Click
She received a parcel in the mail from her secret lover, her owner, who lived far away. It contained an open brass padlock, but no key.
"I want you to meditate upon its meaning," he said to her that night on the telephone when she asked him about it. His voice drilled into her very core, made her squirm. Those eight little words dripped with menace.
She knew its meaning, for previously he had sent her a stainless steel chastity device. She had worn – for a little while – it on a few occasions, when he playfully denied her climax. The padlock could mean only one thing.
"I want you to be certain," he said. "In fact I would prefer you to wait for a few days. Think it over. You do not know when you will be released, and I will not tell you. You may never be released for as long as I own you; I want you to realise that possibility."
She whimpered into the phone. She was conflicted.
"And as always, I'm not going to do it for you. Locking your cunt away, reserving it for me, needs to be an act of your own will, of your own intention. I'll not have you complain about my cruelty. You will be necessarily complicit. I hope I am making myself clear."
Very clear, she thought.
She had placed the padlock on her desk, looked at it glinting in the light of her lamp. It lay there like an accusation. Daring her. He was daring her, challenging her.
"How dare you insinuate that I am questioning your devotion?" he had asked. Shamed, she retracted her remark. He knew her; he could virtually read her mind. And he had been right: he was turning denial into an addiction, her own complicity adding a depth to it far more potent than any simple command. She wanted to be denied; needed it.
Her mind wandered to the chastity device, lurking in its box in a drawer under her bed. It was designed for long-term wear. Clever catches and vents permitted the wearer to perform bodily functions and see to hygiene without removing it, without ever compromising its security. Her cunt tingled as she thought about it.
For some reason, she had not become averse to it, as she had initially thought. For when she wore it, her owner was implacable. Stripping away her capacity for sexual pleasure had added a certainty to her devotion. He held her dripping cunt hostage and when that happened her devotion was complete.
And he honoured that devotion by availing himself of it without hesitation or remorse. He guided her devotion, channelled it, tamed it like a wild beast.
But what he was asking of her now was an open challenge.
Gingerly she removed the chastity device from its box, pulling it into position. She had become accustomed to its weight around her. Her cunt began to drip, and she was briefly tempted to loosen it, to pleasure herself surreptitiously. But it felt wrong. She whimpered as she pulled the device closed around her, she trembled as she pulled the various catches into position, ready to be locked. Her hands shook.
It had been locked before, of course – but she had never, ever been locked into it without knowing when she would be released. This was new. She saw herself – as though she was a passenger in her own body, powerless to resist – slot the padlock into the final catch in her device.
It hung there, its presence in her mind far weightier than those few ounces of brass and steel would seem to imply. Still open. She looked at herself in the mirror. She was beautiful, but the belt was inevitable.
She cried when she took the padlock in her hand and pushed it shut. He would be proud. Her tears flowed down her face in a mix of anticipation and relief when it snapped home with a quiet, innocuous click.
Because it pleases him to do so. And because her cunt drips at...
Because it pleases him to do so.
And because her cunt drips at the thought of it, and it delights her.
thinkivykink: Now don't flinch, dear. Flinch all you want....
Now don't flinch, dear.
Flinch all you want. Won't help.
Drip… Drip… Drip…
Drip… Drip… Drip…
He has removed all doubt and replaced it with certainty; He has...
He has removed all doubt and replaced it with certainty;
He has removed all shame and replaced it with devotion;
He has removed all fear and replaced it with purpose;
He has given her fulfilment.
Storytime
“Daddy,” she said, hopping onto his lap. “Tell me a story, Daddy!”
I’m going to tell you about Nina, sweetheart.
“Who’s Nina?”
Nina was my babygirl a long time ago. She was the apple of my eye, and because I was a damn fool, I lost her. You see, somehow I found myself in debt – severe debt – to a terrible woman. Lily, her name: a flower, but in her case a toxic, horrible flower.
“How do you know her?”
In a way, Lily is my sister. It’s… a little complicated, pet. Just trust me when I say that she’s the sort of person you must try to stay away from.
“What happened to Nina, Daddy? Is she my sister?”
Yes, sweetheart, she’s your sister. She was so beautiful, there was a light inside of her that shone out through all her smiles and all her tears. I was so happy. But I was a fool, sweetpea, and I got into debt. Well, it wasn’t debt, really; it was… an old agreement I had made with Lily when I was much younger, that we’d share everything, like siblings should.
Once I got Nina, though, I didn’t really want to share her. She was my babygirl, you see, and I had found her quite by accident. In a way I sort of stole her. But that’s not important, not really. What’s important is that Lily reminded me of this agreement. And Lily is cruel and implacable when she chases after something she wants. And she wanted Nina.
And Lily had a powerful hold on me, babygirl, a very powerful hold. Something terrible would have happened if I hadn’t given her Nina. It was the worst thing, sweetpea.
“What would have happened, Daddy?”
You don’t want to trouble yourself with that, pet. Just believe me: I had no choice.
And you know how Daddy can be cruel, as well as kind?
“I know, Daddy.” *giggle*
Well that night I tied her up, just like I’m tying you up now, babygirl. And I used all of her holes, one after the other. And I made Nina cry, sweetheart. She cried and cried until there were no more tears. I thought if I took all of her tears out, she’d do better.
Because I didn’t untie her when I was finished, sweetpea. I think Nina knew what was going to happen, but even so I couldn’t face her look of betrayal. I put a mask on her, so that she couldn’t see me anymore, and so I didn’t have to look into her eyes anymore. Because then I took her outside, put her in the back of the car, and drove her into the forest where Lily has a cabin. And I left her there.
“Daddy! This isn’t a happy story!”
No, sweetie, it isn’t. Because Lily isn’t like Daddy. Lily is a harsh mistress. She doesn’t want babygirls, she wants mindless slaves. And that’s what she did with Nina. She made me watch, to make sure I knew that Nina wasn’t mine anymore.
She took the mouthpiece off Nina’s mask, and sat on her face, and she took a whip, and she whipped Nina’s sweet little cunt until she screamed. She likes it if her pets scream into her cunt. And she didn’t stop, sweetie, until Nina couldn’t scream anymore and went quiet. I think she broke something in Nina’s mind right there, and I could see by the way she moved that something was different about her.
“Daddy! That’s terrible! What a horrible woman!”
I know, sweetheart. I know. I still get sad when I think about it. I swore I’d do anything to get Nina back. And Lily laughed at me. She said that I knew damn well what I’d have to do to get Nina back. And she was right. I know what I have to do to get my Nina back.
Sorry, sweetheart. She's coming for you tonight.
“Daddy! No, Daddy! Untie me! Please!”
Goodbye, sweetpea.
cyanidemishka: always-closer-to-the-edge: She'd been bound and...
She'd been bound and restrained, and she'd felt safe. Cared for. Looked after. And now that he'd set her free, she was feeling a little lost…
The rope marks go all the way inside, and they don't really ever fade.
While this photograph was probably taken in the US, the...
While this photograph was probably taken in the US, the following still holds true:
One of the things I like about the UK is that certain people are memorialised by means of comfortable benches installed in the countryside, often with a splendid view. A certain John Quentin Tyrell StJean Smythe might so utterly have adored this particular spot, that after he is gone, a bench will be installed there, so that others might enjoy the same view.
My memorial bench will have rings and tie-downs.
At inspection time, it's best if the girl is nice and...
At inspection time, it's best if the girl is nice and relaced.
(via TumbleOn)
She is being taught. Conditioned. Previous paradigms removed,...
She is being taught. Conditioned. Previous paradigms removed, replaced.
She used to think of it as being corrupted and led astray, but really she's been set free. And she's grateful for it.
mlsg: Lack of patience Nonsense. Some of us have all the...
mlsg:
Lack of patience
Nonsense. Some of us have all the patience in the world.
We just like to use knives to undress girls.
nanking-decade: Keep your slut wet and your flowers...
Keep your slut wet and your flowers fresh.
Flowers make a girl feel special.
She won't even see the cock that claims her until after...
She won't even see the cock that claims her until after it's done.
She's travelled a long way for this. One hopes it is...
She's travelled a long way for this. One hopes it is everything she longs for.
The discomfort you will endure. The degradation you will...
The discomfort you will endure.
The degradation you will crave.
The use, the consummation, is almost secondary; presentation is everything.
Her last free act. She is smiling; she has been yearning for...
Her last free act. She is smiling; she has been yearning for this.
She'd been told that inspection time was likely to be...
She'd been told that inspection time was likely to be degrading, and she consented eagerly. But when the time came she became recalcitrant and bratty.
But inspection time is inspection time.
There is a reason I prefer older cars. It's to do with...
There is a reason I prefer older cars. It's to do with their inherent suitability for road trips.
And the girl does love her a good road trip.
whyexactly: There you go, baby bird. There you go.
There you go, baby bird.
There you go.
Consummation
Her owner bid his collared whore strip, and kneel before him.
He loved her like this. He loved her serenity, her devotion.
He paused for a moment, and then: "Hello, Pet."
Her eyes remained downcast, her conditioning strong.
"Pet, do you recall what we agreed about your holes? About how in principle I own all of them, but that I consented to honour your reluctance to surrender your ass to me?"
She gulped. "Yes, Sir." She knew what was coming.
"Pet, today marks the day I shall claim that hole. Today I shall consummate my possession, irrespective of your reluctance. Look at me when you answer: do you know what that means?"
Slowly she raised her eyes to meet his. She hesitated before answering, "Yes, Sir. It means that my ass has always been yours, but that you have graced me with abstinence; and that you wish no longer to abstain from using it."
"Do I correctly infer your consent? Or do you wish to renegotiate the basis of our relationship at this time? Do you no longer wish to recognise my authority?"
"Sir, I am your whore. I shall always be your whore. I am your property. I have no say; there is no 'I'."
"Very well. Open your mouth."
Of course she obeyed. And without hesitation, he inserted a large ring-gag, strapping it into position tightly. Her cunt surged with moisture at the thought.
"I want to hear your sounds, Pet. I want to hear your moans, your protest, perhaps even your screams. I want your mouth open to remind you that all of you is open to me."
He withdrew his cock from his trousers and pushed it to the hilt into her face without hesitation, pulling her head against his crotch with both hands. He held it for a moment. She gagged. Tears broke free and she struggled, and he pulled her off his cock.
"Your job, Pet, is to make my cock hard. Harder than you've ever made it. Because the harder it is, the easier it will be for you, what comes next. So see to your duties."
He let her take a breath before ramming his cock back into her face, into the wordless black 'O' in her head. He took her hard, savagely, letting her breathe every ten thrusts or so.
The temptation to fuck her face, her head, her skull to completion tore at him just as he tore at her hair; very nearly he succumbed. But finally he held her head before him, and looked her in the eye.
She gasped, powerless to speak through her gag; she had not ever felt the power of his possession at this intensity before.
"Down," he said, his cock still twitching in front of her face, dripping with pre-cum and drool. "Face down, ass up, whore. It's time." He pushed her head down to illustrate his meaning.
Redundant: she instinctively assumed a position he had painstakingly taught her by word and by belt - her face on the floor, her back arched, presenting her holes, her hands pulling her cheeks apart. She knew what was coming and she moaned, whimpered in dread as she sensed him moving to position himself behind her.
He did not bother with her dripping cunt.
He placed the tip of his cock against her ass, and waited for a moment.
"Last chance to signal withdrawal of consent, whore," he said.
She took a deep breath, let it out with a sigh; settled into her position of presentation. She pulled her ass cheeks open a little further, pushed up her hips a little more, spread her knees a little wider. This, then is how he would take her. She was his anyway; her platitudes concerning reticence and consent nothing more than dust. He had humoured her refusal to admit him; he had pretended to give a damn what she thought.
She was his whore. And she wanted nothing else.
And then he claimed her.
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