in my brain. There’s the pain, yes, but underneath, buried so deeply I almost can’t find it, is a warmth in the pain, like a pot-bellied stove on a winter’s day. I long to sit and let it warm me, to feel the all-encompassing heat as it burns me from the inside out. I’ve been so cold for so long.
I creep closer, still crying out as he rips the skin from my bones, but each bite has just a bit more of that warmth. If I can just get to it, all of this will be worth it. My brain moves like it’s going through molasses, but it’s not the same as when I dip between reality and horror. It’s comforting, like a blanket, shielding me from the worst of what he’s doing. The ropes no longer dig into my skin. Instead, they cocoon me, wrap me up in strong arms that keep me safe. He keeps me safe. The ropes are just an extension of him, holding me even as he disciplines me.
I sway in my bonds as everything becomes hazy. Nothing makes sense anymore. He’s still hitting me. I feel the impact, but the pain is dulled, lessened somehow. I want to stay in this haven, but I know reality will soon find me. It’s so similar to the drug I was forced to take, but not quite the same. I still have a grip, no matter how slippery, on reality. The cold, brown eyes are no longer looking at me, demanding I give in to his touch, forcing himself inside me. Safe. Secure. Owned.
The warm eyes I’m becoming used to swim into view, a smirk tilting up the lips of his devilishly handsome face. When did he become handsome? Hasn’t he always been a monster? Safe. Secure. Owned. Shaking my head, I force my vision to clear, knowing he’s saying something, but I’m unable to make it out. Smiling, he slides his palm up my cheek, holding it there as I nuzzle against his warmth.
“Good girl.”
The words blossom inside me, like those tea flowers that open as the hot water hits them. What I would do to hear those words again. He pulls away, and I’m vaguely aware of the whimper that slips past my lips. It makes no sense. I don’t want him. I could never want him. Captor. Jailer. None of these are good things. I need to plan my escape and not bury myself in his steady warmth.
My brain whirrs back to life as he takes off the clamps. Funny, in all of this, I forgot they were even there. Compared to the pain of his blows, this is just a sting - something I can handle with ease. He begins to undo the rope, and bit by bit, blood rushes back into some of the areas, sending skitters of pins and needles throughout various parts of my body. After several agonizing moments, he brings the rope out from between my legs. Relief floods through me as my clit is finally released. But, quick on its heels is the throb of blood coming back into the area.
Pain lights up my brain as that pulse thrums through my body. It feels so close to an orgasm, but not quite there. It’s agonizing in its sensual torture. Oblivious to my need, Dr. Rayne continues to undo the rest of the ropes and slide them off my body. Shivers slam into me as the fibrous rope drags across my sensitive skin, and I can’t hold back the guttural moan that crawls out of my throat. I need relief more than anything else in the world. I’ve never needed to get off as much as I did now. But I can’t ask him. I can’t reveal my shame. I can’t admit that I’m so desperately horny because of something he did to me.
But he knows. He always knows. Sliding back up onto the bed, he begins to coil the ropes back up, pausing at a section that looks much darker than the others. That smirk again. He watches me as he leans down to lap at the rope, and it hits me that this is where the knot was. Heat floods my face as I watch him, unable to look away. I want to deny everything, but there’s the proof in his hands.
After putting the rope to rights, he slides his fingers across my ribcage and up my arms, chafing at the cold skin for a moment. That damning throb hasn’t let up in the slightest. In fact, just watching him lick at my arousal has the pulsing hitting me even harder.
“Do you need to get off?”
I can’t tell him. It’s a trap. I can’t reveal that I’m even weaker than I imagined.
“You’re going to need to use your words, my dear.”
Shaking my head, I pull back from him, dismayed as his smirk turns into a frown. I’ve disappointed him. That’s the last thing I want to do right now. He slides one hand behind my back and pulls me closer before dipping his other hand below to stroke my clit. With just one swipe of his fingers, I’m done for. My head lolls back onto my shoulders, and I moan in relief. But of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. It never is.
He pulls back, not touching me. He’s going to make me beg. The last part of me begins to fracture as I realize that I’m going to. What is this man doing to me? The pain I can deal with. I know how to handle it. But this pleasure? The fact that it hurt so badly, and yet, I’m quivering with need? It has to be the ropes. There’s some witchery in his ties that made me feel like this. Even with the bite of pain, there was a feeling of security. Like the bonds held me firm, not letting me crumble under the bite of his punishment.
Safe. Secure. Owned.
Those fucking words keep going through my brain on an endless loop. What harm would it be if he actually got me off? None of the other monsters did. Maybe that’s the difference in their breed. He’s still a monster, no doubt about it, but he’s actually making me crave his touch. None of those other jackasses cared anything about me except which hole to stick it in.
Shaking his head, he climbs off the bed, and my heart leaps into my throat. Have I lost my chance? The incessant pulsing as the nerves in my clit come awake pound into me. My body is consumed with the need to orgasm. Never in my life has all my concentration come to a pinpoint at that particular spot. I had needs - what girl didn’t - but it didn’t override my brain. It didn’t make me want to beg or grovel for sweet relief.
I open my mouth to beg, using my words like he asked, but another sensation creeps into my lust-filled haze. A thin rod slides in between my lower lips, my arousal letting it slip through with ease. As he pulls it back, a large, flat object, about the width of my pussy from the feel of it, slides across my labia and clit, reigniting the sensations.
I buck against it, not caring about my pride at the moment. He obviously wants me to degrade myself, and if it gets me off, I’m willing to do it. Just that thought alone sends a weird niggle through my stomach. This isn’t like me. Never once have I been so desperate that I’d debase myself.
I bite down on my lower lip, forcing my brain to tune out, to go back to that fuzzy, floaty feeling, anything that’s not the sensations in between my legs. My breathing starts to even out as I pull myself inward, focusing on the hurts to get me back to that high. Without warning, fire races across my labia, and my body goes into shock at the unexpected intrusion. I can’t think or breathe. All I can do is focus on the pain and that damned throbbing.
He pauses long enough for me to sag in relief before bringing up that object of torment again. Each time I think he’s done, he strikes me again. Whimpers and moans escape my lips even though I’m biting down for all it’s worth.
“Look at me.”
I didn’t even realize he’d moved back to the bed. My eyes fly open, and he strikes me again, this time staring me down, not letting me go. I can’t hold back the wail that erupts from my soul. So many thoughts and feelings flow through me until I can’t make heads or tails of them.
All I can do is stare into his warm, brown eyes as he hits me again and again. A small kernel of indignation fires up at his mistreatment of me, but if I’m being one hundred percent honest with myself, it’s not at all bad. I’ve had much worse.
Not only that, the steady beat he’s playing against my skin keeps ramping up my arousal with each strike. The smacks somehow coincide with the pulsing of my clit. It’s getting weaker by the moment as the nerves become fully awake, but it’s still there, the agonizing pleasure twisting my insides until my body threatens to explode.
“P-please. Oh, please.” The words fall from my lips like a dark, pagan cadence as I pray to my captor to let me have release.
He ignores my pleas and keeps tapping in that maddening rhythm that’s too hard to feel completely good and yet not hard enough to get me off. He keeps me on that knife’s edge, riding the waves of discomfort mixed with pleasure.
“You beg so sweetly, my dear.” He pauses to toss the tortuous implement to the side before returning back with his fingers.
I nearly faint from the relief his stroking fingers bring me. He swipes at me in gentle circles, so unlike the hard, unyielding tool. I can’t control my body as it sways back and forth to the rhythm of his touch. Staring down into his eyes, I watch as they shift from warm and comforting to hard and unyielding.
“I want to get you off, to see you scream your release, to feel your arousal as it drips onto my fingertips.” His words stir something in me, and my body clenches, orgasm so close.
Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back, begging silently for the release to come. I need this orgasm more than I need to be safe and cared for. It’s a painful longing that twists my insides. If I beg out loud again, will he let me?
“Look at me.” His words are rough, almost a growl, and the feral sound alone is almost enough to send me over the edge. Not quite, but close. I pull my head forward and stare him down as he pulls his fingers away. “Open your mouth.”
My body screams for release; I don’t even question him. If pure obedience stops this ache, I’ll do whatever he says. Mouth open, I plead with my eyes, but nothing happens. He kneels there in front of me, eyes roaming over my face. What is he looking for? What is he waiting for? I’m obeying him. I’m doing what he says. Why won’t he get me off?
“Stick out your tongue.”