Enchainment

You gave me a pill with dinner, and I'm tired and too distracted by my work-day to question you. I eat and bathe and stumble through my bedtime routine; I clean up as usual without thinking much about it: legs and cunt smooth, vagina douched and ass and anus cleaned gently with gloved fingers and warm soapy water as you always insist. Teeth brushed, hair brushed out and long and loose, body smoothed with lotion. I pick up the collar, where you left it for me beside the sink and buckle it into place. Then I doze off in bed, naked, waiting for you to come out of the shower.

When I wake up, your voice in that deep, demanding tone calling my name, I'm chained.

Not just the collar, although I can feel it, fitted around the base of my throat. But other chains, rubbing against my skin with chill, chiming sounds. One is attached to the aching nubs of my nipples, the silvery metal of them biting solidly against the protrusions. A clamp for each breast, with a chain that splits in two to attach them; the other end of the y-shape tether is in your hand, though it's slack and clinking.

Other chains dangle from your fingers, too, loose ends chiming; the attached ends? I shiver with apprehension to look down and see. One is on my clit - I should not be so surprised - and while the metal is edged with some soft material, the pressure is a sharp spike of pain when you move your hand; it's also a low, pulsing pleasure as the beat of my heart forces blood through the trapped bundle of nerves.

The other chain is harder to comprehend; it sways between the two others, splitting in half to feed through loops attached to the clamps on my breasts; the weight is heavier than the other one connected to the clamps themselves. Then the two parts rejoin, feeding downwards through a similar loop on the clamp on my clitoris; from there, it disappears, hidden by the folds of labia on my naked cunt.

I'm kneeling astride your knees, having been posed apparently in my drugged sleep, and my hands are bound behind my back; I can feel a chain attached to the tight cuffs; it rubs cruelly between my buttocks, and I realize the other termination of the third chain. I look up at you, and almost fall forwards when you jerk slightly on the chains; the pain is briefly horrendous, but fades into such stimulation that I moan.

The chains are in one of your hands, and there is a remote in the other; I do not know what it operates. It could be the collar, the insidious collar that you fitted me with. It's original design was for noisy pets, but this one you made yourself, and I hate it, but when you use it, I feel my body grow soft and my pussy grow slick, because you like to use it when I come. Like a trained beast, I can't help but think of that white-hot stab of pain as part of pleasure. The last time you used it, I was bound beneath you, coming and screaming as the little vibrator pulsed in my ass and your cock pounded deeper inside me than I knew was possible.

Thinking about that, I squirm, and the chain between my legs rubs against tender flesh. The remote has to be for the collar, because there are no vibrators that I can feel; no tortuous ripples from within. I look back up at your face, and you're grinning wickedly at me.

Your hand puts the remote on the bed beside you and gathers up a handful of my loose silvery hair; you tug harshly on it and on the chains as well and bring me forwards, my breasts against your thighs, although the slick fabric of your pants is almost as stimulating to the heavy bruised flesh as your skin.

You let go my hair and undo the fly of your pants, baring the heavy length of your cock; your hand then twists in my hair again, behind my head, pushing. I obey.

From this angle, it's hard to take more than half of your thick rod in my mouth, but you are still pressing, and I gag once around you as you slide into my throat. Then you push the loose locks of my hair out of my eyes and peer down at me. "If I feel your teeth" you point out, "even once, I will make you regret it in bruises."

I murmur obedience around you, working my tongue, trying to swallow. But I don't realize how much of a challenge that is until you pick up something else from beside the bed - a long-handled riding-crop. The braided leather looks harsh, and when you bring it down across my backside I sob and wince away - which tugs on all the chains and make me moan and gag around you.

Then you do it again.

I don't know how I avoid touching your beautiful cock with my teeth, but I do, and the tears that immediately roll down my face disappear into the curls of your hair that my lips are pressed against. I can't pull away - the chains - so I can't bob my head, slide you in and out to please you. I can only swallow, and hum, and arch my throat to snatch a breath through my nose, work my tongue on the veined sides of your shaft.

You whip me ten times.

By the end of it, my ass must look like a tic-tac-toe board of scarlet welts, and the rest of me is burning, and waves of pleasure-pain roll away from each clamp and I can feel the chain over my cunt sawing back and forth, wet with my liquor.

"Good little slave," you murmur, and give a bit more slack, so I move my mouth up to the head of your cock and suck, my jaws aching with release. I tease the cap of you with my tongue, my lips, then descend and suck your balls into my mouth, one by one. When I release them, I look up at you, feeling you flex; your hard cock bobs against my face and I rub against it, eyes closing.

You push it back into my mouth, shove my head down, and then you reach for the remote. The collar arcs, sending a spike of agony through my head; the terminals are at the back of my neck, the nape, tender and sensitive. The shock makes my muscles lock, and as you slide out of my mouth, my teeth graze you - the merest bit - and you snarl in triumph.

"Ahh. Maybe you're not such a good slave, after all," you say, smiling, and slide out from beneath me. Still trembling with the collar's effect, I flop forward, my face turned sideways, my ass in the air. With a minimum of fuss, you pass the ends of the chains between my knees, so they run down my body, though the third, with it's attachments, still rises up to my tits before running back down. And with you behind me, the tension on the other chains seems to increase. The clamps on my breasts don't mitigate the rough stimulation of the sheets against me, either.

You lean forwards and fit a gag into my lips, the soft one that makes it impossible to breathe through my mouth and muffles most of my noise. Your hand comes down hard on the welts on my ass, the spanking much more like a caress than the whip, but it still stings. You do it a few more times, jerking slightly on the chains between each blow, and then you stop.

I feel my wrist-shackles shift and the weight of them lessen, and the chain slithers down between my ass-cheeks and falls away. I hear it clink, and then I hear a buzz of metal. The noise makes no sense, and I am still trying to fathom it when I feel the pressure of a very large latex item being pressed into my slick cunt: a vibrator, I assume; despite my arousal and sopping folds, you have to push hard. I'm tight, always, and it's nearly as big as you are. Chains bob against my folds and I realise the buzzing noise was the chain being threaded through the vibrator's base.

Everything is connected to that chain.

I wait for the final intrusion: you've always liked putting a vibrator in my ass; and while I've never had anything larger than the three-inch bullet vibe in there, it always is so powerful. I am shocked to find I am looking forwards to it, anticipating the invasion, the hot painful insertion and the pleasure that comes after.

It's not the vibrator that you slide in. Instead, the blunt, velvety head of your cock, hot and slick with some kind of oil, presses against the pucker of my nether flesh and then your hips jerk roughly, shoving you several inches deep into the tight, never-before-fucked depths of my ass. For a moment I'm grateful for the oil, until I realize it's purpose is to make your way easier, not soothe my violated sphincter.

You tug the other chains up, between your hip and my buttocks, and they lay across the welted skin to where you have begun to rest your hands on the curve of my hip. Kneeling between my bent and splayed legs, with your cock raping a few inches of my anus and your hands gripping me tightly at the hip, you are the perfect height, the perfect angle to ravage me thus, and you do it, slowly at first then more and more roughly.

It's agony; I haven't breath enough to scream, and couldn't, with the gag, but after a minute of slow, brutal thrusting I feel your balls bob against my cunt and the strength of your thighs pressed up against me and realize you're hilted in my ass. Between the huge size of you and the dildo in my cunt, I feel indescribably spread; stretched out for use, for your pleasure.

Your pleasure, I remind myself. For certain it's not mine.

I don't want to enjoy it, the pain still too present and the threat of it's return more likely a promise. But there's a sense of near-completion, a little like when you are hilted in my wet pussy, that sense of fulfillment. This is darker and crueler and I am still hurting, but every slight movement tweaks the chain on my clit and tugs a little at the thing inserted in my slick sex, and that feels good. It wars with the rest. I am not able to move or speak or struggle, so every sensation is multiplied.

You lean over me in the extended pause, and let go a hip to reach for the remote on the bed, and I tense, waiting. The pain of your presence in my ass has ebbed, though I know the moment you move it will return; if you turn on the collar and thrust, I have no doubt I will black out in moments. I hear the start of the button clicking in the endless moment of frightened anticipation, and instead of the wash of pain, the lightning-strike, it's a hum-throb-pulse of sheer pleasure: the vibe is on.

I didn't know that the chain, threaded as it is through the base of the thing, would vibrate too, but it does. It does, against the painfully sensitive nub of my clit that is pinched outward by the clamp. You drop the remote and it rolls against my knee, and I feel you yank the tether on my breasts roughly.

The clamps slip off, and the shock of intense pleasure-pain hits me just as the vibe moves into a deeper, heavier tremor. And then you pull out of my ass, and thrust in again, and awash with too many sensations, I orgasm so intensely that the vibrator is half-shoved out of me and you groan as the grip of my muscles on your cock tightens like a hot velvet vice.

If it weren't for the tight grip of your hands on my hips - the promised bruises - I'd have slumped flat on the bed, unable to keep my knees locked. But you hold me up, and you thrust again, the vibe being pressed in as you press in, the double fucking stirring the waves of pleasure higher. The keen throbbing of my breasts and nipples, the hot, rough violation of my ass by your oiled shaft, the deep pulsing of the vibe - it's all too much sensation in the wake of orgasm, and while I know the juices of my pleasure are running slickly down the inside of my thigh, I can't quite understand why the pain still pulses too. I'm wet, I think blankly in the wake of your next thrust. Why does it hurt when I'm so wet?

A few minutes of blank and thoughtless pleasure-pain, it seems, go by; thrust after thrust, your hands gripping as you shove deeply into my backdoor, your sounds of pleasure deep and guttural. It's feeling good - so good I can't quite fathom it - when you are in. But the motion rasps and burns and I wince away from your hips every time you jerk forwards. You pause, before the next thrust. I feel you bend sideways, without pulling out completely; oil again, poured on the conjunction of your shaft and my no-longer-virgin ass. The next slide is only a little better, but the one after?

I moan around the gag. Oh, god - it feels different, and amazing and after the burn of the fucking I've taken so far, the oil and your cock together are so damned good. I feel so replete when you're balls-deep and the odd stimulation of your outward slide is like a pressure-wave, building. I've come before because of the vibe in my ass, and I know that those backdoor orgasms are slow and intense, but this is well beyond anything you've done to me before.

It's hard to breathe in this position, and you are forcing more air out of my lungs with every rabid thrust. I shift, trying to lift myself a little, and you reach forward, dig your fingers through the collar and lift me. I can't breathe at all now, with the tight strap yanked against my throat and the gag muffling my gasps. It's all too much, the lack of air, the over-stimulation, the chain and clamp on my clit and the vibe in my pussy, the way you are solidly, relentlessly buggering me. I am close to panic and close to orgasm and it's all got to happen at once or I might die.

I feel like I already am, the waves of sensation are so overwhelming.

My hands, dull dead things in this, useless and bound, flex and are sluggish, but I wrap them together in a praying gesture and lift them a little off the small of my back. My signal, my plea - I've never used it before.

You immediately let go of the collar, then catch my torso as I slump towards the bed, your arm under my ribs. Your other hand yanks the clamp off my clit and the chains fall in a pile beneath us, hanging from the vibe still pulsing in my cunt; in between that sudden excruciating release and the inrush of oxygen and the way your thrusts shorten and sharpen in my ass, I'm coming again, coming hard enough that my noise is loud even through the gag.

The release turns my vision pretty damned dark and if it weren't for the way you start talking - telling me how hot that was, how proud you are of being the one to take all my cherries, how you're going to come raping my ass and how good it felt with that ass coming while you fuck it, how you're going to do that again and again - I think I would pass out. But the words hold my attention just long enough to feel your hips jerk, stutter, jerk hard against me, and then I feel you come.

My ass was always yours, but now you pull out of it this first time and I feel your hot semen follow, oozing, joining the tide of slick fluid I've already released, I feel like you've claimed it. I slump under you and you fall on me with your full weight, whispering in my ear as I drift in the aftermath.

"Good little slave," you tell me. "You did well. So beautiful, baby."

I'm boneless and weightless and covered in sweat and leaking come from cunt and ass; tears have dried on my cheeks and saliva in the corners of my mouth, around the gag. My ass is reddened with whip-marks and hand-prints, my hips - one bruised with fingers, one impressed purple with the marks of fingers and links of chain - and my breasts are mauve-tipped instead of rose. I'm one big fucking bruise inside, I'm sure, and the vibrator you shoved in my cunt is sending painful-sweet waves through all of it. I don't feel beautiful, but I feel thoroughly fucked. Thoroughly enjoyed.

You release my wrists from the shackle, roll me over, tease the gag out of my mouth and smooth back my hair. The remote, bobbing near my thigh, you fish out of the tangle of sheets and hit a switch: the vibrator briefly goes into high gear - and I arch up in hopeless pleasure - before dying. You slide it out, leaving it wet and heavy on my belly.

I ignore it, staring at you while I can, while my eyes stay open. I'm tired, a limp, wrung-out tangle of sweat-and-come-soaked skin, and I am too used-up to argue. You lift me out of the bed, bridal-style and carry me into the bathroom.

"You did really well, my darling," you murmur as you lower us into the warm, already-filled bathtub. I'm sitting upright with you behind me, breasts floating. The mirror wall ahead lets me see your face anyway. "We'll have to do that again."

I want to say no, maybe even I move my mouth to mime the word, but you just laugh. "Oh, no, babe, no 'no's from you. You'll kneel for me again and I'll rape your tight little ass. And you'll come when I do."

You're probably right. You usually are.

"Someday you'll beg me to do it," you point out. "You'll beg for me to rape your ass with my big cock, just like you beg to suck me when you used to hate it. Like you beg to have me spank you, like you plead with me to fuck you harder and harder. Remember? You didn't think you'd beg for those things, did you?"

I shake my head, slowly, not sure if I'm disagreeing or agreeing. You bathe me, your fingers dipping into my slippery cunt, then into my abused ass. You pull them out again, then push them back in, more fingers in and shoving. With my legs up, propped on the edges of the tub and my wrists braceleted in marks from the cuffs, you toy with your new entrance. I feel you harden against me, your enjoyment of the novelty becoming obvious.

"Will you beg for me to fuck your ass, little slave?" You whisper in my ear, your chin bumping against the collar still tight around my neck. You lift my hips and settle your cock against the stretched-open pucker, and your fingers move upwards, stroking my over-sensitized clit. "Beg for it, babe. Beg me to rape you in the ass."

"No" I gasp, but you start to pull me down, the hard wet flesh driving up, piercing me. The flash of pain and throb of pleasure blend and I know: I might not beg this time, but I will, in the end. I'll kneel and hold my ass open and beg for it, some day, just because you want me to.