Her syrupy sweet voice floods my brain, sending out the knee-jerk reaction to snarl at her like an injured animal. Nothing about her is real. She’s as fake as the breasts she has hanging from her chest. I refuse to answer her. I’m no one’s “good boy,” and I don’t plan to start anytime soon.
Ryker tried to mold me into his good boy, force me to be his golden child, but even then, a part of me refused. There was nothing good about me. Even the things I did right were all wrong. The fact that at least two of these assholes have referred to me as such is enough to set my teeth on edge.
When the quack said it, he sounded far too close to Ryker for comfort. But when this cunt said it, it just made me angry. I was forced to submit to Ryker. It was either do what he said or suffer. But with these few, the pain will be momentary. I’m not beholden to any of them.
When I don’t give her what she wants, her lips thin with her displeasure. “I see. So a bad boy it is then.”
Circling around the dais, she slides up behind me, her lips hovering over my ear. The hot wash of her breath against the side of my face sends goosebumps down my spine, despite shoring up my defenses against her wiles. Reaching around, she grabs my cock in her hand and slides up and down, dragging a ragged groan from my lips.
“Why do you fight this,” she whispers against that hollow point between my jaw and ear, pausing to lick said area before pulling back. “I feel you pulse in my hand. Just give in. Let me pleasure you.”
“Get your hand off me, whore.”
Instantly, her hand is gone. She whirls around the pole until we’re face to face, eye to eye. As if in slow motion, I watch as her hand lifts into the air and comes crashing down on my cheek with a loud smack. Smatterings of gasps fill the air, no doubt coming from the few submissives that haven’t watched a Domme at work.
The pain zings through me, sending a jolt of pleasure through my shaft. My balls tighten until they’re angry, and the need to come bounces through my body like pinballs in the multi-ball round. Once more, her lips curl into a smile, but there’s no humor there.
“You know, I was planning on giving you a reprieve, some pleasure before the others had their way with you, but you’re just an ungrateful little boy that needs to be taught a lesson.”
Walking to the edge of the dais, she snaps her fingers and holds out her hand. It takes several minutes, but soon some bits of metal are placed in her palm. Her eyes never leave mine.
“You’re a girthy boy, aren’t you?” Bending low, she kisses the tip before dragging the edge of her tongue along the slit.
I’m unable to stop her. Even as I thrash about, she steals pleasure from me, forcing me to feel things I don’t want to. I want nothing to do with this bitch, and yet, I can’t push her away. Twining my fingers around the ring my cuffs are attached to, I ignore the blinding pain and yank up, pulling my knees to my stomach before kicking out.
Luckily for her, she has fast reflexes and ducks to the side so my toes graze her instead of knocking her away. Her eyes narrow into slits as she approaches me, and a tendril of unease wraps around my body. She’s just a woman, but she’s also not alone.
The men around the dais lurch forward, as if to help her, but she raises her hand, palm up, to indicate that they need to stay put. Even as hardened Dominants, they obey her word as law. What manner of woman is this?
Without saying a word, she storms over and grabs my balls, digging her nails into the sensitive skin. I swallow a yelp, not wanting to give her an advantage over me, but it’s no use. She knows how to crush a man, literally. All she has to do is tighten her grip further, and my nuts will pop like balloons. At least, that’s how it feels on my end.
Searing pain surges up my dick, forcing it to flag. This is not the type of pain I'm familiar with. Ryker never tortured me there, and so my body responds in a negative way by getting soft and flopping against the back of her hand. With a Cheshire-like grin, she pulls the balls forward, dragging my hips with it.
Such small organs, yet capable of bringing even the strongest man to his knees. I never knew I could detest this part of my anatomy as I do right now. Gritting my teeth, I wrap my fingers around the metal ring, letting that pain settle me, dragging my mind off of what she’s doing to my lower half.
Once she has me arched away from the pole, she releases my balls and snaps her fingers again. This time, two younger men climb up onto the dais and kneel at her feet, foreheads scraping the ground. It fills my gut with a churning disgust. Even Ryker never made me show that level of devotion. Is this something she will demand of me?
If so, she’ll be in for a rude surprise. Now that I’m free of that monster, I kowtow to no one. The only reason any of these jackasses are allowed to touch me and hurt me is that it serves the greater good.
Everything I’m doing, everything I’m enduring, has the end goal of stabbing back at the Ravens. And for that, I’m willing to tolerate a lot. What I won’t allow, however, is some bitch cuckolding me, twisting my mind until I have no other desire but to serve her. She doesn’t deserve it, at least not from me.
The sycophants bowing before her are undoubtedly into that, which is fine for them, but I’ve told her repeatedly that I’m not a submissive. Moreover, I’ll never be her submissive.
Again, that phantom voice brushes against the inside of my skull, drilling into my brain with far more pain than her fingers. Ryker’s voice calls out in the dark corners, chiding me, jeering me, demanding I show this woman what type of man I really am.
But I can’t.
I’m helpless.
It’s either submit to the initiation or be back out on the streets with no protection. Once I’ve endured this and come out on the other side, I’ll have nothing more to do with them or their stupid rituals. I’ll be my own man and find my little submissive - the blue-eyed rabbit that had the audacity to run. For her sake, she better have little to no limits. That way, I can play my way but still be in their sandbox.
It’s not the same thing as Ryker abusing me. That never had an end date. This, however, will all be over once I get through the last few people. I just have to survive the mistress of pain and her iron grip first.
“Bind his legs. I want them stretched out wide.”
Without a word, the two rise up, and each gloms onto a leg, pulling me as far apart as I can go while keeping my feet on the floor. From off the ledges of the dais, cuffs with chains attached to them flop over. The guys work quickly, locking the cuffs in place as the unknown strangers below the dais pull the chains through, keeping me immobile.
“Thank you. I will reward you later.” Bending low, she kisses them, and their soft moans of gratitude fill the space.
Turning back to me, she flashes another bit of metal, one I don’t recognize completely. It’s a series of rings that turn downward, mimicking a flaccid dick. From what I’ve seen in Malum, this could very well be a cock cage. If she thinks putting that on me will make me upset, then she’s dumber than I thought.
With a cock cage in place, she can’t stroke me anymore. She can’t force an unwilling orgasm on me. So let her cage me up and take her fun away. I’m more than ready for her to come to the understanding that she will not break me.
She struggles for a moment as she forces the rings around my girth. It’s painful, but nothing I can’t handle. Even now, my body is already so overloaded, my pain receptors stimulated to max capacity, that I barely feel it. It’s as if I’m hovering over my body instead of residing in it.
Once she gets the cage in place, I look down, grinning at the metal surrounding my length. But my humor is short-lived. Just because my dick is encased doesn’t mean that my balls are no longer at risk. Her thin fingers rise upward, smacking me.
On instinct, everything tightens up as I try to get away. Pain shoots up my spine and zips back down to lodge into my balls, sending more nausea rolling through my gut. And with all of this, both the dean and the other initiators just stand there watching.
Has no one crossed a line yet? I thought these Loftry assholes were going to be soft, manageable, hiding behind their walls of “propriety and limits,” but I was wrong. I was more wrong than I’ve ever been in my entire life, even worse than when I misjudged Ryker. I was a kid then, easily misled. But I’m a grown-ass man that made the conscious decision to not take them seriously.
Her soft laughter rakes against my sensitive skin, drawing my rage back up to the surface. I want to lash out. I want to tear through all these motherfuckers like the wounded animal I am, but just one look at Shrinky Dink’s smug face is enough to help me tamp it back down.
He wants me to lose my cool. He’s made no pretense about that. Knowing him, he orchestrated each of these people to test my calm, test my reserve. It’s the need to prove him wrong that keeps me from snarling as Mistress Bitch squeezes my balls again.
The pain down here is far worse than in my fingers, and for the first time, I feel a sense of gratitude toward Ryker. Then again, it was probably self-preservation on his part. He had to make me like what we did so I’d keep doing it. If he caused pain in my balls or dick, I probably wouldn't have kept coming back to him, desperate for his “loving” touch.
“Listen, you little maggot,” she hisses, her fingers tightening around the sore orbs once more. “I get that you’re not a submissive, but don’t you ever dare fucking try to hurt me like that again. Cornered or not, you have no right to kick me.”
“And that’s where you’re wrong, bitch,” I hurl back toward her. “You have no right to place any bit of your anatomy on my cock or balls. Those belong to me and not you.”
“Oh, you poor, sweet, summer child. That’s where you’re wrong. Unless you cry out that you give up and want out of The Society, I own every fucking inch of you.”
“Is that how you get your rocks off? Did you do this to the other guys wanting to initiate?”