Pretty as a Picture

(written by my lovely angel, Diana after the scene described herein)

*

She hung there in a state of complete depletion, the fact that the phrase itself was an oxymoron not escaping her notice. The mental exhaustion was almost harder to bear than the physical exhaustion, which was strange because she'd always considered her strong mind one of her best assets. In lots of ways, he was teaching her that she was his vessel, his alone ... and that she must come to accept it if she was ever to find true happiness. Meaning that her mind must begin to accept it as well. I know way more about ginger than I ever wanted to, she thought to herself, just as another wave of cramps clamped down on her intestines, a leftover reaction to what was just one of several indignities visited upon her body over this past night. At least it no longer felt like there was a fire burning in her gut. That had finally stopped after she'd expelled the last of the detritus from her intestines and felt it drip all the way down her legs and off her feet.

She'd had lots of time to think, hanging there on the wall for the last several hours. He'd left her alone on the board, telling her she would remain just as she was until he came back for her the next day. It was into the wee hours of the morning now, although it could've been dawn and she would have had no way of knowing it, for she had been blindfolded and made to wear earplugs as well. Her mouth gaped open, another line of drool slipping from it, the ring gag doing a fine job of keeping her silent. At least I can breathe better in this than in the ball gag, the thought her only consolation.

Her only indication of the passage of time was that long 10-minute period each hour when the vibrator lodged securely inside her cunt would click on and send a whole new set of shock waves through her already exhausted body.

He had been angry with her, of that there was no doubt. Admittedly, she'd been distracted with the things going on in both their lives. Still, as he had told her in no uncertain terms, her job was not to worry about that but to do what he asked, when he asked her to do it, and she had been very lax about it lately. He'd also said she too often didn't address people properly when she should and, even worse, spoke when she should have remained silent. He was attempting to make her see that she was his and was, therefore, a direct reflection on him in the way she spoke, acted and presented herself.

She wondered, not for the first time, nor she was sure the last, whether he had even bothered to check on her. He was aware of her panic attacks, knew how devastating they could be, the feeling of not being able to free herself even in everyday situations bringing them on suddenly. Her meds were safely in her purse, as if she could reach that now. She hadn't even considered how to set up a "safe word" when you were in this position, and he had not mentioned it, either. And he was always so careful of such things. That fact alone led her to believe that he was around ... in and out perhaps ... checking on her well-being and probably very much enjoying her silence for a change, not to mention seeing her helpless and nearly drained of all bodily fluids. Even her mind felt empty for long periods of time now. Funny, though, with everything else going on in her body and her mind, she had somehow managed to escape the crippling fear of a panic attack.

It had all started when she'd failed to complete the task he had assigned to her last Friday, that being to wear her bullet all day at work and to make herself cum in four different locations. Because of something that had happened at home, she'd not even gotten to the office until 2:00 in the afternoon, and she'd been too exhausted to think about doing as he'd asked. While that may have been a forgivable situation, the fact that she'd forgotten to inform him right away of her inability to complete the task had pretty much sent him over the edge. That's when he'd brought up the rest ... all the ways she had been coming up short lately in her duties to him.

He'd made her sit next to him on the couch, her back turned toward him so that he could remove the lacing from her corset-style top. Slowly, methodically, he'd unlaced each row and pulled the ribbon through before proceeding to the next row, finally reaching the top and letting the front fall off and onto the couch. He slid the ribbon around his neck and left it hanging there. His hands sliding up and down her spine had felt wonderful, and she'd almost begun to relax as his palms slid around her ribs to the front of her body, cupping her breasts and kneading them gently, her nipples responding so beautifully and hardening beneath his touch. She'd even felt her own wetness build as he teased her with his touch.

Suddenly, he'd lifted her into his arms, laying his lips on her breast and sucking a nipple into his mouth, carrying her to the dungeon. She remembered arching her back in an effort to press her nipple further into his mouth, only to have him bite down hard on it, leaving broken skin behind. He had chuckled then, as she'd cried out and hissed in pain. "Oh, you like that?", he'd had the nerve to ask, as he smirked and clamped down on the other nipple with the same force, breaking the skin on it as well. She'd screamed then, using her hands in an attempt to pull his mouth away from her breasts. "Sir, please, you're hurting me!"

Her reward was to be abruptly deposited on the floor in front of him, his hands slapping hers away from him. He'd handed her a set of cuffs and told her to put them on and then follow him to the board across the room on the wall. She very carefully attached the cuffs to each wrist and ankle as he had instructed. Knowing what was coming, she struggled slightly as he lifted her and began to fasten her to the wall by the restraints she had just put on. Finally deciding it was futile, she had complied almost docilely. Only later would she begin to see that this may have been her latest mistake.

Once attached to the wall, she'd whimpered almost silently and watched him very closely as he walked back and forth in front of her, occasionally pausing to glance in her direction. Finally, as if making up his mind about something, he'd walked up next to her and sucked her left nipple into his mouth again. She squirmed, hissing in a painful breath. "Sir, please, it is very sore," she said, which merely won her a look that she clearly knew meant he did not care, and he rolled his tongue around the nipple, flicking it. She moaned again in spite of herself, feeling her nipple betray her by beginning to pucker nicely under his ministrations. He then moved to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment, flicking it with his tongue, and resting his hands lightly on her hips where her warm skin met with the silky drape of her skirt. Of their own volition, her hips bucked up from the wall and toward his warmth, the wetness between her thighs beginning to build as he continued to suckle her breasts, her breath coming in pants.

Abruptly, he'd stopped and pulled a smallish box from his pocket, opening it and removing a small silver round piece, which he held in his palm, flipping it up into the air like a coin, deftly catching it in his hand again. He turned from her and walked over to the freezer, her eyes watching each movement he made, curious what he was up to with the object.

He made noises, opening the cabinet to remove a glass, filling it with several ice cubes, and then returning to stand near her at the bar. Reaching over, he removed the cap from the bottle and poured himself a double scotch. She'd shivered slightly then, realizing that the scotch did not bode well for her, as his mood usually darkened when he drank. She watched closely as he took a long sip of his drink, sucking a piece of ice into his mouth from the glass, hearing the tinkling sound of the ice cubes as he set the drink down on a nearby table.

Removing the ice from his mouth with his fingers, he touched it to her left nipple, already hard and red. She hissed in a breath, watching as the ice melted and the water trickled across her nipple, feeling the coldness of it. As she watched his dark fingers, he'd smiled up at her and touched her right nipple softly with the cube, then pressed down hard, forcing a gasp from between her lips as her broken skin was brutalized again.

Still smiling, he stepped away from her body and squatted down to unbuckle her shoes ... first one, letting it drop to the floor, then the other. As she watched from her perch, she began to feel the tingling in her arms that signaled their getting numb. She knows the pain will soon follow, for it hurts almost as much when they fall asleep as when the sensation returns to them. He reached into his nearly empty scotch glass and retrieved another ice cube, this time trailing it along the arch of her bare left foot, watching for her reaction. She yelped, trying to pull her foot away, but her efforts prove useless in the restraints. "Please, Sir, I am very ticklish. I beg you to stop!" As she felt herself start to become moist between her legs from the sheer sensation of helplessness, her bladder responded to the tickling with a little contraction of its own. She'd always wanted to pee when she's tickled. An automatic response.

He smiled up at her, reaching over for a bottle of water he'd placed on the table earlier, removed the cap and held it to her lips. At first, the water had seemed like a gift, she'd been so thirsty. He held it for her, her greedy lips wrapping around the opening and sucking the water down in big gulps. He allowed her to drink her fill, then placed the empty bottle on the table. "Thank you, Sir. I was so very thirsty." Little did she know, that was just the first of seven bottles of water she would be forced to drink.

Continuing to smile at her, he reached into his glass, taking another ice cube in hand, this time running it along the arch of her right foot. Again she tried to move her foot away, but her position on the wall makes the attempt futile. She feels the gooseflesh crawl up the right side of her body, and she shivers. He watches her flesh quiver and her nipples harden even more, then shows her the small scalpel that she recognizes from their last session. Her heart begins to beat faster, as he rolls the cold circle of metal along one of her nipples. She tries to look at his face, but he will not look at her, just stares intently at his own hand tracing her nipple.

"You remember how sharp this is, don't you?" he asks her. Feeling her mouth tremble slightly, she answers him, "Yes, Sir, I remember." She hangs her head and watches him very intently now. He nods, placing the instrument sideways between her teeth and telling her to clamp down on it. Smirking, he tells her, "I really suggest that you don't drop that, for it you do, it will surely slice yourself or me. And that would be most unpleasant." She looks at him with wild eyes and nods her head slowly, gripping the scalpel not only with her teeth but with her lips as well.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two very sharp, long-pointed silver push pins and holds them out in his hand for her to see. Her eyes widen a bit and, as she watches each movement of his hand, he inserts the push pins on either side of her. She breathes a deep sigh of relief that she did not feel them pierce her skin. The scalpel is becoming a bit slippery, saliva gathering in the corners of her mouth as she continues to watch him very warily.

Seemingly enjoying her uneasiness, he smiles and takes another long sip of his drink, sucking in another ice cube and putting his lips at her throat, letting the scotch pool in the hollows of her clavicle and letting the ice slip between her breasts, where it falls into the waistband of her skirt, then slides down over her mound. She shivers, moaning deep in her throat, and closes her eyes, her hips beginning to rock back and forth in a very natural rhythm.

He takes the scalpel from her mouth, slits her skirt from an inch below the waistband to the hem on both sides of her body. then places the scalpel on the floor. Her skirt hangs from her hipbones now, loose front and back. Without a word, he puts his hands through both sides of the fabric edges and clamps them on her upper thighs, letting his thumbs plunge between the lips of her wet sex. She mumbles incoherently now, "Yesss, Sir, please," not even sure what it is she's asking for, just knowing that his hands on her aching, wet sex are a soothing balm compared to what she has already experienced this night.

Reaching for the near-empty bottle of water, he holds it to her lips again. "Drink girl, drink it all," he says, and she opens her mouth and gulps the remainder of the water, the last few drops of it trailing out of her mouth to slide down across her chilled skin. Feeling the ache in her arms and thighs from hanging there, she now feels the added discomfort of a fullness in her midsection, her bladder now very full. Despite the discomfort, her hips move back and forth now of their own volition, the need to feel his fingers growing more urgent with each passing minute.

Tossing the empty bottle aside, he walks over to the refrigerator again, bringing back more water, a six-pack this time. He opens the cap, tossing it aside, and holds it up to her mouth, forcing her lips around it and pushing the neck of the bottle deep into her mouth. The icy water pours down her throat, choking her if she doesn't swallow fast enough. She gags, trying desperately to swallow all of it but not succeeding, feeling the cold wetness as it overflows her mouth and washes down both sides of her body, until finally the bottle is empty.

He slaps her face then, tossing the bottle aside. Placing a piece of ice in each of her hands, he closes her nearly numb fingers around them, then opens another bottle of water and brings it to her lips. "Don't waste any time time." He watches her throat contract as each gulp goes down, and slides two fingers in her warm sex, stroking her softly as she drinks. "That's it, girl. Drink up."

Gripping the ice in both hands, she gulps the water as quickly as she can, but it's still not fast enough. He knew it wouldn't be, she thinks to herself, as the cold water once again overflows her mouth and washes down over her body, causing her to shiver uncontrollably. Suddenly, with the invasion of his big fingers inside her open wet cunt, her body releases a flood of hot wetness that had been held back by her swollen pussy lips. She can barely believe herself able to cum under these conditions, but her body does not lie. She needs his touch and the invasion of her body. And it responds accordingly.

He shakes his head, looking at her and making a tsking sound. "We'll just have to practice until you get it right," and with that he drops the empty bottle, withdrawing his hand from her sex and then opening another one. Tasting his fingers with an evil smile, he places another bottle to her lips and shoves three fingers into her dripping wet pussy this time. Her stomach convulses and her mind reels at the thought of having to down even more water, but she tries very hard this time to take it all without any spillage. Her pussy clenches hard around his fingers as she swallows as quickly as she can, barely able to keep up with the flow of the water into her mouth.

He smiles then, watching her try to take the water in great gulps, and begins to slide his fingers in and out of her pussy in time with her swallows. Her chest is heaving now, trying to drink the water and also take in enough air to breathe. When she finishes the water, with only a little spilled this time, he kisses her lips but then once again takes his fingers from her and picks up another bottle. He looks up at her, massaging her belly and thighs, licking and kissing her soft damp skin.

She can barely stand the feel of his hand on her belly now ... she is so full of water that she's desperate to use the bathroom, but knows it would be a waste of her time to even ask if she can. The driving of his fingers, plunging deeper inside her pussy with each stroke, seems to jab directly into her bladder with each thrust, causing it to tighten as she tries to hold in her urine. She feels it will shortly become a losing battle.

Walking to the freezer again, he returns with a small brown bag, frosty in the air from being in the freezer. He stands in front of her and uncaps another watter bottle, bring it to her lips. "Just this last one, baby, and then I have a treat for you." Watching her face carefully, he slides four icy fingers deep inside her, curling his hand this time. She almost screams from the contact ... it feels as if her bladder is resting on top of her cervix, so full of water and so in need of release. She moans loudly, her body making every attempt to expel his icy fingers, but it only serves to make her bladder contract painfully again. She is so full of water and so full of his fingers, and the ice in her hands has numbed them, but small slivers of ice still remain. "Just a little more baby, you can do it. Do it for me." Removing his fingers from her pussy, he strokes her from her clit to her puckered hole, massaging her wetness from front to back.

Panting now, desperate for release, her mind races. I can't take any more, she thinks to herself, then begs him, "Please, Sir, I don't think I can drink any more without having an accident. Please, I beg of you, let me down now so that I can pee." He merely looks at her and smiles again, "But I have something special for you, dear one, and I know that you are going to like it so very much."

Gasping for breath, every muscle in her body seemingly clenched against the release of her bladder, her body betrays her once again, her sex rubbing against his hand in a rhythm matching that of his fingers. "Yes, Sir, you know I want to please you," she moans loudly as his hand travels the full length of her now sopping wet slit. "No accidents now, baby. Just drink this last one and tell me how you feel after that." He kisses her deeply, his tongue invading the depths of her mouth, before unscrewing the bottle cap.

"Yes, Sir, I will ... for you." Opening her mouth yet again, she lets him pour the icy cold water down her throat, her throat muscles almost cramping from the coldness, but she manages to swallow all of it for him this time, much to her amazement. As she drinks, he puts three fingers inside her and begins to fuck her with them slowly ... in and out, a repetitive motion that exascerbates the contractions from her bladder, as it works hard to contain the urine that so wants to escape between her legs. The cold water sits like lead in her bladder now, weighing it down, making her shiver with the need to urinate here and now. She feels the slickness between her thighs from the finger-fucking and, oh God, she hopes not from urine. She's so wet now, and needs to pee so badly, that she cannot tell if some is escaping or not.

Smiling, he finally withdraws his hands from her and tosses the bottle aside, then reaches into the brown bag and takes something out of it, slipping it under her skirt before she can see exactly what it is. She feels the frosty air rising from it, and he positions it at the lips of her cunt, twirling the frozen thing into her wet juices, then dragging it back to her ass very slowly and sliding the frozen hotdog into her ass. Feeling the cold object enter her ass, she squeaks out a denial, while a look of shock crosses her face. She watches his dark eyes, so intent, so focused on bringing himself pleasure through the use of every part of her body.

As she watches the look of satisfaction cross his face, she feels herself go limp, her body accepting what her mind often will not ... that everything in her wants to do what this man asks of her, that her body desires nothing more than the freedom to submit to him. For even as her mind reels from the shock of the new sensations he has visited upon her body, it lets him in ... into her psyche, into that place where the voices usually scream at her to make him stop. He has won, and she feels almost relieved not to have to fight it any more.