Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Earlier…

The woman on the screen opens her mouth around a soundless scream as her already pink pussy is spanked without mercy. Over and over again she’s punished, trapped in the eternal loop of the gif. In the next picture, a cock is shoved into her open mouth, and despite her agonized expression and fruitless struggles, she obediently starts to suck it—and keeps sucking it, even though her cunt gets spanked again, making her whole body jolt.

With careful positioning, it’s possible to look at both pictures at the same time, to witness her degradation and pain from both angles. To see her being forced to give pleasure and get none in return.

Below the pictures, the tags read: #pussy spanking, #bondage, #🥵, #fav, #absolute fav, #omg please, #do this to me, #punish my slutty pussy, #rape me, #🥺

The man looks at the tags and smiles.

***

Now…

From the darkness, a voice she doesn’t recognize: “Hello, Mira.”

Mira gasps and her eyes flutter open. She looks around, blinking slowly at first: but when the last hazy dregs of unconsciousness clear from her mind, her heart starts to pound faster and faster with every new detail she takes in. An ominous, shadowed room. Vague shapes of cabinets and shelves around her. No windows in sight, nothing that gives a hint of her present location.

And herself, strapped down tightly to some kind of chair, completely immobilized.

“What…” she breathes out. Her mind takes a few moments to fully comprehend the whole situation, but when it does, she lets out a frightened scream and starts to struggle desperately, heedless of the way the leather straps dig into her flesh, even through the thick fabric of her jeans.

“Oh, stop that, Mira,” says the unknown voice again with a hint of exasperation. A large palm goes over Mira’s forehead and—pets her, like calming down a frightened child, or some kind of animal. The man—and it is a man, a huge, hulking figure of a man—steps closer so that Mira can see him fully. Mira chokes on her next breath, moaning low in her throat, and the man shakes his head and shushes her gently.

“No need for that, Mira dear,” he says. His voice is a deep, rumbling basso, which is not a surprise, considering the rest of him. His arms alone must be the size of Mira’s thighs: the fingers of his huge paws could probably fit around her waist. He’s dressed in black overalls, making it hard to see any details of his body, apart from his size. His bald head shines dully under the overhead light, but his face… his face is hidden behind a black mask, which covers everything, even his eyes. A remote part of Mira’s mind wonders how he can see anything through it.

“W-what—who a-are you?” Mira manages to stutter through her trembling lips. “What do you… please, please let me go, please, I’m scared!” Her voice breaks down in a whimpering sob.

“Shh,” the man shushes her again and slides his palm slowly over her cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen without Mira even noticing it. The skin of his thumb is rough and calloused. “No need to be scared, Mira. It’s going to be okay.”

“Oh god,” she whimpers and closes her eyes. The man must be some kind of… Her mind skitters away from the word, but there’s an awful certainty in her mind, now. She’s going to die. She’s going to die in the hands of this masked madman, and nobody is going to find her body.

“Please, just…” Mira mumbles, then coughs and gasps when her tears threaten to choke her. She has to try, though. “Just do it—do it quickly. Don’t let me…” Don’t let her die slowly, in agony, please.

“Quickly?” the man scoffs and the grip of his hand in Mira’s hair tightens for a moment, then he removes it and takes a step back. “Why would I do it quickly? Oh no, I’m going to take my time with you. It’s only what you deserve.” He pauses for a moment, then inclines his head. “Ah, I see… No, my sweetie, I’m not going to kill you. I’m not a killer.”

“Then what—”

“Enough! Stop asking questions.” There is no real anger behind his words, but Mira instantly slams her mouth shut, cowering as much as her restraints allow. She does not want to anger the man. Oh god, no. He might claim not to be a killer, but the fact remains that he could easily rip her to pieces with those massive hands of his. Subdue her completely even without the restraints.

The man nods, apparently satisfied with Mira’s response—or lack of it—and walks over to one of the shelves. His heavy steps make the floor shake enough that Mira can feel the reverberations through her chair. He hums thoughtfully to himself and rummages through the shelves, putting several items in the large pockets of his overalls. Mira can’t figure out what the items are, before the man returns to her side.

“This is for your pretty mouth,” the man says and holds up—a ball gag. Mira gasps and jerks backwards reflexively, but only manages to hit her head on the soft cushion behind her. The man tuts and comes closer, grabs her hair with one hand and her jaw with the other. He presses against some spot that makes Mira whimper with pain and open her mouth against her will—and as soon as she does, the ball gag is shoved in. It stretches her mouth obscenely wide and makes forming words impossible.

Apparently it’s a sign for the man to stop talking, too. He doesn’t say a word as he takes out a pair of scissors and starts cutting through Mira’s clothes. The other side of them is flat and slides over Mira’s body without cutting her, but she stays perfectly still anyway, frozen with fear as the blade gets close to her most vulnerable parts. First, the crotch of her jeans. The man seems to put hardly any effort into it as he cuts through the thick seams and leaves Mira’s cunt bared to the cool air of the room, her panties the only thing keeping her decent—for now. Her sweater is next, sliced open, the tattered halves left hanging to the sides.

When the man pinches the fabric just over Mira’s nipples, she whines and shakes her head, but she can only watch as small holes are cut into her t-shirt. And then—

“Stay still,” the man rumbles and pokes at her bra, feeling around until he locates her nipples under the thin padding. Mira has to close her eyes, trembling all over as she braces herself for agony—but then there’s a snick and cool air hits her perfectly unharmed nipple. The process is repeated on the other side, then the man puts the scissors down somewhere and hums, sounding pleased.

Mira can’t bring herself to open her eyes. She’s still fully clothed, but she can feel her nipples stick out lewdly from the small holes. She can’t even imagine what they look like, not to mention her crotch—with her jeans ruined, torn apart.

A thick finger brushes over her clit and she flinches. Stubbornly she keeps her eyes squeezed tightly shut, even when a calloused thumb teases the tip of her exposed nipple. She can’t hold back a small, stuttering moan, though, as both her clit and nipple are caressed at the same time. Her nipples have never felt this sensitive: it’s like the fact that she’s still otherwise clothed is amplifying the sensation, on both parts, until they’re the only things that exist in the universe. It doesn’t matter that her panties are still intact—somehow the man seems to locate every single nerve of her clit through them, as he slowly, almost lazily rubs his finger back and forth, back and forth over the length of her clit.

The fingers go lower, push at her opening. A small chuckle echoes in Mira’s ears when the man discovers the wetness there. But it’s not my fault! Mira wants to scream. It’s just my body doing that! And it’s true: for some reason her body is thrumming with arousal. It doesn’t matter that she’s also so scared that her stomach feels like ice and her limbs are trembling minutely. Her clit aches with arousal and her hole is simply dripping with it.

Just when Mira is starting to give in to the sensation, starting to enjoy it despite the whole situation, the hand goes away—then comes back with a sharp smack over her cunt. She screams through her gag, eyes going wide open. The pain from the first slap is still rushing through her nerves as the huge hand comes down again, hitting her with the whole monstrous strength behind it. Or so it feels like. His palm covers her entire cunt, from her pubic mound to where her asshole is hidden behind the remains of her jeans: no part of her is spared.

The man spanks her pussy a few times, for an eternity, before he pauses and goes back to rubbing her twitching clit. His hands are perfectly steady, but his breathing is noticeably heavier now. His loose overalls hide all the significant details of his body, so Mira can’t see if he’s hard, but—she’s certain of it. She sobs helplessly, both from the sharp, throbbing pain between her legs, and the unfairness of being tied down and exposed like this, while she can’t even see what kind of effect it’s having on her tormentor.

Large fingers grab her nipple roughly and roll it between them. Mira moans, shakes her head, moans again. The feeling goes directly to her cunt. It’s like lightning is passing through her body, making her lower stomach go warm with it, until it finally reaches her aching clit. The man switches to fondling her other nipple, and she can’t help but arch her back a little, helplessly chasing the sensation. As soon as she does so, though, the man raises his other hand and spanks her cunt again.

She screams. She can feel her spit join the mess on her face, where tears have been running steadily over her heated cheeks. They drip down her chin and land on her heaving chest. It would be disgusting, had she been capable of paying any attention to it, but her mind is consumed by the stabs of agony and pleasure that are fighting for dominance within her body. First the man teases her nipples gently, then gives a hard smack right over her clit, until she can’t make sense of the feelings anymore.

Soon, though, the man starts to slow down. He goes from brutally spanking Mira, to slapping her lightly with hardly any strength behind the blows—until he’s simply caressing her cunt, rubbing his fingertips over the swollen peak of her clit. Her panties are so wet that they must be practically translucent. She can’t tell what the man thinks of the state of her body: the mask hides everything, and he’s not making any revealing sounds either—just breathing rather heavily, huge lungfuls of air that he’s clearly trying to regulate. Mira is dying to know, though, what he’s thinking: is he laughing at her? Mocking her? Is he disgusted with her?

She can’t bear the thought of the man disdaining her, she suddenly discovers with a jolt. The idea makes her queasy, which makes no sense—he’s the one who has kidnapped her, who has been torturing her like this! So why should Mira care what he thinks?

The man draws in a slow, steady breath, then he stops caressing Mira and fumbles with his own clothing instead. He doesn’t remove his overalls completely, just opens a zipper right over his crotch, and then his heavy cock falls out.

Mira swallows a whimper. It’s—monstrous. Perfectly proportional to the rest of the man’s body, certainly, but since the rest of him is so huge, so is his cock, too. Mira has never seen anything so ugly. It’s huge and veiny, both long and impossibly thick, with a bulbous head like a battering ram. His testicles are a terrifying sight too, as they hang heavily between his legs. She stares at them and her stomach clenches with revulsion.

The man bends down and picks up some kind of remote, and when he presses a button, the chair starts to move. Mira yelps when it tilts back, then again, louder, when her legs are slowly spread open. The man puts the remote down and steps between her legs. This time he doesn’t bother fondling her anymore, just takes hold of her panties and—rips them open with his bare hands. Mira flinches when her wet, swollen pussy is finally out in the open. She starts shaking her head again, making desperate, muffled sounds that grow higher and higher in pitch as the man shoves his fingers in, three at a time, and fucks her roughly, sloppily with them.

“What a slutty, slutty cunt,” he growls and pushes his fingers deeper, curling them up. Mira clenches around them, but it only intensifies the feeling. She lets out short, breathless sounds,not quite sobs as the man ravages her cunt, then a sharp “Ah!” when he locates the spot that makes her body sing. He focuses on that spot, rubbing it fast and hard, the wet sounds of Mira’s cunt and her animalistic, helpless whimpers filling the air. The pleasure is so sharp and strong that it’s not even pleasure anymore: her limbs shake uncontrollably with it.

Soon there’s an intense pressure growing in Mira’s lower stomach, an urgent need like she’s about to pee, but she doesn’t—it’s something else entirely. She clenches her jaw and fights against the feeling, fights against the burning in her nerve endings—but it’s no use. The man only curls over her prone body and lets out a sound that’s something like a growl, speeding up the thrusting of his hand, focusing on that spot: then his other hand comes down in a sharp slap right over Mira’s clit and she screams, her body convulsing as an immense orgasm tears through her, making her skin tingle and eyes roll back in her head.

“Finally,” the man grunts, so low that it’s like he isn’t even aware that he’s talking, and pulls his fingers out. Something wet splatters on the floor, but Mira can’t make any sense of it, too busy twitching and drooling through the aftershocks. Then the man takes hold of his—massive, disgusting, monstrous cock—and puts it on her opening.

No more, Mira tries to say, but the words come out as garbled nonsense through the gag. She whines when the cock pushes in slowly, into her still twitching hole. She’s so sensitive after her orgasm, it’s like she can feel every single bump and vein on the man’s ugly cock. Halfway through, the man pauses, panting like a bull. His hands shake slightly as he puts them over Mira’s boobs, rolling her nipples under his thumbs as he gathers himself. Mira can feel his eyes on her even through the black mask and closes her own, like that would somehow hide her.

Then the man slams his cock all the way in, and Mira’s cunt is ravaged again.

***

“P-please, let me go, why won’t you let me—” Mira moans as the man tightens the straps on her shirt. No, not a shirt: a straitjacket. Something that keeps her arms bound without hurting her—and leaves her chest bare. The man doesn’t reply, just pauses to grope and fondle her boobs. He lets them go with a final squeeze to her nipples, then goes to tighten the restraints around her ankles. Finally, he wraps some kind of harness around Mira’s hips, tightening the straps until it doesn’t move an inch, and places something smooth and cool right over her clit; from her position, she can’t see what it is.

When he’s finished, Mira is lying on a narrow, metal-framed bed on her back. Her ankles are the only part of her that are actually tied to the frame, but with the straitjacket in place, it’s quite enough.

“You will not leave,” the man says, the first words he has said to her since he… “I am not finished with you.”

“But—no! Don’t go! Please!” Mira screams after the man, but he’s already slamming the door shut behind him, leaving Mira alone in the small, dark room. She lets her head fall back on the pillow and bites her lip to hold back the sobs that are threatening to break free. She has cried enough already: her eyes are hurting from all the tears. So no, no more tears, no more screaming. She can survive this. Her cunt is awfully sore, but she’s not dead. She can—

The vibrator strapped between her legs thrums to life. Her screams and sobs echo in the small room for a long time.

Chapter Text

Then…

On the screen, a sobbing young woman tries to crawl away on her hands and knees, but she’s grabbed and thrown on her back as three laughing men start tearing at her already torn clothes. The next picture has the camera lingering on her cunt, her hole stretched impossibly wide around two cocks. A garishly colored text, obviously a later addition to the picture, flashes the words DESTROY HER CUNT repeatedly as the gif stutters back to the start.

The tags read: #double penetration, #rough, #fuuuuuuck, #please, #I need this, #destroy my cunt, #rape me, #😍🥺

***

Now…

Mira wakes up to a cock being shoved roughly into her hole. She screams and struggles, but her arms are still caught in the straitjacket, and strong hands are keeping her legs from flailing around. Her assailant’s thick fingers dig painfully into the soft flesh of her thighs, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of being penetrated so suddenly, without a warning.

She sees the dark, masked figure looming above her and screams again, certain that she’s still trapped in some kind of nightmare, but no: the pain is very real, and she is very much awake.

The man pulls nearly all the way out and thrusts back in forcefully, not caring about the way Mira’s hole clenches around the invasion. It feels like he’s tearing her apart, and she glances down with her heart in her throat, absolutely certain that she’s lying in a puddle of blood, but—there’s nothing. She chokes on a sob and squirms under the man’s weight, and only then registers the cool slickness between their bodies, and how the man is sliding in with relative ease, despite the way her body is fighting against it.

“S-stop,” Mira sobs and tries to shove at the man with her bound hands, but he just lets out an annoyed grunt and pulls out, then flips her around on her stomach. One of his hands presses her head to the rumpled bed sheets, the other spanks her ass hard, once, twice; then he pushes back in, immediately starting a harsh, fast rhythm that makes her whole body shake helplessly. Her stomach is still convulsing painfully around the girth of his cock, and flashes of hot and cold go through her body in turns, making her tremble and moan. She’s sure that she’s going to be sick.

The hand on her neck is removed, and the man straightens up, kneeling between her spread legs. He grabs her hips and starts pounding even faster, with ruthless force that makes Mira let out sharp yelps at every thrust. She no longer feels like retching: she’s not even sure what she is feeling, but whatever it is, it’s too much. The man’s heavy testicles slap against her clit with every thrust, and it should be revolting—no, it absolutely is revolting—but at the same time, the glancing touches only seem to make her nerves wake up and take notice. It doesn’t take long before the rest of her body follows, and the pain of being raped turns into vague, shy kind of pleasure that’s skirting around her nerves, ready to take over.

The man makes no move to touch her, however. No matter how much Mira moans and squirms, tilts her hips invitingly (as much as she dares), his hands stay firmly on her hips, never straying between her legs to touch where her need is greatest. His breathing is growing heavier now, his movements more jerky and erratic—and then he’s coming, slamming his hips to Mira’s one last time, filling her with his seed.

For a moment he stays there, crouched over her prone body, but he doesn’t savor his orgasm for long before he pulls out, making Mira wince, then flips her around again. One hand holds her left thigh to the side, the other comes down, landing right over her clit. He spanks her hard and fast, making her squeal and scream. Indescribable pain blooms between her legs, but she can’t escape it, the man’s hold is too strong. Soon his come starts to spill out from Mira’s hole, and the sound of the slaps turn obscenely wet, filthy, but he simply continues to spank her even as droplets of his come fly all around them.

As suddenly as it started, the abuse stops, leaving Mira a trembling, sobbing mess. Quite literally a mess: the man’s come has now spilled all over her body, some of it even reaching her face. The man hums and thrusts his fingers inside, first two of them, adding a third soon after. Her hole is so loose after his monstrous cock that it doesn’t make a difference. Mira trembles and weeps under his touch. Her hole is hypersensitive after the way he ravaged it, every nerve on fire, and every stroke of his fingers make her flinch violently. He is merciless, however, unerringly locating the sensitive spot within her and rubbing it hard.

“Nnh,” Mira whines. Her mouth doesn’t obey her when she tries to beg the man to stop. Every time she tries to form words, the man presses his fingers hard against her oversensitive flesh and nearly makes her swallow her tongue: only pitiful whines and hoarse groans make it out. The pleasure begins to grow and spiral towards that inevitable peak, her insides going molten with it. The man’s thumb brushes over her clit and makes her gasp, and she’s nearly there, her legs shaking with it—

Suddenly the hand is gone, and the man is dragging Mira to her feet.

“No!” she sobs and stumbles against the man. Her limbs feel like they’re made of water. Her cunt throbs with the loss of her orgasm. “Why did you—please!”

“Time to get washed up,” the man says serenely and half leads, half carries her out of the room.

***

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” the man says and points the shower between Mira’s legs. She gasps and tries to bring her legs together, but the metal bar attached to her ankles keeps them spread. The water, just a bit too hot to be comfortable, washes away all traces of the man’s come.

“It was necessary, though. I need to be able to focus completely on you, and—well. You must know what kind of effect a helpless little slut like you has on a man, yes?”

The way the man talks makes the words even more frightening. His cadence is slow and monotonous, with barely any emotion behind it, and with the mask covering his entire face, he’s impossible to read. No expression, no significant body language, no inflection at all. The way he has fucked Mira—twice, now—is the only sign that he’s able to feel anything at all.

“Then what are you—ah!” Mira flinches when the man points the shower to her armpits. Her arms are restrained by another metal bar, this one hanging from the ceiling, and it rattles and clangs when she twitches under the torrent of water. She tries to keep her eyes firmly on the man—the bathroom, if it even can be called that, is simply too frightening. Chains and metal poles and even large hooks all around her. She swallows, making an effort to block them out of her mind, and tries again: “What are y-you planning?”

The water turns off, and the man just stands there for a moment, staring at Mira. She shivers and tries to curl in on herself, which she obviously can’t do, not with the restraints keeping her limbs strictly in position.

"We will have breakfast now," the man says finally and picks up a towel, starting to pat her dry with it.

"Breakfast," Mira repeats blankly, then flinches when the man rubs her cunt roughly with the towel.

"Yes," he replies simply. "You need to keep your strength up."

That sounds ominous as fuck. Mira has to swallow a few times before she can ask weakly: "For what?"

The man chuckles. The sound is low and raspy and makes Mira's skin crawl. "Everything, my dear girl. Everything. But we will start with the spanking machine."

Spanking…? Mira's mouth is open, but no sound comes out. Her cunt clenches as the images triggered by those words flood her mind, nebulous and frightening. How would that even work? "No," she whimpers weakly. "I don't want—"

"Don't be silly," the man replies absentmindedly as he begins to remove Mira's restraints. "You love getting your cunt whipped. So I will give you exactly what you want."

“No! No, I can’t do it, I can’t, stop it, stop!” She flails and screams and kicks, out of her mind with panic, but the man calmly gathers her wrists in one hand, her ankles in another, and throws her over his wide shoulders like a piece of meat. No matter how much she howls and struggles, his grip doesn’t slip: she is carried off to another room.

***

They end up skipping breakfast.

***

“I made this whole place for you,” the man says, tightening the leather strap around Mira’s thigh, and she can hear the pride clearly in his voice. “I have so many things prepared for you, Mira.”

Somehow Mira can’t bring herself to appreciate all his efforts. She clenches her jaw to stop her teeth from clattering with fear. Every muscle in her body is taut, and the man notices it, too. He sighs and slides his hand over the bare skin of Mira’s back, making her skin go up in goosebumps all over her body. “You are too tense,” he mutters disapprovingly and massages her shoulders roughly. A small gasp escapes Mira’s mouth. Fuck, but in any other situation the man’s large, strong hands would feel divine, massaging her muscles like that. They feel like they could squeeze every last bit of tension out of her, leave her limp as a noodle—if she wasn’t scared witless, restlessly anticipating whatever torment the man had “prepared” for her.

Right now she’s kneeling on the cold floor, bent over some kind of… metal structure. It doesn’t look like anything you could buy from a store: it’s hand-crafted from steel beams, which are carefully welded together with obvious skill. The whole thing is bolted firmly to the floor, and no amount of fighting on Mira’s part is going to make it go loose.

Her hips are resting on a narrow sling made of leather straps, her chest on another (though there are slits that let her boobs dangle freely below her), but those are the only comfortable parts of the structure. There’s a steel beam behind her lower back, keeping it bent in a tight curve. Her neck and wrists are trapped in some kind of pillory made of steel beams.

The man finishes tightening the restraints and walks around Mira’s bound body in a slow circle, assessing her from every angle. He hums to himself thoughtfully, a sound that is becoming very familiar to Mira, and slides his hand over her back. He pauses and wraps his hand around her hair, tugging her head back. She whines, but follows the motion as best as she can. To her surprise, the man starts to comb his fingers through her hair, doing it slowly and methodically until there are practically no tangles at all, then begins to braid it with surprising skill. It feels… nice.

But making Mira feel nice isn’t on the man’s agenda, and she can’t allow herself to forget that: just when she’s starting to go into a weird haze, soothed by the gentle touch, the man grabs her hair and gives it a sharp tug. She yelps in alarm, and only then notices that the man had also tied a thin rope to her hair, which he is now using to pull her head back.

Satisfied with his handiwork, the man goes to stand behind her again. “I’m not going to have anal sex with you yet,” he says calmly, probably to reassure Mira—but it has the opposite effect: she’s immediately hit with the vivid picture of the man’s thick cock pushing into her virginal ass. God, it had hurt so much when it was her cunt, but her ass—? Her chest heaves with sharp, painful gasps as the panic rushes through her veins again. The man can’t be seriously considering it! He would tear Mira in half!

A sharp slap lands on her ass and jolts her from her panicked thoughts.

“I just said that I am not going to do it,” the man growls and spanks her again. Mira yelps and instinctively tries to squirm away, but the steel beams hold every inch of her body, and there is no escape. But the man only spanks her a couple of times before he goes back to his original task. Which seems to be… sticking a thick finger into her ass. Mira gasps: didn't the man just promise that he wouldn't…! The preparation is quick, though, the man stretching her hole only slightly, more focused on spreading the lube there.

Then the fingers slip out and something cold and hard takes their place. Whatever it is, it's not particularly large, but Mira's body fights against the unyielding metal, before it finally slips in. It slides deeper, and now Mira can make sense of the shape: it’s a metal hook about the same thickness as the man's fingers, with a bulbous, round head. A metal hook, in her ass. The thought makes Mira dizzy: it's like something straight out of a medieval torture dungeon. Her degradation doesn't stop there, either: the man grabs the rope in her hair and… ties it to the other end of the hook. When he lets go, the rope is pulled taut between the metal hook in her ass and her bound hair, forcing her to keep her head up.

"Oh my god," Mira whines and gasps when even such a small motion makes the hook pull at the stretched rim of her ass. Tears flood her eyes. Already she can feel the strain in her neck, the sting in her scalp. She can feel how the hook pulls at her hole, opening it up, letting cool air kiss the fragile flesh inside.

"Excellent," the man murmurs and puts his hands on Mira's ass. His palms are so huge that they almost manage to cover her cheeks entirely. She shakes with trepidation as she waits for the man's next move. She doesn't know how she'll survive it if the man decides to spank her now. For the moment, though, he seems content with just playing with the globes of her ass, squeezing, then spreading them to take a look at her holes. He hums and slides a thumb over Mira’s slit, which is—somehow getting wet again. She bites her lip and silently curses her body for betraying her like this.

“Already so eager,” the man remarks. It’s probably only Mira’s imagination, but he sounds slightly smug. His pointer finger pushes in, and even though his fingers are so large, the way he does it isn’t even supposed to bring her any pleasure. It’s almost clinical, like he’s just testing her hole, and all the more invasive for it. “Mm, yes. I see that you are excited to see—feel—my machine.”

“N-no! I’m not!” Mira whimpers, but the man is already gone, doing something behind her back. She can’t turn her head to look, can only listen with sick horror to the sound of some… thing on wheels being rolled closer to her. The man’s fingers brush over Mira’s cunt again, then there’s a click, probably the wheels being locked down. Another kind of click, then something else brushes against her cunt, causing her to flinch.

That's all the warning she gets before the machine starts running at full speed and she yells hoarsely.

It's not even that bad at first. The strap hitting Mira's clit repeatedly doesn't have the same weight or strength behind it as the man's hands. It's a sharp, stinging kind of pain, but soon it starts to deepen into a burning ache in her clit. It's manageable enough that Mira has time to wonder what the machine looks like. Maybe a wheel with multiple leather straps, spinning around and around—she remembers seeing something like that in porn once, though she scrolled quickly past it, the sight too frightening for her to look at it directly (though it later haunted her, in the middle of night when she was lying in bed, unspeakably horny and restless).

Whatever it is, apparently the man doesn't need to operate it, because he circles back to stand in front of Mira, then slowly goes down on his knees.

"How does that feel?" he asks and brushes stray locks of hair from Mira's face. The gesture is shockingly gentle, a stark contrast to the pain in Mira's clit.

"Hurts," she chokes out, but the man only hums appreciatively and nods.

"Good," he says and brushes his thumb over Mira’s trembling lips. "Your pussy is already blushing so prettily." He grabs Mira's boobs where they hang below her and plays with them a bit: lifts them as if to feel their weight, then lets them drop and bounce in the air, repeating the action so many times that they start to ache. He finds Mira's nipples and rolls them between his fingers, first doing it slowly, with that same confusing kind of gentleness—then goes to squeeze them hard enough to make Mira whimper. Both of those sensations go directly to her clit, which throbs with arousal, strong enough that she feels it even through the flashes of agony: strong enough that even though there's nothing directly touching and pleasuring her there, she moans and squirms helplessly as her clit twitches.

"Stop," Mira whines. Her voice is a tiny and broken thing. "Please, I can't—"

"No," the man says calmly and gives her nipples one last pinch, before getting up and taking another slow stroll around Mira's bound body. "You're doing so well." He stops behind her and stands there quietly for a few long moments—probably admiring the way the machine is relentlessly whipping Mira's pussy. She can't see him, or even hear him, not over her own helpless sobs and whimpers—but his presence still feels like a massive weight pressing over her, holding her down, body and soul.

Suddenly a warm palm settles on Mira's ass and makes her flinch. The man shushes her and slowly, caressingly runs his palm over her trembling flesh. His breathing finally begins to turn faster, harsher, and he slides the fingers of his other hand between Mira's wet folds, seeking out the place where her tender opening is caught between the mechanical whip on one side and the cruel metal hook on the other.

"Yes, this is exactly what you need," he growls and the grip on her ass tightens, the fingers in her hole turning rougher too. He fucks her hole like that, fast and cruel: he doesn't seem to mind that occasionally the strap strikes his hand too. Mira is sobbing helplessly, out of her mind with pain and murky kind of pleasure. Her aching neck is beginning to get too weak to hold her head up, but if she lets it drop down, the rope tugs at the hook in her ass, which in turn twists her hips just so, making her poor clit stick out even more: making it an even easier target for the whip.

Mira's sure that the man is going to keep her there forever, strapped to the steel beams, whipping her cunt until there's nothing but bruised flesh left. Thankfully the man finally seems to lose his patience and turns the machine off. There is no respite for Mira, though: as soon as the man has pushed the machine to the side, he kneels behind Mira and unzips his overalls with jerky, rushed movements. He settles his knees on the outside of Mira’s legs, then places the head of his cock on her opening. It slides over her slick folds a few times, and the man chuckles darkly when even more wetness dribbles out of her hole. “So hungry for it,” the man rasps, then enters her with one fast, violent thrust.

"Ah!" Mira cries out when the man's cock once again invades her. “Ah, f-fuck!” Her tender, bruised folds part easily around the man’s length, but every time he thrusts in, the pain blooms anew. One of the man’s hands holds on to the metal beam over Mira’s back, but the other grabs her hair. Every sharp jab of his hips jostles Mira’s body and also causes the man to tug on her hair sharply, making her scalp ache. Her limbs are trembling continuously now, weak from fear and exhaustion. The only thing keeping her up are the metal beams and restraints—and the man’s hand in her hair. Her mouth hangs open as she tries to draw in huge lungfuls of air between the humiliating sounds that fall from her throat: small, animalistic whimpers and mewls, nothing that she would recognize as her own voice.

She loses track of time, loses herself in the pain. There is only the ache in her clit, the sting on her scalp, the bone-deep weariness in her trembling limbs. There is only the huge cock in her bruised and battered hole, the unforgiving metal in her ass. Darkness threatens at the edges of her vision, but the pain keeps her awake, and she doesn’t know which would be preferable: the constant barrage of sensations, or the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness. The man is saying something, but his voice is nothing but a deep, rumbling sound in her ears; she can’t make any sense of it.

Then something touches her clit and the shock of the pleasure almost makes her mind fracture. First it’s a clumsy, glancing touch, but soon the man gets his bearings and starts to rub her slippery clit just as hard and fast as he’s fucking her. There is no finesse to it, no gentleness at all. His cock is like a battering ram, his hands clumsy and forceful, and it’s the best thing she’s ever felt. She sobs and clenches around the thickness of him, moaning out loud when that makes the ache even better, even more overwhelming.

The orgasm hits Mira like a slow wave. This time it’s not fast and sharp and violent: now it feels like it comes from everywhere, every inch of her body burning with it. She hardly even feels the fingers pressing roughly on her clit: only the pleasure that they forcefully pump out of her aching nerves. Every thrust of the man’s hips only prolongs her orgasm, as if it’s trapped between the man’s cock and fingers, the pleasure crashing over her clit again and again, until the ache of it is even worse than being whipped. She can’t keep her eyes open anymore, and she’s faintly aware of the fact that she’s drooling like a mindless animal as the darkness finally slams over her.

Chapter Text

Then…

On the screen, a plump young woman is folded over a low table. Her arms are tied behind her back and her legs are held wide open by a spreader bar. She’s staring at the camera, or rather through it: her eyes are wet and glazed over, and her mouth is red and swollen. A fully-clothed man is kneeling behind her, his head cropped out of the picture. His cock is the only thing that’s visible of him, and he’s holding it to the woman’s cunt, clearly about to penetrate her. The woman’s thighs and cunt are covered with bite marks and bruises, and already streaked with come.

The tags say: #bondage, #creampie, #rape meat, #free use, #guh 🥺, #I would be such a good fucktoy for you, #rape me

***

Now…

This time Mira wakes up just before the man assaults her. Well—she wakes up to his thick fingers pushing into her cunt, but at least they’re slick with lube and slide in easily, despite the way her body instantly clenches around them.

“No!” she chokes out with a voice that’s still thick and raspy with sleep. “Don’t—”

That’s all she manages before the man’s fingers retreat and are replaced by his fat cock. Mira chokes on her spit when it impales her. Somehow it still hurts like hell, even after all the times he has raped her. It just never stops being too much: too long, too wide, too cruel. He doesn’t seem to believe in foreplay either, just sticks it in and fucks her hard and deep, making her scream with every brutal thrust, and when it’s over and she feels hot liquid spill out of her hole, she’s once again certain that it’s her blood—but it isn’t. Her flesh is still intact, even if her mind is slowly starting to fracture.

Mira is still writhing and sobbing when the man grabs her left thigh and pushes it up, exposing her hole. She feels dizzy with fear and a faint, insidious whisper of unwanted arousal. She just woke up, and already she feels like she was put through a grinder. Her clit throbs and jumps in fearful anticipation when the man’s hand comes closer. Is he going to spank her cunt now? Deliver those hard, heavy smacks of his massive palm right over her already sore hole? She’s not sure how she can survive that. Her breathing hitches as she imagines the pain, so vivid in her mind that she almost cries out just from the memory of it.

But the man doesn’t spank her, hardly even touches her twitching clit. He puts two fingers into her slick hole and just thrusts them in and out, exploring her. Whatever he’s looking for, he seems to find it, because he grunts with satisfaction, then gets up and leaves the room rather abruptly. Mira is left lying on the bed, still trembling from shock and pain—but she has no time to recover before the man comes back, this time pushing a wide trolley ahead of him. It’s something you might find in a warehouse, a heavy thing made of steel, clearly meant for transporting equipment.

But the man has made some modifications to it. There’s a leather cushion covering the bottom, and additional beams have been welded to it, making it look more like a cage—but large enough to hold an adult woman. Thick leather straps dangle from the beams. Mira’s heart starts to gallop as soon as she sees it.

“No,” she whimpers, because she already knows what’s going to happen. “Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t—”

“I know you will,” the man replies placidly and picks her up, easy as that. Her screams and struggles are as useless as ever, and the straitjacket makes it impossible to wriggle free. Soon she finds herself lying on her back on the trolley, ass pulled to the edge, legs drawn up and strapped to the metal beams. The man removes the straitjacket, but only to restrain Mira’s arms to her sides. Even more leather straps go over her chest and hips, holding her down. When the man is finished, he steps back and takes a good look at his captive.

Mira sniffles and closes her eyes. Her position is… surprisingly comfortable, despite being strapped down so thoroughly that she can’t move an inch. She can’t help but notice that the trolley is just high enough that her ass is very conveniently at hip height. But the man fucked her just a minute ago, surely he can’t go again so soon?

She flinches when the man’s fingers poke at her cunt again.

“Should I whip you now, or later, in the afternoon?” he says musingly and pinches the tip of Mira’s clit, making her yelp. What a question! Obviously he shouldn’t whip her at all. Once again, though, the question isn’t really directed at her: before she can say anything, the man shakes his head dismissively and moves on to the next step of his sick plan. He pushes the trolley through the door, then switches places to grab the handle on the back, which is just above Mira’s head. The trolley rolls along smoothly: not a single squeak comes from the large rubber wheels.

“Where are you taking me?” Mira asks shakily, but receives no answer. What a surprise. She tries to swallow her panic and concentrate on her surroundings instead: maybe she can figure out a way to escape. No such opportunity presents itself to her, however. The corridor is long and dark, and several identical doors line the wall to the right: the other side is blank and windowless. The place looks like a bunker. Their destination is the door at the end of the corridor. It opens to a large room, just as grim and utilitarian as the rest of the place has been: concrete floors, unadorned brick walls, steel beams everywhere. It looks like it should be chilly and dank, like a medieval dungeon, but the room is surprisingly warm. Probably to accommodate Mira’s complete nudity.

She registers only a few glimpses of the room—tall shelves, a large couch, a desk with a computer—before the man pushes the trolley to the back, leaving her facing the brick wall, and locks the wheels.

And there, right in front of Mira’s defenseless cunt, is a fucking machine. It’s a sleek, black thing, obviously something that costs a fortune.

“I have to deal with some work orders today,” the man says with a hint of regret in his voice, which echoes in Mira’s ears like it was coming from afar. “But don’t worry, this will keep you entertained.”

“No,” Mira whispers, then louder: “No! I don’t want this! Stop!”

“Shh,” the man says and puts his hand over Mira’s mouth. “You have to be quiet, now. I have work to do. No? Then you leave me no choice.”

After a moment’s desperate struggle Mira is gagged. Trembling all over, she can only make pathetic, muffled noises as she watches the man fiddle with the machine. There’s a thick dildo attached to a long metal arm, and the man adjusts it, moving the arm up and down until he finds an angle that pleases him. He squirts some lube to the dildo, then takes a remote control from his pocket and presses a button. Slowly the dildo slides in, spreading Mira’s hole open. She whimpers helplessly: she’s sure that you’re not supposed to use a dildo that large with a fucking machine. It will tear her apart!

But no matter how much the stretch of it makes her ache, her cunt takes it all in easily. The man takes note of this and hums, a short, pleased sound. He presses some buttons and the machine speeds up, making the dildo grind against Mira’s insides, rubbing right over her g-spot.

“There,” the man says and rubs two fingers over Mira’s clit. “Isn’t that nice? Be a good girl now and stay put.”

Stay put? Stay put? What else could Mira possibly do? She stares after the man with wild eyes, but he offers nothing more: soon he leaves Mira’s field of vision, and then there’s the sound of a computer booting up. If she twists her neck far enough, she can make out the line of his back, and she also notices that he has removed his mask. There is no way for her to see his face, however, no matter how much she strains. In the end she has to give up and turn her head back with a twinge in her neck.

Mira has no choice but to lie there, the dildo plunging steadily into her cunt, over and over again. Every time it sends a tingling spark of pleasure skittering across her nerves: the now familiar, weird sensation, like she’s about to pee, which thankfully never happens: only the slow, ceaseless build-up of pleasure that she can’t ignore or escape. Sooner than she could have expected, she moans and shudders weakly as an orgasm overtakes her, sliding along her nerves softly, slowly like a trickle of honey.

Before the man took him, Mira hadn’t even known that it was possible for her to come without anything touching her clit.

The machine doesn’t stop. It’s like the man doesn’t even notice that Mira had come. He’s totally focused on his computer, the clicks of his mouse and the slow tapping of his fingers on the keyboard the only sounds in the room—except for the sound of the fucking machine, of course, and Mira’s tiny whimpers, the wet sounds of her cunt. Her body is jerking with the aftershocks, her toes twitching like there is a wire connecting them to her cunt, and she lets out a desperate, wordless moan: the man doesn’t even turn around. Soon her insides start to go numb, though, and she just lies there, tears streaming from her eyes, trying to ignore the ache in her lower stomach.

Mira is startled when the man stands up. When he walks over to Mira, he’s already wearing his mask again. He doesn’t say anything as he stares down at her, stroking his chin thoughtfully. Finally he takes the remote out and presses a button. Mira’s chest heaves with a relieved sigh when the machine stops. Her cunt still throbs with her pulse as an echo of the thrusting motion lingers.

The man pushes the trolley back a bit, away from the machine, which leaves more room for him to stand between Mira’s spread legs. The relief fades away just as quickly as it had come: it’s obvious that the man is not finished. Indeed, he runs his fingers over Mira’s cunt, stroking her wet, swollen folds roughly. He does everything roughly, it seems, not a speck of gentleness or care in his touch: yet inexplicably he always manages to wring orgasm after orgasm out of Mira’s helpless body.

Right now he doesn’t seem interested in making Mira come, however. It’s possible that it hadn’t been his intention with the fucking machine, either. He digs a bottle of lube from somewhere and coats his fingers with them—but instead of sticking them to Mira’s cunt, he goes lower, rubbing the tight furl of her asshole. Mira’s breathing hitches and she shakes her head fast, eyes wide and pleading.

“Nnh!” she tries to scream through the gag, then her voice breaks in a moan when the man’s fingers push in. It’s a tight fit, far too tight: Mira has never had anything up there—well, except the metal hook. But that had been quite slim, not a painful stretch at all, just highly invasive. The memory of it makes Mira’s skin crawl with humiliation.

The man’s cock will be painful, Mira knows it. It’s already too much when it goes into her cunt: how is she supposed to survive it if he fucks her ass? And just how is he ready to go already? Isn’t there supposed to be a refractory period?

This, too, the man does roughly and without care for Mira’s comfort. He’s barely even stretched her hole before he puts his cock at her entrance. The first few times it doesn’t even go in, just slips away, but finally he manages to notch it in and starts to push.

A faint ringing fills Mira’s ears. There’s nothing but pain, the tight clench of her ass completely unsuited for taking the man’s massive erection. She can’t even scream properly: the only sound she’s capable of making is a pitiful, high-pitched whine. When she shows no signs of relaxing enough to let him in, the man growls under his breath and delivers a hard smack to Mira’s cunt. That finally makes her scream—and relax just enough that the man’s cock manages to push past the tight ring of muscle.

It doesn’t get much easier after that. Whatever revelations Mira has been having about her body, no such thing happens here. There is no illicit pleasure tempering the pain, only the stretch and the strong thrusts that feel like they’re punching through her whole chest, churning her insides. The only thing she can do is endure, and hope that she won’t throw up from the sensation.

This time it takes longer for the man to come, but when he does, he actually moans aloud, a short, surprised “hah!”: something he hasn’t done before. Then his cock is sliding out, leaving Mira’s ass stretched open and ruined: she feels cool air touch her insides, which is not something she had ever expected—or wished—to feel. She doesn’t stay empty for long, however.

“Let’s keep those holes open,” the man says, and before Mira can even register the words, he’s already pushing something into her ass. She flinches violently and shakes her head, but the—thing—is a lot more manageable than the man’s cock had been. It’s smooth and cool, soft without being too yielding: a silicone plug, most likely. It’s… not too bad, actually.

A second plug slides into her cunt—this one slimmer, the shape not as flared as the one in her ass. It starts to slide out immediately, but the man slaps a hand over it, grumbling under his breath, and reaches for a third item. This turns out to be a leather harness, which goes around Mira’s hips, holding the plugs in place. As a finishing touch, a small vibrator is placed right over her clit. Then the man straightens up and rolls his shoulders.

“Right. Back to work,” he says and ambles back to his computer, leaving Mira lying there, plugged up and ready for use.

Chapter Text

Mira almost misses the opportunity, too stunned by the sudden chance. It’s laughably simple: the man is distracted by a phone call, and while he growls at his ringing phone, he apparently deems the call important enough that he walks out, leaving Mira alone in the room, unsupervised—and unrestrained.

See, the man forgot to tighten the strap in the straitjacket properly, and now she can wriggle her arms free. She’s still not wearing any underwear or anything—just the jacket, which also leaves her chest naked—but even the sensation of her limbs being free feels like a miracle. There’s not much time to revel in it: who knows how soon the man will be back? She must try to run now, and find some clothes later.

Mira peeks through the door, heart in her throat, but it’s empty and quiet outside. To her left, at the end of the corridor, is the room where the man—where he—anyway, she can’t go that way. She runs to the other end as quietly as she can. She has no idea which door she should try first, so she just decides to go for the last one, a mirror image of the—of that door.

It’s open. Mira rushes through so fast that she almost stumbles over her own legs. She glances around quickly—and her joy dies a sudden and painful death. It’s a dead end: there aren’t even any windows in the room. There’s an industrial-size laundry machine sitting at the back of the room, and not much else. She swallows a sob and backs out again. Looks like she has no other choice but to keep looking.

Unfortunately, as soon as Mira steps through the door, she sees the man do the same on the other end of the corridor. Both of them freeze in place, staring at each other, before Mira shrieks and runs to try the next door. Of course that one happens to be locked. She sobs and beats her fists against the door, but that doesn’t magically make it open, either.

“Go back to your room,” says the man sharply and walks fast towards her. For the first time, there is a hint of anger in his voice. It makes Mira’s insides go cold, colder even than the hard concrete floor under her bare feet. Out of her mind with fear, she turns to run back to the laundry room, forgetting in her panic that it doesn’t lead anywhere—but she barely manages to take two steps before she’s grabbed from behind and lifted, shrieking and flailing, over the man’s wide shoulder.

“What do you think you are doing?” the man growls and starts walking back, carrying Mira effortlessly.

“I’m sorry!” Mira sobs and tries to twist free, but it’s no use: the man’s grip is like steel. “I just—I’m sorry!”

“You will be,” the man says darkly, and Mira starts sobbing even harder. She cries too hard to notice where the man is taking her, but when she’s tossed down on a familiar-looking bench, she sees that they’re back in the room where the man—where he raped her the first time. The straps go around her limbs again, and when Mira tries to struggle, the man slaps her face.

“Be still, or I can’t do this safely,” the man growls. “Do you want to lose circulation in your arms? Hmm?”

“N-no,” Mira whimpers and tries to stay still. Her whole body is shaking like a leaf, but the man doesn’t comment on that, just continues to adjust the restraints, until almost her whole upper body is covered with the wide leather straps. Her breasts stay uncovered, of course, as well as her cunt.

When he’s finished tightening the straps, the man takes the remote from his pocket and fiddles with it. The chair starts to move slowly, tilting back so that Mira is lying there completely horizontal. It doesn’t stop there, but tilts even further, until her head is slightly lower than her hips, making her feel dizzy and unbalanced. But even that is not enough: her legs are lifted up and moved this way and that, until the soles of her feet are pointing at the ceiling and her legs are curled over her chest, leaving her crotch open and vulnerable.

Mira can almost feel the man’s heavy gaze on her naked cunt. Her clit twitches as she remembers all the things he has done to her already. All the abuse and pain and—torture, really. And that was when the man was in a good mood: what will he do now, when Mira has finally managed to really piss him off? She opens her mouth to beg, but no words make it out through her sobs, only a garbled, stuttering whine.

“Oh, calm down, Mira,” the man says with a hint of impatience and slaps her cunt just once. The sharp sting of it makes Mira jolt, and somehow it cuts through her panic and brings her back to her body. “Of course I’m going to punish you. Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

He spanks her again. Something about her position makes her cunt even more sensitive, and the pain blooms between her legs, so bright and fierce that her vision goes white. Her shrieks echo in the room as the man spanks her cunt steadily, mercilessly, layering strike after strike over her soft folds. When he finally pauses, Mira’s cunt feels like it’s on fire and her clit is standing up, swollen and eager. The man takes it between his fingers and squeezes it, humming thoughtfully. Mira moans and can’t help but tilt her hips in a silent plea.

“But this isn’t really a punishment, is it,” the man says, voice warm with amusement, and releases her clit, then plunges his fingers into her wet hole. There’s an obscene squelch, and Mira closes her eyes tightly, mortified by her body’s reaction. The man chuckles at her expression, then immediately continues in a more severe tone: “No, this isn’t nearly enough. You need to face the consequences of your actions. You need a punishment: something that will really stick.”

Then he’s gone, rummaging through his shelves again. Mira tries to get her breathing back to normal, but it’s impossible when she has to listen to the ominous noises and wonder what kind of punishment the man will inflict on her. If even spanking her pussy wasn’t enough, then what…?

She’s not left wondering for long. The man returns, holding a gag in one hand, a cane in the other. Mira’s eyes go immediately to the cane. It’s long and black, narrower than a finger, and—looks rather flimsy, honestly, all things considered. Is that what the man is going to use to punish her? She swallows a sigh of relief, but something of her emotions must come through because the man chuckles again, shaking his head knowingly. He doesn’t say anything, though, just bends down to push the gag into Mira’s mouth.

A remote part of Mira wonders why he even bothers with the gag. After all, he seems to enjoy it when she screams. But as soon as the gag is in her mouth and the strap is tightened, she notices that it’s—different. It’s not shaped like a ball: instead there’s a thick leather bit that goes between her teeth, like—like something a horse would have in its mouth. She flushes with humiliation, then tries to ignore the slightly bitter taste of leather, and steels herself instead for the beating that’s about to come. If not her pussy, then what is the man going to whip? Her boobs? They’re pretty sensitive too. The thought sends a shiver down her spine.

Instead of hitting her with it, the man lays the cane on Mira’s chest, right under her boobs. It sticks to her sweaty skin enough that doesn’t roll away, even when Mira’s chest heaves with shuddering breaths. For a few, agonizingly long moments nothing happens. The man just slides his hands caressingly over Mira’s legs, starting from her thighs, then going up to her calves, rubbing her twitching muscles. Finally he reaches her feet and swipes his thumbs roughly over the delicate skin there, massaging the arches of her feet.

Mira squirms slightly. It doesn’t quite tickle, but she doesn’t understand why the man is fondling her feet, of all things. Though… it feels kinda nice, the way the man is rubbing them. She hadn’t even noticed how tense and aching they were, too distracted by… other things.

But just when she’s starting to relax, the man picks up the cane again. He takes a step back, leaving Mira’s field of vision—she can only hear his movements, the rustle of his clothes, and the swishing sounds that must be him testing the cane.

Suddenly Mira’s mind makes a few rapid connections, so fast that she feels dizzy from it. The cane. Her position. Her feet, held up like this. The way he was touching them. She makes a choked sound of alarm, which only means that she has no breath left to scream when the cane hits the tender, fragile flesh of her right foot.

It’s obvious that it was just a light tap. The shock still makes Mira jerk in her restraints hard enough to make the chair squeak. She raises her head just in time to see the cane swing down again, hitting her foot slightly down from the previous spot. Hit after hit lands on her foot, and while it doesn’t hurt terribly, it still stings, each stroke making Mira flinch.

The man switches to her left foot, and the process is repeated there: quick, sharp strikes which never land on top of each other, but cover every inch of her foot and leave it stinging. When he’s done, he pauses and rubs his thumbs over her soles. Then he raises the cane again. And now it hurts. Each stroke is like a lick of flame on the soles of her feet, so painful that the rest of her body seems to disappear. There is nothing but the searing agony.

Between the strokes, on those fleeting moments when the cane isn’t touching Mira, she screams and sobs: whichever action she has enough breath left for. The leather bit is wet from her saliva, and she bites down hard each time the strikes land over her flesh. When the man starts working her feet over a fourth time, she feels herself shatter completely, hears herself start to plead frantically—if incomprehensibly—between her hiccuping sobs. She’s shaking her head so hard that her whole upper body tries to fling from side to side, and the leather straps bite nastily into her upper arms.

Finally the beating stops—but the pain doesn’t. Mira’s feet still throb with the echoes of it. They feel swollen and bruised, and for some reason she’s absolutely certain that they’re bleeding. But when the man takes hold of her feet again, lightly massaging them, his hands stay dry: there is not a drop of blood. It doesn’t ease the pain, though, especially when the man curls his finger into tight claws and scratches his blunt nails over Mira’s battered flesh.

She makes an agonized sound and the man replies with a breathless groan. He presses closer, so close that his crotch is rubbing against Mira’s naked cunt. His erection is obvious even through the thick, stiff fabric of his overalls, and he grinds his hips against her in short, cut-off motions, like he’s not quite in control of himself. Finally he snarls under his breath and grabs the bottom of his mask, pulling it up just enough to reveal his mouth. The cane clatters to the floor as he surges forward.

Mira catches only a quick glimpse of him—a perfectly ordinary face, nothing remarkably ugly or attractive about it—before he bends his head over Mira’s left foot and licks it, groaning aloud. His tongue feels as hot as a brand on the welts left by the cane, keeping the pain burning. It wriggles wetly over her sole, and again he moans hungrily, giving her foot several wet, open-mouthed kisses until he reaches her toes and sucks them. He moves to her other foot and gives it the same treatment, while massaging the first one clumsily. It doesn’t mitigate the pain at all, especially when the man digs his teeth in the soft curve of her arches.

She should probably be disgusted—he’s licking her feet!—but the pain has burned away all other emotions, leaving only fear behind. Fear, and a horrible, aching need, because somehow, even through the pain, the man’s mouth feels good as it explores the hidden, sensitive parts of her feet. A part of her even wonders what it would feel like without the pain—but then she quickly shoves the thought away, too humiliating and shameful to consider.

Finally the man sighs gustily and leaves her feet alone with one last, chaste kiss on her big toe. He tugs the mask back in place, but Mira catches the self-satisfied smirk on his lips before they are hidden away.

“Learned your lesson yet?” he says warmly and slaps Mira’s foot with an open palm. It’s more like gentle teasing than an actual punishment, but it still makes her whimper as the pain blooms anew. The man chuckles and slaps her again, right over the place where her skin is the most tender. He amuses himself with her yelps and whimpers for a while, before shaking his head ruefully. “But I’m getting distracted. You took it so beautifully that I think it’s time for a little treat. Let’s see…”

Once again the chair starts to move, arranging Mira’s exhausted body into a new position. To her immense relief, the back of the chair tilts up again, allowing her to recline more comfortably. There’s a moment of dizziness when blood rushes back down from her head, and she tries to blink away the tiny spots of light in her vision. She groans in protest when her legs are spread again, so wide that they’re almost in a straight line. As soon as the chair stops moving, the man gropes Mira’s cunt in a crude way, sticking two fingers inside all at once, then lets out a disappointed huff when she isn’t as wet as he expected.

“Being stubborn, I see,” he says, as if Mira is to blame for not being aroused after getting her feet beaten. For a moment she fears that he will use the cane on her cunt—she sees now that it is not flimsy at all—but when the man returns to stand in front of her, he’s not wielding the cane. Instead, there’s something in his hands that looks like a rope at a first glance, but when he slowly uncoils it, then shakes his fist to let the whole length of it fall free, Mira realizes that it’s a whip.

She doesn’t know what her face is doing, but whatever it is, it makes the man’s shoulder shake with the low rumble of his laughter.

“You have been waiting for this, haven’t you? Don’t worry, I know how to use this.” He flicks his hand and the whip makes an audible snap when it hits the air. Mira stares at it and feels like her limbs have gone liquid. Her thoughts are liquid too: a torrent of conflicting feelings and half-formed words that rush past her before she can figure them out. The strongest one is disbelief, however. The man can’t possibly be doing this—using that on Mira’s—no. He just can’t. It’s impossible. Will there even be anything left of her, after?

The whip cuts through the air and hits her directly on her clit.

Did she think that getting her feet caned was painful? It was nothing compared to this. Somewhere, someone is screaming, but Mira can only focus on the searing agony between her legs. Her body keeps convulsing long after the whip has stopped touching her, shaking uncontrollably as she tries to ride out the pain. She blinks tears from her eyes and tries to focus her gaze on the man, but as soon as she does, she sees his arm rise again. She lets out a short shriek of protest, but the arm comes down.

Pain. It’s worse, how can it be worse, when it already was the worst thing Mira has ever felt? She hears the ugly, broken sound that her throat makes, hardly even recognizing it as her own voice. Her clit jumps up and down, as though that would help with the burn.

“Just look at your cunt,” the man growls. His voice is so low and raspy that he sounds like something inhuman, a demon. Maybe that’s what he is: maybe Mira has died and gone to hell, where her fate is to be tortured by this monster for the rest of eternity. “Look at your little clit! So swollen and eager,” he continues with breathless glee, completely unaware of Mira’s hysterical thoughts. “It knows what it wants.”

“Nn!” Mira moans through the gag and shakes her head, then just shakes and screams as the whip comes down a third time.

The man doesn’t rush her. He lets Mira feel the full impact of the whip, hitting her with brutal strength, then allows her to tremble through the aftermath, to catch her breath and unclench her muscles—but then the whip comes down again, and the whole cycle starts from the beginning. He’s clearly aiming for her clit, but some of his strikes miss and land on her tender and swollen folds instead. A small reprieve for Mira’s poor, tortured clit, perhaps, but it only means that soon her whole cunt is aching with unspeakable agony.

She quickly loses count of the strikes. There probably aren’t that many—her body wouldn’t be able to take it, and the man must know it too—but it feels like it goes on for an eternity. When the strikes finally stop, she doesn’t even notice it at first. Her clit is throbbing continuously with pain, so much that it hardly makes any difference when the whip strikes her. Just when she realizes that she’s not being tortured anymore, that the whip is no longer in the man’s hands, something else touches her cunt. Something blunt and round. It feels blissfully cool against her heated skin, but Mira is still hit by a wave of despair so strong that she almost faints. What is the man going to do now? Is there no end to her torment? How much more is there going to be?

But when the device turns on, it’s not pain that bursts through Mira’s nerves—though it might as well be, so oversensitive she is after the whipping. The vibrator stays firmly in place despite all her squirming and moaning. Every uncontrollable twitch her body makes, every desperate attempt to escape the stimulation, the man easily follows with his hand, holding the vibrator right over her clit. It hurts, the strong vibration too much for her abused clit—but at the same time, the pain seems to make the pleasure stronger, somehow, like the torment had opened new pathways in her nervous system, allowing the pleasure to dig even deeper into her body.

“That’s it,” the man is saying, so softly that Mira hardly hears it over the loud buzz of the vibrator. “Look how your body has opened to it. You were made for this.”

Even without the gag, Mira wouldn’t be able to reply. She’s quickly reduced to nothing but some useless, writhing thing of need and overwhelming sensation. It doesn’t take long: soon her legs start to shake as the pleasure overtakes her. First it’s in the pit of her stomach, a burning feeling that goes directly from her aching clit to somewhere deeper: then it spreads over her skin, making all the hair on her body stand up and the backs of her thighs tingle. Even her scalp is tingling with it. When the orgasm finally crashes through her, it’s a slow, relentless thing that makes her cunt flutter helplessly and eyes roll back in her head as she shakes and shakes, trapped in the cascade of pleasure.

The silence, after the vibrator is turned off, is deafening. Mira’s ears are still ringing, but from what, she can’t say. She barely even reacts when the man slides the gag out of her mouth. She tries to swallow, but whimpers when there’s a stab of pain in the back of her throat. Had she really been screaming that much? She can’t remember.

She moans wordlessly when the man presses closer again, only this time his hard cock is right there, and then it’s pushing in, splitting her whipped pussy open.

Somehow Mira still makes her abused throat work, moaning and sobbing as the man fucks her hard and fast, heedless of the state of her abused cunt. If anything, her suffering only seems to make him harder. It’s like he’s trying to fuck her as brutally as he can: slapping his hips against her abused flesh, then finding an angle that goes as deep as possible, so deep that it hurts. When he finally comes, it also seems to go on forever. He throws his head back with a groan and shakes through it, gripping Mira’s hips so hard with his hands that there are going to be massive, finger-shaped bruises there later.

Afterwards, Mira floats, but it’s not the gentle kind of post-orgasmic floating that she’s more familiar with. This feels like she’s slowly drowning. She can only stare dully in space and let herself float just slightly outside her body. Somewhere in the periphery of her consciousness she’s aware of things happening to her body. Something hot and slimy is sliding out of her hole, making her whole cunt sting—the stretched rim of her hole, the fragile skin of her whipped folds. Someone is loosening the straps around her body, and she feels a moment of panic, certain that she’s going to fall into pieces without the straps holding her together: but when she makes a distressed sound, someone hushes her and brushes a large hand over her head soothingly.

Her limbs are straightened out, and while the pain in her joints makes her weep, it’s a relief. To be free again, after spending so long in such an unforgiving position. Still lost in that weird haze, Mira unthinkingly tries to slide down from the chair—but as soon as her feet hit the ground, she screams hoarsely and her legs go weak and fold like a house of cards. Right before she can hit the ground, strong hands catch her, then place her back on the chair, where she curls into a ball and whimpers like a small animal.

“Oh no, sweetie,” the man says smugly. “You won’t be running anywhere now.”

Still shuddering from the stab of pain, Mira can’t help but agree. With her feet like this, she won’t be able to take a single step. Something fractures inside her when she realizes just how well and truly the man has trapped her.

Chapter Text

Then…

On the screen, a dimly-lit picture of a naked pussy. Even with the poor quality it’s easy to see how puffed up the person’s clitoris is, how red the skin of her cunt. Her skin glistens with moisture.

The caption says: My ideal date? You trick me into following you to an empty parking lot or something. I’m dressed in a slutty miniskirt, so it’s easy for you to rip my panties off. You spank my pussy and make me scream, then fuck me hard. It hurts so much but you don’t care. maybe you invite some friends, take turns spanking and whipping my cunt then raping my sluthole. force me to take two cocks into my dumb whore cunt. y ou don’t even have to make me come if you dont wanna, just dont forgett o take pictures of my ruined hole!! gonna need them later, when I crawl back hpme. maybe get raped like 5 more times on the way. when im home im gonna jerk off and come so hard thinking of you raping my holes!!

#me, #rape meat, #rape bait, #fantasy, #amateur, #fuuuuuuuck I need this so much, #rape me

***

Now…

Mira should have known that something was up when the man hadn’t raped her the first thing in the morning, as he always did. Instead, he had chained her up and washed her whole body carefully, including a humiliating process of thoroughly flushing her asshole. Afterwards, he had left her tied up in the chair, but that had been all—there had been no vibrators taped to her clit, no clamps squeezing her nipples, no machines fucking her relentlessly while he made her wait. He had just left her there and retreated back to his workshop.

Now he’s back with something that looks like a very large box. A shipping crate, maybe? A creeping sense of dread fills Mira as she stares at it, the sensation making her feel light-headed, like the world is slowly tilting sideways under her. For some reason her mind is whispering to her, coolly notifying her how the box is large enough for a human, actually, if said human was sitting, or maybe kneeling inside.

“Let’s open it, then,” the man says amiably.

Mira does not want him to open the box.

It’s clear that the man has put a lot of thought and effort into this project, too. The box has hinges in the middle, allowing both sides to be opened separately, sliding smoothly open like a clam shell, though the man only opens one side. There’s a wooden partition with a large hole cut in the middle, cutting the box in two separate halves. The man flips open the locks that keep the partition in place, then lifts it off, fully revealing the insides of the box.

“No,” Mira chokes out, but her voice is faint: she can barely even hear it herself. Inside the box is a sparsely cushioned bench with a large pillow on the other end. Leather straps hang from the sides and a pair of thick cuffs dangle from the roof of the box. The purpose of it is abundantly clear, now. “No, I won’t go in, I won’t…”

“Be silent,” the man says and approaches her with a gag. After a short and futile struggle he has her gagged, then proceeds to move her from the chair into the box. Mira shrieks and tries to kick him, and lands on something that makes the man grunt, but it doesn’t even make him falter. She’s slammed on her back on the bench, then the leather straps are tightened around her torso. Her legs are folded over her stomach and the cuffs wrapped around her ankles. Another pair of cuffs have been hiding under the bench, and those go around her wrists.

When the man is done, Mira is lying on her back, ass right on the edge of the bench, both of her holes there for the taking. She whimpers pitifully and shakes her head, growing more and more frantic as she sees the man pick up the partition again and lock it back in place. The cut-out hole fits perfectly over Mira’s thighs, hiding her behind the thin, wooden wall, with only her naked ass on the other side.

There are faint rustling sounds as the man moves around. Mira’s whole body is trembling as she strains her ears, trying to figure out what the man is doing: then suddenly his presence is back and his large, warm palms slide soothingly over Mira’s ass, making her flinch. The man tuts absentmindedly, then slides his fingers over the seam of the hole, checking that it doesn’t cut into her flesh anywhere. Finding no faults anywhere, he makes a low, satisfied sound.

Next comes the familiar sound of a pump bottle being used. Mira is bracing for it, but she flinches anyway when the man’s thick fingers push into her cunt, spreading the lube everywhere carefully and methodically. After he’s done with her cunt, he inserts something narrow and plastic into her ass—a syringe, it seems, because her ass is suddenly flooded with cool lube. Far too much of it: it starts to drip out as soon as the man removes the syringe, but apparently he is prepared for it, because he immediately pushes a small plug into Mira’s ass, stopping the lube from escaping.

“All right, sweetie. Let’s go for a ride. This will be fun!”

And the box slams shut, leaving Mira trapped inside: alone in the darkness, ass plugged up, the gag muffling her hysterical screams.

***

The man places the box inside a car, a van maybe: that much Mira is able to figure out from the muffled sounds and smells. When the van starts to move, Mira is terrified of it being thrown around with her still inside, but apparently it’s secured in place somehow, because it doesn’t move an inch. The man is most likely driving very slowly, but the journey still makes Mira feel dizzy and nauseous, even though she has never gotten car-sick in her life. It’s a relief when the van finally stops. She slumps back against the bench, panting heavily. Her whole body trembles, muscles feeling like liquid from the constant strain of bracing for a collision.

Her relief is short-lived, however. The doors of the van open and male voices she doesn’t recognize filter through the walls of the box. They sound confused and excited in equal measure.

“…didn’t think it was true,” one of them says in hushed tones. “Just an urban legend!”

“Are you sure we should…” another one says hesitantly.

A third voice, this one louder and more confident, exclaims: “What, are you a fucking pussy? What else could it be? A white van with blackened windows: inside you can find a large crate, and inside that…”

The floor of the van tilts slightly when someone climbs in, then his stomping footsteps come closer. The box is opened and a draft of cool air hits Mira’s naked ass.

There’s a moment of absolute silence, then someone whispers loudly: “Holy shit!”

“The rape van is real! What the fuck!”

“Quick, get in! Close the door!”

Mira moans loudly, trying to sound as frightened and desperate as possible, but that only gives the men a small pause. Then they chuckle awkwardly.

“Wouldn’t be a rape van if the chick was willing, I guess…” one of them mutters. It sounds like the second voice, the one who was more hesitant.

“Are you stupid or what?” the loud one says dismissively. “It’s not real rape, it’s just some weird fucking… kink thing. You know? I bet she’s gagging for it. Come on, let’s give this freak a good fucking!”

NO! Mira tries to scream, but to no avail. There’s the clink of a belt being pulled open, the rough sound of a zipper, then someone’s cock is right there, at her entrance. There’s no preparation of any kind, no fingers opening her up: the man just forces his way in with a few hard thrusts, until his balls are pressed against Mira’s ass. It’s only thanks to the lube that she’s not torn open, but it still makes her cunt clench helplessly around the invasion, still makes her insides ache.

Suddenly a light flickers on right in front of her eyes, and she squints, eyes watering from the sudden brightness. No, not a light: it’s a screen, somehow attached to the inside of the box. It’s large enough that it almost fills Mira's entire field of vision. It takes a moment for her eyes to get adjusted to the change in light, but when she finally sees what’s on the screen, she chokes on her next breath, too horrified to even scream.

There’s a video, taken from above. It’s dark and a bit grainy, but Mira can still see quite clearly how a thick, hard cock pumps in and out of someone’s cunt.

No, not someone’s. It’s Mira’s. The video feed is showing Mira, in great detail, how her own hole is getting raped. She watches helplessly how her folds stick to the stranger’s penis as he pulls out, how her clit gets squished between their bodies as the man slams back in. She has been raped so many times now, but at least she’s never had to watch it happen, not like this, not so closely. A broken sob gets wrenched from her throat and she turns her head to escape the sight—but as soon as she does, another screen turns on. This one is on the wall and shows her cunt from a different angle, slightly lower, giving Mira a perfect view of her hole as it stretches around the man’s cock.

She turns her head to the other side, but a sinking feeling fills her stomach: and sure enough, a third screen turns on. This one shows the scene from below, and she has to turn to stare straight ahead again: the sight of the man’s heaving balls is nearly enough to make her sick. The front view, at least, isn’t quite so explicit.

“Fuck yeah, fucking take it, you whore,” the man mumbles furiously under his breath. His thrusts speed up and turn jerky and haphazard, and finally he lets out a short, wordless yell and spills inside Mira. His hips grind against her ass as he savors the afterglow, then he pulls out hastily, letting his come splatter on the floor. Through her tears Mira sees how her clit twitches helplessly, her hole clenching around the sudden emptiness.

She doesn’t have to stay empty for long. The next man is already stepping between her legs, taking his cock out with a shaking hand and plunging right in. Her cunt squelches wetly and the men laugh.

The one after that chooses to fuck her ass, and while her hole is well lubricated, the small plug hadn’t been quite enough to prepare her for the rough way the man takes her. Mira sobs and whimpers through it, her whole lower body aching with it. She turns her head before she remembers why she shouldn’t do that, and moans with despair when the close view of a thick cock plundering her ass fills her vision. Above her ass she sees how her empty cunt, red and swollen and soaked with come and her own juices, clenches in time with the man’s thrusts.

Just when Mira is about to turn her head again, she sees the man raise his hand and stick his fingers into her cunt. He rubs her insides roughly, then swipes his thumb carelessly over her clit, almost like an accident. All at once, Mira’s nerves come alive, and she would flinch at the high-pitched, animalistic moan that her throat makes, if she wasn’t so overwhelmed with sensation. Up until now, all she has felt was pain, and discomfort, and degradation—but when the man pokes at her clit again, pleasure like lightning skitters through her abdomen.

The man huffs with amusement. “Oh, you like that, slut?” His thumb presses harder over Mira’s clit, and now there’s a twinge of pain mixing in with the pleasure. “You like getting your holes raped? You’re so wet for it,” the man continues in a low, savage tone. Seeing Mira’s reaction had made him falter, but now he picks up speed again, fucking her hard and rubbing her clit at the same time. His fingers are still curled inside Mira, and though he isn’t moving them, his thrusts are enough to make them rub against her tender insides. Every glancing stroke makes Mira tremble and moan deliriously. It won’t take long now, she’s so close—if only the man keeps touching her just a bit more, yes, right there—

The hand goes away, and Mira wails at the loss. Her clit jumps and twitches uselessly, unable to reach the peak without any direct stimulation.

The man raises his hand, spits out a vicious “Whore!” and brings his palm down over Mira’s cunt.

She screams. The pain overtakes her, chases after the pleasure, each feeling strong enough that she feels like she’s shattering from it all. Again the man hits her—again the pain flares, and somehow the pleasure flares with it. The man gets no chance to hit her a third time, because she’s coming, her whole body convulsing with the orgasm. The man had barely even touched her clit, but somehow she’s awash with sensation, burning with it.

She clenches around the man’s cock so tightly that in the next moment he’s coming too, spilling inside her with a strangled moan.

Afterwards, when every man has had their turn with Mira, they climb out of the van without paying a second thought to her. Mira listens to the sound of their delighted chatter as it slowly grows fainter, until they are gone and not even the loudest burst of laughter can be heard anymore. She stares up at the screen, her vision blurry from her tears. Her holes ache.

Suddenly the screens blink out, leaving Mira in darkness again. She can hear the front door of the van open, followed by the heavy tread of her captor’s feet as he comes around. The van shakes as he climbs in, then the familiar, rough thickness of his fingers fill Mira’s used cunt.

“Hmm,” the man hums thoughtfully and spreads her hole wider, stretching it obscenely. The twinge of it makes her gasp. “Very nice. But you can take more, can’t you?”

With those ominous words, he leaves her cunt alone, but not without giving it a playful slap first. Mira’s groan is still echoing inside the box when it slams shut again.

***

She loses count of how many stops the van makes, too dizzy and fucked out to pay attention to anything but the soreness of her hole.

Each time the man parks the van somewhere—Mira has no way of knowing where—and waits patiently, until someone is bold enough to take a look inside. Somehow they always know to open the box, though there are still surprised gasps and exclamations every time, as if they weren’t expecting for it to be actually true—as if they are surprised to actually see Mira’s naked ass there. Rape van! they whisper to each other in awed tones. It’s the rape van!

The man never comes out, just lets all the strangers do what they want with Mira. Hazily she wonders what would make him interfere, what action would go over the line—but the visions awakened by that thought are too frightening, and she focuses instead on the sight of her own cunt on the screen, the hypnotic movement of a cock moving in and out. It’s simple and familiar by now—comforting, almost. Fortunately, most of them really just want to fuck her. They are clumsy and greedy, fucking her hard and fast without any regard for her comfort, but it’s not unbearable. They’re not actively trying to hurt her.

At some point, the man comes around and opens the box completely. He rearranges Mira’s position so that she’s lying on her stomach instead: she’s too weak to fight him, and he can just twist and turn her around like a doll, do with her as he pleases. The pillow is removed, and hidden underneath it is a cushioned, round opening, which lets Mira rest her head without twisting her neck awkwardly. Her hands are still bound, but her legs are free—and when the man puts the partition back, she notices that her new position also leaves her legs on the other side. Maybe he’s no longer worried that Mira is going to fight. She doesn’t have any strength left in her legs, so she wouldn’t be able to kick anyone, anyway.

Well, whatever the purpose of the new position is, she’s grateful for the chance to let her legs rest.

Until the next stop, that is.

It starts similarly enough—the men climb in the van, open the box, make surprised, hungry noises at the sight of a naked, helpless woman. They grope and fondle her greedily, squeeze her ass and massage her tender clit with rough, cruel fingers.

“Looks like we aren’t the first ones tonight,” one of them says and laughs nastily. “Look at this whore. How many loads has she taken already? What do you think?”

“Fucking nasty,” someone agrees with equally malicious glee. “Nasty, nasty girl. What should we do with her?”

Mira had been teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, but now she’s wide awake, wrenched back to the reality where she’s helpless and bound, left there to be raped by a staggering number of faceless strangers. She’s hyperaware of every inch of her skin, already bruised and sore from the rough use. The folds of her cunt tingle as she recalls all the ways they could hurt her there—all the ways she has already experienced in the hands of her masked captor. A wave of heat rushes through her and leaves her dizzy.

“Hey, did she get wetter just now? What do you say, sweetie, how should we punish you?”

Mira can only moan weakly. The pitiful sound makes the men laugh.

“Come on, let’s do this! You, grab her other leg, I want to see that pussy!”

Hands grab Mira’s legs and lift them up, spreading her wide. Their hold is slippery on her sweaty, soiled skin, but they manage to hold on.

She’s not even surprised when the first slap lands on her cunt, just gasps wetly and tries to ride through the pain—though it doesn’t even hurt that much: is her cunt already so ruined that she’s not capable of feeling the pain anymore? Or is she just too wet for the man’s slaps to land properly? The wet smacks fill the air as he spanks her cunt with enthusiasm, cackling when he manages to make a particularly lewd sound with it.

But not everyone is satisfied with his efforts. “Is this even doing anything to her?” someone says, displeasure clear in his voice. “She’s so quiet. I want to hear her scream!”

The first man grumbles, but lets the other one take his place. There’s the unmistakable, metallic clink of a belt buckle, the slithering sound of leather being pulled through belt loops, and Mira goes rigid with terror.

“See? Bitch knows what’s up,” the person says smugly. If there’s a reply, Mira doesn’t hear it, because right then the belt strikes hard over her clit and leaves a brand of fire in its wake.

She must be screaming—her throat burns with it—but she can’t focus on anything but the leather belt as it thwacks over her cunt, over and over again, making her clit burn with agony. Her abused folds are starting to feel like soft, overripe fruit, ready to burst at any second—except they never do, no matter how hard the man hits. Her cunt feels feverishly hot, every hit making the heat go higher and higher, and even after the strikes stop, her blood keeps pounding furiously in her clit, every pulse a fresh stab of agony.

The strikes might stop, but the assault doesn’t. Mira’s cunt is still throbbing with the pain from the last hit when someone pushes into her, filling her slick hole in one savage push. Every thrust makes the pain in her vulva echo somewhere deeper, as if the men had somehow whipped the insides of her hole, too. Such a thing isn’t possible, of course, but at this point Mira is so sore that every cock that enters her feels like a punishment.

“I wish we could see the rest of her,” someone laments and gropes her ass. “Her tits, at least. I bet they’re amazing.”

“I wish I could fuck her mouth,” grumbles the one who currently has his cock in her. “This pussy is getting really sloppy—I can barely feel anything!”

“Hey, do you think she can take two at the same time?”

***

A draft of cool air wakes her up. Mira blinks her eyes open and realizes that they’re already back at the man’s house. She’s lying on her back on something soft—a real bed this time, to her bleary surprise.

“Was that everything you wanted?”

She flinches and tries to raise her head. The man is right there, kneeling between her spread legs. Her spread, bound legs: he has Mira secured by those cheap, soft velcro restraints that go under your bed—a huge change from the usual stiff leather and unforgiving steel. Then again, Mira is too exhausted to struggle much: her limbs feel like wet noodles.

“It certainly looked like it,” the man is saying in a pleased tone. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you the footage later.”

Footage…? With a jerk Mira remembers the video feed. The close-up pictures of her own cunt. A sob tries to escape her throat, and her head slumps back against the soft bedding. She shifts in place and has another sudden realization: her cunt is clean and dry, not a trace of the men’s come remaining on her. The whole thing might have been a nightmare—if it wasn’t for the incessantly throbbing ache in her holes, and the bruised state of her throat.

Then Mira starts to wonder why the man is kneeling there. Surely he can’t be thinking of fucking her? Not after…?!

“Please…” she tries to beg in a voice that is barely more than a creaky whisper. “Don’t…”

The man just places a hand on her thigh in a calming gesture. (It doesn’t do a very good job of calming her.) However, when he reaches for Mira, it’s not to prepare her for penetration: instead, something small and firm pokes at her clit. She whimpers fearfully.

“Shh. There’s no need for that. This is just a small treat, for taking it so well today.” The thing starts to vibrate gently, and the low buzz of the machine fills Mira’s ears. At first it’s a soft, barely-there sensation, but soon it gets stronger, and stronger, overwhelming her already overwhelmed nerves until it feels like her clit is on fire.

“Just the way you like it,” the man murmurs over her incoherent moans, and presses down even harder with the vibrator when the first tremors of an agonizingly strong orgasm start to manifest between Mira’s legs.

Chapter Text

Then…

On the screen, there’s a young woman’s half-naked body. Her face is carefully cropped out. Her t-shirt is bunched over her bare breasts, which she is squeezing together enticingly, showing off their size and shape and the large, dark pink nipples. Her legs are spread, and her pink, moist cunt is perfectly visible. Her clit is slightly puffy, and a vibrator rests on the bed between her legs. The caption reads: Edged myself for five hours today! I tried for more, but I just couldn’t do it! But it’s the longest I’ve ever gone, so I think I deserved that orgasm? What do you think? 🥺 #me, #amateur, #edging, #rape meat, #punish me, #rape me

—

[redacted] sent a message: No, you did not deserve that orgasm, you naughty girl.

[redacted] replied: wahh! you really think so? 🥺 but five hours… I was gonna cry, omg!!!

[redacted]: That’s not enough. You can do better. I should whip your cunt for being so greedy. Then you will cry for real.

[redacted]: omg u r so mean!! (would you tho??)

[redacted]: Absolutely. Slutty girls like you deserve to be punished.

The girl doesn’t reply after that, but it doesn’t matter. He can be patient.

***

This time Mira knows to be suspicious when the man doesn’t wake her up by shoving his cock right into her cunt. Too bad the knowledge doesn’t help her much—just gives her even more reason to be scared out of her mind, as the man makes her get on the trolley and straps her down. It’s the same position as before: Mira lying on her back and her legs folded over her chest, leaving her cunt open and vulnerable. A simple, black ball gag goes into her mouth.

When the man is finished, he pauses for a moment to savor the sight of his captive. He spreads Mira’s folds carefully and strokes a finger over her clit, humming thoughtfully.

“This would look even better if it was… hmm. Well, no matter. We can’t do that now.”

If it was… what? Mira swallows, her throat clicking dryly, and tries to stop her brain from filling in the rest of the sentence with increasingly hysterical, deranged ideas. After all, she’s pretty sure that the man isn’t going to cut it off—he’s having far too much fun torturing it, surely he wouldn’t deprive himself of that?

“It’s another busy day for me, I’m afraid,” he continues, oblivious to Mira’s screeching thoughts. “But I will keep you entertained, don’t worry.”

That’s not what Mira is worried about!

At least this time she’s able to control herself, and doesn’t spend the whole trip from her bedroom to the other room sobbing wretchedly. Maybe it’s because she’s already lost her mind and just doesn’t know it yet, but somehow she manages to stay mostly calm as the man pushes the trolley through the corridor and into the now-familiar room she has dubbed the “office”. The sight of the fucking machine is also familiar, though this time the man doesn’t take Mira to it. Instead, he pushes the trolley right next to the desk where his computer is sitting, the screen still dark.

What…? Mira thinks to herself sluggishly as the man locks the wheels of the trolley, then takes a seat by the desk. He turns the computer on, and while he waits for it to boot up, he turns to Mira again.

“Sorry about this, Mira dear,” he says apologetically and reaches into his pocket for something. “I can’t let you see the things I’m working on—they’re confidential. I’m sure you understand.”

Mira blinks at him, then her eyes widen when she sees the thing in the man’s hands: a wide, black strip of fabric. He leans in and—yes, wraps it around Mira’s head, covering her eyes, just as she had guessed. She whimpers fearfully as she’s suddenly surrounded by darkness, with only a very faint glow of light making it through the fabric.

The man pats her head consolingly. “Don’t worry, I’m right here. You’ll be fine. And here—this will keep you entertained.”

Something parts her folds and slides in smoothly—something noticeably smaller than the man’s cock. Mira lets out a shaky breath. She should know better than to be relieved, because there has to be a catch—there’s always a catch—but relief still makes her limbs go weak. It’s only a fairly slim silicone dildo—no, a vibrator, she amends a second later when the thing buzzes to life. Then it slides deeper and something pokes her clit, causing the vibrations to dig into her flesh there, too. A rabbit vibrator, then. Somehow it feels entirely out of place here—it’s too simple, too innocuous. It belongs in a women’s lifestyle magazine, not in some lunatic’s grim, ascetic torture dungeon.

The man does something to make it stay in place, then the chair squeaks as he leans back, presumably to turn back to his computer. And sure enough, a minute later the sounds of the man’s slow typing and occasional clicks of the mouse fill the silence.

It takes a while for Mira to relax her tightly clenched muscles. The steady hum of the vibrator fills her senses. It’s on such a low setting that there’s no chance for it to bring her to a climax anytime soon, but it feels… nice. Pleasant, even. Certainly a change of pace from the torments she usually has to endure. Usually when the man uses a vibrator on her, it’s after he has whipped or spanked her cunt first, and always chooses the highest setting, making it more like torture than pleasure.

She really should have known better.

Though the sensation is quite mellow compared to what Mira’s used to, and not nearly enough to bring her off—it’s still a constant, steady hum right over her clit, and as it keeps going, her nerves start to respond to it. Soon she notices that her hips are twitching like they have a mind of their own, moving in tiny circles over the protruding head of the vibrator. But no matter how hard she presses against it, the vibration stays too faint, too subtle to bring her any real satisfaction. The man doesn’t seem to notice her frustration, just keeps tapping at his keyboard slowly and steadily, until the sound starts to grate on Mira’s nerves. How can anyone type that slowly?

Finally Mira’s frustrated whimpers grow so loud that the clacks of the keyboard start to slow down, then fall silent. The man sighs and the chair creaks again as he turns to face Mira.

“So impatient, young lady! But I suppose this is what your generation is like. Nothing but instant satisfaction. I suppose I’ll have to teach you some patience.”

Cold dread curls around Mira’s insides. She thinks she can see a vague outline of whatever the man is planning and whimpers even louder, shaking her head.

The man only chuckles. “Now, don’t be like that. I’m sure you are capable of great things. But first…”

There’s a click, and the vibrations grow stronger. The man didn’t touch the vibrator at all, which means that he must have some kind of remote controller for it. The thought flits quickly through Mira’s mind, then a fine tremor goes through her bound limbs as the power increases again—and again. There’s nothing subtle about the sensation anymore: the shorter nub of the vibrator stays firmly over her clit like a thumb, except one that buzzes steadily, feeding pleasure directly to her nervous system. The wand buzzing inside her is like a slightly duller echo of it, and while it doesn’t do much for her by itself, the combination of the internal and external vibration is… quite efficient.

A warmth grows steadily in her clit. The build-up had been slow at first, but now the pleasure surges forward, rushing through her nerve endings. She closes her fists, then opens them again, squirming helplessly as she’s dragged closer and closer to release. She’s already starting to feel the first, familiar tingles in her folds; can feel how her cunt flutters minutely around the length inside her. It’s only small twitches at first, but soon her hole will clench around the silicone, desperately clinging to it as the orgasm takes her over—

Except that doesn’t happen. At the first, faint sign of her orgasm, the machine turns off. Mira moans brokenly as the vibrator slides out of her cunt, which is still twitching and fluttering, reaching for the orgasm that’s already slipping out of reach. All that’s left is the feverish thrum of her blood and the mellow pleasure still lingering in her clit.

“Beautiful,” says the man, but the slow, monotonous way he speaks makes it sound slightly sardonic. His fingers push into Mira’s cunt, then pull back to pet her slick folds—but carefully avoid her clit. “So pink and pretty. But I can make it even prettier.”

Mira really should have realized what he meant, but the first slap still takes her by surprise. A muffled yelp escapes her mouth, before she forces herself to stay quiet. Not that it helps: the man keeps spanking her, administering slow, firm slaps over her cunt. It’s not the worst pain she has endured in his hands—mostly it’s just pressure, and heat that grows slowly, seeping into her flesh. It’s nothing she can’t tolerate.

…Until the man pauses to spread her folds with his other hand, then continues spanking at a faster pace. Now Mira can’t stop the choked cries as she writhes, blind and helpless, caught in wave after wave of bright, searing pain. Her swollen clit is sticking out, completely unprotected, without even the flimsy cover of the clitoral hood, and the man’s fingers strike down hard, right over the exposed head. The way his huge palm smacks over the rest of her cunt is almost like an afterthought: her whole world is centered around the small, aching nub of her clit.

As suddenly as he had started, the man stops. Mira’s chest is heaving with shaky sobs and her clit keeps throbbing rhythmically, as if a ghostly hand was still hitting her. She yelps sharply when the man’s thumb brushes over her clit and a burst of pain goes through her nerve endings again. Undaunted, the man presses down firmly, rubbing her clit absentmindedly while his middle finger slips between her folds.

“Look at you,” the man murmurs and fucks her slowly with just one finger. “You just can’t get enough of that, can’t you?” The slick sounds of Mira’s sopping wet cunt accompany his words. She moans and shakes her head, but the insides of her cunt are so sensitive that even the single finger is enough to make her breathing go shallow and a desperate and a hollow need start to take root in her lower stomach as the finger drags over her flesh, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.

“Not just yet,” says the man and lets his finger slip out. Mira’s hips follow the movement, chasing after the touch, but she’s too tightly bound: she can only moan helplessly and slump back. The man makes that short, croaky huff that passes for his laughter and pats Mira’s cunt gently. “Patience, my sweet girl. I still have work to do.”

The vibrator slides in place again, and Mira wants to scream. She still manages to hold on to her dignity, and only makes a small, aggravated sound when the vibration starts—on the lowest setting. She clenches her fists and curls her toes, refusing to give in to the instinct to squirm and press closer to the source of her soft torment. For a while, she manages—but her clit is a lot more sensitive now, after the beating she had received. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t stay perfectly still, and occasionally the tip of the vibrator will press against some part of her clit that sends pleasure flickering through her nerves like a flame. It doesn’t take long until she’s almost at the precipice again, but it’s just not—quite enough—

After a while, the man pauses again. Turns off the vibrator. Slides it out. There’s an ominous pause and Mira’s breathing goes shaky and fast as she listens to the rustling of the man’s clothing. No, please no, she thinks desperately, but she already knows. She knows—and yes, the man spreads her folds again, revealing her throbbing clit.

“Nnh!” she sobs through her gag, but her weak protest does nothing to stop the man. His palm cracks over Mira’s heated flesh, causing her to arch her back violently as her tortured scream echoes in the room. The man lets out a muted groan in reply, but his voice is full of pleasure. The beating that follows is just as slow and methodical as the first round, but now the man is starting to sound a little out of breath: every time he succeeds at making Mira writhe or scream particularly loud he sighs or groans softly.

“Just a bit longer,” he says when he has delivered the last slap. He definitely sounds out of breath now. He fucks Mira’s twitching hole a few times with two trembling fingers, doing it roughly and haphazardly, before he seems to remember his original plans and replaces the fingers with the familiar, smooth silicone. “Just a bit longer,” he mumbles again.

“Nghhh!” screams Mira through the gag, but the vibrator hums to life again.

Her clit burns. The vibration is just a barely-there, gentle whisper, but even that much stimulation is enough to make her nerves sing—or maybe scream. She’s faintly aware that her left leg is trembling uncontrollably, as if an electric current was running through it. Her cunt grips the vibrator so tightly that she can’t even feel it tremble inside her, but it doesn’t matter, because all her focus is on her clit and the heat that simmers there, right beneath her skin—but never quite enough to bring her to a climax.

In fact, it feels like the vibrations are getting weaker and weaker, the rumbling hum of the toy increasingly more tinny and faint. Mira lets out a desperate groan and tries to grind her clit against the vibrator, chasing after her release, but she has barely moved her hips when the toy stutters to a stop. Screaming wordlessly, Mira writhes in her restraints, her cunt clenching rhythmically around the unmoving silicone.

The man speaks. His voice is hoarse and uneven—or maybe it’s the blood pounding in Mira’s ears that makes it sound like that. “Ah. It ran out of power,” he says slowly. “Next time I’ll have to use one with a cord.” The thick fabric of his overalls rustles when he leans closer, then huffs. “Anything for you.”

The vibrator slides out, leaving Mira’s hole empty and aching. Everything down there aches, and with the toy no longer distracting her from the pain, the feeling comes back with force. Her clit feels like it’s swollen twice to its size—in fact, her whole vulva feels like it’s engorged, obscene. She can feel her heartbeat in the tip of her clit.

The man’s fingers feel hot as a brand as they push in. He’s only stretching her hole, though, holding her open like he’s inspecting her. His thumbs dig into her swollen flesh as he grips her cunt on both sides and forces it to open wide, no matter how much it tries to clench around the invasion. It comes as no surprise that his cockhead is next, the bulbous head rubbing over her slick opening first. Then it’s shoved in with one brutal thrust and Mira’s scream comes out as a tortured wheeze.

It’s obvious that the man is only after his own pleasure now. His thumbs are still hooked around Mira’s cunt, and after the first few thrusts he pauses just long enough to arrange his fingers over her folds, to keep them flattened and out of the way. Her folds, tightened like that, also keep her clit pointing up: there’s no chance that the man’s thrusts would stimulate it in any way. Right now, she’s just a hole for him, and everything about the way he’s using her—her position, the precise angle of their hips—makes sure that it’s in no way pleasurable for her.

If it was, she would have come with the first thrust.

The man fucks her like that, hard and fast, grunting like a beast every so often. When he approaches his climax, his breathing goes ragged in a familiar way, and Mira grits her teeth and braces for the—yes, the hot flood of come that fills her insides, then spurts out with a squelch as the man still keeps churning her insides, dragging it out until he’s finally too soft to keep fucking her. Only then does he slow down and allow his cock to slip out.

He stays there, crouched over Mira, hands still keeping her cunt splayed open. Though she can’t see anything through the blindfold, she imagines that she can almost feel it as the man’s gaze rests on her abused cunt like a heavy weight. “Perfect,” he finally says, the word just a breathy groan, then lets go of her folds—only to massage them roughly, rubbing his come all over her cunt.

“Oh, but look how messy you are,” the man continues in a low rumble. The hot gusts of his breath brush over Mira’s already heated flesh, and she jolts when she realizes how close the man’s face must be to her cunt. Her clit twitches, foolishly yearning after the gentle touch of a mouth—but the man has put his mouth on her only once, and it hadn’t been nowhere near her cunt. It doesn’t happen this time, either: the man sighs once more, then his fingers are suddenly behind Mira’s head, tugging the knot of her blindfold open.

The bright glare of the computer screen is like a stab to her eyes, and she flinches and squints against it. Her eyes feel hot and grimy from all the weeping, and her jaw is starting to ache too. To her relief, the gag is the next thing to go, and she gasps a desperate breath and licks her trembling lips, tasting salt. The man hums thoughtfully and turns to pick up a bottle of water, holding it to Mira’s lips as she drinks greedily, feeling such relief that she almost starts crying again.

“Messy girl,” the man says when Mira gets too greedy and almost chokes on the water, then coughs and splutters, spilling it all over her chest. “I was going to serve us lunch, but we can’t sit down to eat if you’re that filthy, now can we?”

—

The bathroom is just as frightening as ever. The hooks loom in the background as the man wrangles a weakly struggling Mira into a metal chair, then ties her down. His movements are quick and effective: this is simply routine for him by now. All too soon Mira finds herself sitting on a narrow ledge that leaves her pussy hanging out, legs spread humiliatingly wide and strapped down tightly.

Her fingers curl around the wooden armrests as she listens to the man move around the room. She can’t turn her head, because it’s also held in the tight, cruel embrace of the leather straps. The room is warm, but she still shivers continuously.

How long has it been? She’s lost all sense of the passage of time. The man has kept her on the edge for… god, it must be hours. All those times when she was about to come, her whole body shaking with it—only for the man to take it away at the last second. The memory of that last, stolen orgasm makes Mira sob dryly and her cunt clench uselessly. Her clit aches.

Suddenly the man appears before Mira, startling her. He’s pushing a cart laden with various things: two pails of steaming water, unlabeled pump bottles, brushes and sponges… Mira blinks at them, nonplussed. The man is just going to, what, wash her? Well, it’s not like she’s opposed to that—her whole body is itchy with drying sweat. But it can’t be that simple.

And of course it isn’t. The man pours warm water slowly over her chest, then scrubs every inch of her skin meticulously. Something that could have been pleasant, if it wasn’t for the utter humiliation of the situation. The man is using two small, round brushes, one in each hand. The bristles are surprisingly soft, and it’s not the harsh scrubbing that Mira had expected when she saw the tools, but almost like a… spa treatment.

Well, until the man starts scrubbing her boobs. He moves the brushes over her nipples in slow circles. The touch is light, but that’s even worse: she can feel every single bristle as they scrape over her sensitive nerve endings, making her gasp and shudder. Every sharp jolt of pleasure is echoed with a throb of heat in her clit. Suddenly she’s intensely aware that she hasn’t been granted an orgasm yet, and she sobs as the man hums thoughtfully and presses the bristles down harder.

“Please,” Mira gasps, without knowing what she’s asking for. “Please!”

“All in good time,” the man replies placidly and moves the brushes over the tips of her nipples in tiny circles. It’s only one small spot in her body, but somehow she can feel the touch everywhere. She moans and clutches the armrests hard enough to make her fingers ache. It does nothing to alleviate the pleasure.

When it finally stops, Mira’s nipples are bright pink, swollen and throbbing. She’s panting heavily, as if she had just ran a marathon, still shivering as the pain keeps thrumming through her nerves even though the source is already gone.

“Now, let’s see…” the man says and puts the brushes away, then reaches between Mira’s legs. He gropes her cunt, rubbing his fingers roughly over her wet folds. “What a mess. Got my work cut out for me here.” He shakes his head, then reaches for the second pail of water and picks up the sponge that had been soaking there.

Using one hand to spread her folds, he slides the sponge over Mira’s cunt. The first pass doesn’t feel that bad, but when it reverses course and comes back up, it catches on the swollen, exposed tip of her clit, making her hiss and shudder.

“No, that’s—that’s not…” Mira stutters, wondering if the man possibly just doesn’t understand what it feels like—but seeing her reaction, he only makes an interested sound and repeats the motion, taking care to rub the sponge right over her clit.

“Please, please stop,” she tries again, voice hitching when the sponge catches on the sensitive underside of her clit. “It’s too much—please!” Her voice breaks down to a choked whimper.

“Gotta get you cleaned up,” the man murmurs distractedly and uses his other hand to pull at her skin, so that her clit sticks out prominently. Mira can’t even imagine what it looks like, and she can’t twist her head to look at it either, not with it restrained like this. She’s not sure she even wants to know. She groans, a wordless sound of misery, as her clit is slowly and thoroughly scrubbed with the sponge from every angle. Every wipe of the sponge is a jolt of sensation so sharp that it goes somewhere beyond pleasure or pain. It’s enough to make her limbs spasm violently, and if it wasn’t for the restraints, she probably would have kicked the man in the head already.

The sponge moves down, to rub at her opening, and Mira slumps in her restraints when the torture on her clit stops. Her relief comes too soon, however. After the man has scrubbed the rest of her cunt clean, wiping away all traces of her slick and his own come, he puts the sponge down… and picks up another brush, this one even smaller than the ones he had used on Mira’s nipples.

“W-what’s that for,” Mira asks in a thready whisper, but she knows already. Her heart is pounding with the nauseating certainty of what’s going to happen, and eyes are glued to the innocuous looking little thing as it comes closer.

The man doesn’t bother replying. Once again he spreads her folds, holding her down while he gently swipes the brush over Mira’s clit.

She screams. Objectively speaking, the brush must be soft as a dream. On her tender, oversensitive clit, however, it feels like nails scraping over her nerves. Searing hot agony bursts in her clit at every slow pass of the brush, and she can’t even keep her eyes open, her face scrunching up in a hideous grimace. She feels her mouth move, but she can’t figure out what it’s saying—if there even are any comprehensible words in the middle of her desperate babbling and sobbing. There’s just enough pleasure, insidiously twined together with the pain, that she doesn’t completely lose her mind, but she still almost faints with relief when the torture stops.

Every part of her aches. She had been continuously fighting against her restraints without even noticing it, and now her muscles feel like water. Her chest heaves as she tries to get in huge lungfuls of air, to replace all that was lost while she was screaming.

“There. Squeaky clean,” the man says—but his voice comes from lower than Mira had expected. He’s kneeling or crouching somewhere between her legs, a fact that nearly makes her scream hysterically again—except when he touches her, it doesn’t come accompanied by pain.

She can’t even make sense of the feeling at first, it’s too foreign to her. Something that she had known, once, but the memory has been so thoroughly whipped and beaten out of her that it takes her several long, sluggish moments to recognize it.

A warm, wet mouth on her cunt. A tongue flicking over her clit, then going lower to stab at her opening. A pleasure so simple, so uncomplicated, that fresh tears spill from her eyes.

To tell the truth, the man is not very good at it—too clumsy, too heavy-handed. But Mira’s endurance is stretched so thin that even just a few of the wet, rough laps of the man’s tongue wrench her body right on the edge of orgasm again. She tries to keep her moans down, afraid that the man will once again deny her this, but she can’t stop her body from twisting restlessly, her cunt from clenching down, seeking for something to fill it up.

The man takes notice of the latter and thrusts a couple of fingers in, curling them up immediately. His tongue laps at Mira’s clit, while his fingers press insistently on her tender insides, working her over from the inside out. Her clit still stings with pain, but the wet, warm tongue is the perfect antidote to it—yet also works in perfect synchronicity to it. When the man sucks on her clit, the pleasure burrows deep into her flesh, following the pathways created by the agony she had been subjected to just a few moments ago.

The orgasm pours over Mira slowly, like honey. Every nook and cranny of her body is filled with relentless heat, her toes curling, the back of her head tingling with it. She’s hardly even aware of the rest of the world, lost in the wave that crashes over her and leaves her gasping and shaking helplessly. There is no end to it, either—the man just keeps sucking and licking, long after the pleasure has crested, long enough that it takes a sharp turn to pain again and Mira whimpers brokenly.

Only then does the man stop. He sighs heavily and levers himself up, standing between Mira’s legs, looming over her. For a while, neither of them say anything—Mira too lost in the aftershocks of her release, the man distracted by whatever incomprehensible thoughts are going through his head this time.

“Hm,” he says finally and swipes a finger over Mira’s chest, wet with her tears and fresh sweat. “You got messy again.”

Chapter Text

Then…

On the screen, a rather crude illustration of a beautiful female elf being the victim of a horrifying gang rape. Her clothes are strategically—and somewhat implausibly—torn right over her cunt and breasts, with some randomly placed, thin slashes here and there over the rest of her body, hinting that she has just lost a battle. There’s a sword lying on the ground next to her. Her face is twisted with an expression of agony and fear, though somehow she still remains beautiful and ethereal, save from the artfully glistening tears in her large, blue eyes.

She’s surrounded by a ring of muscular, green-skinned men, whose absurdly large, stiff cocks point right at her. One of them is about to penetrate her cunt, which is already showing signs of heavy abuse—the artist has clearly put a lot of effort into depicting it in great detail, and it’s certainly evocative. Her folds are swollen and bright red, her clitoris pink and plump and sticking out perkily. In fact, the whole thing looks about three times the size of a normal vulva, ravished or not. Copious amounts of come cover her inner thighs in streaks of white, and even more trickle out of her stretched hole.

The tags say: #art, #gangbang, #gang rape, #god I hope they whipped her pussy too, #🥵🥵🥵

Now…

The man is right in the middle of spanking Mira’s pussy, when he suddenly pauses and stares down at it with a contemplative air. His fingers trace the shape of Mira’s throbbing clit and swollen lips, and he hums to himself, sounding displeased.

“How could I forget,” he rumbles and shakes his head slowly. “I acquired it ages ago, just for you, but somehow I never thought to use it. We should rectify that right now.”

Mira tries to get her breathing under control and follows the man with her eyes. It’s the only thing she can do—she’s strapped down so completely that she can’t even turn her head. It’s a familiar position: lying down with her head just slightly lower than the rest of her body, legs spread wide to give the man full access to her cunt. The bit gag is firmly between her teeth, and though it’s humiliating beyond belief, she’s secretly grateful that there’s something she can bite down on, something that moors her in the middle of her suffering.

“I should have put this on before I started,” the man says, returning with something in his hands. “But it should work well enough.” Mira eyes it warily, but it looks perfectly innocuous: just a large suction cup made of clear plastic. But knowing what the man is capable of, there must be some insidious, cruel purpose for it.

“No need to give me that look,” the man chuckles, noticing Mira’s expression, and pats her cheek fondly. Then he sits down on a small, backless rolling chair, settling right between Mira’s legs. “This is all for your benefit. Now, let’s see…” He pauses to use the huge pump bottle of lube and spreads a generous amount of the thick liquid over Mira’s pussy, taking care to rub it between her folds and all over her clit. She trembles and lets out a small, cut-off moan when her clit gets fondled, a shocking rush of arousal blooming between her legs just from that simple touch, but the man doesn’t linger there. As soon as he deems Mira well-lubed enough, he places the cup carefully over her cunt. “…yes, a perfect fit. Your pussy is so beautiful, my dear. And soon it will be even more stunning.”

There’s a hiss of air as he squeezes the bulb, and the cup tightens over Mira’s pussy. At first, the sensation isn’t anything special. A bit like a mouth sucking at her clit, only stiffer and harder—and not really touching her directly. Mira can’t really see the point of it at first—but then the man just keeps pumping, slowly but steadily, and soon the entirety of her pussy is tingling as the suction gradually increases.

“Yes,” the man murmurs. “Yes, that’s perfect.” Another hiss comes from the pump as he squeezes the bulb, and Mira chokes on her next breath. Now it’s almost starting to hurt, the way the suction forces blood to rush into her genitals, making them swell. Her clit, which was already sore from the spanking, throbs helplessly in the grip of the tool. Mira can feel her heartbeat right there, in the stiff length of her clit, which swells—and swells—until the ache is almost unbearable.

Somehow the man knows to stop right before it turns into real pain. He lets out a slow, carefully controlled sigh and leans back to watch Mira. After a while it becomes obvious that the man isn’t going to do anything else, that he’s perfectly content with observing Mira as she squirms in the chair and tries to deal with the sensation.

“Is it working?” the man says several endless, torturous moments later. “I think it is. Let’s see.” He leans over Mira again and grabs the bulb, pressing down on something there—a quick release valve, apparently, because there’s another hiss, louder than before, and Mira gasps when her pussy is released. The cup is lifted off with a wet smack, and replaced with large fingers that grope her folds roughly.

Mira’s breathing stutters in her chest. It feels—different. More sensitive, yet somehow less sensitive at the same time. Like there’s a thick layer of… goo covering her genitals, acting as a barrier against the man’s touch—but beneath it, her nerves are burning with terrible, forced arousal.

There’s something reverent about the way the man explores her pumped-up pussy. Pushes his fingers into her hole, then rubs his thumb in a slow circle over her clit, making her let out a whimpering gasp. He replies with a curious sound of his own and repeats the action: then he raises his hand, palm flat in a familiar gesture.

“Hnnh!” Mira moans panickedly through her gag and jerks in her restraints, but it’s no use. Before she can fully prepare herself, the hand comes down with a wet smack.

“Oh yes,” the man growls over her muffled scream and spanks her again. “Yes, perfect, my sweetie—yes!”

It’s worse—so much worse. Whatever horrible things the pump did to Mira’s pussy, it also made it a lot more sensitive to pain. With just a few hard smacks over her clit the man has her howling, squirming helplessly in her restraints, sobbing until her face is wet with tears and snot. Even after the man stops, her cunt keeps throbbing with dull agony. It seems to burrow deeper into her flesh than ever before, so deep that she can feel the echoes of it in her lower stomach.

“More, we can do more, can’t we?” the man says—rambles, more like, sounding out of breath himself. “You can take it. Here, let me just…”

He fumbles with the chair’s remote controls, tapping them a few times to bring Mira’s legs slightly closer together. When the man starts pumping her pussy again, even more of her flesh gets sucked into the hard, plastic mouth of the cup, the skin of her thighs no longer drawn so taut. The tingling sensation in her vulva grows stronger with every slow, controlled squeeze of the bulb. Again the man pumps her pussy until it’s nearly too much, too painful, and stops right before it tips over.

“I wish you could see it,” he murmurs and places a hand over the plastic cup. “Oh, you’re so warm here. Burning up for me. Mmm.”

Mira can’t feel his touch, of course, but she can feel the heat of his body through the plastic. With a jolt she realizes that her vulva has swollen so much that it’s actually filling out the whole cup—the cup, which had looked so large to her eyes.

Oh god. What does her cunt even look like right now? Mira’s face scrunches up as she fights against a fresh wave of tears. She tries not to picture it—but her imagination is gleefully offering up visions of her poor cunt, swollen to such a size that it looks like an overripe fruit, dark red and glistening with wetness. And in the middle of it all, her clit, which must be obscenely large by now. Fuck, what if—what if it stays that way? What if her clit is permanently stuck like this, huge and ugly and so oversensitive that she can’t—can’t probably even wear panties without the fabric constantly rubbing against—

A low moan escapes her throat and she squeezes her eyes shut, as if that would stop the feverish visions from rampaging through her mind. It’s not possible, she tries to reassure herself. You can’t modify the human body that easily. It’s just suction, it’s temporary, it’s temporary.

(But what if he does it every day? What if he just doesn’t let her body go back to normal?)

A wet tongue sliding around her nipple brings Mira crashing back to the moment. The man is bent over her body now, his mouth hovering over one nipple, his fingers tightening around the other. Tightening and tightening until the pain makes Mira cry out—except the pain is tempered by the gentle pleasure on the other side, where the man is licking and sucking at her other nipple. The tongue circles around it, sending warm pulses of pleasure skittering through her nervous system and straight to her clit.

Except just when she’s starting to surrender to the pleasure, the man switches sides, and now it’s her other nipple that gets lavished with pleasure while the first one is squeezed mercilessly between the man’s thick fingers. Then the process is repeated: pain switches to pleasure switches to pain until Mira can’t tell them apart, until she’s moaning continuously, moving her chest up and down in cut-off jerks, like she can’t decide whether to demand more or try to escape the torment. Between her legs, her clit is twitching uselessly with every shivery wave of disembodied pleasure, and she can feel a trickle of moisture spill from her hole and tickle her inner folds—because for some reason she’s sopping wet down there.

“So good,” the man mumbles against her breasts, pressing wet, clumsy kisses all over them. “So good for me. But let’s continue, yes?”

This time there’s an even more obscene, wet schlurp when the cup is removed. The man swallows audibly and runs his fingers over the engorged mound of Mira’s cunt. Lightly, at first, so that Mira feels only the barest tickle of the digits brushing over the exposed head of her clit, though even that is enough to make her feel dizzy with arousal. But it doesn’t stay that way for long: as always, the man prefers a heavy hand, and like a flip of a switch, the fingers that had gently caressed her a moment ago are suddenly clamping around her clit in a vice grip.

The fresh stab of pain makes Mira howl. The whole chair rattles as she shakes and jerks in her restraints, trying to dislodge that cruel hand, but it’s no use. When Mira finally gives up and flops back against the chair with a wretched sob—only then does the man release her poor clit, and goes back to slowly running his fingertips over it.

“Look how hungry you are for it,” he mumbles and slaps her lightly, right over the tip of her clit. It makes the whole swollen mess of Mira’s vulva jiggle like pudding, and he chuckles and does it again, moving almost playfully from side to side, delivering hard, wet smacks all over her pussy and making it shake. It doesn’t really hurt, but—Mira would honestly rather take the pain than this, this humiliation. The way her cunt feels right now—swollen, ugly, ridiculous—she hates it more than she has hated anything she has experienced in the man’s hands.

“Ah, but I’m not using you to your full potential right now. My apologies. Wait here.”

As soon as his hands leave Mira’s skin, she’s gripped with a queasy feeling. Not that particular kind of heat-tinged fear the man usually awakens in her: this is a lot closer to pure, cold panic, the feeling that she’s starting to fracture, to fall into pieces if the man’s not there to hold her body in his hands and twist it to his will. He’s gone only for a moment, though, before he comes back to stand between Mira’s legs. A rough hand gropes at her cunt and rubs back and forth over her clit.

“You must be tired, my dear,” he says gently. “But be a good girl for me and endure it for just a bit longer, hmm?”

It takes a moment for Mira, but then she understands: the man means her position, which she has held for—she doesn’t even know how long. Time has ceased to have any real meaning ever since the man caught her. Hours and days melt together in a continuous nightmare of pain and pleasure and humiliation. Oh, there have been long periods of time when Mira has been allowed to sit on the couch next to the man while he watches television—he seems to like home improvement programs and war documentaries—since it’s not physically possible for the man to keep fucking her for hours, every day.

But he has never expressed any concern over her well-being. Then again… neither has he caused her any permanent injury. Only suffering. Only—

—pain, bursting over her skin, screaming through her nerves. Just when she has managed to process the first strike, another lands over her clit. Something hard and narrow and unyielding, far more cruel than a human hand, or even a flogger.

Somehow Mira manages to focus her eyes through the haze of agony, and sees the tool as the man raises it again. It’s the cane, that horrible thing the man had used to torture her feet, only this time he’s using it on an even more vulnerable part, because there’s no limit to his cruel depravity, is there?

He’s probably not even hitting her that hard—but the sound it makes as it cuts through the air is so ominous, and when the hard length of it lands on Mira’s plump clit with a firm thwack, such a sharp burst of pain follows that her mind gets filled with white noise.

“Is it good?” the man asks between the strikes, his voice a hoarse rasp. “Is it good? No, I know it is. Look at you. You were made for this.”

Mira makes an indistinct noise and tries to shake her head, but the leather straps around it keep her almost completely immobile. She can’t stop the man, can’t do anything to protect herself—and so the cane keeps coming down on her clit mercilessly, heedless of her agony, until it feels like her flesh is going to split under the strikes.

Just when Mira thinks she’s going to lose her mind, the cane clatters to the floor and the man starts to fumble with the zipper of his overalls with feverish desperation. He draws his cock out with trembling hands—and judging from the stiffness and the purplish shade of his erection, he must be in pain too—and gives his length a few hasty strokes. He does it gingerly, with a hiss, like his own touch burns his skin, then turns his attention back to Mira.

Holding his cock in his left hand, he uses the right to sink three thick fingers into Mira’s pussy. She’s so wet that it takes no effort at all. As always, it’s a stretch that makes her feel out of breath, and it’s not even the man’s thick cock yet. Her cunt clenches around the invasion, and a high-pitched whine builds in her throat as the fingers move inside her, curling up and immediately locating that bundle of nerves on her inner walls.

All too soon the fingers slide out, and Mira’s heart thumps in her chest. Every inch of her body is shivery with anticipation and dread as she waits for the huge cock to split her open—to push into her already aching body—

“Beautiful,” the man groans. He presses closer to Mira, rubs the slippery head of his cock against her even more slippery folds. But instead of immediately penetrating her, he lets his cock slowly slide over her cunt, back and forth over her tender folds. His glans rub against Mira’s clit, and they both groan, their voices curling around each other: one high-pitched and full of distress, the other a low, ravenous snarl. When his cock suddenly slips to the side, the man grabs it again, holding his hand over it to create a tight tunnel which he uses to pleasure himself. Short, shallow thrusts, each one of them passing directly over Mira’s tortured clit, until she’s moaning continuously, her voice heavy with tears.

“Ngah,” the man finally gasps and lets go, taking hold of Mira’s hips instead. His cock nudges her opening, and then he’s inside her, filling her completely, owning every part of her.

Mira’s mind goes hazy and blank. The cock pushing into her abused cunt feels just as terrible and overwhelming as she had imagined. Her swollen folds get squished under the man’s heavy weight with every thrust, giving her no respite from the pain. He’s not holding anything back either: his hips move like a jackhammer, and if it wasn’t for the sturdy chair and the restraints, Mira would be thrown on the other side of the room just from the sheer, brutal strength of his thrusts. As it is, she can only lie there and take it, take the huge cock ravaging her already sore cunt.

Her insides churn with a mix of nausea and desperate need, clenching around the cock as it pushes in, as if trying to keep it out—but when it actually slides out, she lets out a wet little gasp, already missing the size and weight of it. The man just keeps fucking her through it all, no matter how much she squirms and sobs and tries to push him out. None of it matters to him: right now she’s just a tight hole for him, and the more she struggles, the harder his cock seems to get, the more brutal his thrusts.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take long for him to come. At the last second, he rips his cock out and aims the head of it directly at Mira’s cunt. He comes with a low groan, and his release splashes over Mira’s clit and folds in streaks of wetness and heat. There seems to be no end to it: pulses and pulses of hot, sticky come, all of it landing on her twitching clit, making her flinch violently with every spurt.

After his climax, the man stays there for a long time, breathing heavily and swaying on his feet. From time to time, he moves his palms over Mira’s naked thighs in small circles, as if to soothe her—but it has the opposite effect: his hands are so close to where her body is aching, wordlessly begging for a release, but never touching her properly. She closes her eyes and tries to ride out the hot waves of pain and desperate need that wrack her body, but she can’t do it, can’t calm herself down.

So lost is she in her racing thoughts and burning need that she doesn’t notice it when the man moves. It’s only when something smooth and cool presses against her clit that her eyes slam open, and she lets out an animalistic, wretched sound.

“Do not fear,” the man rumbles. “I’ll take care of you, always.”

With a click, the vibrator comes alive and shatters the last dregs of Mira’s dignity. The powerful vibrations pierce through her tortured flesh, traveling down pathways that have been thrown wide open by the pain from before. It’s pleasure, there’s no doubt about it—but it’s far too intense, going from zero to one hundred in the span of mere seconds. She screams until her throat is no longer capable of it, then continues screaming soundlessly. The sensation builds and builds, making her clit feel like it’s on fire, and soon the pleasure spills over the rest of her body, simply too much to be fully contained in such a small spot on her body. She can’t even keep her eyes open, they squeeze tightly shut on their own volition, and she almost chokes on her spit when an uncontrolled shudder goes through her body.

It’s too much, her whole nervous system is burning up—but she can’t find her way through it, caught in an endless loop of pleasure-pain that grows and grows but never crests. Every second feels like she’s right on the precipice of a climax, but it’s like some invisible force is stopping her from tipping over, and she wails soundlessly, face twisted up in an expression of agony—

The vibrator stays firmly on her clit and keeps her oversensitive nerves singing, but suddenly another sensation joins it: a pair of fingers, thrusting into her hole and chasing away the hollow emptiness she hadn’t even realized was there. Someone is saying something in a deep, rumbling voice, but Mira can’t make sense of the words, because right then, the pleasure finally crests. It rushes over her body like a wave of heat, or a flash of electricity, and her cunt pulsates around the fingers, those blessedly familiar fingers which keep fucking her hole steadily through her orgasm—a perfect counterpoint to the relentless, painful vibration that’s still torturing her clit. And keeps torturing it, prolonging her orgasm beyond what should be physically possible.

When the device finally turns off, the fingers stay inside her. She clenches around them again and tries to moan loud enough to express her gratitude, but no sound comes out: her throat is too ruined for that.

“So beautiful,” the man whispers hoarsely, reverently, and Mira almost believes him.

Chapter Text

Then…

[redacted]: Have you ever imagined what it would actually feel like?

[redacted]: huh?

[redacted]: Getting raped. For real.

[redacted]: omg wtf,of c ourse not!!!

[redacted]: I bet you have. I bet you go home every night, wishing that someone would bend you over a park bench, or the back of his car, and just go to town. Make you scream. Fill your needy pussy with cum, then spank it until it's red as a cherry.

[redacted]: stop wtf

[redacted]: I could make that happen. I would make sure nothing bad happened to you, don’t worry. You could just let yourself go. Let yourself feel it.

[redacted]: you sick fuck

Direct messages to [redacted] are disabled. (Why are you getting this message?)

The man sighs and leans back in his chair. His prey is acting hard to get, but no matter. He already has a plan.

—

Now…

The cuffs wrap around Mira’s arms and wrists, the firm, unyielding hold of the leather already familiar to her. Her arms are bound behind her back, but lower than usual: it doesn’t push her chest out so much, but there’s less strain for her limbs. For some reason, the man has given her clothing today, though the short, tight tube dress leaves very little to imagination. Her outfit also includes long stockings and a garter belt, which frames her ass and cunt—covered by a narrow slip of fabric, underwear in name only—and makes her shiver with apprehension. She’s not even given any shoes, but maybe that’s to be expected.

What she is given, however, is a very thorough washing of her nether regions, followed by an even more thorough lubing of both of her holes. Afterwards the area between her legs is uncomfortably slippery, and she can feel lube trickle out and smear all over her inner thighs as she’s made to walk through an unfamiliar door.

“What—what is this?” Mira asks in a shaky voice without much hope for a real answer. “Where are you taking me?”

“Don’t worry,” the man replies placidly and keeps pushing Mira forward, across the empty room. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Mira frowns, because the words are the opposite of reassuring, but before she can demand more answers, they stop in front of another nondescript metal door. Her stomach lurches and she’s suddenly absolutely certain that she doesn’t want to go through that door.

The man is behind her now, running a soothing hand over her shoulders and down her chest, pausing to fondle her nipples through the fabric, then up again to wrap his fingers around her throat. It’s a gentle, barely-there touch, but it still makes Mira’s breathing hitch: she knows just how much brutal strength lies in those large hands. The very presence of them is a threat. But the man doesn’t do anything brutal, not right now: he tilts Mira’s head back and presses a thumb against her lips.

“Open up, there’s a good girl,” he murmurs, and Mira swallows a sob and hesitantly opens her mouth just a bit, just enough to let the man’s thumb slide inside. “More than that. More—yes, perfect.” The thumb slides out again, and something else takes its place. With a jolt Mira realizes that it’s a gag of some kind, but instead of muffling her, it keeps her mouth wide open. Reflexively she clenches her jaw, but there’s something between her teeth, a hard structure covered with silicone, and no matter what she does, she can’t dislodge it.

An anguished sound escapes Mira’s open mouth, a wordless cry that makes her sound like a mindless animal.

“Shh, my dear,” the man says soothingly and runs his fingers over Mira’s stretched lips, making sure that the gag isn’t hurting her. Then he tightens the leather straps around her head, locking the horrible thing in place. “There: now there’s no danger that you’d accidentally bite someone. We don’t want that, do we?”

Mira groans again and shakes her head frantically, spittle flying everywhere. Her whole body is trembling and there's nothing she can do about it. Her mind is too preoccupied with all the lewd details of her current predicament: her ass and cunt, so carefully lubed, and her mouth, held wide open by the horrible gag—it’s all starting to paint a picture that she doesn’t like at all, but is too scared to look at directly.

Please, please stop, Mira begs, or tries to, but the words are mangled beyond recognition. There are only a series of broken, animal moans, filthy, embarrassing sounds that suddenly turn into a high-pitched wail when something covers her eyes. A blindfold, she realizes immediately, probably fabric: something soft and silky, but thick enough to block out all the light.

“Now you’re ready,” the man says and presses a kiss to the patch of soft, sensitive skin just behind Mira’s ear. “I’ll be right over here. Enjoy.”

With those words, he opens the door and pushes Mira through.

—

Hands grab her immediately: more hands than she can count. Mira screams and struggles, but her distress is only met with mocking laughter and quick, stinging slaps to her breasts and ass. She tries to dodge them, but with the blindfold covering her eyes and her hands bound behind her back, she's completely helpless. She's pushed and dragged forward, rough, greedy hands constantly groping every inch of her skin they can reach.

"Look at this slut," someone says, voice thick with amused contempt. "The fuck was she thinking, dressed like that?" The bodice of Mira's dress is tugged down, letting her boobs fall out. They bounce in the air, to the great delight of the men surrounding her: they immediately start groping and spanking them, jiggling them up and down, squeezing them hard until Mira cries out, desperate for them to stop.

“All right, bend over, slut,” someone cuts in. “Let me see that pussy!” Mira is jostled around again, her shoulders pressed down while someone else keeps a firm grip on her hips, holding them up. The sodden, flimsy fabric of her thong is pulled aside and thick fingers thrust into her cunt, three at a time, and she screams again. It's only thanks to the lube that she's not hurt—or rather, nothing is torn: it still hurts like hell, the fingers violating her hole roughly and way too quickly, twisting around without a care for her comfort.

"Are you gonna fuck her or not?" someone else says impatiently. "Because if not—"

"Fuck off," replies the owner of the fingers, but pulls them out, replacing them with his cock. It's not particularly thick—at least not compared to his cock—but it still makes Mira shriek when it slams in. Her body convulses helplessly around it, her lower stomach aching from the sudden invasion. The next thrust is no better, but this time her scream is cut short when another cock is shoved into her open mouth.

"Fuck, I can't believe this is actually happening," someone says breathlessly. "I was so sure it was gonna be a scam."

"So why did you come?"

"Thought it was worth a try. And it sure looks like it's gonna be."

The words are barely more than incomprehensible buzzing in Mira's ears. All her senses are full of cock: one thrusting in and out of her cunt, the other filling her mouth. It's nothing she hasn't felt before, but the blindfold strips away the last dregs of her sense of security. She has no idea if her attackers are young or old, good-looking or ugly. The only relevant parts are their hands and cocks, slapping and pinching and thrusting without a moment of respite, until it feels like her whole body is one single aching, throbbing bruise.

A flood of bitter saltiness fills Mira's mouth, and the first man pulls out, leaving her coughing and spluttering. Before anyone can take his place, the other man is coming too. He pulls out at the last second and finishes over Mira's ass, splattering come all over her rucked-up dress and naked cheeks.

Someone grabs Mira before she can recover from the first round, and half-drags, half-carries her across the room. She's slammed over something hard and cold—a table, maybe. She tries to kick back at her attackers, but the men grab her flailing legs easily and keep them spread. Someone has an arm pressed over her shoulders: there is simply no way for her to avoid her fate. Her cunt feels horribly vulnerable, and she's sure she can almost feel the men's eyes on her skin as they stare greedily at it.

"Yeah, keep them spread, slut," says the next man as he settles between her legs. "Fuck, but that's a pretty little pussy."

"Not so pretty after we're done with it!"

Mira whimpers and tries another feeble kick, but it doesn't in any way deter the hand that's rudely shoved between her legs. Her cunt gets groped roughly, the man's fingers playing with her wet hole, fucking her sloppily before delivering a hard slap over it. The following squeal makes the man laugh and repeat the action, but then he doesn't waste more time spanking Mira. He uses his thumbs to spread her hole open, laughing again when it twitches uselessly around them, trying to close again.

No matter how many times Mira's gotten raped already, she never gets used to the feeling of an unfamiliar cock pushing in. The ache of it when it's stretching her unwilling hole open; the jarring pain of the first clumsy thrusts as her attacker figures out the dimensions of her body, the proper angle to use so that he can push as deep as possible. It doesn't matter if the cock happens to be rather small: it's still a violation, and her body still fights to keep it out—and loses every single time.

Why would the man do this to her? The question keeps circling around in Mira's head as the strangers fuck her, one after another, using her mouth and ass and cunt. Why would he let them? First the whole thing with the van—the memory still makes Mira's insides churn with nausea and some restless, murky feeling—and now this. He always seems so possessive, yet here she is, all wrapped up in revealing clothes and leather cuffs like some kind of present, left for other people to rape and use as they like.

Another man finishes, filling her cunt with even more sticky, hot come. There's a short lull in the action, and she almost dares to hope that it's over, but—no such luck. She's flipped around on her back, trapping her bound arms beneath her. It doesn't hurt yet, but she knows that she can't stay in this position for long. The men spread her legs again, letting one of them take his place between her thighs. The other men turn their focus on her boobs, which are no longer squished between the table and her body, hidden from their sight.

"Pinch her nipples, come on," urges the man who's standing between Mira's legs. "Look at them, they're just begging for it."

The others follow his instructions eagerly, but since there are just too many hands, some of them have to resort to simply squeezing and groping her boobs, while the lucky ones take the swollen peaks of her nipples in a tight grip and twist them this way and that. At the same time, a couple of fingers push into her used hole with a wet squelch, except this time they're not just groping her clumsily. No, this man seems to know what he's doing: he has his fingers curled up and held stiffly like a claw, which he uses to rub her insides, rubbing and rubbing until—

"There," the man grunts in barely audible voice and drags his fingers over the same spot again, even harder. "Feel that, bitch?" Mira lets out another breathless, mindless sound as a flame-like pleasure stabs her insides. Instantly, she panics: it's one thing to be used like a thing, to be thrown around and fucked until she screams from the pain, because then it's not her fault—but this? This insidious, merciless pleasure that grows within her—except no, it doesn't really grow, it's just suddenly, undeniably there, fierce and bright and overwhelming her completely. Her sore cunt, which has been raped so many times she has lost count is suddenly aching with arousal instead of simple pain. Her swollen folds tingle with it, and her clit twitches uselessly, chasing after the pleasure, screaming silently for someone to touch it—but nobody does. The men are more interested in groping her ass and boobs or twisting and and fondling her nipples, causing wave after wave of hazy pleasure-pain join the thrum of sensation in her cunt, where one of them is finger-fucking her roughly.

But the longer it goes on, the more Mira is beginning to feel that just maybe—if they just keep touching her—

"You like this, huh?" the man growls. "I knew it, you disgusting little slut. You just can't get enough!"

Mira shakes her head frantically, but at the same time, her hips are moving on their own, rocking up to meet the man's touch. Because she does like it—the sheer violence of the pleasure, the way it overwhelms her—oh god, she likes it, what's wrong with her? She shakes her head again, but the more she tries to deny the pleasure, the stronger it gets, cascading all over her—

Something strikes her cunt and she shrieks, her body shuddering both with the pleasure still rushing through her system and the sharp pain that suddenly cuts through it. Another strike, and something inside her snaps. She screams even louder, hoping that the unhinged, animal sound will hide the fact that she's coming, the orgasm crashing through her body like a torrent.

Maybe it works. Maybe the men truly don't care. While Mira is still shaking with the agony of her release, the man finally loses interest in fingering her, sticking a cock in her instead. He fucks her hard and fast, and this time it actually is painful in a wholly unpleasant way, the thrusts reaching her too deep, battering her insides in a way that makes her nauseous.

The man curls over her body, leaning in to hiss in her ear: "Too bad I can't really play with you. That man and his rules, I swear—if you were mine, I would—" He groans, speeding up, and the rest of his words are barely comprehensible. After a few sharp, violent thrusts he reaches his climax, spilling inside Mira's battered cunt.

—

"Was that good?" the man asks, running the washcloth between Mira's legs. The warm water makes her hole sting, and she flinches, but forces herself to stay still—she can see the importance of getting clean after all—that.

"They knew not to go too far, and I was watching all the time. You know you can trust me, right?"

The words are so beyond ludicrous that Mira is struck speechless. Trust him? Trust him? Trust the person who kidnapped her, who keeps whipping and raping her, and forcing her to come and come until she's screaming incoherently, her body alight with sensation, more than she has ever felt in her life—

Mira swallows dryly and turns obediently when the man nudges her, letting him clean another part of her with his clumsy, yet determined hands.

The last man's words come back to her mind, unbidden. If you were mine, I would show you what real pain is. I'd treat you right.

Chapter Text

Before…

The pretty girl in the illustration stares past the viewer with a blank, empty look in her half-lidded eyes. Her mouth hangs open and streaks of spit and come are painted over her chin and flushed cheeks. Both of her holes are gaping open and also messy with a rather implausible amount of come. There are various sex toys scattered around her on the vast expanse of the empty bed, and though she's not currently tied up, there are red marks around her wrists and ankles. She's no longer in a state to fight, only lies there passively, arms and legs akimbo, like a marionette with her strings cut.

The caption says: Keep me like this always… ❤

***

Now…

It had been another ill-advised escape attempt. This time she had finally found the stairs that led her upstairs, to freedom, and ran up as fast as her weary legs would take her. But when she caught sight of the slanting light of the late afternoon that filtered through the windows, the vague shapes of the trees surrounding the house—she had frozen in place like she'd been struck, mind going blank. It had been such a long time since she saw the outside world: somehow she had trouble believing any of it was real.

The man had caught up to her quickly.

***

Last time, the man had been visibly angry: now he seems only amused.

"Silly girl," he rumbles as he walks in a slow circle around Mira, tapping a leather crop against his thigh in a not-so-subtle threat. "This is all on you. I had something nice planned for you, but then you decided to be… naughty." Mira stares at the crop and feels a trickle of sweat run down her back. She's familiar with that particular tool. It's rather narrow, but sturdy—more like a cane, really: every strike from it feels like a lick of fire. The man loves using it on her clit, though right now it won't be possible, because…

The man has her sitting astride an actual wooden horse. She hadn't even known those existed in real life. It's a sturdy, heavy thing, with a sloping angle that digs cruelly into her cunt. It's also high enough that she can only keep the pressure off her clit if she stands on her toes—but she can't keep that position forever. It has been just a few minutes, and already her legs are starting to tremble from the strain. She can't use her arms for balance, either, because they are tied behind her back, wrists to elbows, as part of the tight harness around her chest that also pushes her boobs out like a pair of ripe fruit. Her taut nipples are already tingling in anticipation of whatever torture the man is planning.

."Mmh!" Mira moans through the ball gag when she feels her calves start to twitch, until finally it's too much for her muscles and she drops down, moaning louder when the ache between her legs intensifies. She sways precariously on her seat and her stomach lurches with a sudden stab of fear, but she's not in any real danger of falling off, because she's partially hanging from the ceiling with a rope tied around her chest. The support it offers is negligible, and in truth, only serves to make her feel even more unbalanced.

"Now now, Mira, don't try to fight it," the man says, stopping to stand behind her. He tucks the crop between the loops of rope that wrap around Mira's arms, and places his hands on her upper thighs, pressing down slowly. Mira gives a high-pitched, agonized sound when the pressure on her clit increases, and she tries to shake the man off, but it's useless. He chuckles and uses his monstrous strength to push Mira down, ruthlessly grinding her hips, and consequently her cunt, against the hard edge in a seesawing, grinding motion. "That's it," he growls in her ear and lifts one hand to spank her hard on her left cheek, and again when that makes Mira scream hoarsely. "I wish I could see it—your pretty little pussy. See how red and bruised it is already. But not yet."

He leaves Mira's ass alone and instead reaches down to clumsily rub at the top of Mira's clit, the small part of it that isn't crushed between the hard wood and the weight of her body. She sobs so hard that her whole chest heaves, but as always, it only makes the man sigh happily and use even more brute force. "Look how wet you are," he rumbles, though Mira is pretty sure the slickness down there is only due to her sweat and tears. It has to be. "Oh yes—you love this, don't you?" The man wraps an arm around her chest and lifts her up just enough to insert his free hand between her legs. With fumbling fingers, he spreads her folds, then slowly eases her back down.

Mira howls. The agony is indescribable. The edge is now pressing directly on her tender clit, which feels like a giant bruise already—and still the man shows her absolutely no mercy. While Mira is still distracted by the fresh wave of pain, he grabs her left ankle and lifts it up, forcing her to bend her knee. A cuff snaps in place around it, then a short chain, which tethers her leg to the metal ring at the back of the wooden horse.

"Nnh!" she protests, looking around wildly, but the man has already moved to the other side, repeating the process with her right ankle. As soon as both of her legs are bent and tied up, her balance shifts, forcing even more of her weight to rest on her clit. Though she knows it's useless—that it will probably just have the opposite effect—she whimpers and looks at the man pleadingly. Indeed, he chuckles and reaches for her face, causing her to flinch back—but he only pats her tear-stained cheek gently, then takes the crop from its temporary place.

Mira's breathing speeds up, until she's gasping for air in short gulps, feeling light-headed. It's only now that she realizes the new position of her legs—held completely immobile, the soles of her feet pointing at the ceiling, naked and vulnerable. And she had tried to run.

But that's not where the man touches her, not at first. Insead he hums under his breath and grabs her left tit, rubbing his palm over the taut skin and the peaks of her nipples.

"You have such a magnificent body," he says in a raspy voice. Mira can't see his face, but she can tell that his eyes are glued on her boobs—can almost feel the burning heat of his covetousness on her skin. "So luscious, so… sensitive. Lucky, lucky girl." Though Mira can see it coming, she still mewls with shock when the man suddenly grabs her nipple and twists it in a sharp, harsh motion. "I must admit," he continues absent-mindedly, still torturing her nipple, "I'm a simple man with simple tastes. I love big, soft tits just like yours. There are so many things I could do to them. Aren't you excited to find out?"

Mira shakes her head frantically, spit and tears flying everywhere. The man chuckles darkly and switches to the other nipple, squeezing and twisting it just as brutally, until they're both throbbing and aching with heat, echoing the pain between her legs. She doesn't know how long it's been, how much more her cunt can take—surely the man isn't going to maim her permanently? She tries to catch the man's eyes, but she's half-blind from her own tears, her whole body shaking with her wretched sobs, and she wouldn't be able to see the man's face anyway—only the blank, featureless mask covering it.

The man steps back, but it's not the respite Mira wishes for. She remembers the crop in his hand a moment too late, when it's already striking a sharp line over her left breast. She yowls wordlessly and tries to twist her body away, but there's nowhere she can go, nothing she can do to protect herself. If she moves, it only makes the cruel edge of the wooden horse dig into another part of her cunt—and if she stays still, the pressure gets unbearable.

In the end, the man takes the choice away from Mira's hands. The burning pain of the first strike has no time to fade at all, before the second one follows, landing right next to it, frighteningly close to Mira's nipple. The man works methodically, covering both of her breasts with red stripes from top to bottom—though carefully avoiding her nipples. Every time the crop lands, Mira jumps and sways in place, which causes her hips to grind against the wooden horse and put even more pressure on her bruised clit. Over and over again, until it feels like she's going to lose her mind from the pain.

Finally the man takes a step back, leaving Mira's boobs alone, and tilts his head thoughtfully. "And still you keep pretending," he continues his monologue. "Like you didn't ask for his, over and over again, you needy little slut. Do this to me. Rape my slutholes. Hurt me. Right? Pleading and pleading, yet nobody was bold enough to take up the offer."

What? Mira blinks tears from her eyes and frowns, an unsettling feeling filling her chest. The man is circling her again, admiring her from every side, pausing to slap her ass, then to slide his calloused hands over the red welts on her boobs. "Nobody else was kind enough," he murmurs and rolls her nipples lightly between his fingers. The gentleness is a shocking contrast to all the abuse Mira has suffered today, and she moans almost inaudibly, torn between the need to beg for more of the kind—and the fear that it will only encourage the man to torture her more. "But I—I've been waiting for you, Mira. And I won't let you run away until I've given you every single thing you crave for, and more."

Now comes the punishment Mira had been waiting for, sick with horror. Light, exploratory taps at first, running up and down her feet, leaving her skin tingling and warm. Not an inch of her skin is left untouched: the man is just as methodical with her feet as he was with her boobs. At least this time it's not the cane—the leather crop doesn't quite have the same sharp, stinging bite. But with the man's brutish strength and willingness to use every last bit of it, he could probably beat Mira with a feather and still leave her sobbing and bruised all over.

"No, you won't run," the man says and brings the crop down again: with a snap it lands in the middle of Mira's right foot, and she screams, a high-pitched, desperate sound, more animal than human. The man hushes her, suddenly embracing her from behind: and when his large hands tighten possessively around her breasts, they're empty, the leather crop discarded somewhere. "There, it's over," he murmurs into her ear. "It's over." Something wet slithers over her earlobe: his tongue, which means that the mask is at least partly lifted. Mira could turn her head right now, see the true face of her kidnapper—but something stops her, a strange, wild feeling that her reality would shatter, were she to witness that. Instead, she stares blankly ahead and weeps, as the man places slow, open-mouthed kisses on the back of her neck and trails his tongue over the taut lines of her muscles. "Now, let's move to a more comfortable setting, yes?"

***

The metal chair is not exactly comfortable, but at least it fully supports Mira's exhausted body—and doesn't have a hard wedge digging into the most vulnerable part of her body. Her legs are spread wide, as usual, giving the man full access to her cunt—which he's currently touching almost reverently, running his fingers over the bruised flesh so lightly that she barely even feels it.

"So pretty," he rumbles and slides two fingers into Mira's slick hole, fucking her shallowly. A needy sound tries to escape her mouth, and she clamps her teeth around the gag in a stubborn attempt to keep it down—but when a wide thumb presses down on her clit and rubs rough, jagged circles over it, the noise is torn from her throat, even louder and uglier than she had feared. The man chuckles and uses his other hand to spread her folds, forcing her clit to stand up. "So pretty," he repeats and rubs his thumb over the exposed tip, causing Mira to writhe and mewl at the sharp burst of pleasure-pain. "And so insatiable! But don't worry, Mira, I will never get tired of giving you exactly what you need."

He reaches down to unzip himself, sighing gustily when the heavy mass of his cock falls out. He gives himself a few perfunctory strokes, but his cock doesn't need any more encouragement: it's already so hard that it's pointing straight ahead—never up, the weight too heavy for it—and purpling at the head. Mira stares at it and shakes her head, whimpering desperately. Her cunt already hurts so much from riding the wooden horse: if the man enters her now—forces that thing past the swollen, bruised folds—

The man shoves his thumbs into her hole and wrenches it open with a small grunt. There's a wet squelch, and Mira cries out as she's forced open, first by the man's clumsy fingers, then his thick, fat cock. The pain is so intense that for a moment, the rest of the world disappears: the only thing that exists is the throbbing, pulsating heat of her cunt. When she comes back to her body, hastily filling her lungs with a gulp of air, the man is already withdrawing: she can feel every single inch of his thick length as it slides out, until only the wide, bulbous head remains, keeping her open—

"Aagh!" Mira screams as the cock slams back in, feeding even more pain into her bruised cunt. Her voice is almost unrecognizable, hoarse and guttural, but she can't stop the howls and screams, not when she's split open repeatedly, each thrust somehow worse than the last. Every scream is echoed by a breathless groan from the man—because as always, Mira's agony only serves to make the man even more excited, makes him fuck her with such merciless, punishing force that it feels inhuman. He wraps his hands around her upper thighs and uses them as a handhold as he speeds up, putting his whole body behind every violent thrust.

The worst thing isn't even the pain. No, the worst thing is—

Mira squeezes her eyes shut as the cock shoves in again, rubbing over the spot that floods her insides with warmth. She shakes her head and sobs wretchedly. It shouldn't be possible for anything to feel this good, not after she's been tortured and beaten up and whipped—

The man puts a hand between her legs, fumbling around until he locates the swollen peak of her clit, and presses his thumb over it. It's clumsy and uncoordinated, but she's so on edge that even such a haphazard touch makes her gasp and tremble. Her cunt is so wet and slippery that the man can barely keep his fingers in place over her clit—but in this, he's as single-minded as always. His breathing goes raspy and uneven, a sure sign that he's getting close, but he keeps rubbing her clit insistently and fucking her with sharp, jerky thrusts, grunting harshly through every one of them.

"Nnh!" Mira moans, her desperate no rendered incomprehensible by the gag. She's not sure why she's so against the onslaught of pleasure, because surely it's an infinitely better option than being the victim of more torment and pain. She gasps and wheezes, flinching both from the pain and the relentless pleasure, her cunt already starting to clench rhythmically around the man's length—but before she can reach that point, the man throws his head back and lets out a hoarse bellow, then he's pumping his hips erratically and flooding Mira's insides with come, spurt after spurt, so much that it never seems to end.

Finally he falls still, leaning over Mira's prone form, his twitching cock still inside her and slowly starting to go limp. He huffs and shakes his head, then pats Mira's cheek with a slightly uneven hand and pulls out, spilling his seed on the floor.

"How ungentlemanly of me," he says, voice still raspy and breathless. "Wait here."

He pushes his cock hastily back inside his overalls and goes stomping across the room. Mira lets her head drop back against the chair and tries to get her breathing under control. She's cried so much that her eyes are starting to feel about as bruised and sore as her cunt, but she knows that she won't be getting any relief anytime soon. Indeed, when the man comes back, he's carrying a vibrator.

"Don't worry, my sweet, I'm going to make you feel so good. Just you wait." He ignores Mira's sharp sound of protest and drags his fingers slowly over the mess of her cunt, as if admiring his handiwork. He lets out a shaky breath, then uses his left hand to spread her folds, like he always does, letting Mira's clit stand up, uncovered and unprotected. It twitches under his gaze, and he lets out a pleased hum.

"This is a new toy," he says, a hint of warmth in his monotonous voice. "I hope you like it."

Something small and pointy touches the tip of Mira's clit, and she frowns dubiously—and the vibrator hums to life. Immediately her back arches and she lets out a shockingly loud, high-pitched moan. The head of the vibrator is tiny, smaller than her little finger, but it's powerful—the vibrations seem to connect directly to her nervous system, sending a steady, relentless current of pleasure through her whole body. The man keeps it pressed firmly to her clit, drawing small circles around the head, and no matter how much she squirms and screams, he doesn't ease off at all. Her bruised clit, already aching from the ride on the wooden horse—and the rough fuck after it—is so full of sensation that Mira's whole body is screaming with it.

"There you go," he says and carefully moves his left hand until Mira's clit is between two of his fingers, keeping it steady. "I knew you'd love this. Next time I'll whip your pussy first, make it all pink and pretty…" He rambles on, describing various horrifying acts he's going to commit, all the while keeping the vibrator pressed to Mira's clit. Not that she can hear him, because the pleasure is growing, humming through her whole being and turning everything incandescent and bright, burning through her nerves until it's barely even pleasure—and when she finally comes, the orgasm cuts through her sharply, a violent snap of electricity that makes her limbs shake uncontrollably and her eyes roll back in her head.

Even after the toy is turned off, her clit keeps twitching with the aftershocks. Mira lies there, panting and trembling, her mind entirely blank and empty.

"That was one," the man says. "But you deserve so much more. Are you ready?"

Chapter Text

"Has everything been to your liking so far?" the man asks, completely missing the irony of doing so when Mira is very thoroughly gagged and can't say anything at all. She blinks tears from her eyes and tries to turn her head to glare at him, but right then, his fingers thrust in with a particularly vicious stab of movement, and she moans, her insides throbbing with sharp pleasure. "I've tried to be as faithful to your needs as I can," the man continues. "Though regretfully, I can't recreate all of those scenarios, my dear—some of them are a bit too outlandish." He chuckles warmly and adds another finger, spreading Mira's hole wider.

Mira squeezes her eyes shut and trembles under the onslaught. In retrospect, she feels incredibly stupid for not connecting the dots earlier. All the small things the man had said: all the playful insinuations, the overly familiar way he had addressed her. Part of her suspects that she had always known, but it just seemed so unreal.

It was one thing to be kidnapped by a deranged rapist. To be kidnapped by a deranged rapist who was convinced that he was doing you a favor—Mira had never considered that such a thing was even possible.

Right now, she's bent over, ass up and head down, her neck and wrists trapped in a sleek, metal pillory. The holes are a perfect fit, no doubt handcrafted to fit her exact measurements. There's no possibility of Mira slipping free of them. There's a narrow, cushioned bench under her hips for some support, and her ankles are shackled to it, keeping her legs spread. But the slim cushion is the only comfort she's getting right now. The position is harsh, bordering on cruel: Mira's whole body is exposed to the man's ministrations, and there's nothing she can do to avoid any of it.

Her boobs hang freely beneath her, weighted down only by a pair of nipple clamps that bite into her flesh. She's only just beginning to feel the ache, but it's an almost welcome counterbalance to the pleasure that's building up mercilessly between her legs. The man's fingers are large, and hellishly strong: she knows from experience that her body will tire out long before he shows any signs of slowing down. They thrust in and out, gaining speed, until Mira can no longer hold back the pitiful mewls that try to crawl out of her chest.

"So wet for me," the man rumbles and adjusts his fingers so that the slick sounds of Mira's cunt are even more obvious. "So needy. How did you even manage before I took you in? Before I was there to take care of you?"

"Mngh!" Mira groans, hands clenched into tight fists. Her legs are starting to shake as the pleasure builds up, a terrible, burning kind of pleasure that's impossible to ignore. The man is the only one who's ever been able to dig into that spot like this, with such infernal focus, and Mira hates him for it, hates how her breathing turns into desperate sobs and her cunt lets out another humiliating trickle of wetness, making it even easier for the man to ravage her hole. Her whole lower stomach is burning with a deep, incandescent pleasure, and even her clit, completely untouched so far, starts to twitch and jump in the crossfire between the pleasure down in her cunt and the biting pain in her nipples.

"Yes, come for me, my sweet," the man growls and—impossibly—speeds up even more, his fingers a blur over Mira's tender insides. She wails wordlessly and her eyes roll back in her head as the pleasure crests, a flood of heat rushing through her and making her whole body shake, and her cunt clench like a vise grip around the man's fingers.

While she's still coming, the man pulls his fingers out—then swings them back, smacking Mira right over her twitching clit. She doesn't even register it first, so completely caught in the throes of the orgasm that's still wrecking her body—but as the man keeps spanking her, the pain cuts through the pleasure and she finally yelps, writhing uselessly. That doesn't deter the man at all: as always, Mira's shrieks only spur him on, and he delivers slap after slap over the wet mess of her cunt for what feels like an eternity, sharp pain chasing away the last dregs of her pleasure.

Finally the man stops and takes a step back, breathing heavily. Mira's sobs make her chest heave, and with each trembling, gasping breath her boobs shake too, causing the nipple clamps to make their presence known as gravity does its part in tormenting Mira. Then she yelps, jerking her head up as she feels his fingers slowly push into her hole again. She stares ahead wildly, letting out choked, desperate noises. Surely the man isn't going to…?

"Should I fuck you now? Or play with you more?" the man muses as he curls his fingers over the tender spot inside Mira, grinding his knuckles over it in a small circle. Mira's cunt gushes out even more slickness, and the man chuckles again. "Look at you—there are no wrong answers here, I think. But I shouldn't let your pretty pussy distract me, you filthy girl. I had plans for you."

Once more he pulls his fingers out, pausing to rub them over Mira's clit. She makes a broken sound and tries to tilt her hips down, away from the touch, but the man easily follows her movements, bound as she is. He takes her clit between two fingers and tries to pinch it, but she's too slippery and he can't get a proper grip on it. Letting out a short huff of impatience, he leaves Mira alone again and stomps off to the back of the room, where Mira can't see what he's doing.

"Filthy, filthy girl…" he's mumbling to himself, and Mira feels a frisson of unease. Her heart is in her throat as she listens to the vague sounds of the man picking up the tools he's chosen for the day. A clink of metal—possibly a thin chain? But to go where? She already has clamps on her nipples, there isn't room for more.

Before Mira's imagination can conjure anything up, the man is back, settling a calming hand on her bare ass. He keeps rubbing it absent–mindedly as he arranges his toys with the other, setting them down on the small wheeled work table that he's fond of using. "I will continue shortly, but first—a bit of cleanup is in order, I think."

A bit of cleanup? …oh no. Mira's whole body jerks as the implications sink in.

She vocalizes her disagreement loudly, breath speeding up until she's panting like a dog—and whining like one, too.

"Calm down," the man says in a distracted way and pats her cunt soothingly. "This will only take a moment…"

The man spreads her lips with one hand and runs a soft, wet sponge over Mira's entire cunt, moving it slowly back and forth, taking care to press it between her folds. It's a konjac sponge, the man had once explained proudly, like he had just discovered something unheard of. Supposedly it's soft as a dream, far softer than an ordinary sponge—but when it passes over the tender, oversensitive head of her clit, it feels harsh and uncompromising like steel wool. She whimpers, chokes on her spit, whimpers again: the sensation burns through her nerves, far too sharp to be pleasure, but not exactly like agony, either.

"It's important to keep this clean," the man is saying. He pinches the loose skin just above Mira's clit and pulls at it: her clitoral hood also slides up and completely reveals the sensitive nub underneath. The man lifts the sponge again, but pauses, humming to himself. He discards the sponge and picks up something else.

Mira's stomach swoops with dread, but then the man's fingers are back, pulling at her folds. Something tightens around them, a sharp pinch—clamps, she realizes, like the ones on her nipples, except these are going on the outer lips of her pussy. Two pairs of them, one just slightly above her clit, the other lower down. A thin chain goes around her thigh, connecting the clamps. When the man is finished, the clamps frame her pussy, keeping her folds spread. The thin skin of her folds already aches from the clamps, but inexplicably, her clit throbs with a wave of arousal so strong that it's making her dizzy. Her clit, completely exposed like this—so vulnerable, so fragile. Mira shudders and can't quite swallow a wretched moan.

"I almost forgot these!" the man huffs, tugging gently at the chain, making Mira whimper. "But I can see that you like them. Here, now I can touch your pretty little clit properly." And now he pinches Mira's clit, putting every bit of his monstrous strength behind it. She howls, but the man's grip only tightens: he twists her clit from side to side, grinds it between his fingers, pulls at it until it feels like he's going to just—

But eventually he lets go, and Mira is left panting and sobbing, her clit pulsating with fierce, red-hot pain—pain that echoes in her nipples, still held in the unrelenting bite of the clamps.

The man shifts, and from the sounds it appears that he's getting on his knees behind Mira. Sure enough, his large, warm palms are suddenly on Mira's ass, spreading her cheeks to give him more access. And then—something warm and wet slides over her clit, confusing her tormented nerves. The man licks a wet stripe over her cunt, avoiding the spots where the clamps are digging into her flesh. He pushes his tongue into her hole, just once, before he retreats and goes back to her clit, licking at it hungrily. He's as clumsy as ever, but his eagerness makes up for his lack of skill: he doesn't hesitate to practically sink his face into Mira's cunt, lapping at it with low, satisfied grunts.

Mira is so dizzy from the push-pull of pain and pleasure that she can barely see anything through her tears. Every time she's getting used to one, the man switches to the other. Indeed, just as Mira is starting to relax into the feeling of a soft tongue licking away the pain, it goes away—replaced by the man's thick fingers as they spread something over her cunt, something slick and wet. She feels a surge of desperate hope: maybe the man is finally tired of playing with her and is just going to fuck her?

But no: what touches her next isn't the bulbous head of the man's cock, or his fingers either. It's something rough and bristly, and Mira recognizes it with a sickening swoop in her stomach. She lets out a muffled scream, but the man only shushes her and moves the brush lightly over Mira's clit. He keeps one hand firmly on the jut of her hip bone, keeping her from thrashing around too much—as much as she can thrash around, strictly bound like she is.

"There you go," the man says, sounding slightly breathless. "This will get you squeaky clean." The brush moves up, and Mira screams as she feels the bristles scrape over her clit, slowly, agonizingly. Each individual bristle seems to stab her directly in her nerves, and her legs spasm uncontrollably as the sensation skitters through her whole body, electric and unbearable. Like last time, there's just enough pleasure layered under the agony that it's not only pure torture—but she would never have thought to try something like this, not on her own. But the man is ruthless as he forces Mira through it. He's moving the brush over her clit in slow, steady circles, murmuring encouraging words that she can't make any sense of. Her whole being is centered around her clit, which feels swollen and inflamed, her heartbeat pulsating furiously in the tip.

Finally the brush clatters to the small table, but though it's no longer touching her, the pain lingers. Her clit throbs insistently with an echo of the torment, as if a ghostly hand was still moving the brush over it. She can barely feel the pain in her nipples anymore: it is immaterial, nothing compared to the throbbing ache in her clit.

"Good girl," the man rumbles and reaches around to wipe tears from Mira's cheek. "Took that so well. Your pussy is blushing so prettily for me."

The clamps are removed, first from her nipples, then her cunt, and the returning flow of blood makes Mira gasp with pain. Then the man's fingers are back, sliding over Mira's clit: gently at first, then with increasing pressure. Usually such rough handling would be too much for Mira, but her clit is so hypersensitive that somehow the heaviness of the man's touch feels just right. The heat starts to build up again, dizzyingly fast, the man's fingers tugging at her nerve endings like unraveling a knot. She's only vaguely aware of the shaky whimpers that she's letting out, too focused on the single spot between her legs.

"Anh, anh, nnh!" she moans, her voice high-pitched and thready, and the man growls wordlessly in reply. He shoves the fingers of his other hand into Mira's cunt, curling them up, and that's enough—the pleasure floods her inside out, wave after wave of it, the man not stopping for a second. She feels her cunt gush again and flushes with mortification, but the man chuckles warmly and rubs her even faster, forcing another trembling orgasm out of her body, right in the heels of the last one.

"I love it when you squirt," he rasps out, spreading Mira's cunt open, as if taking a look inside. Then his fingers are finally, finally replaced with the head of his cock. He groans aloud when he pushes past Mira's tight opening, then slips deeper surprisingly easily, deep into the welcoming embrace of Mira's cunt.

Chapter Text

Then…

[redacted] sent a message: I see it now. You're just playing hard to get. Of course you are. Of course you could never say these things out loud, that would defeat the purpose.

[redacted] sent a message: Or maybe you don't want to open up to me, because you feel ashamed. Ashamed of your needs and fantasies, ashamed of who you are. But darling, with me you'll never have to feel any shame.

[redacted] sent a message: I "tagged" you in a few posts. I think you might like them. (Did I do it correctly? I'm not very good with all these new websites, I'm afraid.)

[redacted] sent a message: Do you have any piercings? Or is your body totally untouched? Either way is fine, of course.

[redacted] sent a message: Did you block me? That hurts, darling. But it doesn't matter. I already know what I'm going to do. You'll love it, I promise.

Now…

"Get dressed." The man drops a pile of clothes unceremoniously on Mira's bed.

The words don't even register at first, then she blinks and says: "What?"

The man tilts his head. Though Mira can't see his face, somehow he gives the impression of a raised eyebrow. Mira looks away hurriedly, turning her gaze instead to the pile of clothes, and hesitantly picks them up, but then just… holds them in her hands. It's gotta be a trap—it always is—but being given clothes? Actual, real clothes? That's an opportunity she can't miss. She swallows, casts a quick glance at the man—unreadable, as always—and starts to pull them on.

Well. The clothes don't actually amount to much. An ill-fitting bra which barely contains Mira's boobs, making it look like they're in immediate danger of slipping out of the cups. A tight, plain white t-shirt and a short, pleated skirt which—you guessed it right—barely covers her butt. The thigh-high socks are thick and comfortable, but only seem to emphasize the shortness of her skirt. Her underwear is a tiny little thong which immediately burrows between her folds, making her squirm with discomfort. At least her shoes are somewhat sensible: a pair of red Converses—though they're not really made for running, either.

The man stands there the whole time and watches Mira get dressed. She tries to draw it out as long as possible, still not trusting the situation, but finally she's done, standing there in her ill-fitting clothes. The low, rumbling sound the man makes at the sight gives her a clue to just how lewd the combination looks, and she swallows down a flash of bitter anger, not quite daring to glare at the man, in case he forgets his original plan and decides to punish her for her "attitude" immediately.

"Where—where are we going?" she asks meekly instead, deciding to take the small risk.

"It's a nice night," the man replies. At least he sounds like he's in a good mood. "We'll go for a walk."

"A walk?" Mira repeats and swallows. A walk, outside? She can't help but feel a jolt of excitement, though she immediately tries to talk herself down. She can't trust the man: she can't allow herself to relax in his presence, not even for a second.

They make their way outside, the man's hand wrapped possessively around Mira's shoulders as he leads her to the front door. Mira follows the motions somewhat dazedly, hardly believing that it's actually happening. Besides… after all this time, it feels peculiar to be wearing real clothes, something normal people would wear. They're ill-fitting, for sure, but at least they cover her entire chest and ass—unlike the horrible straitjacket, and all the other perverse costumes the man has been forcing on her. Like the latex panties that leave her cunt bare, or the other latex panties with the built-in dildos, one for each hole. Or the—

Mira gives herself a mental shake. She has to focus on the present, not dwell on the past indignities. She takes a look around, but nothing about her surroundings gives her even the slightest hint of their location. Just a house in the middle of the woods with a narrow gravel road leading to it. It's already getting dark, besides, and the forest around the man's house is thick with shadows: the only sounds she can hear are those of insects and small animals, nothing human. There's the faint hum of a highway somewhere, but Mira can't even say which direction it's coming from, no matter how much she strains her ears. How long would she have to walk to reach civilization?

"You know, this wasn't why I moved here," the man says, interrupting Mira's thoughts. "I simply like my privacy. But looks like this location suits both of our needs perfectly. How fortuitous!" He chuckles: Mira can feel the low rumble of the sound vibrate in her own chest.

"What do you mean," she croaks. Her legs feel like jelly: if it wasn't for the man's arm around her, she's not sure she'd be able to stay on her feet.

"Oh come now, Mira," the man sighs. They stop right at the edge of the forest, and the man's grip around her shifts as he moves to stand behind her, idly groping her chest. "Isn't it obvious? I've been thinking, and it's not good for your mental health to stay cooped up in the basement."

Mira's mouth falls open, and a million different incredulous retorts flash through her mind. None of them translate into words, however, and she can only splutter as the man continues: "I don't think any further explanation is needed. You'll run: I'll give chase. And when I catch you…" He pauses, squeezing Mira's boobs meaningfully. "Exciting, isn't it?"

"What the—you can't be serious!" So this was why the man gave her the clothes and led her outside. Of course. It's all just one of his sick games—and Mira already knows how it's going to end. She swallows a sob and tries to wrench herself free from the man's grasp, because she can't stand it anymore, can't stand the touch of those huge hands on her body, burning like a brand even through all the layers of clothing.

"Eager, are we?" the man chuckles. "Go on then, get going. But watch your step, if you decide to cut through the woods."

He lets go. Mira flounders for a second, then she's off like a frightened rabbit.

***

Mira has never been a great runner. It's not that she's out of shape—she's just always been on the curvy side, and she hates the feeling of her boobs and ass jiggling when she runs. She's never learned a good technique either, and some part of her always starts to hurt so much that she has to quit.

None of that matters now. She feels like Hermes, or whoever the fuck that god with the winged feet was, practically flying over the gravel, feeling no pain or exhaustion. She feels light-headed, her vision narrowing into a tunnel where she sees only the road ahead: the way out. She runs like she's never ran before, arms pumping, legs moving in huge, leaping strides she never thought her body could be capable of. She's somewhere beyond fear, like she's not in control of her body anymore: it's entirely driven by her animal instincts.

But it's not enough. Just when Mira thinks she's actually getting away, she starts to hear the rhythmic pounding of heavy feet as they crush the rough gravel beneath them, the sound slowly but steadily getting closer. She lets out a small whimper and tries to move her limbs faster—but why does her body choose this moment to suddenly start feeling the exhaustion, and the ache in her muscles, and the burning pain in her lungs? Why do her legs suddenly turn wobbly and clumsy, like she's in a nightmare where she tries to run as fast as she can, but instead moves slowly, as through sand?

And then—he's there. Huge hands grab Mira from behind, easily tossing her over the man's shoulder. She shrieks and starts to kick and pound wildly with her fists, but the man is like a boulder, utterly immovable. He doesn't brag about his victory, doesn't mock her for her useless escape attempt: in fact, he doesn't say anything, just carries her to the side of the road and tosses her down on a surprisingly soft patch of grass. Mira makes a desperate attempt to crawl away, but the man is on her in seconds, one hand wrapping around the back of her neck, keeping her head pressed against the grass, the other going between her legs.

"No!" Mira screams, but her voice is muffled by the grass. No matter how much she squirms, the man finds her cunt with the easy familiarity of someone who's done it a thousand times, immediately forcing three thick fingers into her tight hole. It hurts like hell, and she screams again, but the pain comes mostly from her inner muscles, which are pushed forcibly aside to allow the intrusion. Not from any actual damage or tearing. Which means that the man is using lube, but Mira is so deep in her pure, desperate fear, so driven by her animalistic panic that she doesn't notice it. She only knows that a huge, silent figure has chased her down and is now raping her, first with his huge, rough fingers, then—

Something stiff and long pushes in, and Mira wails, choking on her spit. Whatever it is, it doesn't feel familiar—it's too narrow to be the man's cock and doesn't have the subtle give of human flesh, and enters her from a weird angle, besides. A dildo, then, though at first Mira doesn't understand why the man would choose to use that instead of his own cock. But then the man starts fucking her with it, and she's forcibly reminded just how much the man loves to make her scream. He moves the dildo with deep, powerful thrusts that drag against Mira's insides and make her whole body tremble with the sharp pain-pleasure that follows. Though Mira isn't tied up, she's helpless to stop it, caught between the dildo and the hand around her neck. And with the unfamiliar angle of the dildo, it almost feels like—it feels like the man is holding her down and letting someone else do the raping.

"Stop!" she screams again and tries to twist free. "Please, it—it hurts!"

The man's only response is to trap one of her flailing legs under his knee, then go back to fucking Mira with the toy. She's no longer on her hands and knees, but fallen flat on her stomach, legs squeezed tightly together—except it doesn't slow the man down at all. It's not a position where he could plausibly enter her himself, but the dildo just keeps thrusting in relentlessly, scraping against her inner thighs on its way: there must be some kind of long handle on it, for the man to be able to fuck her so easily. Suddenly she can picture it clearly in her mind: the dildo, tied to a long stick which the man uses to shove it roughly in and out, churning Mira's insides.

The vision keeps playing in a loop in her mind, intruding her thoughts just as relentlessly as the dildo is intruding her body. The sheer humiliation of it makes her feel dizzy, and her next breath turns into a sob which threatens to choke her. She's still dressed, for fuck's sake, her assaulter didn't even bother to remove her underwear—though at this point it's so stretched out of shape that it's nothing more than a ragged, wet scrap of fabric around her hips, offering no protection at all. Their only function is to humiliate her, just as the dildo is nothing more than a tool to make her suffer. The man can't possibly think that the rough, cruel way he keeps shoving it in would bring Mira any pleasure at all—

Except it does. For some reason her body is in such a state of hypervigilance that she can feel even the faintest whisper of the grass against her skin as strongly as it was the scraping of a steel brush. Her cunt throbs with heat as the dildo moves back and forth, and though nothing is actually touching her clit, just the indirect push-pull of the motion, tugging on her flesh, is enough to make the nerves of her clit spark with a tingling, throbbing pleasure. Soon her screams gain an altogether different cadence, and though she would like nothing better than to keep her mouth shut, the sharp pleasure is simply too much—her body has to find a way to let it out.

The pleasure builds, the dildo honing in on her most tender parts, and Mira knows with absolute certainty that she's going to come, just like this—just from the crude hammering of the toy—but right before the sensation crests, the dildo is pulled out, leaving her cunt fluttering around the sudden emptiness.

The man leans in, so close that Mira can feel his breathing tickle the hair on the back of her neck. He presses his face to it, softly nuzzling Mira's skin—and she realizes with a jolt that he's not currently wearing his mask: those are his lips on her bare skin. It's too awkward and clumsy to be called a kiss, but it feels more intimate than all the other ways he has touched her so far. She's frozen in place, held captive just as effectively as with ropes or metal shackles.

Then he murmurs: "That was one. How many cocks will you take tonight, my dear?"

"What?" Mira gasps and tries to scramble up—immediately falling on her ass when the pressure around her neck suddenly disappears and she's left flailing around on her own.

"Go on. Don't you want to find out?" The man has the gall to sound amused. Even then, it takes Mira an embarrassingly long time to realize that this—this was just the beginning. Of course: that was why the man didn't just fuck her immediately, because she's supposed to keep running, supposed to let him catch her and throw her down and—

She whimpers pitifully and manages to lurch up to her feet, swaying there for a moment before she turns around and takes off again.

***

This time Mira decides to cut through the woods. Though maybe "decides" is a strong word: she's simply driven by the need to get away, and since the road is where the man is, the woods are the only option. The sun is still setting, and there's just enough light that she doesn't run directly into a tree, but it's fading fast: she has to find a way out. Twigs snap under her feet and thin branches keep hitting her from all directions as she stumbles through the forest, but she hardly notices the pain. Her cunt throbs savagely with each step, and the longer she runs, the stronger the ache gets, so that finally she's forced to stop and bend over, cradling her hands uselessly around her aching midsection.

With a faintly sick feeling to her stomach, she wonders if the man finally managed to do some actual damage, but after pressing her fingers gingerly on her stomach, she decides that the pain probably comes just from her overexerted muscles. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking. Nevertheless, she has to keep going, now, before—

Something crashes through the wood, something large and heavy enough that for a second Mira is convinced that it's a bear. The huge, dark shape certainly looks bestial enough as it tears through the trees, coming straight for Mira. She lets out a shrill scream and flees, stumbling over fallen branches and crashing into trees, heedless of the bruises she's probably getting all over her body. Her palms sting from the small scrapes she gets from the rough bark, but the pain is meaningless compared to the monster that's chasing her.

When the man finally catches up to Mira, he picks her up and slams her against one of the trees, holding her up with his thick arms under her thighs—arms that are practically like tree trunks themselves. He already has his cock out, and it slides easily into Mira's bruised cunt, filling her up so quickly that for a few incandescent moments she can't even breathe. Her whole face tingles from the sensation, that impossible fullness as the man's huge cock stretches her to her very limits. No matter how many times it happens—how many times the man rapes her—she never seems to get used to it.

The man starts a fast, punishing rhythm straight away, hammering at Mira with all the monstrous strength behind his sturdy frame. She has no choice but to hang on to the man's arms and take it, every thrust punching a breathless moan from her throat. The flimsy t-shirt does a poor job of protecting her back from the rough tree bark, and she's distantly aware that she's going to be covered in bruises and scrapes tomorrow. All that is inconsequential right now: her world is narrowed down to the cock ravaging her insides and the powerful body crushing her against the tree. If the man went just a bit slower she'd have time to get used to it, to draw a proper breath: but the next thrust comes right at the heels of the previous one, before the last jolt of pleasure has dissipated, and the sensation is starting to turn into a continuous buzz under Mira's skin.

Right before the pleasure goes over the tipping point, the man pulls out with a grunt and a muffled curse. He slowly lowers Mira down, until she manages to stand on her shaking legs, still panting and sobbing so hard that she's nearly dry-heaving. Her cunt aches, but it feels strangely… empty, and Mira realizes that the man didn't yet come, either.

Which means that the game isn't over yet.

"Please, please stop," Mira wheezes and stumbles back, collapsing against the tree. "I can't…"

"Stop? But we have only just started," the man says. "I'm giving you exactly what a slut like you needs." He gives her a stinging slap on her ass, and she shrieks and stumbles away, taking off again.

***

She runs, though there isn't much strength left in her limbs. Even the all-powering panic is gone, and a certain kind of numbness has taken its place. She forces her body to go through the motions anyway, for some reason not even considering the option of just—stopping. Not playing along. But she can't give up now, not until she's back in that house, locked away behind all the doors. Until then, she has to keep trying.

The only problem is that the man seems to know this area like the back of his hand—and the night is only going to get darker. She has to find the road again, because sooner or later she's going to fall and impale herself on a tree branch, or something. She takes off in a random direction—and by some miracle, she actually stumbles across the road. Before she can feel any joy for it, a familiar huge figure crashes through the trees and is on Mira in seconds.

"No!" Mira shrieks, but her arms have already been twisted behind her back and a large hand wraps around her wrists, effortlessly holding her captive. Another gropes her chest, pushing at her shirt until it's bunched over her chest: and just as she had feared, in the middle of the struggle the ill-fitting bra finally loses its structural integrity and her boobs spill out. The cool night air turns her nipples into tight, hard peaks, and the man immediately moves to pinch and squeeze them with great enthusiasm.

"Don't touch me! I don't want this!" Mira sobs, and the man growls wordlessly in reply, squeezing her against his chest. His naked cock is a hot, heavy weight between Mira's ass cheeks, and the more she struggles, the harder it seems to get, jumping slightly from time to time to tap against her own wet, bruised folds.

"Don't want this? Then why are you dressed like this, you little slut?" He slaps one of Mira's boobs, then shoves his hand between her legs. "And so wet, too. Wandering alone after dark—you were just asking for a good, hard fuck, weren't you?" He digs between her folds and locates the aching, swollen nub of Mira's clit and starts to rub his fingers over it, hard and fast. It's more painful than pleasurable—there's too much unpleasant friction, even with the remains of the lube still coating Mira's cunt. She whines and curls around her midsection, trying to dislocate the man's hand, but only manages to press her ass more firmly against his cock.

"So eager for my cock," the man chuckles. "All in good time, my dear. Don't you want me to make you feel good, first?"

"No, it—it hurts!" Mira chokes out. "Please!" Her legs suddenly decide to collapse under her, and she falls to her knees—but the man follows her down, settling on his knees behind Mira, so that her ass fits snugly between his legs. His hard cock is a hot, heavy presence between her cheeks, but for now the man seems willing to ignore his own needs, focusing instead on Mira's body. Both of his hands are now on her chest, groping and squeezing her boobs and pinching her nipples. She whimpers and tries to push his hands away, but as always, she's weak as a kitten compared to him, and the man just keeps going, completely ignoring her.

"Nice tits," he rumbles. "No wonder you were so eager to show them off in that slutty little shirt. But why bother covering them at all?" He leaves Mira's nipples alone, groping around to find the edge of her t-shirt again. In a flash Mira knows what's going to happen, and she makes a choked noise of alarm, but she's powerless to stop it. There's a sharp, ripping sound, and with just a few tugs, the man has torn the bodice of her t-shirt apart, leaving it hanging in uneven scraps of fabric around her boobs. It isn't even Mira's own shirt, but she makes a wordless noise of protest anyway and tries to wrap her arms around her naked chest.

"Much better, don't you think?" the man says smugly and squeezes Mira's boobs again for good measure. "And what about this?" His hand wanders between her legs once more, but this time he doesn't immediately start fondling her, but plucks instead at the misshapen lump of fabric that had once been her underwear. "Now, why would a slut like you even bother with underwear?" He pulls at the thong until it's buried between Mira's folds—then keeps pulling, forcing her to get up on her knees to alleviate the pressure, until there's nowhere for her to go to escape it. The thong is drawn taut by the man's hand and cuts a sharp, narrow line of pain between Mira's legs, digging cruelly into her vulva and clit.

"Aah, stop! Stop it!" Mira wails, trying in vain to pull the man's hands away. "It hurts!"

"Oh? So you want my fingers after all?" The man pulls at the thong meaningfully, moving it from side to side, making Mira squirm as it digs into her clit from different angles. So that's the choice he's giving her: let him keep torturing her with the thong, or…

"I w-want…" Mira sobs, squeezing her eyes shut, stomach lurching with revulsion from the choice she's about to make. "I want your f-fingers, please. Please!"

"Of course, my darling," the man croons and finally loosens his grip on the thong, letting it slip away. "Now spread your legs like a good little slut and you'll have what you need."

Awkwardly Mira shifts around, following the guidance of the man's hands until she's squatting with her legs wide open. She's painfully aware that in doing so, she's willingly participating in her own degradation. Her eyes are still closed, as if that would make it less real, and she flinches violently when she feels the man's hand slide between her legs to tenderly cup over her cunt.

"So wet for me, aren't you," he rumbles into her ear, reaching around with his other hand to spread her folds. "So needy for it."

This time, his touch is less violent and rough. He's as heavy-handed and clumsy as he always is, but the way he touches her is clearly supposed to bring her pleasure—and to Mira's horror and disgust, her body is more than willing to receive it. Wet, slick sounds fill the quiet night as the man first thrusts his fingers into her wet hole, then moves them up to rub over her clit. She bites her lip to keep down the breathless moans that threaten to escape, but the truth is—she's been on the edge for what feels like hours, and it doesn't take long until her body is once more awash with pleasure, every nerve trembling with it.

The skin around her hole tingles, feeling strangely empty now that the man's attention is fully on her clit, and she almost opens her mouth to beg for the man to—what? Fuck her? She shoves the thought away, appalled at her own body's betrayal, and tries to focus on the simple, easy pleasure blooming in her clit. In no time at all, she's moaning like—like a slut, helplessly rolling her hips and tilting them up to meet the man's fingers. She almost loses her balance and is forced to fling her hands up, to wrap around the man's neck, and he makes a pleased sound at that.

"Look at you, Mira," he says hoarsely. "Taking it so well. You were made for this, weren't you? This is your only purpose." His fingers speed up, growing rougher in his enthusiasm, but Mira is spiraling so fast towards her climax that it no longer bothers her. Her cries grow louder and louder, sounding shockingly wanton, but the heat growing between her legs is simply too much. It sinks deep into her flesh, spilling all over her body, echoing in her aching nipples: even the skin of her inner thighs is tingling with it. Her cunt begins to pulsate, clit twitching and jumping under the man's hand in a tell-tale way, until the pressure finally snaps and she cries out shrilly, hips spasming with the force of her orgasm.

"Good, yes, come now, come for me, dearest," the man rasps, not stopping his hand even when Mira starts to cry out from discomfort rather than pleasure. It's only when she falls on her ass, her legs no longer supporting her, that he finally takes his hand away, wrapping his arms around her trembling body instead while she shudders through the aftershocks.

When the last of the tremors have passed, he lets go of her slowly, then carefully helps her on her feet. "There," he says, sliding his hands down Mira's sides to squeeze her ass. "Ready to continue?"

Mira looks up so fast that her neck cracks. "What?" she squeaks, swaying on her feet.

"Oh come now, Mira. Did you think this was everything? Come on, get going. And don't worry—I'll always find you."

Chapter Text

Some time ago…

The woman in the illustration is naked, with only a few torn scraps of fabric draped artfully—and somewhat implausibly—over her body. She's bent in half, her upper body caught in a heavy pillory, a massive, rough thing that only emphasizes the fragility of her nude body. Her large nipples are pierced and stretched taut by a wooden sign that hangs from them on short chains. WHORE, says the sign, in huge, crudely painted letters. And like the whore that she is, she's currently servicing no less than two faceless, muscular men with enormous cocks. One of them is fucking her from behind, hands on her cherry-red ass: the other is shoving his cock into her mouth while he grips her hair, making sure to show her tear-stained, flushed face to the viewer.

The tags say: #omg 😍🥺, #this looks so nasty wtf, #need, #public use, #gangbang

***

Now…

Mira runs. Every step hurts, but the pain feels like it's behind a glass panel, a wall, something that keeps it from touching her directly. Her cunt throbs and her leg muscles tremble, but she pushes through it as she sprints towards the road. Or where she thinks the road is, at least—she has lost all sense of direction in the darkness of the forest. But when she crashes through a dense patch of shrubbery, she finds herself stumbling over the gravel again—and almost collides with a car that had been moving slowly down the road.

If Mira were more clear-headed, she probably would stop to wonder why the car was driving so slowly, and without the headlights on. But as it is, she freezes only for a moment before she starts to claw at the door handle, her other hand banging on the window.

"Help!" she screams and sobs when she can't get the door open. "Please! He's—he's right there, please help!"

Someone leans over to unlock the door, and Mira has the sense to step back enough to let it sling open. Then she's practically falling into the seat, sobbing and shivering.

"Thank you, thank you," she chokes out, wrapping her arms around her chest. "Oh god, hurry, before he sees us!"

The driver doesn't answer, but the car promptly speeds away.

It might be just Mira's imagination, but as they're driving away, a muffled roar of rage echoes between the trees.

***

"Oh, thank you," Mira sighs again, when they've been driving for maybe ten minutes. "Please, c-can you call the police? Or take me to a station, or whatever—"

"The police? What for?" the driver replies, finally opening his mouth.

Mira turns to gape at him, but it's dark inside the car, and he can only see a hint of a profile—and the faint lines of the man's smirking mouth. A sudden wave of unease makes Mira's stomach clench.

"Be-because…" she stutters, realizing with a jolt that her boobs are still hanging out. How had she forgotten about that? Her hands fly to her chest, but judging from the driver's faint chuckle, he's already gotten an eyeful. Well, at least he must have guessed already what's happened to Mira. All the signs are there: her torn clothes, her distress and hysterical sobbing… And Mira doesn't really want to spell it out. "Because I was…"

The car slows down before stopping on the side of the road. The driver turns the engine off, and all of a sudden it's quiet. Too quiet. Mira can almost hear her own heart as it keeps pounding in her chest. She can certainly hear her own hitching, labored pants, as she struggles to keep herself from breaking into tears again.

The driver turns to face Mira. Suddenly the small light in the ceiling turns on, almost blinding her, and she jerks her head back with a gasp.

"The way I see it," the driver continues conversationally. "You were getting exactly what you wanted."

"W-what?" Mira blinks and turns to stare at the strange man. The world feels like it's tilting beneath her feet, though she's still sitting down. Her ears start to ring and her vision narrows down, until the man's smirking face is the only thing she sees.

"You heard me. Got pounded real good, huh? But that's not enough for you, is it. Filthy slut."

Mira opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. With a shaking hand, she reaches for the door, but her limbs move sluggishly, not quite obeying her commands.

"No," she finally manages, the word just an airless, soundless gasp.

"Oh yes," the man says with a leer. "That freak thought he'd get to keep you all to himself. But I have you now."

***

He fucks Mira right there: just wrenches her around and shoves his cock in, his hand wrapped around Mira's neck, pressing her face against the car seat. She screams, but the sound is lost into the cushions. He's rough in a way that the bald man never is, completely uncaring of Mira's discomfort. It's only thanks to the earlier preparations that it doesn't hurt quite as much as it could.

Time seems to move weirdly after that. Mira doesn't remember sitting up, but when the car stops again, she's strapped in, the seat belt tight across her chest. There's a crick in her neck from where her head has been lolling against her chest. She looks up and squints at their surroundings, seeing nothing but empty streets and buildings with dark windows. Most of them look abandoned and decrepit, messy graffiti covering every surface. Half the streetlights are out of order. Not a neighborhood she'd ever set a foot into, if she had a choice.

She considers running again, but—

"Don't even think about it, bitch."

—she doesn't get the opportunity before she's hauled up and half-pushed, half-carried through a door. It leads into a dingy little apartment with only two rooms: one with a kitchen unit shoved into a corner and a couch and a TV taking up the rest of the space, the other room holding a large bed, visible through the open door.

Another man sits in front of the TV. His eyes widen when they stumble in and he immediately abandons the game he'd been watching.

"You got her, Frank!" he exclaims and gets up. He's slightly shorter than the other man—Frank—but more muscular, though nowhere near the sheer bulk of… of him, the bald man. He has a mean, unfriendly face that twists into a lecherous grin when he sees Mira's naked boobs.

"Sure did, Milo," Frank replies, his grip still tight around Mira's arm. "The old geezer couldn't keep her hidden forever. Now, where should I put her?"

***

Gone are the complicated benches and pillories of Mira's previous captor—the bed is the only place the men have for Mira. And though they also enjoy spanking her cunt and twisting her nipples until she screams, it's haphazard, almost lazy: they lack the frightening, single-minded focus of the bald man. Neither do they have the same variety of toys and tools in their repertoire, it's just their hands and cocks and occasionally their belts, which they bring down over Mira's ass and cunt until her skin splits.

The bald man never made her bleed. Never actually broke her skin.

And never fucked her when she wasn't fully prepped for it.

It's funny: Mira had been so sure she knew pain by now—knew what it was like to be used, to be fucked within an inch of her life, to be tortured, even. It's only now that she sees how much care and thought the man had actually put into it: how every scene had been meticulously planned, every piece of equipment carefully built for that one specific purpose. And of course, he'd also made sure to make Mira come, every single time—several times, in fact, until the pleasure turned into another kind of torture.

Frank and Milo don't care about her pleasure. The smack her around until she's bruised and bloody, then fuck the trembling, sobbing wreck of her body. Occasionally they drag her to the bathroom to hose her down: then she's back in bed, tied up and helpless. She finds herself reaching for the memories of another man tying her up and holding her down, and sometimes it's almost the same, she can almost picture the cock ramming into her hole being someone else's—but then the men start talking, and their voices are too sharp and nasal, their hands too small, their touch too irreverent. The cruelty of their words is too cutting, it just scrapes her raw. It doesn't make her mind go blank and heavy, so heavy that she's sinking somewhere deeper into her very self, into that place where she feels only blissful emptiness.

She wishes she could feel empty, but now she's constantly full of shards.

***

"Man, these tits are unreal," says Milo. His eyes are fixed on Mira's boobs and his hands are busy groping and squeezing them. His appreciation of them has already become abundantly clear to Mira: she's probably going to bear the marks for the rest of her life. "Are you sure you wanna do this?"

Frank is somewhere nearby, but Mira can't see him. She's sitting in a hard-backed chair, tied up more severely than before: arms behind the backrest, legs spread and bound so that she can't move an inch. The position should feel familiar—except everything is slightly off. The ties are too tight and the rope they're using is too rough and cheap. The chair is too small: it doesn't offer enough support for Mira's body, which is already sore, all her joints aching from the way they've been using her. The seat is so narrow that the flesh her ass spills over and the edges cut into her thighs.

"What, are you chickening out now?" Frank scoffs. "She's gonna look amazing. Come on, let's do this."

Mira whimpers, but the cloth gag ensures that nothing gets out. Milo moves to stand behind Mira while Frank takes a seat facing her. He sets a tray down on the coffee table with a metallic rattle, and when Mira glances down, she flinches so violently that the chair rattles, almost toppling over. Only Milo's hands on her shoulders keep her upright.

Mira blinks tears from her eyes and takes another look, but the picture remains the same. A box of surgical gloves, a bottle of disinfectant, some gauze—and in the middle of them, a selection of needles. They glint menacingly in the sharp beam of the kitchen light.

"Mmh!" she screams into the gag and twists her body from side to side so hard that the chair rattles again. Milo curses and holds on tighter.

"None of that, now," Frank smirks and picks up a pair of gloves. "You gotta stay very still. Wouldn't want any accidents to happen, right?"

***

"Hey, should we do her clit too?"

The voices echo strangely in Mira's ears. Her whole body is buzzing with pain: a sharp, vicious kind of pain that is entirely new to her. She can't hide from it or let herself sink into it either—it's too much of a violation. It keeps her tethered to reality in a way that she despises. It would be so easy to let herself believe that none of it is real, that it's just a nightmare, a hallucination, but the pain is merciless. It doesn't let her cling to the lies.

They had started with her nipples, and maybe she could have dealt with it, had that been all. But after admiring Mira's pierced nipples for a moment, Frank had gotten a deranged grin on his face and picked up another needle. And another.

Now, a row of piercings decorate Mira's labia: two on each side, one pair just above her clit, one somewhere below her opening. The air is thick with the scent of her blood.

"Whatever," replies Milo, sounding irritated. "It's not like we can fuck her anytime soon."

"Hey, she still has a mouth," Frank says with a shrug and reaches for the tray—

—only to drop the whole thing when something hits the front door with enough force to rattle the windows.

"Open the door!" booms a deep voice from the other side.

Mira's heart does a funny little somersault.

"What the fuck?" squeaks Frank and jumps up, exchanging a wide-eyed look with Milo. Both of them have gone very pale. There's a streak of blood on Frank's cheek, a lurid red against the pallid, ashen shade of his skin.

The pounding on the door continues. "Open it!" the man behind it howls. "Open the door, now!"

"How did he find us?" Milo hisses and slowly backs away from the door, looking around frantically. There's nowhere to run, though: the small apartment has only the one door, and the windows are too small for a grown man to climb through—not to mention closed.

Suddenly, the pounding stops. Silence fills the room, louder than a scream. Frank blinks, then his shoulders drop with a small sigh of relief—

The door bursts open and slams against the wall, sending chips of wood flying across the room. A massive figure fills the opening, wide-shouldered and tall, but only for a second: then he's barreling forward with a roar of fury, like a warrior charging into battle, or a huge grizzly bear leaping after its prey.

Milo dives behind the couch, leaving Frank to receive the first punch. Mira squeezes her eyes shut, but that doesn't stop the noises: the heavy thwack of a fist hitting flesh, the shattered screams, the thud of a body hitting the floor. Then another scream in a different pitch—the man has located his next target, showing no mercy to either of them.

"How dare you!" the man roars, and there's another heavy thud, followed by a choked scream. "How dare you touch her!"

Mira forces her eyes open and glances to the side. Frank is rolling on the floor and moaning, his face bloody. Mira flinches and avoids her eyes at the sight.

"You worthless piece of…" the man continues raging, still beating up Milo somewhere behind the couch. Frank has managed to crawl halfway across the floor, towards the open door: fleeing instead of even making an attempt at helping his friend. "Pathetic scum!"

There's a wet crunch, a horrible, sickening sound—the sound of a bone breaking.

He's going to kill them, Mira realizes with a sinking feeling in her chest. He's too lost in his rage, unable—or unwilling—to control his monstrous strength. I'm not a killer, he'd said that first night, laughing at the very idea, and suddenly Mira needs that to be true. She works her jaw desperately, trying to push the gag out. It's already sodden through, just a useless rag at this point, and in a stroke of luck that surprises even herself, Mira is finally able to spit it out.

"Stop…" she coughs, voice barely more than a whisper. "Stop! Please!"

"You put your hands on her! I should crush them right here—"

"Stop!" Mira shrieks. "Don't! Don't do this…" Her voice breaks down in a wretched sob. She doesn't even know the man's name. Why doesn't she know his name?

Her voice seems to finally pierce through the man's berserker rage, and he pauses, turning halfway towards her. His shoulders heave as he pants like a bull.

"Mira?" he says after he's gotten his breathing under some control, sounding strangely lost. "Mira, I—"

"P-please," she moans and closes her eyes again. "Stop it. You're going to kill them."

"But they. They deserve it." Nevertheless, after a brief pause he lets go of Milo, who slumps on the floor with a groan and doesn't move again. Frank is still on the floor as well, curled into a ball, and as the man stomps past him, he pauses for a moment, as if considering giving him a kick in the head: but Mira lets out another small whimper and the man huffs and leaves Frank alone. He bends over Mira instead, but when he reaches for the ropes binding her, something makes him hesitate. His hands tremble slightly as they hover over her body, and his breathing hitches, so quietly that it's only thanks to their proximity that Mira's able to hear it.

She swallows and bites her lip harshly when it starts to tremble, forcing it to stay still. "Get me out of here," she finally chokes out, and that breaks whatever spell the man is under, and his hands are finally wrapping around her, large and strong and familiar.

Chapter Text

Then…

The picture is black and white, framed so tightly that nothing but the woman's torso and the lower half of her face are visible. Dark lines of rope frame her body just as tightly, emphasizing the roundness of her breasts and drawing attention to the tight nub of her clitoris. A man's face is pressed to her stomach, frozen in an open-mouthed, desperate kiss, and his hand wraps around her waist: though the photograph isn't that explicit, it's masterfully done, the man's passion and the woman's blissful surrender obvious in every line.

The tags read: #wow…, #beautiful, #bondage

Now…

Mira drifts in and out of consciousness. Her body throbs ceaselessly, not only her nipples and cunt, but all her joints too, like she's been tied in a knot. She's drowning in miserable agony, only vaguely aware of the soft bed beneath her. But then her head is held up, and someone pushes pills into her mouth, followed by a sip of water. She recognizes the sickly sweet taste of antibiotics, but not the bitterness of the other meds she's fed. She grimaces, but has no choice but to accept them.

How did he even get antibiotics, she wonders blearily. Don't you need a prescription for those? But before she can give it more thought, the drugs wrap her mind in soft cotton wool and the world melts away, taking the pain with it.

An indeterminate time later she wakes up again, no longer resting on a soft mattress, but something harder. She's naked, her legs spread wide and strapped down, and the position should make her panic, but her mind is still moving sluggishly. Everything is soft around the edges, and the panic just seems like too much effort. Mira only watches through half-lidded eyes as the man kneels between her legs. Oh, she thinks and feels slightly queasy, even as she tries to prepare herself for it. Of course, I've been away for so long—

But the man doesn't touch her—not like that. There's a glug of something poured out of a bottle, then the man carefully wipes the battered skin of Mira's cunt. After a moment he mutters something to himself, and splashes the liquid directly over the wounds. It stings, and Mira flinches.

"I'm sorry," the man says hoarsely. "I'm sorry. I'll be as quick as I can." He shakes his head in one short jerk, then bends it over his task again, hiding his face.

His face?

Mira blinks, but the drugs are making her vision blurry, and her eyes start to ache when she tries to focus. She gazes at the ceiling instead. It's as dull and grey as always, but now the sight only soothes her.

To her surprise, the man speaks up again. "I didn't know if you wanted… If I should have removed these, or…" He falls quiet again, and belatedly Mira realizes that he's talking about the piercings.

Oh god, the piercings. She swallows the distressed sound that tries to break free and focuses on keeping her breathing even. Her fingers twitch.

Does she want them gone?

The truth is—

"I know you dreamed about piercings like these," the man murmurs as he continues cleaning the wounds, his hands careful and reverent, lighter than they've ever been before. "What a shame that it was scum like that who—" He cuts himself off with a pained grimace and skims a hand over Mira's inner thigh, very gently.

***

Every day, the man cleans the piercings with meticulous care. It's a small miracle that only one of them gets inflamed, but the antibiotics work fast, and soon there's only the soreness of a slowly healing piercing. The drugs make a disappearance too, taking away the soft, warm cocoon sheltering Mira's mind, but they are replaced by physical restraints made of fabric and soft leather. The effect is almost the same. The restraints cradle her body, keep her from running away like a fool, keep her from accidentally hurting herself. Keep her from thinking.

Something has changed, though. The man no longer touches her. Oh, he takes care of her, with all the diligence of a priest attending to a sacred ritual, but aside from the restraints and Mira's constant state of near nudity, there's nothing sexual about it. It should be a relief to Mira. Instead, it makes her feel strangely hollow.

After it has gone on for too long, Mira's finally had enough.

"There you go," the man is saying, patting Mira's skin dry with a soft towel. "They're healing well. I think—"

"Am I ruined now?" Mira cuts in with a small, tremulous voice, then swallows nervously. It's not the angry, incisive tone she's been practising in her mind, but at least the words are out.

The man flinches and his eyes jump to Mira's face, then away. He's always doing that, these days. Though he doesn't wear the mask anymore, he never looks Mira in the eyes. In fact, most of the time he keeps his face angled away from Mira, or hides somewhere behind her, or…

"Ruined? Never." But he still won't look at Mira, instead focusing on the damp towel he's wringing in his hands.

"So why won't you… you never…" The rest of the words refuse to come out, and Mira coughs dryly. Immediately the man jumps up and brings her a glass of water, holding it up to her lips. She glares at him, but accepts a sip of water. After she's done, the man stands there, rolling the glass between his hands, a troubled expression on his face.

His face. For once, Mira is free to look her fill as the man is busy working through whatever it is that's bothering him. He's not particularly handsome, but neither is he ugly. He has a wide, flat face and heavy brows that give him a permanently severe expression, and dark, unreadable eyes. She would never give him another look if she saw him somewhere else, in a bar, on the street—but here, now, he's the most compelling thing she's ever seen.

"I see," he finally says softly. "You think I don't… want you anymore. But Mira, darling—" Then he looks up and notices Mira watching him. His eyes go wide with something like panic, and he turns away sharply. His shoulders heave with a deep breath, then he makes another sharp, jerky turn and stalks off somewhere in the back of the room, where Mira can't see him.

Oh, Mira thinks, her heart making a funny little leap in her chest. It dawns on her, suddenly, that despite his intimidating size and sheer physical strength, the man is actually quite shy.

And sure enough: when he returns, he's wearing the mask, his face once again hidden behind the familiar black leather. He's standing taller too, and though he's holding something in his hands, he's not playing with it nervously.

"I see how it is." His voice is deeper now, a menacing rumble. By all logic, it should make Mira go stiff with fear. But the way he moves is so slow and deliberate that instead of panic, she feels anticipation. He comes closer and grabs her legs just under the knees, gently but inexorably spreading them even wider, and settles his large frame between them, the rough canvas of his overalls brushing teasingly against Mira's inner thighs. "You are worried that you no longer please me. But that's…" He flounders for a moment, fingers twitching on Mira's legs. "That is never going to happen."

Though Mira can't see his eyes, she feels the weight of them on her skin. Slowly the man slides his hands over her stomach, firm enough that it doesn't tickle, until he's framing her breasts between them. Or her nipples, at least—her boobs are too large to fit in his hands. His thumbs edge closer to her pierced nipples, and Mira nearly moans aloud with the fierce need that suddenly floods her body. Her nipples ache, but not from pain—or not just from pain—and the sensation echoes in her clit.

"I have been… holding off… because you are hurt," the man rumbles. His thumbs press over Mira's nipples, and now she does moan aloud, throwing her head back from the shock of pleasure-pain that lances through her nerves. Her untouched clit twitches, needy and desperate, but the man isn't in a rush. He simply keeps his fingers there, a careful, light pressure over her nipples. "And I am not willing to hurt you even more."

"It, it doesn't hurt," Mira gasps and tries to push her chest forward, moaning again when the pressure increases and a flash of real pain intertwines with the pleasure. "It doesn't…"

The man growls softly and lifts his thumbs, causing Mira to gasp wetly and give him a wide-eyed look of betrayal.

The man shakes his head slowly. "Silly girl, you won't be able to goad me into going beyond your limits." But his voice is hoarse and uneven, and after a moment he gives a small tap to Mira's nipples: just a whisper of a touch, but she's so primed for it that it feels like lightning bursting through her nerves. Another small tap, and another, each one of them causing Mira to jolt and gasp, the pleasure making her insides coil tighter and tighter until she feels ready to snap. It's too much and too little at the same time—hell, compared to everything she's been through, it's basically nothing. And yet, tears spring into her eyes as she mewls and writhes under the assault, as she begs and pleads incoherently.

But instead of showing her mercy, the man lets out a faint huff of laughter. "But I should have known better. You can't live without it, can you? You are just too needy. But also…" He pauses in his ministrations, cupping one of Mira's boobs in his hand, while the other slides between her legs. His middle finger slides right into her hole with a slick sound. "You are also so easy. Just look at that, look how wet your slutty little pussy is."

"I'm not—!" Mira whimpers, but her voice breaks down in the middle. The finger is slowly thrusting in and out, just the one finger, but each smooth, slow stroke makes her skin tingle with a shy kind of pleasure. The man is careful not to touch the piercings around her hole, but every time his hand moves, it stretches her folds just enough to let a tiny spark of pain join the sensation. It only makes her pussy gush with more wetness, and the man growls again. For a moment Mira thinks he's going to snap—wants him to snap—but he manages to keep the movements slow and steady.

"This is all you are getting now," the man rasps and moves his other hand, putting his thumb back over her nipple. "Just this. Just my fingers. Understand?"

"Please!" Mira whimpers. Her cunt clenches around the finger, clings to it like it never wants to let go. Pleasure moves through her body in slow waves, from her aching nipples to her cunt and back again. But despite the feverish thrum of arousal in her body, it's not enough. The man's finger skirts close to the spot that would make her tip over, but stays just out of reach. He doesn't touch her clit either, though he must notice how it's twitching and jumping, wordlessly pleading for his touch. "God, fuck, please!"

"Ahh…" the man sighs almost inaudibly and lets his finger slide out. His hand hovers over Mira's pussy for a long moment, then his fingertip brushes over her clit. It's enough to make her whole body shudder helplessly, and she nearly swallows her tongue. No longer teasing and playing with her, the man starts to rub her clit fast and hard, with just one finger at first, but soon adding another when it turns out she's almost too wet for it: her skin too slippery for the man to maintain enough pressure. "That's it, my sweet. That's it…"

The fingers dance over her clit, their touch firm and sure and uncomplicated. The heat beneath her skin grows, making her face flush: she pants, open-mouthed, and tries to roll her hips, but the man presses his other hand over her lower stomach and holds her right there, forces her to take only what he's giving her. She cries out, her cunt pulsating with the sensation, a cascade of pleasure that's centered around her clit, growing and growing until it finally crests and she cries out again, sobbing and writhing, her clit twitching and jerking with the force of her climax. And the man just keeps going, his fingers staying on her clit until the twitching is not from pleasure, but from the sweet agony of overstimulation instead: until she lets out a sound broken enough to convince him to stop.

"Good," he says softly as Mira lies there, panting and shivering, unable to even open her eyes. Her mind is buzzing with white noise: here, in this room, there's no need for her to think. Her clit is still jumping up and down in tiny jerks as the aftershocks zing through her nervous system. Even her fingertips seem to tingle with it.

She hadn't noticed the man going away, but she certainly notices it when he returns and places his hand over her stomach again, moving it in slow, soothing motions. She frowns and blinks her eyes open with some difficulty. She doesn't think the man is going to fuck her, at least not her pussy, but maybe her mouth—

"That was good," the man rumbles, and Mira can almost hear the smile in his voice. "But you deserve more, don't you?"

Before Mira has time to register the words, something small and hard presses over the tip of her clit, something smaller than a fingertip. There's a tiny click, and a buzzing sound fills the room, shockingly loud from such a small toy. Mira jerks in her restraints, and her mouth opens around a soundless shriek as the tiny head of the vibrator forces her clit, already wrung out from her first orgasm, to dance under a new wave of pleasure.

"Yes," the man says over her desperate moans. "You deserve every drop of pleasure I can give you. Now hold still…"

Chapter Text

Then…

The first picture shows the girl sitting with her legs spread wide, holding her pussy lips open and showing off the pink, moist insides. The other is taken from behind while she kneels on the bed, ass up and head down, spreading her cheeks for the benefit of the viewer. She's wearing nothing but thigh-high stockings and a garter belt—and a clothespin attached to the tip of her clit.

The caption reads: Fuck, if someone doesn't whip my pussy and rape my slutty holes soon, I'm gonna lose my mind!!! 😫 Please,, fuck me with your thick cock & fill me with ur cum (and make it hurt!!! my useless whore pussy deserves it) #selfie, #slut, #rapedoll, #rape me

Now…

The man tugs at one of the piercings on Mira's labia and hums, sounding pleased. "Looks like they're all healed up."

Mira lets out a shaky breath. Her heart is pounding with a mix of excitement and terror. Finally, it's time. She doesn't know how long it's been, probably months—endless months of nothing but the man's fingers and the occasional toy, applied with utmost care. It had felt novel, at first, the teasing, gentle way the man pleasured her… but after a while she had grown restless, the gentleness not enough to fill the screaming, insatiable hunger inside her. And the man knows it too.

They're standing in the living room, under the spotlight created by the ceiling lamp. The curtains are drawn and the couch pushed to the side, leaving an open space in the middle of the room. It's not the usual location for their games: all the heavy equipment—pillories, tables, fucking machines—is downstairs. She wonders what he's planning.

The man's fingers slide between Mira's folds, and the wetness he finds there makes him chuckle. "Excited, are we?"

Mira makes a muffled noise behind the ball gag and tries to widen her stance, but the spreader bar tied to her ankles is already keeping them as wide as they can go. Her arms are behind her back, wrapped in a kind of leather tube that makes escape impossible. It doesn't stop her from trying, though, and every useless tug makes her heart pound faster and the heat between her legs turn up a notch.

"I know, dearest." He spends an indulgent moment just fingering Mira, exploring the wet, warm softness of her insides. But then he lets his fingers slip out and takes a step back. "But you'll have to be patient for just a while longer, because I need to set things up."

Mira swallows and gives him a pleading look, arching her back just a bit. Her nipples throb in time with her heartbeat—the piercings have only made them more sensitive, and now even the anticipation makes them tingle.

The man is implacable, though. He shakes his head, chuckling softly, and pats Mira's cheek gently. "Don't worry, I'll give you something to keep you… entertained. Wait here."

He disappears behind Mira. She manages to keep herself from looking around: she'll know the plan soon enough. Still, she jumps a bit when the man's hands wrap around her waist from behind, sliding over her lower stomach in a gentle caress, before poking between her legs.

"At first I wondered if it was a mistake, to leave these in," the man murmurs into Mira's ear. His chest is pressed against her back, and the vibrations of his deep voice travel through her body, making her shiver. "But then I thought, surely I can't ignore all the possibilities these might offer?"

He pinches the rings on Mira's labia between his fingertips and pulls gently, spreading her lips. Her head falls back, coming to rest on the man's shoulder, and the shiver becomes a full-body shudder when she can feel the brush of cool air over the moist inner lips of her cunt.

"Yes, just like that," the man says. "Now hold very still."

His hands go away for a moment, then come back accompanied with the faint clink of a thin chain. Something snaps around the ring on the left side, then the chain is drawn around Mira's thigh, pulling at the ring. There's another snap on the other side, and Mira almost moans aloud when she realizes what the man has done. The chain connects the rings on the left side of her pussy, stretching her folds and keeping them open.

The process is repeated on the other side, and when the man is done, he stands up and tugs at the chains experimentally.

"Mngh!" Mira moans. It doesn't hurt—the chains aren't too tight, they don't pull at her skin that much—but the sensation of being so exposed… her mind is already full of white noise, and they've barely even started. Her clit juts out obscenely, nothing covering it—or hiding it when it jumps up and down, betraying her need.

"Do you see?" the man says, something about the tilt of his head radiating smugness. He puts his hand between her legs again, pinching Mira's clit playfully, then gives it a firm slap. It forces another moan out of Mira's mouth. "Now, the next part might be a bit of a challenge, but I trust you can do it. Can't you, Mira?"

***

The leather strap snaps over Mira's clit again. She barely manages to muffle a yowl before the next one hits. She locks her knees and curls her hands into tight fists, forcing her body to stay still.

She's still standing in the middle of the living room, but now she's alone, the whipping machine her only company. It's exactly as she had imagined: it has a wheel that spins around like a fan, but instead of plastic blades, it has four stiff, narrow straps of leather. The man arranged it so that the leather straps hit her directly on her protruding clit—if she manages to stay perfectly still.

So far, she has managed. It would be easier if she was tied up to something, but—that's part of the challenge, isn't it? That she has to hold herself still, has to force herself to take the punishment. Already she can feel the strain in her leg muscles, how her body trembles with the need to lean away from the pain—or possibly lean into it, except she can't get any closer either, or she will stumble.

Snap, snap, snap, goes the spinning wheel, steady and merciless, whipping her pussy repeatedly. Mira swallows a sob and throws her head back, legs shaking as they threaten to fold under her. Her clit burns, and each slap pushes the pain deeper into her nervous system, setting it alight with sensation. If she sways even a bit, the strap hits the tender inside of her folds instead of her clit, and that kind of pain is just too unpleasant, so she uses every last bit of her strength to stay still, to stay still—

"Look at you," comes the man's voice, a familiar, deep rumble. "You are doing so well. Ah, but I knew you would, Mira, dear."

He goes to stand behind her and wraps his hands around her waist again. A sob of relief rattles Mira's chest as she leans on the supporting hands. The whipping machine keeps going, and for a while the man just stands there, leaning over Mira's shoulder to observe it.

"Beautiful," he sighs and squeezes Mira's waist, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. "Your pussy was made for this. But I think it is time to move on to the next step. Are you ready for the new challenge?"

He doesn't wait for a reply, not that Mira would be able to give one. He presses a button on the machine, and Mira lets out a shuddering breath when the leather straps finally stop spinning. Her clit throbs angrily. It hadn't been the most brutal beating she's ever received, but it had been steady and relentless in a way that human hands are simply not capable of.

The chains are removed, letting Mira's folds fall in place, not quite covering the swollen nub of her clitoris. Then the man spins Mira around to face him, catching her when she staggers like a newborn foal, ankles still trapped in the spreader bar. He hums tonelessly and his fingers go to her nipples, flicking at the rings there. The small movement seems to wake up every single nerve ending in Mira's nipples, and she lets out a hitching whimper.

"These, too," the man says in a low rumble and gives them another flick. "It felt like a travesty to… to do anything to your beautiful, natural body. It was already so perfect, so why ruin that?" He pulls at the rings, lightly at first, then with more intensity. "But it was not ruination at all, was it? Of course your body would take that, and simply transform it into more beauty."

His hands go away for a moment, then return to play with the nipple rings. Except now he's no longer just playing with them. He pulls a length of string through the rings, first the right one, then the left, and starts to pull at it very carefully. The string tightens, and slowly the gap between Mira's nipples begins to narrow. It's only thanks to the size of Mira's tits that it's even possible, and even then, the strain in her nipples soon becomes almost unbearable.

"Hnh!" she cries out, when there's only a few scant inches left between her nipples. But the man doesn't tighten it any further, just ties the ends of the string together.

"Imagine if I could lick both of your nipples at the same time," the man says musingly and brushes his thumbs over Mira's nipples. She shudders, both from the sensation and the idea: the thought of the man's tongue flicking over her nipples, without having to switch from side to side, just lapping at them both… She tries to squeeze her legs together, the sudden flash of heated need too much to bear, but with the spreader bar in place, she can only writhe uselessly.

The man chuckles. "Something we can explore later, yes? I have something else prepared for you."

The man removes the spreader bar (but leaves the thick cuffs around Mira's ankles), then snaps a leash around the length of string. He gives the leash a gentle tug and takes a step forward.

"Come now, Mira. Follow me."

The man takes another step, and another, but Mira's body refuses to move. She can't believe the man has leashed her by her nipples. Eventually the leash grows taut between them and pulls at Mira's nipples, and that finally snaps her out of it. She follows the man on shaky legs, taking small, hesitant steps on the cold concrete floor—she's wearing nothing but thin ankle socks, and they don't offer much protection against the chill. Slowly they make their way downstairs. The leash is a constant weight pulling at Mira's nipples: deceptively gentle, yet a subtle threat of more pain, if she refuses to follow her captor.

Her inner thighs are slick with her arousal.

"I have been thinking," the man says as they approach the door to his workshop. He stops in front of the closed door and uses the leash to pull Mira closer. He grabs her chin with his other hand and tilts her head up, gazing down at her. "Yes. And I came to the conclusion that I was far too… indulgent with you. With your needy pussy, so hungry for cock. And you took them all so well, didn't you? But I should have known the risks." He pauses, brushing Mira's cheek slowly with his thumb.

Mira moans helplessly. She doesn't know what to think. The scenes the man is talking about… Were they a step too far? She doesn't know.

"So. For now on, your pussy belongs to me. Nobody else. I will see to it that you are used as hard as you need it, your holes stuffed just as full as you desire… but there will be no other men. Ever again. Understand?"

She nods vigorously, making another helpless sound. She wishes fervently that she wasn't gagged so that she could tell him that she never wanted those other men, not really, that his cock would have been enough. Is enough, god, why won't he fuck her already?

The man drops the leash and slips his hand between Mira's legs, exploring the heated, slick flesh. Mira flushes and her eyelashes flutter as the man's thick fingers find her clit and rub small circles over it. Her chin is still caught in his hand, and she can't hide her reactions, can't hide how her eyes threaten to roll back in her head when the man squeezes her clit.

"But you see, Mira, I'm not entirely convinced that you are ready for this new arrangement. How do I know that you're not faking it? Putting on a brave face, while still planning another ill-advised escape? So, I have prepared something. A way to test your…" He searches for the correct word. "Commitment, if not devotion."

Slowly, he reaches behind Mira's head and unclasps the gag. The black silicone ball slips out of her mouth and she gasps wetly, licking her lips. They're sore from being stretched around the gag for so long.

The man tucks the gag into a pocket and opens the door, gently pushing Mira through it. She stumbles to a stop right there at the doorway and blinks in confusion at the sight before her.

There's a thick rope stretched across the room, about waist-height or slightly lower. The ends are tied to sturdy rings on opposite walls. The whole thing looks like it belongs on a sailboat, except for the knots. They cover the entire length of the rope at regular intervals, a few inches of space left between each knot. Mira can't even begin to guess the purpose of the rope, but the sight makes her feel weirdly breathless anyway.

"W-what is that?" she says in a thready voice.

"Really, Mira? Can you not guess?" The man sounds amused. "Allow me to demonstrate…"

***

"It's very simple. All you have to do is walk across the room without stopping."

Mira lets out a frustrated huff of breath. Simple, he says! Her cunt already feels like it's burning, and she's just standing still. The rope digs into her cunt, right between her folds, which the man has very carefully arranged so that they're not getting pinched between the rope and Mira's body.

"But what if I can't?" she protests and stares apprehensively at the length stretching out in front of her.

"Of course you can. And if you stop, I'll have to punish you." He pauses and tilts his head thoughtfully. "Let's say… ten strikes for every time you stop without a good reason."

Mira swallows. Ten strikes? That doesn't sound too bad. They will probably go to her pussy, but… she can take it. She swallows again and tries to ignore the pulse of heat that flashes through her cunt, focusing instead on the rope digging into her flesh.

"Will you do it?" the man says softly and brushes a hand over her cheek. Mira gives him a quick glance. She can't read his expression, but somehow she can feel his tentative excitement: how much he hopes that she will agree to this.

"I… yes. All right."

"Good," the man growls and straightens his spine, all traces of tentativeness gone. He picks up the riding crop he had fetched earlier and flicks it over Mira's ass. Not quite a punishment yet, but a warning. "Now walk. And remember, if you stop…"

"You'll punish me."

Mira takes a step forward, and as she does, her cunt drags over the rope. She winces at the roughness of it, but forces herself to take another tiny step. The step after that brings her right over the first knot, and she gasps wetly as she feels the rough, hard lump of rope drag over her clit. She tries to walk on her toes, but the rope is at such a height that she can't avoid it, no matter how much she attempts to lift her hips—and she can tell that the strain would be too much for her muscles, already tired and shaky from earlier, when she was forced to stand still and get her clit whipped.

Her clit. Fuck. Mira grits her teeth and feels another knot slide over it, rough and hard and merciless. It probably wouldn't be so bad if her clit wasn't already so sore, but now the drag of the rough hemp wakes up all the aches and pains. And of course there's the painful drag of the rope itself, digging into her flesh. It's a kind of pain she has never experienced before. Of course she'd known about crotch ropes and stuff, but the man just doesn't bother with bondage that leaves Mira… inaccessible.

The next knot makes Mira cry out with pain, and she hunches her shoulders, gritting her teeth against the burn in her crotch. Her clit throbs angrily, and she—

"You stopped." The man's voice is gently admonishing.

She flinches, only then noticing that her legs are not moving. She casts a quick glance ahead and her shoulders shake with a dry sob when she notices how much distance there is still to cover.

"Sorry," she gasps and forces her legs to move. So she stopped once—that's just ten strikes. That's barely nothing, she'll just walk quickly and then she'll be free of this torture, right? Except when she tries to move faster, the drag of the rope gets so intense that after just three knots she lets out a broken noise and stumbles to a stop.

"That's twenty strikes, now," as if Mira would forget that. She sways on her feet for a moment, chest heaving with sobs she's trying in vain to suppress. She doesn't know why this is so hard, when she (and her cunt) has suffered far worse. Maybe because she's an active participant: she's not just sitting there and receiving the abuse, she's the one who's pushing her body through it. And the rope is so dry and rough—no matter how slick she might be, the rope takes away everything, leaving only the burning, throbbing pain behind.

It gets worse when the man starts assisting Mira. He's been walking beside her, making sure that she doesn't fall over. But after the third time Mira falls to a stop, bending over her midriff and wheezing with pain, he laughs—laughs!—and grabs the rope, lifting it just a bit higher, forcing it to dig even more cruelly into Mira's cunt.

"You are so eager to get punished," he chuckles when Mira takes a few stuttering steps forward, whimpering pitifully the whole time. Then his hand is between Mira's legs, pulling at her folds, forcing her clit to press directly against the rope. The next knot scrapes over the tender little nub and makes Mira howl with agony.

She has to stop twice more before it's over. Before her cunt drags slowly over the last knot, and she lets out a wretched moan, falling sideways to the man's arms. He lifts her up easily and cradles her in his arms, shushing her gently as she trembles through the jolts of pain that are still echoing in her clit.

"Well done," he says, and the deep rumble of his voice sinks into Mira's body and unclenches some of the tightness coiled in her muscles. "I am so proud of you, Mira."

She's carried across the room and placed on the sturdy examination table with the separate, moving arms for her limbs. Thick leather restraints go around her arms and legs, and she sighs, relaxing into the familiar sensation. It's funny, the idea of being tied up so thoroughly should scare her, but it only makes her feel… safe. Like the leather is there simply to hold her together, when the sensations rampaging through her body are threatening to make everything shatter.

The machine hums to life, and the table tilts slightly back, spreading Mira's legs at the same time. Not so wide that it's uncomfortable, but definitely keeping her open and—accessible. Exposing her whole pussy, every tender, vulnerable part of it. (The man could do anything to her, anything at all. But now she knows that he won't. He'll never be as mindlessly cruel as—)

"Fifty strokes," the man says, sliding a fingertip over Mira's twitching clit. Her eyes slam open. Fifty? That can't be right! Is the man joking? "Yes," he continues, sounding amused. "You stopped five times. Like I said, you are so hungry for punishment. Little slut."

"No, please," Mira gasps, lifting her head to stare beseechingly at the man. But the black mask she sees is as indifferent as ever: if the man feels any pity for her, she has no way of knowing it. "Please, I can't, my pussy—"

"I know what your pussy can take," the man replies. The single digit becomes a whole hand grabbing her whole cunt and squeezing it ruthlessly, making her cry out. But then he gentles the touch, going back to stroking her slowly. "And I will mete out your punishment soon enough. But first… perhaps a little treat, hmm?"

He leans over to pick up something from a side table: a vibrator, as it turns out. He places the head carefully over Mira's clit and turns it on.

A surge of pleasure goes through Mira's body, so strong that her back arches and she screams, slamming her head back against the cushions. Her clit is so tender that the vibrations are as painful as they are pleasurable, but that only makes the latter burn brighter, and she moans again, throwing her head from side to side, vaguely aware that she's drooling but unable to care.

"That's it," the man is saying. "Let yourself feel it. Oh, you have no idea what you look like."

And it's true, she's quickly losing awareness of her surroundings, her whole world centered around the aching, tender spot that is her clitoris. There's only the pleasure, and the agony, and the deep, deep voice of the man who made everything possible.