Miss Blossom's Ordeal

Miss Blossom’s Ordeal

       “Well, well, what have we here?”

       Linda Blossom knew that voice.  It was the voice of Mark Conrad, the insuperable little creep from Information Management who had asked her out on a date last week.  If offering to buy her dinner and “fuck her into next Wednesday” could be considered a request for a date.

       When she’d seen him last week, his face had inspired only disgust and contempt in her, along with a sharp twinge of unacknowledged fear at the coldness behind his clear blue eyes.  Now, though, the sight of him struck terror into her, sending a ripple of icy shivers down her spine.

       The coup had happened swiftly, faster than their response team had been trained to react.  One minute it had been a perfectly ordinary day in November at the American Embassy in Ghana, the lobby buzzing with the chatter of the usual tourists, journalists, and researchers who comprised the Embassy’s daily visitors.  The next moment there had been gunshots, and Miller the security guard had been flung across the front of Linda Blossom’s immaculately kept desk, a red fountain spurting from the small black hole in the back of his head.

       Linda had hit the floor, and amid the screaming and chaos that ensued, someone had grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the back of the building and down a stairwell.  Linda had trusted him, for he had said in perfect American English, “Follow me!” with an air of command; and he had worn a suit.  But once downstairs, he had turned and she had seen the malevolence in his eyes.  By that time it had been too late for any heroics.  It was child’s play for him to force her back against one of the wooden upright beams, to shove her arms behind her and cuff her wrists together around the beam.  His hand had gone around her throat, and cold steel bands had snapped shut around her neck.  The metal collar was thick, perhaps two inches thick from top to bottom, and when Linda tried to move her head forward she learned that the collar was somehow attached to the pillar behind her.  Leaning forward at all made it hard to breathe.  She could barely turn her head from side to side.

He had left her there, alone, under the flicker of wan incandescent lights.  They had never had the budget to redo this basement, which served as a sort of makeshift storage room for the Embassy.  Upstairs there were new tile floors and florescent lighting, but here the floors were still the original stone pavers, and the only lighting came from bare incandescent bulbs stuck in the ceiling behind wire cages.  Like a medieval dungeon, some of her co-workers had joked.

       Minutes had ticked by slowly—Linda had no way of knowing how many—as the gunfire and shouts upstairs slowly died down, replaced by an unnatural and eerie silence.  She had been alone in the little room, surrounded by army green file cabinets and piles of yellowing paperwork, for what she judged must have been at least an hour, when there was the sound of footsteps down the hallway.

       Then Mark Conrad had entered the room, shutting the door behind him.  Now he stood in front of her with his arms crossed in front of his chest like a man who had just accomplished something great.

       “Hello, sexy,” he said, grinning at her.  There was blood splattered on the white starched shirt he wore, but it wasn’t his blood.

       “You—you traitor,” she said, and she noticed with embarrassment that her voice was breathy with fear.

       “Traitor, opportunist, call it what you like.  Someone made a offer that someone couldn’t turn down.  And someone let me into it.  But that’s none of your concern at the moment.”

       She felt herself go cold with fear as he stepped closer to her.  His eyes took in her wide eyes, her slightly parted lips, the pink tongue that came out to moisten the corner of her mouth.  Her blonde hair was curling in the damp heat of the room, strewn prettily around the silver collar adorning her white throat.  He watched her swallow, her throat convulsing as he took another step towards her.

His eyes drifted down to her breasts, the crowning glory of her person—and the feature that had attracted him to her when he began working there six months ago—her full, perfectly round, succulent breasts.  Even through the conservative fit of the white starched blouse, he could see their shape and size perfectly.  How many hours he’d spent staring covertly at those great full mounds, longing to sink his hands into their softness, to taste their strawberry tips, to lick and gnaw them until she screamed, to rub his face in the sweet line of cleavage that she sometimes revealed when she bent over—

       She had noticed him looking, like a wolf staring at a fresh kill, and was biting her bottom lip.  “Look—I’m—I’m sorry about what I said to you last week—about you being a dick—and, and a pervert—”

       Ignoring her, he began to undo his belt.

       “Please,” she continued, watching him nervously, her wrists tugging at the manacles behind her, testing them.  “Please, let’s talk about this.”

       He laughed, the belt in his hands now, folded in half.  “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?  How long I’ve wanted—these?”  The tip of the belt came out and brushed against her chest, and she drew her breath in, pressing herself back against the beam behind her.  “You had your chance,” he said.  “You had your chance, bitch, to play nice with me, and you screwed it up.  Now, we’re going to play naughty.”

       She suddenly saw him drop out of sight, and then she felt the belt wrapping around her legs, just above the knee, binding her legs tightly back against the wooden beam.  Unable to tilt her head down because of the collar, she was unable to see him.

       “Please, this isn’t necessary—we’re co-workers, we’re both Americans—”

       He tightened the belt until she gasped in discomfort, and locked it in place.  “As if that matters in a godforsaken hellhole like this.  When this is over, you, Miss Blossom, are going to wind up in a ditch somewhere, and no one will ever know what happened to you.  What happened between us, here.”

       He straightened and looked at her.  His hand came up to move a wisp of hair out of her face, and she tried instinctively to turn away, but the collar wouldn’t let her.

       Tears came into her eyes, and she swallowed again, hard, as he brushed the strand of blonde hair back behind her ear, his thumb caressing her cheekbone.

       “So beautiful,” he whispered, the backs of his fingers grazing her cheek, moving lower to touch the curve of her jaw.

       She was too frightened to say anything.  He was so close to her that she could smell his cologne, and his sweat, and the acrid tang of blood on his shirt.

       His hands drifted to the front of her blouse, and he touched one button, the one directly in the middle of her chest.  His thumb twiddled with it for a moment, and then he undid it, slowly, deliberately.

       She looked at him mesmerized, caught in his gaze like a mouse before a snake.  He undid the next button up, and the next, and then the last, until her blouse was open from the middle up.  Underneath she was wearing a white undershirt and a lacy white bra.

       His forefingers caught the neckline of the undershirt and pulled down.  When it refused to give further, he yanked at it until it tore, revealing the soft upper swells of her breasts nestled in the white lace of the bra.  The violence with which he ripped at the soft cotton betrayed the tightly-contained force of his passion, and as his fingers softly grazed the revealed upper swells of flesh, she shuddered.

       “Nice view,” he said mockingly, looking up from her cleavage to see tears of humiliation shining in her eyes.  He began to peel down the edge of one bra cup, edging the thin lace down over the fullness of her breast until the rose-pink nipple popped free.

       “Pinker than I imagined,” he said, and pushed the bra cup down until it sat completely underneath the breast, propping the breast up for presentation like a delicacy on a platter.  Then he slid the left cup down the same way, exposing her fully.

       They were as perfect as he had known they’d be, the globes full, heavy, but firm and perfectly round, like ripe peaches.  Resisting the urge to grab and maul them, he brushed the backs of his knuckles over her nipples, hearing her soft intake of breath at the contact.  He had waited too long for this moment to let it be over in a frenzy of passion.  He wanted it to last.

       Her nipples were large and more protuberant than he’d expected – he was surprised he’d never seen them poking through any of her tops.  He tickled them with his fingertips, until they hardened, and she gasped again.  Sensitive—he liked that.

       “How many men have you been with?” he said.

       Her eyes focused on him.  She didn’t answer.

       He took one of her hard nipples between his thumb and forefinger and began to roll it, back and forth.  “I’ll ask you again.  How many men have you fucked?”

       “That’s none of your business.”

       His fingers tightened on her nipple.  At first all that crossed her face was a flash of mild discomfort, but as his fingers squeezed down harder, discomfort turned to pain, and then to fear.  “Stop!” she cried, her body tensing.  “Stop it!”

       He let go suddenly, and she whimpered.  “How many?” he repeated.

       “Two,” she whispered.

       “Liar.”  He grabbed her other nipple, and she squealed in panic.

       “Please!  I swear!  Just my last boyfriend, and one other boy in high school!  Please, I’m not lying.”

       He looked at the desperation in her face, and then down at the full, swaying mounds just in front of his hands.  Slowly, he let himself cup her breasts with both hands, feeling the heavy, soft weight of her.  He groped her leisurely, squeezing until she tensed in apprehension, grabbing another handful, shaking the flesh to see it jiggle.  The urge to taste her was irresistible, and forcing the round mounds together, he bent over and ran his tongue up her the center of her cleavage.

       She flinched, making a sound of protest.  He didn’t give a damn, groping her breasts freely as he continued to lick her.  She tasted of woman, and salt, and soap.

       He straightened, and without warning, slapped her viciously across the left breast.  Caught completely by surprise, she shrieked.  The blow was repeated on her right breast, and she shrieked again, her body trying to buckle in half, to defend itself.  The collar and the belt around her thighs prevented her from moving at all.

       He grabbed her by both breasts and twisted in opposite directions, and she screamed.  “Please!  Stop, please!”

       He let go and slapped her breasts again, right, left, right, and then grabbed her by the nipples and yanked outwards brutally.  She screamed, trying to arch her chest out towards him to relieve the pressure as he yanked harder and harder, making her feel as though her nipples would be torn from her chest.  Letting go of the left nipple, he jerked as hard as he could on the right nipple, and began to slap the underside of her right breast with his left hand as it hung suspended in the air.  He was fascinated by the way the soft flesh rippled and swung back and forth, denting beneath the blows, as though in slow motion.  He ground his fingers of his right hand into the nipple, crushing it, and heard her scream again, tears running freely down her face now.

       He finally let go, and she broke down sobbing.  He took a step back, and then stepped forward again, on impulse, and grabbed her breasts with both hands again.  They were so big he couldn’t quite get his hands around them, and his hands were big.

       “What are they, a D?  E?”

       When she didn’t answer, he tightened his grip, and she sobbed, “Double E.”

       He slapped the left breast again, and she moaned, “Please stop!”

       The white flesh was beginning to bruise already, light purple marks showing under the pale skin.  He crossed over to the empty secretary’s desk in the corner of the room and began rummaging through the drawers.  He knew he’d find what he was looking for, because he’d stashed it there the night before, at the same time he’d been down here to weld the metal collar to the wooden beam.

       He came back holding a metal ruler.  Twelve inches of hard, flat, unyielding steel.  He tapped it against her cheek, and her eyes, which had drifted closed, fluttered open at the touch of cold steel.  The sharp corner of the ruler ran down her throat to her collarbone, and as she saw his eyes flicker to her bruised tits, she felt terror settle in her gut like a sack of rocks.

       “Please,” she began.  “I’ll do whatever you want.  Don’t hurt me.”

       Ignoring her, he used the sharp corner of the rule to poke into one of her nipples.

       “Please,” she begged.

       Raking the sharp point across her nipple, back and forth, made her stamp her feet helplessly on the floor in distress, moaning.  It was delicious.

       He raised the ruler, seeing her eyes locked on it in dread and desperation, his arm drawn back for a devastating blow, and brought the ruler down toward her breasts hard and fast.  She shrieked.

       The surface of the steel stopped millimeters from the flesh of her tits, hovering there, not touching her.  She exhaled sharply in terror, and he rubbed the cold, hard surface against her flesh gently, patting it.  Then he drew his arm back as if for a terrific blow, and she screamed in terror as she heard the metal come whizzing toward her.  Again the ruler stopped just short of its target, and this time she broke down, unable to take the mental torment anymore, and began to really cry.  That was when he actually struck her, the steel ruler smashing down across both breasts with all the force of a baseball bat, crushing them back against her ribcage like jelly, making her scream so piercingly that he was sure everyone in the building had heard her.  Not that anyone would care.

       The metal ruler had left a dark red imprint on both breasts, the red welt speckled with white striations and rapidly darkening to purple.

       “Please,” she sobbed, squirming desperately to get free.  “Please, you don’t know how much that hurts.”

       “Oh, I think I do.”  He hit her again, just as hard, aiming for both nipples, and hitting them both.

       She screamed again, small flecks of spittle flying from her mouth as the blow crushed both of her impressive globes back flat against her chest.  This time the edge of the ruler had broken her skin slightly where it had cut into her, not enough to bleed, just enough to leave a faint red line where the edge had torn across the tender flesh.  This was the point he aimed for with his next blow, flat across that red line of pain.  She screamed, hands fisting behind her, visible red scratches forming on her throat as she struggled violently against the collar in her desperation to get away.

       He swung the next blow up from beneath, catching first the underside of one magnificent breast, then the other, with the end of the ruler so the tit swung high up in the air, nearly hitting her in the chin before swinging back down to its original position, bouncing several agonizing times before lying still.  He enjoyed the sight of this so much that he repeated the performance several more times, watching her breasts fly up and down like seats on a swing set.

       Then he stood to one side of her and lay into her breasts in earnest, swinging the ruler like a batter aiming for a home run.  Smack, smack, smack, smack.  Ten blows, twenty.  The sound of the metal hitting her defenseless feminine flesh went on and on.  She screamed and screamed, and when he told her to shut up and she didn’t, he rapped her across the mouth with the ruler, splitting her lip open.

       “I’ll do whatever you want!” she screamed, her voice half sob, half wail.  “Please stop!  Please!  I’ll do anything!”

       “You know what I want from you, bitch?” he said, giving her a particularly vicious blow that slit open one of her nipples.

       “What?” she moaned.

       “I want you to suffer,” he said, and slapped the slit-open nipple as hard as he could with the ruler.

       By the time he stopped, he had given her over forty blows and her breasts, once so perfect and white, were mottled with dark red and purple welts.  There were small flesh wounds in places, a few beginning to ooze blood.  Her breasts were beginning to swell as well, and would continue to swell, until the flesh was hot, tight, and swollen.

       He set the ruler aside and took her breasts in his hands, and the sound that even that light touch drew from her her showed him the depth of her suffering.

       “Please, no, no more—please, please—”

       He could almost feel her breasts swelling under his hands, the flesh hot to her touch, the welts slightly rough and bumpy under his fingertips.  He stroked both her nipples at once, and she moaned in pain.  Reaching into his pocket, he felt around until he found his lighter.

       The snick of it made her eyes widen in an agony of terror.  “Please!” she screamed, “Please, no, no, no, noooo!”  There was a bit of blood around the collar now, where she had cut herself on it in her desperation to get free.  Cupping her right breast in his left hand, he flicked the lighter on and held the flame under her nipple.  She screamed like a banshee.  After a few seconds he let it go out and rubbed the nipple with his finger.  It was hot to the touch, rubbery, feeling slightly ashen.  He lit the flame again and held it under the same nipple, longer, until he saw the flesh just beginning to blister.  He let the flame go out, touched the nipple again.  The flesh felt very thin and delicate, and he could tell a water blister was going to form if he went on.  He lit the flame again, and again he burned her nipple, deliberately holding the flame still under it, letting the tongue of fire cover the entire nubbin of pink flesh.  When he finished this time, the nipple tip looked raw and pink, the flesh ready to tear at the slightest provocation.

       Then he let go of that breast and grabbed the other one.  He gave it the same cruel, slow treatment, roasting it and checking its condition until he was assured that the flesh had been burnt paper-thin, ready to burst at a touch, and the tissue there raw with nerve endings.

She was close to unconsciousness at this point, having screamed herself hoarse, and was slumping in her bonds, struggling to breathe as the collar choked her.  He reached up and undid the collar, and then unfastened the belt holding her knees to the pillar.

“I’m going to uncuff your wrists, and you are going to undress, do you understand me?  Any reluctance at all, any attempt to resist, and I’m going to take a piece of sandpaper and remove the skin of your nipples until all that’s left is raw bleeding stumps.  Do you understand?”

       “Y-yes,” she whispered hoarsely.  He stepped around behind her and freed her wrists, and she collapsed to the ground in front of the pillar, sobbing.  She was clearly exhausted, inside and out.  He kicked her in the belly.  “Strip, bitch.”

       She slowly pushed herself onto her knees and began to unbutton the remnants of her white blouse, shrugging it off.  It was slow going because her arms were dead and numb from having been bound behind her for so long.  Then she started to raise the undershirt over her head, being very careful not to let it touch her breasts.  As she got the hem of the garment right up to around her chest, he kicked her onto her side, and the cotton brushed roughly against the inflamed mounds.  She screamed in agony, and he laughed.

       “Stop fooling around and get undressed, you whore, or I’ll do it for you.  And believe me, I won’t be gentle about it.”

       She managed to pull the rest of the undershirt over her head, using it briefly to wipe her sodden face before tossing it aside.  Then she reached behind her gingerly and unhooked her bra.  It fell down around her waist, and she put it to one side with trembling hands, now nude from the waist up.

       “Cup them for me,” he said.  “Cup those big bouncing titties.”

       “Please,” she said, looking up at him, begging with her eyes.  “They hurt.”

       “Good.  They should.  Cup them with your hands.”  The look in his eyes said, Or else.

       After a moment’s hesitation, she did, slowly and very, very gently, barely touching the flesh.  The contact of her palms against the swollen, aching curves made her hiss in pain.

       “Squeeze,” he directed her.

       “Please, they hurt so bad—”

       “Squeeze, or I will.”

       She squeezed obligingly, crying out in pain as the deeply bruised flesh was crushed slightly beneath her own fingers.

       “Good.  Again.”

       She squeezed again, very slightly, her face twisting in pain as she looked up at him again, hoping to see some shred of pity in his gaze.  She found none.

       He smiled at her thinly.  “Slap them.”

       “Excuse me?” she said before she could stop herself.

       “Like this,” he said, and leaning over, grabbed her by the hair.  She covered her breasts with her arms instinctively.  “Move your arms,” he said.

       “Please,” she begged.  “Please don’t hurt me.”

       “Move your arms now, or I’ll tie you back to that post and give you another thirty blows with the ruler.”

       She lowered her arms to her sides, sobbing miserably.  He gave her a vicious slap across the left breast, the sound echoing in the room.  She shrieked, arms instantly going back over her chest, body curling in on itself as excruciating pain radiated through her.

       “Hit yourself like that.  With an open palm, from the bottom up.”

       She positioned her palm under her breast, her hand shaking violently, but then she paused, and lowered her hand again, crying.  “I—I can’t—”

       “Do it!”

       Her hand moved slowly into position again, trembled for a few pitiful seconds, fell away.

       “Please,” she wept.  “Please, it hurts so much.  Please, just leave me alone, please, I’m begging you—”

       He kicked her onto her side, and then got down on the floor and wrestled her onto her belly, twisting her arms up behind her back.  “Please!” she screamed in terror, “Please, I’ll do it, please, give me another chance—no, please!”

       He took a roll of duct tape from the table and bound her arms together behind her back, elbow to wrist, winding the silver tape around and around until her arms were completely covered in tape, even taping her fingers to her elbows, so that she was unable to so much as wriggle them.

       Then he straddled her waist and, grabbing her by the hair, yanked her head up until her breasts came up off the ground, forcing her spine into an awkward backward arch.  Then he slammed her face down into the ground, simultaneously crushing her breasts against the hard paving stones.  She made a horrible gurgling sound.

       “When I tell you to do something—” Raising her chest up off the floor again— “You do it!”  He slammed her face back into the stone floor, and this time he climbed onto her back, his knees pressing down into her bound arms, leaning all of his weight into her so her breasts were crushed into the floor.  He rocked his weight from side to side so the mounds were crushed back and forth, again and again.

       She begged and begged for mercy.

       After several minutes, he finally climbed off of her and dragged her to her knees.  “Open your mouth,” he said.  There was a little blood coming from her nose where he had slammed it into the ground.

       She opened her mouth obligingly, too broken to resist.  He lowered his fly and took out his cock, hard and aching for the last hour.  “Put out your tongue,” he said.

       She did.

       “Lick it.”

       She did, sloppily, her tongue quickly coating with the viscous precum that had oozed copiously from the tip during her recent torture.  He groaned, looking down at her, her battered face, the look of pain in her eyes, her bound arms helplessly taped behind her, her enormous, swollen, purple breasts hanging down, within reach of a swift kick of his boots—

       She had taken the tip of his cock into her mouth and begun to suck on it, hoping to please him and end her ordeal, but he shoved her away.  “That’s enough.  On your belly.”

       She complied awkwardly, moaning as her beaten tits made contact with the ground, but desperate to obey his every word lest he rain down further pain on her.

       “Hips up,” he said, smiling cruelly.  She obeyed, wriggling her knees under her so she could raise her bottom up into the air, still covered by her skirt.  He reached over and groped her bottom through the skirt, and then flipped it up, revealing a white set of panties that matched her bra.  He yanked her panties down, baring her ass to his view.  It was a nice ass, as he’d told himself countless times in the months since his obsession with this woman had begun.

       “Please don’t hurt me,” she whimpered.

       “Hurt you?  Oh, you can bet I’m going to fucking hurt you.”  He slapped her bottom, hard enough to leave a mark.  “But if you don’t do what I tell you to, I’ll hurt you more.”

       “Spread,” he said, and she edged her knees apart reluctantly, the panties still caught around her thighs, exposing her pussy and asshole to his view.  His hand groped between her legs, one finger worming its way into her pussy, finding it tight, hot and dry.  He removed the finger and pressed it to her asshole, and she jerked forwards in shock, exclaiming, “No!”

       “What did you just say to me?”

       “Please, I mean—”

       “I’ll punish you for that later.  Get your ass back in the air and spread those legs.”

       She complied, raising her bottom again for his inspection, bracing herself as his inquisitive finger sought out her asshole and his fingertip prodded against it, seeking access.  She whimpered as the tip wriggled into the dry little orifice, forcing it open.  “Ever been fucked here before?”

       “No,” she moaned.

       “You’re going to love it.”  He shoved his finger deeper suddenly, and she shrieked in pain, hips going flat on the floor.  He held her down and wormed his finger around in there, deeper and deeper, as though rooting around for something he had lost, shoving the finger in and out of the dry orifice, raking the sides of her rectum with his fingernail.  She was screaming, trying to wriggle away, but he held her down and sodomized her repeatedly with his finger, drawing the digit out, forcing it back in roughly, deep, twisting it around.  “Please, take it out,” she begged.  “It hurts!  Please not there—take it out, stop!”

       Finally he withdrew his finger, leaving her a crying mess on the floor.

       “You deserve to be punished for your earlier outburst,” he said, his voice surprisingly quiet.  “And then afterwards, I’m going to fuck you in the ass.”

       “Please, not there—”

       “Shut up.”

       She did, her muffled sobs the only sound in the room.

       He took her by the hair and dragged her across the room to a hard-backed wooden chair by the table, where he sat down and yanked her facedown across his lap.  She moaned as her dangling breasts brushed over the cotton of his trousers to hang down pendulously in midair, swinging as he positioned her on his lap, making her bottom push pertly up into the air, as though inviting punishment.  With her arms still bound behind her, her sense of helplessness was complete.  One shove, and he could have her crashing to the floor, with no way to break her fall.

       From the desk he took a long curved object which she recognized as a dildo.  “Spread ‘em,” he murmured, and she did, apprehensively.

       There was a soft buzz in the room as he flicked a switch on the side of the dildo.  It began to vibrate softly.  He ran the quivering tip up the inside of her thigh, and she flinched.

       “Wider,” he said, and she spread her legs slightly further apart, feeling completely exposed, draped over his leg, naked, like a little girl bent over for a spanking.  He touched the tip of the vibrator to her pussy, running it up and down over the dry lips, and despite herself Linda registered the sensation as pleasure.  She had always been very sensitive to sexual stimuli of any kind, sometimes too sensitive, as her lovers had quickly discovered.

       The vibrator moved a little lower and pressed against her clit, and she couldn’t hold back a soft gasp as the vibrations strummed at her nerve endings persistently, arousing her in spite of the agony in her chest and the aching in her face and arms and almost every other part of her body.

       As he continued to hold the vibrator to her clit, Linda began to squirm in his lap, feeling herself begin to juice against her will.  He pressed the vibrator to the lips of her sex again, and this time the silicone head was met by a touch of wetness, and slid back and forth between her lips easily.  He slid the tip into her tight sex, and she moaned at the stretching sensation, unable to hold the sound back.

       “You dirty whore.”  He slid it deeper, beginning to fuck her with it slowly, and in spite of her humiliation and her pain, it began to feel good.  She knew he could hear her beginning to gasp with pleasure, but it wasn’t something she could control.

       He slid the vibrator deep, and she moaned.  Again and again, he slid it deep, making her ache deep inside, the sensation increasing until she knew she was sharply approaching climax.  He pulled the dildo out and held it against her clit, and she cried out, hips jerking into his leg.  He rubbed the vibrating tip against the little bundle of nerves, fretting at it, and she moaned and moaned, legs kicking and twitching.

       He pulled it away at the last minute, laying it down on the desk, and taking up the paddle, he brought it crashing down into her bottom.  She yelped in shock, still hovering on the verge of orgasm, as he began to beat her—there was no other word for it—with the heavy wooden implement, holding her down in his lap and hitting her over and over and over.

       The first three or four blows she took easily enough, but after that it started to hurt.  He beat her steadily, left right, left right, left right, ten blows, fifteen, twenty.  She moaned and cried.  Around twenty or twenty five she began to try to squirm to get away.  He held her down on his lap and kept going, enjoying the way her squirming made her rub up against his crotch.  When he finished with fifty, she was sobbing and her bottom was a bright glowing red.  He lay down the paddle and took up the vibrator, flicking it on and sliding the tip into her again.

       He slid it deep and began to fuck her with it.  For a few seconds there was no reaction, just the sound of her heavy breathing as she lay there with her bottom glowing red, and then he hit something sensitive inside her and she cried out, twitching.  He hit her there with the dildo again and again, working her until the dildo was slamming in and out of her as fast as his fingers could work it.  She was about to tip over the edge when he yanked it out again, leaving her empty and gasping, and set it back on the desk.

       He smiled at her soft mewl of disappointment, taking up the paddle again and laying into her ass once more, raining down blows on those round, red, jiggling spheres, making them bounce.  By the time he got to stroke ten, she was wriggling to get away, but he held her with his free arm and just hit her harder, whacking her with the heavy wooden surface as hard as he could, watching the rosy cheeks turn a deeper red, beginning to darken to purple.

       This time when he set the paddle down and took up the dildo, her legs fell apart for him willingly, glad for a respite from the pain, eager for the pleasure.  He flicked it on.  “Where do you want it?” he asked.

       Taken by surprise, she hesitated, not knowing what he meant.  He trailed it over her clit down to the lips of her sex, sliding it in a little.

       “Here?”

       She had to clear her throat before she could speak.  “Inside,” she said softly.

       He pushed it in, and she sighed, a sound of satisfaction, the sound of a woman aroused.  He drew it out and thrust it back in, aiming for the spot that had made her cry out before, and cry out she did, body bucking in his lap.  He hit her there again and again.  It didn’t take long for her to approach the edge this time.  He slowed as he heard her cries grow in urgency, and she cried out, a sound of frustration and need.  “Please,” she said, her voice breaking.

       He slid the dildo in and out languidly.  “Please what?”

       “Please let me come,” she said, realizing the absurdity of asking this man, her captor, her torturer, for such a thing, but too lost in her arousal to care.

       He made her cry out several more times, thrusting deeply into her.  Then he withdrew the vibrator and began to flick the tip over her clit, teasing her, not giving her enough to let her come.

       “Please,” she gasped, so close she couldn’t bear to be denied.

       “No,” he said, pulling the vibrator away.  Her sex was slippery and wet with her juices, and she whimpered as he pushed his fingers into her roughly, feeling her up.

       He pulled his wet fingers out of her and, jerking her to her unsteady feet, grabbed her by the throat and pressed his lips to hers in a ravaging kiss.  Then he threw her to the ground.

       Unable to catch herself with her hands, the fall was devastating.  She tripped and fell flat on her front, scraping her knee in the process, her chest taking the brunt of the blow.  The breath was knocked completely out of her, by the sheer force of the fall if not by the pain, and it was several moments before she could breathe.  By then he was on top of her, his fly open, cock in hand, his knees straddling her thighs.

       “Please, no,” she begged, “Please don’t fuck my ass, not there, please, anywhere but there—”  She felt the tip of his cock, slippery with precum, hot and throbbing, press against her asshole.  It was a terrible, unnatural feeling as he applied pressure, his breath hot in her ear, his body flush against hers, the tip of his cock forcing her little virgin pucker open, wider and wider, forcing it to spread.  She moaned as he slid the tip in, slippery with precum, and then forcing his cock deeper, till the head was seated inside of her.  She had no idea how thick he actually was, but he felt enormous, more than large enough to rip her delicate bottom to shreds.

       She heard him groan into her ear, a groan of long-denied lust, and then he thrust his hips forward, driving his cock straight down into her virgin ass.  It slid a few slow inches and stuck.  She screamed, feeling torn open, but he simply pulled out slightly and speared into her again, holding her down by the shoulders as she tried to squirm away, arms still bound behind her back, beginning to go numb under the strict bindings.

       It hurt more than she could ever have imagined.  Tears dripped down her face as he pulled out slightly and thrust again, this time managing to slide almost completely home.  It was such an alien, invasive feeling, feeling his thick, hard member in the depths of her tight rectum. She could feel the heat of herself around him, could feel his heat burning into her.

       He began to withdraw, and she felt like she was being pulled inside out.  “Fuck,” she heard him gasp, as his cock drew free of her ass.  He pressed the tip to her pucker and shoved it inside again, and she moaned.  “Fuck yes,” he groaned.  He held her down by the shoulders and rocked his hips into hers, shoving his cock several inches into her at once.  Undeterred by her begging for him to be gentle, to go slow, he began to rut into her, his hips humping hers in the age-old cadence of sex, his thick member pulling and tugging unmercifully at the delicate membranes of her rectum, making her shriek in pain and fear that he would tear her until she bled.

       She hated it when he shoved deep and, quickly realizing this, he began to dick her deep and hard, pulling out halfway and then thrusting as deeply as he could, making her squeal.  He could feel her ass spasming and clenching around his cock as he thrust, squeezing him like a slick leather glove.  Again and again into her buttery depths, hearing her beg him to take it out, hearing her say it felt so wrong, it hurt—thrusting harder, pinning her hips to the ground with his hips and just rutting away like an animal, hard and fast, until she was screaming in pain.  Fucking her like a fucking bunny rabbit, like a dog, just humping and humping her into the ground.

       He reached under her to grope her purple breasts, squeezing them so that she screamed louder, finding the taut, swollen, burnt nipples with his fingers and flicking them so she howled, fighting to get away.  He mauled her breasts without restraint, squeezing the deeply bruised flesh again and again, using her breasts as handholds as he fucked her ass, on and on, making it last as long as he could, loving the sound of her begging and screaming and crying, saying it hurt, he was hurting her, she couldn’t take it anymore, please, please, take it out, not my nipples, please stop, make it stop—

       Unable to hold back any longer, he finally came inside of her, thrusting as deep inside of her as he could get, slamming home so hard he was pretty sure he had ripped something, his cock buried deep in her hot, tight depths as he groaned his pleasure into her hair, his fingers clawing into her breasts, making her ass tighten and spasm around his cock, milking him.  His hot white cum spurted into her colon, burning her like acid, and she sobbed brokenly as he continued to thrust, once, twice, thrice, begging him, enough, please stop, no more, she couldn’t take it—

       When he was finally done, he lay on top of her, letting his full weight crush her into the stones, until he could hear her gasping, struggling to breathe.  Then he got up, his cock slurping wetly out of her ass.  He forced her ass cheeks apart to survey the damage he had done and noted with satisfaction that her once pristine and untouched asshole looked thoroughly fucked, the rim red and swollen, the hole itself gaping open slightly.  Cum streaked with a tinge of red was spilling from the orifice.

       He pushed his finger into her asshole, and she cried out in pain.  He finger-fucked her for a few moments, just because he could, knowing she was probably unbearably sore down there.  On a whim, he fetched the dildo he had used on her pussy earlier.

“You wanted this in you?” he said, and he forced it into her ass, making her scream in panic as he pushed it deeper and deeper, deeper than even his cock had reached, until the whole of it disappeared inside of her.  Then he forced her into a sitting position, with her legs crossed under her, so that her weight was forced onto her bottom, shoving the dildo even deeper inside of her.  He grabbed her by the hair and raised her bottom off the ground, and then let go, so that her ass cheeks smacked into the ground with punishing force.  She screamed.  He did this repeatedly, until she retched.  She begged him for mercy.  He laughed. 

Then he rolled her onto her belly and made her push the dildo back out.  With great effort she got about half of it out, moaning like a sick animal in pain.  He put the tip of his boot against the end of the dildo and shoved it back into her ass, ordering her to push it back out again.  Sobbing miserably, she managed to get it a few inches out this time before he again thrust it back into her roughly, making her scream.

       “Please take it out,” she begged.  He had turned the vibration onto its strongest setting before sodomizing her with the dildo, and he had no doubt the vibrations felt very unpleasant against the sore, chafed membranes of her ravaged rectum.

       “Get it out yourself,” he said, laughing.  He turned to leave, and then turned back, as though remembering one more thing.

       He dragged her to her knees.  “Open your mouth,” he said.  She did, eyes half-lidded, vacant with anguish.  “I’m going to piss in your mouth, and you’re going to swallow every drop I give you.  Every drop you spill, you’re going to pay for, understand?”

       She nodded, her eyes glazing over with misery.  He pulled his cock out and shoved the head into her mouth.  “Suck it,” he said, and she did.

       He began to piss into her mouth, savoring the uncontrollable grimace of distaste that crossed her face as the bitter fluid hit her tongue, watching her eyes bulge as her mouth filled up with urine.  He stopped for a moment, withdrew.  “Swallow,” he instructed, smiling.  She did.  For a moment he thought she was going to be sick, and then she gave a small sob and looked up at him.

       “I can’t,” she said.

       “Open your fucking mouth,” he said, “Or I’ll beat you black and blue.”

       She opened her mouth, hot tears spilling down her face.  He shoved his cock into her mouth again, deeper this time, until she gagged, and began pissing down her throat.  This time he directed the stream straight down the back of her throat, giving her no time to swallow or adjust, and she choked, her face going red as he held her head to his crotch and kept pissing, feeling her thrash and gurgle.  “I feel teeth, girl, you’ll wish you were dead.”

       She gagged and retched, but her mouth stayed open.  He had a lot of piss to give her.  By the time he finished her eyes were fluttering shut from lack of air.  He finished and shoved her head away, and she put her head down and was violently ill.  He laughed.

       “Welcome to your new life, Miss Blossom.  From now on you’ll be seeing me in this room once, perhaps twice a day.  Thrice, even, if you’re lucky.  I look forward to tomorrow’s visit.”

       He kicked her in the ass on impulse, sending her sprawling flat across the stone floor, and left the room.