Anthony was seated cross-legged on the grass by the shore of the lake, painting. The beautiful blue sky above him was reflected in the still waters of the lake, birds sang all around him, and the trees bloomed with flowers.
It was a gorgeous landscape, but Sophie could not see it.
Her body was stretched out lengthwise across Anthony's lap, her back supported by his thighs and his small canvas spread on top of her flat stomach. Her legs were tied off to a tree, the rope taut and quivering. Her hands, cuffed together above her head, were tied off to another tree in the opposite direction, and the other end of that rope was attached to her clamped nipples, with the clamps screwed on the tightest setting. If she extended her arms to their fullest length, she could give her nipples some respite. But the muscles in her arms were aching, and she had no more strength in them. And so her nipples were pulled so hard that her breasts almost reached up to her collarbones, sending constant ripples of agony through her pain receptors.
Her cries were muffled by the inflatable gag within her mouth, strapped in over the ever-present ring gag. On top of that, Anthony had added an attachment that allowed him to fasten his palette to her gag. Cleverly (or so he thought), he had added sensors to the ridges of the palette. If any paint sloshed up over a ridge, her buttplug would feel it. Naturally, she was also blindfolded.
Sophie had performed marvelously today, Anthony thought. Only once in an hour had the buttplug activated, and even then she hadn't sloshed any more paint by wriggling from the shocks. She had truly become his living sex doll.
Having finished his painting, he set his paintbrush down, and let his right hand wander across her bare breasts. Gorgeous, he mused, as he stroked the smooth undersides. Her nipples were pulled so taut upwards, each touch in the vicinity must surely be sending fire through her skin. But still his palette remained steady.
"Good girl," he told her, cupping a breast with more force. She whimpered, and yet remained still.
He let his other hand wander between her thighs. She was, as usual, a positive waterfall. He hoped the grass wouldn't get drowned.
And still, the palette did not move.
"You aren't allowed to orgasm," he reminded her, as he slipped two fingers within her.
She must have been exceedingly close, after an entire week of subspace and sexual stimulation. Even bound as tightly as she was, it would have been easy for her to grind her clit against his hand and end her own torment.
But she didn't.
He explored her for his own pleasure, feeling her juices drench his fingers and spill out onto the grass. His other hand wandered over her breasts and nipples, stroking the taut skin. She whimpered and moaned and pleaded, but remained completely still and obedient.
"You've made so much progress, slave," he told her, sincerely. "I am so very, very proud of you."
She didn't, couldn't, respond verbally... but he could have sworn he saw her face turn radiant.
He slid out from his sitting position underneath her; without the additional tension, she had a few more inches of movement, and her poor nipples finally had some respite. The inflatable gag within her mouth was deflated and unstrapped. She moaned in relief, but it was short-lived.
Kneeling over her and gripping her hair in his hand, he raised her head slightly from the ground, and then plunged into her mouth without warning. The angle was difficult for her, and he hit the back of her throat hard, but he kept going. Her blindfold was soaked with tears, and rivulets of drool and snot ran down her chin. He pulled out to a shallow depth and finished on her tongue, knowing full well that she would be unable to swallow completely with the ring gag on, and that she would be tasting him for the rest of the afternoon.
After he was done, he stroked her hair briefly, then slipped the inflatable gag back in. He gave it a couple of pumps more than he had before, ascertaining that she could breathe, but just barely. Her cheeks were stretched out painfully, and any sounds she could make were extremely muffled. He tightened the rope holding her hands to the tree, removing any slack that her arm muscles and nipples might have enjoyed in the last few minutes.
She screamed through the monstrosity stuffed in her mouth, but he wasn't done. He turned the buttplug on to its periodic setting.
"It will stay on low until I wake up," he assured her, stroking her forehead as she strained against her bonds.
Then he stretched himself out on the grass and lay down with his head on her quivering thighs, falling asleep in mere seconds. Life was so, so good.
***
The second week passed in an endorphin-fuelled submissive haze for Sophie. She woke up, she put the (now rather large) buttplug in, she tightened her clamps, she did her hair and makeup. She fixed breakfast and had her first cock of the day. She cleaned the lakehouse in various types of restrictive bondage for Anthony's viewing pleasure. Throughout the rest of the day, she underwent rigorous positions, more cocksucking, and he came on various parts of her body or mouth. She drank sustenance through her funnel when Anthony decided, although to his credit he never failed to feed her three times a day.
She was so obedient now that she rarely earned any punishment, but Anthony's hands were twitchy. And what good was a slave if she could not serve as his plaything? In the evenings, he made a ritual of her bringing various impact play instruments to him and begging him to use them on her. He told her to choose the instrument, and to his surprise she chose the ones she knew he enjoyed for harder play, irrespective of her feelings towards it. She always brought him the cane and the belt, never the flogger, which he knew was her own personal favourite. His heart swelled.
He did not restrain her during the ritual canings, but left her hands free and told her to place them on the table and bend over. She did so, and held her position for as long as he desired, even when she was shaking and sobbing from the welts left on her bare behind.
She now fell asleep like a baby at night, even in the strict bondage that she had placed herself in.
Day 14 finally arrived, and the keys arrived in the mail as promised. Anthony had Sophie bring them to him from the mailbox, with her hands unbound. She could have at any time removed the ring that had kept her jaw stretched for a fortnight, or the corset that squeezed her ribs, or the high heels that made it take three time as long for her to get back to the house as it otherwise would've.
Of course, she did not. She entered the house, knelt, and presented them to him.
He took them from her.
"Would you like to orgasm, Sophie?" he asked her gently.
She looked up at him with wide eyes and nodded frantically.
He tied her arms behind her, with barely an inch between her elbows. Then he picked up her leash and led her to the shed at the back of the lakehouse.
He had been building this contraption for her for a while now, hoping that they would be able to use it as the culmination of the amazing fortnight that had passed. It was a large metal frame, with a hook at the top, and a wired plate on the front. There was a circular hole in the middle of the plate, through which a large dildo poked through - it was just a tiny bit less than 2.5 inches in diameter, which was the inner diameter of Sophie's ring gag. The dildo was mounted onto a screw stand that allowed one to push it further through the plate if desired, and to tighten it at the new position. The bottom of the frame had a spreader bar built into it, with leg cuffs on either end. Everything, naturally, had been built to Sophie's measurements.
Sophie was quivering with anticipation as Anthony hooked her up. Her wrists were tied off to the hook at the top of the frame, resulting in her arms being pointed upwards almost at a 90 degree angle to the ceiling, and in her mouth being forced towards the dildo, with the plate an inch or so from her lips. Her ankles were strapped into the leg cuffs, spreading them a few feet apart, and the clamps on her nipples were tied tightly to the spreader bar, stretching her poor tortured nubs just about as far as they would go.
The dildo was screwed forward into her mouth gradually, with Anthony checking each time whether her air supply had been cut off. He eventually arrived at the sweet spot where she could still breathe if she pulled her head all the way back, but pressing her lips onto the plate would block her air supply. Electrodes from the frame were then attached to her breasts, vulva, and buttcheeks.
When he was done, he saw that a sticky trail had already made its way from Sophie's cunt to the floor.
