You arrive back at your apartment after a Friday night out celebrating your birthday with some friends. You had a great time. Your friends showered you with presents, some sweet, some sexy, but all greatly appreciated. But, there was little flaw in the otherwise perfect evening. You were a little disappointed that the one guy you had invited, and
really
wanted to be there, had to beg off due to having to go into work late that night to take a conference call with an overseas client.
You reach your door and fumble a bit with your key, giggling, because you're a bit buzzed from all the wine you consumed at the party. You take an extra moment to get the key in the lock, then open the door and step inside.
You pause and look into your pitch-black apartment. You wonder if you had forgotten to leave a light on when you left. Your hand reaches for the light switch just inside the door when the door suddenly closes and you are grasped from behind, a large body forcing you face-first into the wall. You feel the sharp tip of a blade at your cheek and a guttural voice whispering into your ear, "Move and I'll cut you up. Make a noise and you're dead." The sudden shock of adrenaline blasts away the fuzziness from your brain. You let out a tiny squeak and nod your head. You catch the hint of a scent. It seems familiar... then a cloth is against your face. A cloyingly-sweet scent fills your nostrils and consciousness fades.
************************************
You awaken disoriented. You open your eyes, but all is darkness. You smell leather and feel a rough texture against your face and realize you've been hooded. Parting your parched lips, your tongue slips out and encounters the cold, rough metal of a zipper covering your mouth.
You pause to take assessment of your situation. Cool air caresses your skin from your neck down your naked body to your bare toes. The front of your hips seem to be pressed into some sort of bar with your torso arched at a 45 degree angle over it. You are held in this position with your arms extended in-line with your body and cuffed with your wrists more than shoulder-width apart. Your ankles are also spread below the bar and cuffed more than shoulder-width apart, too. You've been suspended like one of the melted clocks in Salvadore Dali's "The Persistence of Memory".
Enclosed by the hood, a bout of claustrophobia kicks in and you begin to pant rapidly as your blood pressure soars. Your body twists, turns and pulls, but you are securely, helplessly, bound in place. You make a conscious effort to slow your breathing, slowly calming down.
Just when you begin to relax, there's the cold touch of sharp steel against one of your dangling breasts. Your muffled scream flows from the mask as you try to wrench your body up and away from the blade's cold tip against your hot flesh. Your heart races as you struggle again to get enough air through the nasal holes of the hood.
A hand grips your long hair, which you only now realize has been pulled through the crown of the hood to hang in a ponytail down your back. The hand pulls your head up and back and the blade caresses your stretched throat as the guttural, now leather-muffled voice says in your ear, "Scream all you want now. Even if without the hood to muzzle you, there's no one close enough to hear you scream."
The knife is removed and the hand releases your hair allowing your head to droop down as your body shudders and you gasp for breath, fighting the panic still climbing in your system.
Blinded by the mask, you struggle to make out any sounds through the leather of the hood, but the few sounds you hear are indistinguishable.
Suddenly, you hear a sharp *
crack!
* a millisecond before the skin of your dangling left breast explodes like it's on fire. Too shocked in body and mind, you don't react until another *
crack
!* rents the air and your right breast bursts into an inferno of pain. A hood-muffled scream tears from your throat. Your head falls forward in a daze as more blows are applied to one breast, then the other. Your abused nipples are rock-hard under the flickering lash, and you realize to your immense shame that your pussy is dripping wet.
As the pain begins to settle down into a campfire-size rather than a bonfire, your nipples are cruelly pinched between rough, leather-gloved fingers and pulled down until your rounded breasts are conical in shape. You moan inside the hood. One nipple is released and the other is suddenly pinched harder in the metal grip of a clamp. You gasp. A moment later, the other nipple receives the same treatment.
Feeling a slight motion in the clamps, you realize they are attached to each other by a dangling chain. The chain sags further down, dragging your engorged nipples with it, as weights are attached to the chain and it is set to swinging. You groan louder as a trickle of pussy juice slips down your thigh. You hang from your bonds as the weights hang from your distended nipples. Your mind begins to fog.
When you next become aware, you feel a smooth rounded shaft being run up and down your pussy juice-coated inner thighs. You tremble at the touch. It travels down, then up, down, then up, finally going higher and higher up your sensitive inner thigh. You find yourself pleading in your mind for that caress to rub your engorged clit. Your body needs to cum. Your clit is throbbing from being blood-engorged for so long without relief. But, just as the rounded tip approaches your steamy crotch, it detours up across the swell of your abundant ass-cheek. The juice-slickened tip continues its tour upwards to the small of your back, then back down through the cleft of your buttocks. Again, you plead in your head for it to continue down to nudge your needy clit. This time, the tip stops completely, hovering just at the bottom of your anal cleft. Between one heartbeat and the next, the heft of the 3" wide, 8" long butt plug is rammed between your ass-cheeks, slams through your unprepared asshole and deep into your vulnerable bowels. Your back arches as you scream. Your ass feels like a grenade has just blown you apart from inside. Endorphins cascade into your brain and your body explodes into a mind-numbing orgasm. Your throat becomes sore as your screams turn from those of pain, to those of ecstasy. As the peak subsides, your exhausted body dangles once again from your constricting bonds.
You come to once again. Your head still enshrouded in the leather hood. Its clinging material now soaked in in your sweat and tears. Your body is sticky with sweat and your crotch and thighs are tacky with your vaginal secretions.
The guttural voice is back at your ear, "Good! The whore awakens."
You cringe and gathering a tiny bit of your shattered self-esteem, you mumble into the mask, "I'm NOT a whore!"
"What's that?", the voices says. "You're not a whore? Why, sure you are! Only a whore would pass out from pleasure while having her ass abused so hard and so deeply."
Your mind tries to rebel against that thought, but you are mortified to realize that he just might be right. You DID ultimately enjoy the pain and its resulting pleasure. Your pussy quivers and your aching butt clenches at the thought, sending a shiver through your body.
You are wrenched from your reverie as the tip of a leather riding crop smacks into your exposed, defenseless cunt. The whippy, rounded rod parting your swollen pussy-lips, as the flat leather tip smacks into your tender clit. You suck in air before erupting with a keening screech. You try to press hips forward to escape the blistering tattoo of the crop, but you're held in place by the bar. Your voice turns into a whimper, then a continuous moan, as your body betrays you by slowly arching back into the assault on the sacred mound of your womanhood.
The rising tide of an on-rushing orgasm climbs higher and higher as the pleasure hormones flood your overfatigued mind. Cunt juices pour from your excruciatingly aching vulva. And just as the tsunami is about to come crashing into the shore, the riding crop stops, leaving you hanging over the precipice of the mother-of-all orgasms.
Your throat rumbles as the hood-muffled wail of unfed-lust fills the air. Pleading. Begging. Whimpering. Moaning with unfulfilled carnality.
The hand snatches your ponytail, twisting your head up and back, sending blades of sharp pain into your scalp.
