She stands blindfolded, ankles bound to the heavy wooden cross behind her, arms bound behind her and fastened to a tight chain extending to the ceiling. She cannot change her position, only shift her weight from one foot to the other. She waits, not knowing how much time has passed, how long she has been bound. Only waiting on his pleasure.
He enters the room, a brief brush of air against her naked body, a whisper of his boot on the carpet. He says nothing. She hears the clink of metal against metal and the chain binding her arms slackens. He twines his hand through the hair at the base of her head and pulls her roughly to her knees. The chain tightens as she kneels. He slaps her hard across the face and forces her head forward until it meet his cock, freed from his jeans, the rough zipper scraping her cheek as she opens her mouth willingly to accept him.
Initially, she tries to control the movement of her head, to control the blowjob, but he doesn't allow her to this time. The roughly shoves his cock deep down her throat until she chokes on it initially, holding her there as she struggles internally to open her air passages to breathe around it. He pulls her away from his cock and she gasps in air, just enough before he shoves his cock back down her throat. Two more times he does this before he pushes her away from his cock and slaps her across the face again.
"Suck it right," he growls. She whimpers in protest, disappointed to have displeased him, even if unintentionally, and leans back toward him to take him back into her mouth. Her tongue and lips moving over his hard cock, worshipping him as only she knows how. She kisses and sucks and strokes him in and out of her mouth, feeling the rough fabric of his jeans against her face, revelling in the experience. She can feel the heat of her pussy, the moistness of her upper thighs, almost more strongly than the stroke of the hard cock in and out of her mouth. He moans above her.
"Good girl," he says, and then pushes her roughly away from him, zipping his jeans back up. The sense of loss overwhelms her, but there's another gush between her thighs. She kneels, head lowered, as he moves around the room. Suddenly he's kneeling in front of her, wrapping a rope around her chest, around her breasts, tightening until she can feel the pressure heavy in her breasts, her nipples tingling. He slaps each one once, twice, and then clamps her nipples. She breathes in roughly, the pain overwhelming her, she whimpers and tries to pull back. The chain on her arms makes that impossible. Any movement other than forward pulls uncomfortably on her shoulders. She straightens back up.
"Please, Master, please! It hurts," she whimpers.
"Quiet," he says sharply, "unless you want me to gag you."
She says nothing as he places clothes pins around her engorged breasts. The pinch of each torture on her excited nerves. She gasps and whimpers with each one. He shoves his fist between her legs, forcing them apart, forcing her an inch or so shorter as she makes room for his hand. Her arms are pulled further up behind him. She whimpers again, but says nothing, tense and taut from the position.
