Author's note: There is nothing complicated to say here.
This is not a story, with development and plot.
This is a character sketch, because the central defining point (no spoilers) of her personality is one that rather appeals to me.
#
He stripped me naked and hung me face-first against the wall, cuffs on my ankles and wrists stretching me tight in a cross shape, the chains holding me barely even clanking when I tested them.
I gritted my teeth, steeling myself for a fight.
I knew his kind. I knew he didn't just want me to feel pain, and to use me. He wanted me to submit. He wanted me to beg him for it, to sop his pathetic little damaged ego by saying Yes, Sir, You're so sexy I can't help myself, and You never really needed to kidnap and rape me, honest.
It was a pattern - this basement dungeon, with cold bare stone walls and floor and a flogging bench to one side; his all-black clothes, with army-surplus boots and leather gloves. I had seen it all before.
Most of the time it had been contrived, a setup established for the cameras with paid actors with fit bodies and enhanced tits performing their parts and presenting their token resistance and their real pain, choreographed to tell a little story before she started cumming.
I heard him move around behind me, picking things up, putting them down, the swish of a whip through the air.
Great. More little toys. He had spent too long on the internet.
I heard him walk towards me but I couldn't turn my head to see him.
I braced myself.
"Are you going to submit to me?"
Well, that was fucking predictable.
I jerked against the chains holding me face-first to the wall, but none of them gave. "Get fucked," I spat over my shoulder at him.
"No," he replied evenly, "That's your job."
Suddenly a lash landed hard across my arse, making me squeal in pain and surprise, no matter how much I was expecting it.
"Pussy," I spat at him when I recovered.
He lashed me again, and I couldn't hold back from shrieking at that one, either.
"Are you going to submit?"
"Fuck off!"
He began to lash me over and over, settling into a rhythm as spears of pain lanced from my arse with each impact.
My body tried to burrow into the wall to get away, but the brickwork just grated on my skin and sand-papered my nipples.
To my shame I felt that pain from my breasts go straight to my groin, and as I got wet the whipping began to get me wetter. I groaned, and this time he heard the desire in my voice.
Suddenly the lash didn't land, and I heard him step closer. Then his hand forced its way between my thighs and two fingers pushed roughly inside me. I tried to clench against him, but I was too wet and he was too strong.
My body responded even as my mind revolted.
"Dickless fuck," I spat over my shoulder at him, unable to move, unable to try and get away.
"We'll get to that later," he said mildly as he added a third finger, which made me bite my lip and sent a shudder right through me.
My body was betraying me and becoming his and there was nothing I could do, naked and bound, to prevent any abuse he wanted to do to me.
"You're going to cum," he said, still mild.
"Fuck off!"
"Do you want to cum?" His fingers didn't slow down their pumping.
"Nooooooo," I groaned, desperately trying to hold onto my core of self-control.
"Don't lie to me, slut," he chided me. "Do you want to cum?"
"Ooooh, ffffuuuckk youuuuuu."
"Do you want to cum?"
"Nggggg oh god yes, I want to cum!" His three relentless fingers inside me had finally broken me.
"Ask properly, slut," he said, the insult calling up reserves I didn't realise I had.
"Ooooh, fffucck youuuuu."
"Ask properly, slut."
The reserves didn't last long.
"Oh please, Master let me cum!"
"I don't think that was respectful enough, you filthy whore."
Suddenly I believed the insults, the degradation. I was a filthy whore. I wasn't being respectful enough. I deserved to be punished. But I was desperate for release.
"I'm sorry, Master! Please make me cum!"
"Will you give me your arse?"
Deep inside me, a last reserve of stubbornness flared into life.
"Never!"
"Will you give me your arse?"
He wasn't slowing down, or speeding up, or changing anything. He was just finger-fucking me tirelessly, and my body had broken so badly my mind was hanging by a thread.
"Ooooohhhhhhhh gooooodddddd."