The Rescue 6

He's fumbling for his keys as you nibble and purr into his ear. Your hand slides down to the bulge in his jeans and he drops the keys. Grinning, you slam him against the door and hold him there, digging your nails into his chest ever-so-slightly.

You slowly bend your knees so you're squatting before him and begin to nuzzle and lick his crotch, mewling with eagerness once you smell his scent.

Your hand reaches out to the side and finds the keys. You hold them up to him as you nudge the flap that covers his fly to the side, grab the zipper with your teeth and rip it down, bringing you ever closer to that which you desire. Want. Lust after.

You don't even know his name. You don't care. You just need a cock. Just something inside you, pumping away at you, something to make you feel. Feel anything. This guy, this man, this life support for a cock was at the right place at the right time. Names don't matter. Names get in the way.

He pulls away from you; your prize denied you as he unlocks the door. Pouting a little, you follow him in. Since you're already close to the ground, you decide "why not" and crawl on all fours after him.

It's a small apartment. Little more than a hotel room, really. Poor excuse for a kitchenette, bathroom, and a bed.

It's the bed that catches your eye and chases all thoughts of fucking from your mind. Red satin sheets. An art deco painting of a woman smoking a cigarette. A pair of handcuffs hanging from a bedpost.

A scene straight out of a porno movie. A lame porno movie. From the seventies.

Suddenly you don't feel like the sexual animal you were outside. You feel like some guy's weekly ritual partner. He'll probably start off with some heavy petting, then want his dick sucked (though you really don't have a problem with that--you could probably bring some control back to yourself with a nice cocksucking), engage in a little light spanking, some bondage (after negotiations, of course) with the twenty dollar handcuffs he got from Adam and Eve. Maybe some cheap nipple clamps, with those rubber pads over the teeth. Completely safe, completely sane, completely consensual.

Completely pedestrian.

You consider standing up, but reconsider and stay on all fours. At least this way you have a higher chance of getting a dick in your mouth.

You crawl up to him, making sure to raise your ass in the air as high as it can. You slink forward, sliding your arms and legs, swaying your body from side to side, like a cat stalking her unaware prey.

He's standing before the bed, looking down at you with approval in his eyes. Of course he approves. You're a master at this. You've done it hundreds of times with hundreds of men. Each one reacting the same. Amazement at your form, turning to amazement at your technique, turning to supplications to the Divine name and yours as they beg for release in your mouth.

Your hand slide up his legs, curling into fists, grabbing the denim in your clawed hands. You yank the jeans down, exposing his rock hard cock. It's head bobbing in front of your lips, the very tip glistening with precum.

You grab it by the shaft and press it against his belly, your tongue snaking out to lick the warm warm flesh.

Then his hand is in your hair, and he's pulling you away from his dick. The pain makes you twinge between your legs and you look up at him.

Still open, you turn the corners of your mouth up into a small smile and close your eyes. There might be some fun to be had here aft--

Pain explodes on the side of your face. A loud slap fills the room. Warmth spreads across your cheek. You think you taste a little bit of blood. Maybe you bit the inside of your cheek when...

He slapped you. He SLAPPED you.

You look up at him. He's looking down at you. No, he's looking down ON you. A sneer is on his lips.

"Did I say you could touch my cock, bitch?" He seethes.

Seethes

. He's speaking through clenched teeth; his hands are balled into fists, his whole body shaking like a tuning fork.

For the first time in, well, a long time, you're stunned.

"Whaa?" You croak, rubbing your cheek.

"I said, 'Did I say you could touch my cock with your dirty whore mouth, you

fucking cunt

?'"

"N--no, I--"

Another slap, this time on the other cheek. And then, another twinge down below. Your legs go weak for a moment, and not because of the force of the blow.

"No what?"

His hand in your hair again, pulling your head back, making you stumble backwards on the floor. Your head bangs the wood, makes you see stars for a second. "No," (and his hand, why is his hand sliding up your neck? Why is it squeezing) "what?"

Spots pop before your eyes. Your head pounds. Words flash by in your mind like strange multiple choice answers. Thank you? Please? Stop? Don't? Yellow? Red?

Sir?

"No... sir!" You gasp. Everything's going out of focus. You feel as if you're being pushed into the floor. The insides of your thighs are warm and wet. What the hell? Why?

He releases your throat and you gasp in relief. What the fuck is going on here? What's with this guy? Is he some crazed sex pervert? Is he going to rape you then k...

Wait, did you just think the word "pervert" like it was a bad thing? Aren't you a self described pervert? Aren't these the kind of stories that get you wet, that you grunt and pant to while you have a dildo ramming up your pussy and your fingers twisting and rubbing the shit out of your clit?

"Good." He says, and kisses you, hard. He's lying on top of you, crushing you, and his hand is on your throat once more. His tongue invades your mouth, his lips mash against yours and he sucks your tongue into his own, his teeth biting into it.

You gag from the choking and extension of your tongue. You feel the darkness close in around your temples.

And you awaken when his hand slides inside you. It slides in easily and god it feels good but in the back of your mind you wonder how his hand is in you when your pants are still on and you realize that you were unconscious you were unconscious with a strange man and he has taken off your clothes and why doesn't this frighten you and OH GOD THAT FEELS SO FUCKING GOOOOOD.

His hand--his four fingers are sliding in and out of your pussy, the knuckles from his index and pinky rubbing against your walls, and his thumb twirling your clit, banging it from side to side, sending shocks throughout your body.

God, you're wet. You feel your juices running down your thighs all the way to your knees.

Wait a minute. Your knees. You're on your knees. You open your eyes. Your glasses are missing. You can open one eye. The other one takes more effort. Something crusty has sealed your lid shut. You can feel it pulling against your eyelid as you try to open it. You try to rub your eye, but you can't. Your one good eye finally comes into focus and you see your wrists handcuffed to the crossbar of the bed. Above the bed is that damned art deco painting and in its reflection you can see your face. Your eye is crusted over alright, but it's not blood. Thank god for that, at least.

You lick your lips, breaking out in a cold sweat despite the heat between your legs. You taste something bleachy and salty on your mouth.

He came on you while you were unconscious. On your face. At least he didn't hold your eye open when he did it.

You find yourself thinking "at least he'll be able to fuck me longer now that he got his first load out of the way" and then wonder why you're so eager to be fucked by some guy who just choked you to unconsciousness, took your clothes off, and chained you to his bed. This isn't right.

Is it?

His fingers slide under your nose and you jerk up, reflexively. You smell yourself on his fingers. Your own personal musk and it drives you even wilder. Your pussy spasms with each whiff.

"So the bitch is awake," he says, and pushes his fingers into your mouth, filling your throat. You begin to gag almost immediately but suppress it easily enough. Your tongue rubs against his hand, like a dog licking her master.

His fingers are huge, all but blocking your air. Your mind is shot now, your throat filled with your taste, you lips wide open and pulsing, wanting more, you imagine his hands as the world's longest and thickest cock, and you want it. You need it.

You suck on his hand, gulping for air, begging with your gagging to have more, more to fill your throat, to come in your stomach.

He smiles. The first time he's smiled since you came into the room, but it's not a pleasant smile. It's a predatory smile. The smile of a jackal, or a wolf. He has his prey, and she's not going anywhere.

Not that she wants to.

"I've been watching you, Slut." He says, stroking your hair gently as you suck on his hand. "All the munches, all the cons, all the play parties I've watched you. You were the one who everyone played with. You've had more types of sperm in you than a donor's cup at a sperm bank. You're the group's whore, their bike. Everyone's had a ride on you, haven't they?"

You hear the words, but don't care. This you-smelling hand tickling your trachea fills your mind. God, you want a cock inside you. A real one. Fucking shut up dude. Fucking fuck me, you fuck. Fucking take me and rape me and let me come all over that dick. I've seen it. I've smelled it. I want it. Give it to me. Stop talking and give it to me.

He removes his hand from your mouth. You think of closing your mouth on it, of trying to hold onto it with your teeth, but decide against it. Knowing this guy, he might decide to punch them in to have a better cocksucking experience.

"You don't remember me, do you, Slut?". He reaches under the bed. "I was there every night. I saw you getting spanked, getting fucked, getting bled. I would hear you getting fucked by three men in the next room, hear your delirious cries of ecstasy while they used every one of your holes. I would smell your wet cunt when you were whipped.

"I've wanted you ever since I first heard you come, ever since I saw some man in a mask fuck your raw, red ass and when they removed the ball gag you only screamed to be fucked more."

His hand comes up from under the bed, and he has nipple clamps. These ones are different. They look like staple removers, but the curved 'fangs' are covered with rubber. He dangles them in front of you, a soft "clink clink" as they touch each other.

"But I knew you wouldn't be satisfied with some 'Master Average', with a fifty dollar crop and some toys he bought from an Adam and Eve store. No." He removes the rubber from the "teeth" and oh god, they look sharp.

He drags the clamps along your thigh, your hip, and your waist. A thin firey line follows in its wake, and you know that those teeth pierced the skin like a pin through saran wrap.

He traces the line with his tongue, licking up the blood that has welled to the surface.

He licks his lips. "No, I know what gets you wet." And his hand slides along your back, down your crack, and back to your moist sex.

"Control." He says, and pulls your hair, drawing you to him.

"Pain." He whispers into your mouth and twists your clit between his knuckles, sending lightning bolts of pain up your body and into your brain, making you scream out.

He gasps at your scream, feeling the pain in your breath against his lips.

"And fear." He says. His hand clamps around your neck once more, and it's not a gentle squeeze this time. It's a full on choke. His other hand joins the first and he's pushing you back, making you arch your back, making you present your breasts to him, and it hurts. It hurts because your back isn't supposed to bed that way and your arms can only straighten out so much but dear god he's strong, and you want him all the same. You want to be the small cat being fucked by the panther. You want to be smothered by him, unable to escape.

The pressure on your throat eases, but he doesn't release you. With one hand holding you up, he grabs the evil looking clamps and holds them before you, making biting motions with them.

"I'm going to give you what you want, slut."

You nod. "Yes," you whisper.

In a flash in one swift motion, His hand leaves your throat and slaps your face, then returns to your neck.

"Yes, sir." You say, even before he asks for your correction.

"Good." He says once again. He opens the clamp's teeth, and places the four fangs against your nipple. Not the areola. The nipple.

"This is going to hurt, you know." He whispers, and you nod. "I know, sir. Please."

The pain is like nothing you've ever felt. Your nipples do not explode with delight, they explode with agony. The blades have pierced the skin, pinching it between each pair of fangs. A fresh piercing. That voice of reason, of logic, of sense, that voice that has long since said "fuck you, you're on your own" asks, almost dreamily if the clamps have been sanitized.

Who cares. The pain fills you, spills within you, running down to your pussy and out along your thighs. The second clamp goes on and you scream. He doesn't cover your mouth, and you know--god, how do you know you don't know but you

know

that his dick has gone from flaccid to rock hard at the instant you screamed.

Panting for breath, sweat dripping off your nose, you feel a tugging on your nipples. You open your eyes to see him tying fishing line from the clamps to the headboards' crossbar.

He finally lets go of your neck. You ease down, thankful to let your back relax, but the line tugs at the clamps, which pull at the skin inside your nipples, which sends fresh pain through your body again.

Oh shit. Oh no.

He leans next to you and whispers in your ear. "I am going to fuck you with pain." And he bites your ear. Hard. He pulls on it with his teeth, and it still doesn't hurt as much as the pain surrounding your nipples.

Then he's behind you, and then he's in you and thank god he is. Thank god he finally shut up and gave you what you wanted.

And he's thrusting hard inside you, and it's pushing you forward, and the clamps are tearing at your nipples. You scream, and he only fucks you harder. Each slap of his hips to your ass, each slap of his balls on your clit makes the clips move, mixing the pain with the pleasure in a way you never thought possible. All you feel now is intensity. It no longer matters if it's good or bad, as long as it's strong.

He grunts from behind you, frustrated. "Dammit, bitch, you're too wet." And he pulls out. Pain fills you, drowning out the pleasure.

Then there's pressure at your asshole and you think to yourself, the coherent id-like part of yourself that is still inside you thinks to yourself "oh god, yes. Please. Fill it. Fuck it. I need to feel good again, please please pleeeeaaa"

His cock, already slick with your juices, slides slowly into your ass. First the head, and after only a second, he thrusts the rest of himself in you, and grabs your hair.

Another scream from your lips, and your knees buckle from the orgasm that rips through you. Your body tries to tense up, but doing so wakes up your friends the nipples, sending more pain throughout your body and prolonging the climax.

He begins to pound at your ass, grunting and pounding heavily now. Every thrust makes him pull your hair more, makes you pull against the clamps, makes you scream which makes him harder which makes him pull your hair as he fucks you...

Your scream doesn't stop. it rises and continues to rise with the rhythmic pounding, both inside and outside of you. It's a full bodied scream, not a pissy little quickie orgasm scream. This scream comes out from your centre, your soul. This scream is of the animal finally getting release, of the primal creature inside you finally coming out.

You come again, and he pulls your hair so hard it feels like the clamps' fangs are going to rip your nipples apart. Let them, you think. Let them, just fuck me. Just fuck me.

Your voice gives out finally as he begins to roar. Inspired by his animalism, you grunt as you slam your ass against him, grabbing onto his cock with your asshole. Your grunts grow louder and louder, grunting mixing in with roaring until his roar turns into a triumphant shout of finality.

He pulls out of you and you cry out from the sudden absence. His warm juice lands on your back and hair. Knowing that his essence is on your skin sends you towards another climax, this one shuddering, each pleasurable wave giving way to a wave of agony, which gave way to pleasure, then agony, then pleasure until nothing remained but the fiery ache of your nipples.

He is nice enough to remove the clamps ever so carefully, wiping up the blood and sterilizing the wounds with peroxide. It stings, but not the good kind of sting. But it's okay.

You fall asleep in his arms, sleeping to the soft, throbbing pound of your tortured breasts.

Now you two meet at least once a week, and whenever you part, something of yours is bruised, or bleeding, and your mind remembers hours of pain, fear and control. Gone are the days of safety, sanity, and consent. His actions are dangerous, even life threatening, but you know that he will never truly harm you, because you are the only one who wants it that way. His mixture of pain and pleasure is maddening, driving you to do things for him that you never thought you would do for anyone. And the only consent you give is for him to hurt you, to have complete control over you and that you will do anything for him, with no thought of how it may look, or feel, or how immoral it might be.

You have been rescued. Rescued from going from man to man, from munch to munch, looking for something to satisfy the hidden lusts and perversions that no one has ever seen. Rescued from looking for the next great high, from thinking 'there has to be more to the scene than this.'

He has rescued you from the mediocrity that surrounded you, and has wrapped you in a new world, and that world frightens you, entices you, and makes you feel more alive than you ever have.

You have been rescued.