Sadist’s Fire: Canto Two And Three - Sadist’s Fucktoy free porn video

Ezra

The way our thing started has never sat well with me when I try to tell the story, to myself or to others. How would I say it? At first, I was irritated because there had been obvious possession in Morgan’s touch when he introduced her to me and I knew he and Trish were looking to bring another into their relationship. They were two married Doms who wanted a submissive third to have together and the little dark haired girl, with a barcode and the word N9ne tattooed on her back, was obviously a dominating figure on that list of potentials. I wrote her off as a thrill seeker who took her fun in highs, but wasn’t built for the extreme pain play games I wanted in my relationships.

But then if I say I had her pussy and it changed my mind, it sounds fucking terrible. And the truth is it wasn’t completely that. Not even slightly. It was the way she grasped the ring so desperately, the way she messed over my cock as soon as I entered her from the humiliation of my cruel words. That was what got to me. Holy hell, there was zero doubt she had felt an extreme form of emotionally masochistic satisfaction from my cold words, from my colder fucking. I had started with the intent of proving her wrong, of driving her away from me, but once I was inside of her and she squeezed my cock with orgasm?

I kept up the game of a cruel and selfish abuser because I fucking loved it. She had responded to that! And I fucking wanted more of it. My life was cold, so cold, and the way she went off to all that coldness, and took to it, was hot enough to make me burn. I had to force myself to stay silent and use her body like a toy, had to make myself take a mindset that viewed her as a fuck doll. And it was easy to fall into that game for me because it was intense and I adored it so damn much. I pictured her wrapped in latex like a rubber dog, had images of her blinded and sitting in the corner of my private dungeon, waiting for me to pull her out by her hair so that I could use whichever hole I felt like in her body. I sank into the thoughts, getting hornier by the fucking second. I made myself stay distant when what I really wanted was to slap her tits until she squealed and snarl sadistic threats in her ear. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, even around the denim of my jeans, made me feel insane and the sight of her arching under my abuse and callousness was my own personal alcohol.

So, it all started with her wanting a brand and then she chased me down and asked me to hurt her. I treated her with disdain and tried to brush her off. Until I got cock deep inside of her.

It sounds terrible, but I’m shit with words and I’m worse with people.

But besides all that, there was another reason why I tried to write her off. You see, I didn’t mix my pain play and sex. What I told her about males being harder and more violent was true, but it wasn’t the largest reason why I stayed away from females. You see, mixing my intense play with sex? It scared me. It seemed like something that would be a little too intense, like wildfire coming from me, and I didn’t feel like I could totally control it.

And then she chased me down and she was a firestorm all her own, one that rivaled my intensity, and I didn’t know what hit me.

————

Devi

I took those next couple of days to go to Morgan’s tattoo shop and finally got up the nerve to ask him about Dr. Calloway, under the pretense of being curious about the man who might be willing to give me scarification work. Morgan grinned at me easily, seeming to think there was nothing wrong with my quiet voice when I asked. “He’s really good at what he does and almost anyone will tell you that. He does high end work for, like, movie stars. I’ve been thinking about it though and I think I can find someone better for you, if you like. For a start, he’s pretty standoffish and terrifying. For another, he’d be overkill expensive.”

“The money wouldn’t bother me,” I answered thoughtfully. But there was something in Morgan’s eyes when he talked about Calloway, something that said he might respect the man and think he was professionally wonderful, but that he didn’t seem to like him as a person. Come to think of it, even when he’d introduced us that first night, he’d been protective by my side. I thought back to Calloway’s words at Sulfur’s. Go back to Morgan and Trish’s cozy cage. And there was the way he’d said those words, with disdain. “He’s scary,” I finally managed.

It was Trish who walked up behind me and hugged me while she answered. “Yeah, he’s got this reputation too. You’ll have to forgive my husband. He doesn’t think things through before he opens his mouth sometimes. We’ll figure it out, honey.”

I cuddled against her shoulder like her pet, wondering how I would even begin to explain what had happened the night before, wondering how to even go about it, how it would sound. In the end, I didn’t say anything because it didn’t feel like there was anything to tell. There wasn’t anything meaningful anyway. I was being a fucktoy for a cruel surgeon who evidently had a reputation in the fringe world. Trish stroked my hair like I was a favored kitten and jokingly said over the top of my head. “Come on, Morgan, can we keep it for one night?”

Morgan laughed right back. “Look, one night, but that’s it. We already have a cat and you can’t keep another one.”

I couldn’t help but grin with the playful game and I did actually end up staying the night at their house, where we drank White Claw and watched Star Wars. The awesome thing about Morgan and Trish as friends was the fact that they were adult enough to have their own place and have good credit, but still playful enough to have a slumber party and play Apex Legends. It was that that made us kindred spirits in the first place really.

But there was a pull in my heart. This was light and playful and I liked playing along, but it wasn’t what I craved anymore. I had experienced something so very dark and the desire for more of that darkness felt like a corruptive stain of some kind, one that was spreading through me and taking an addictive hold. Thursday weighed on my mind until it finally happened.

I obeyed his command, all of it. I didn’t get there early, didn’t stall in fear, and I didn’t go back another night before then. No, I went ‪Thursday at 9‬. I stopped to show my card to Brian, Lavrov’s bouncer of a sort, and walked inside. My eyes instantly shot to where Calloway stood and I shivered. He wasn’t waiting for me at all, didn’t so much as look at me, even though I couldn’t help but be drawn to him. It made it all the harder to approach him, especially when he wasn’t someone who gave off any sense of approachability but I made myself do it, made myself go to his side. He glanced at me then, a single look that made me wrap my arms around myself in a protective motion. And he didn’t offer any comfort either. “Strip,” he said quietly.

“W-w-okay.” I had to bite back the “what” I had been going to say and I just barely managed to do so in time. His command last time had been cold and clear, to not question and not protest. I trembled in the same terror as before and that shocked me. I don’t know why, but it had seemed like the second time in the harsh presence of this man might be easier. It wasn’t. I had taken off my clothes before so Morgan could pierce my clitoral hood, had been naked with other sexual partners, and I had always been comfortable in my body, but he made me feel self conscious in the worst possible way. He scared me so badly that I wanted desperately to earn even a shred of approval, but there was nothing in his eyes that even suggested he was pleased with what he saw. No encouragement, no lust. It was terrible.

It was everything. I stood still when I was naked and only then did he finally take over. It was a relief to let him have his sadistic prerogative, a relief when he approached me with other clothing, even if it was a negligee that didn’t hide a damn thing. I didn’t even have to step into the thong part. It was nothing but strings that tied at my sides, a sheer see-through triangle emphasizing my sex rather than hiding it. He was silent while he tied it, silent while he fixed the top part to me, making sure my breasts were on humiliating display. It was only when he fixed two strange discs to my nipples that he spoke. “If you’re going to be my whore, then you’re going to look like it.” I thrilled to the terribly cool way he said the words, moaned at the way the discs tugged on me. They were like clamps, only not quite. They weren’t harsh enough to be clamps, but they were obviously light enough to be left on for an extended time frame and they stimulated me in a maddening way. I didn’t fight it, lowering my eyes instead in a desolate sense of defeat. The collar that he fixed to my neck was stiff leather and I lifted my head for the blindfold with a soft whimper of fear.

He worked quickly, sitting me in a chair, manipulating me like I was a toy again. And it felt right this time. Some numb aspect had taken over me after his last blatantly careless use of me and now I sank to the mindset of being a sex doll. Every breath reminded me of the discs on my tits, reminded me that my nipples were swollen with the continual pressure and probably making the most obscene display. He chained my legs wide apart so that my pussy was similarly showed off, chained my wrists down and at my back, and lastly threaded a chain up from my wrists to the collar at my throat so that my head was forced back in a way that was just barely uncomfortable.

His hand gripped my face in a harsh hold and his voice was a snarl when he spoke. “Don’t make a fucking sound from here on out, understood? I don’t want to remember the fact that you exist until I’m ready to use you.”

I very nearly moaned but blatant terror kept me from it and I nodded as best I could instead. And after that, his hand disappeared and I was left cold, trembling and listening silently. I was a toy displayed for anyone to see, but set to the side until use of me was desired. I was a prettily decorated set of holes for him to come back to when he was done. The thoughts and foul analogies made me settle into the chair where I didn’t fight the bondage. I didn’t so much as wish the discs on my nipples would be taken off. I felt empty of desires at the moment, coldly neglected, and my emotions stretched into a despairing eternity, this strange sensation that this was where I belonged and should be. It was weird, but it was also a calm feeling, being blind and helpless to someone so blatantly dangerous and cruel.

I loved it. More than any piercing, I adored this. He was my dark, distant god and I was a devout follower of a sort, promised the chance to please him in a small way soon. There was something basically terrible in it, something that was intricate and beautiful. I didn’t know what it was at that moment, but there was a certain feeling behind this, a strange kind of attention in the way he had displayed me. There was something so carefully cultivated in how he treated me that it felt intense, even by that second time. But I didn’t think of all that until later. All I knew at the time was that he wasn’t doing a thing to me and it was more cruel than any playing I had ever done. And it only got better.

I heard the flogger first, somewhere in front of me and to my side. The tresses made an arousing rhythm where they fell in those masterful circles. Like last time, he didn’t work with the flogger for very long, only using it for warmup instead. Which became immediately apparent when I heard his next toy. It was a cutting sound through the air, something I just barely picked up on, followed by a loud smack of a sound that made me quake. His sub sounded like the same guy from before, but this time he gasped out a bark of a sound with his pain.

My sex clenched and I sank farther into a very dark place, silent and waiting. Ezra Calloway. It was the name of a monster reigning over this black abyss, the name of a dragon of terror. My clit buzzed with a need to be touched and touched now, but I didn’t dare say a thing, didn’t dare even struggle in his bondage. There was another cut through the air and I relaxed to the sounds, calmed and only wishing I was his victim instead. But I was close to him. I was given permission to listen and felt a twisted gratitude to him for that.

I waited, listening for what seemed an age while he used the cane and then followed it up with what sounded like a heavy strap. His sub was making a kind of animal sound near the end, torture rocking his body, and all I felt was undisciplined heat and jealousy. I didn’t hear much of anything else, but presumably his sub went off with his boyfriend again when he was done. And it was very clear when he was done.

He grabbed me, without warning, without introduction to it. One hand grasped my hair and the other slapped my pussy in the sheer thong. He thrust the material to the side, one finger fucking inside of me. The chains rattled when I lifted and I still, still, didn’t dare make a sound.

“Horny fuck.” I closed my eyes behind the eye mask when he used my hair to clean his fingertips of the cum I’d drenched myself with. The same hand slapped my cheek, and it wasn’t hard, but tears welled up in my eyes all the same. “Open your mouth.” When I obeyed, he growled in irritation and shook me with the hand in my hair. “Not like a fucking dog. Like you’re going to take a throatfucking. Are you my whore or aren’t you?” At that, I blushed furiously and hurried to obey, opening my mouth so that it was painfully wide, remembering how big he had felt last time.

For a moment, there was silence while he moved forward over me, straddling me. And then he nudged against the open hole in my face and I jolted forward, taking him until I choked, until it hurt me, and then I took some more. Up until then, I had always thought I was terrible at oral, but people do amazing things when they’re scared out of their mind and desperate. And that’s how intensely his darkness had covered me. I needed to satisfy and knew I wouldn’t get so much as a word of his praise, so I worked for all I had to avoid his harsh taunting, his cruel judgment. The chains rattled behind me, ripping me back to the chair painfully when I lifted forward and I didn’t care. I struggled them anyway and tilted my head back for any amount of angle I could get that would open my throat for him.

But he didn’t let me have any choice or say for long. His hand tightened in my hair and he took over me, forcing me back so he could thrust so deep I choked, them forcing me forward to meet his thrusts when he fucked my face. My tits jarred with the force of his use and the discs shook, driving me mad. I desperately kept my teeth out of the way, took frantic breaths through my nose to try to keep from gagging and choking, failed a few times so that he pulled away and slapped my face in punishment while I gasped for air. And then he’d go back to using me so that I moaned, wishing for any touch of use on my pussy, although I knew I wasn’t going to get it. I already knew my place in all this and that was to be used, which meant he was likely going to finish in my throat, unchain me, and command me to leave.

The knowledge sank in and I quit struggling or wishing at all after it did. He didn’t say a word to break me and he didn’t have to. This brutal use of his let me know without the words, without even seeing his face, that I was a foul, cum dripping little plaything and there was nothing I could do about it and this use was all I deserved for it. Not even his whips, not even his cane. Just this. I closed my eyes and drifted in that black pit of emotional masochism, letting it overtake me so that I had no fight left, so that I didn’t so much as lift to try to please him more. It was stupid to do that. If it pleased him for his toy to do it, he’d make his toy do it.

He came, right in the back of my throat, and I felt a sense of loss that he couldn’t spray his cum there, that I was only allowed the flavor of the condom and the feel of him riding my face in his feral finish. I felt a sense of bliss that was terrifyingly intense at having served his exacting sadism, a rush at having satisfied enough for him to orgasm. He pulled away and just like that, I felt him releasing my chains while I floated in a sense of empty numbness. His darkness felt like a thing that was alive, a thing that ruled me, a thing that crushed any sense of willpower I might have once had. So I didn’t even react when the discs were removed from my tits, didn’t react when the collar was taken off, though I felt a sense of loss when it was. The eye mask was last and I tried to keep my gaze lowered when he took it off, too afraid of his ire to do something as bold as look at him. But he grasped my chin again and lifted my gaze to his and I went petrified at the sight, dead still under his cold, dark eyes. He didn’t say anything, but there was a black intensity deep in his gaze, a sense of excitement at what he saw when he looked at me. I don’t know what that was, only knew that he seemed to feed on whatever twisted energy wave connected us. The silence lengthened and I remained a used captive, still and waiting for more abuse.

Whatever cold fire he felt faded little by little and he finally turned away, releasing me. “Use the cleaner on that shelf for the chair, get dressed with that slutty outfit underneath, and go. ‪Next ‬Saturday, same time.”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered. My voice sounded so far away, so brokenly acceptant. For a moment, that cold excitement reappeared in his eyes. I cleaned the mess I’d left all over the chair like an obedient fucktoy and dressed with hands that only slightly shook. He must have taken my underwear and bra because I didn’t see either of them and I didn’t even care. My nipples brushed my shirt under the sheer lingerie and it felt like that was how I deserved it to be. And I left in a daze, my head bowed. It was as if I had been branded in some way worse than the way I wanted from him.

‪Next Saturday. Superstition said the third time was a charm for something. And that turned out to be true for whatever was happening between Ezra and I. The third time was a sick, twisted, devastating charm.‬

————

The week leading up to it was strange. I visited Morgan and Trish and Trish laughingly flirted with me. And she commented on how I seemed in a strange spirit, a more intense spirit. Which made me stop and think about what I felt and how it was different than usual. Because she was right and it was a little different. When I went home to my toy land of an apartment, I went to my room and sat on my bed, surrounded by all of my happy-go-lucky stuffed animals. Puzzles I had solved were glued to poster boards and hung on the wall. Artwork I had drawn on regular printer paper was tacked randomly throughout the room. There wasn’t much rhyme or reason to the decor and a lot of it was from DIY projects I had found online to have an artistic outlet. I was a weapons engineer, which meant most of my outlets were logical ones, but I had the creative side in some degree and it needed out every now and again. The result was an explosion of random playfulness and colors that sometimes clashed, but I didn’t care.

And now I looked at all of it with a curious new emotion. Trish had seemed more playful than ever around me and I wondered at it. Because I was fueled with the effects of him, of his terrible energy and his grim sadism. I carried him with me in a contradictory blend of his glacial cruelty and my effervescent happiness. It was so very strange, but Trish’s reaction to it made me all the more curious. “As if I’m more desirable or something,” I said to my Cthulhu doll. “What do you think? He can’t be all bad, can he? If people are reacting like that to me? But I can’t think enough when I’m around him to figure it out because he scares me so much.” Zombie Cthulhu only stared at me with blood at the corner of his mouth and I grinned at him.

And it wasn’t just Trish either. At work, I would talk and it was just... different. My voice was different every now and again. When I was lost in thought on a problem in the project we were working on, I would speak and it would come out clear. Always before I had stuttered in fear around my coworkers, even though they were nerds like me. But now I had seen darkness, suffered it... and was going back to serve as its whore. Now I had a terror that overloaded my fear response and it was almost like there was nothing left for anything else. He was truly the worst demon in my night and he held me captive with chains he hadn’t even meant to wrap me in.

Saturday was a longer time away than the previous wait and it was long enough for the terror to sink nice and secure, its claws deep in my heart so that I tossed and turned the night before. What was more terrible was how clearly and disdainfully he gave his commands and then left it up to me to obey. What would happen if I just ran and didn’t show?

I knew the answer. Nothing. That would be it. He gave me the absolute impression that he wouldn’t miss me, wouldn’t so much as look at me if I dared approach him again. It was the ultimate punishment, the worst that could happen. No more of that horrible fear his mere presence instilled in me. No more of his uncaring eyes on the rare occasions he graced me with them. No more of his abuse and snarling disgust when I didn’t obey to his exacting standards.

No more of the shaking relief that was the small victory when he didn’t criticize.

I couldn’t stay away. I stood outside of Sulfur’s in resignation to whatever awful fate waited for me at his hands. I hoped so bad that my dark idol might give me just one gentle touch that night, and knew that it wasn’t likely. My heart thundered at the memory of how he’d looked with his whips, like a dark god of pain and penance, a demon of punishment. My pussy pulsed, which was even worse. He had used me and left me without a care or thought for anything I felt, used me as a personal sex doll, and I was so fucking horny from it that I was filthy with cum before I even made it to him.

I walked inside before I could get any worse, knowing it would already be humiliating when he would smell or feel how greedy he made me. Beyond that, I didn’t dare be late. I went by Brian with a wave and again, I found Ezra Calloway instantly from anyone else. Also again, he wasn’t paying attention at all to if I would show up, wasn’t waiting or playing as if he cared in the slightest. I had to make myself walk to him on my own, knowing what waited for me. His male sub was sitting in a chair beside him, the same one from before. At the moment, the sub looked so casual and it was something that made me pause for a second. I didn’t understand how he could sit by Calloway’s side in such a relaxed way. I would have been cowering in his place, cringing eagerly by the side of such a cruel master. I would have been reverent and in awe of the fact that I could experience his whips, fearfully nipping his fingertips with small pleas of mercy on my tongue.

I lowered my gaze and finished walking to Calloway’s side, reminded that I didn’t get to experience the intimate dance with his whips. I was jealous of his sub, viciously so, and the defeated subjugation from before came back to me. I didn’t have enough courage to talk, only managed a swift glance up to my master - and then realized that I thought of him in that term - to see him looking down at me with that sadistically mild curiosity. “Strip.” I obeyed but his voice almost made me pause. There was something in it that time, an emotion that I couldn’t identify, and it was an intense emotion at that. I kept my eyes down in reverential respect as I sat my clothes to the side and stood naked before him. He had to grasp my chin again to make me meet his gaze and I did so, in obedience to the command he didn’t speak. “I was nice last time and left you alone until I had use for you. It occurred to me how boring that must be, though, so this time while I have my scene, you’ll have your own. You’re going to be over that spanking bench and whoever wants to use you in whichever hole they want is going to until I’m done and ready for my little toy. Understood?”

The only reason I didn’t hyperventilate at the thought was because of that desolate emptiness he had given me from before. Still, a little bit of horror made it to my face before the submission ruled everything. He reacted to it, too, his dark eyes sparking with that cold excitement from before. “Yes, sir,” I finally answered.

He released me. “Last time I dressed you like my whore. This time, I think it’ll be clear enough without the outfit. Go to the bench and bend over it for me to chain you.”

I had one single thought of free lucidity where I wondered if I was insane, then it was gone when I placed my ankles at the legs of the bench where he would chain them and then bent slowly forward and held my wrists down to the other cuffs, waiting for my master’s leisure. There was something delicious in it, a thought that I was holding my wrists down for the bondage that would hold me in my own private hell.

And then he was by my side and the darkness seemed all the more total with the sense of awe I felt, the inspired terror at his presence, the idolatry that wanted to serve him. He cuffed my ankles first and when he came around to my front, I dared to brush my lips to his forearm while he reached down to cuff my wrists. He paused for a heart stopping moment and I wondered if retaliation was coming, wondered if he would punish me for something so bold.

He didn’t. He allowed it, going onto the next wrist, and I felt a dangerous rush of gratitude and a desire to thank him. I held my head up for the eye mask, which he fixed securely. “Open your mouth, correctly this time.” And I did, so that he fitted me with a gag that had an open circle to keep my mouth a wide and clear hole.

It was the most he had spoken to me and I floated in masochism again, realizing something. He had told me so much to give me the chance to leave, to say that I didn’t want it anymore. And I hadn’t taken it. I was splayed open, his toy that he was letting others play with as they wished.

A hand grasped me by my hair and the first cock was pressed into my open gag before I even heard his flogger start. And this time I had little to no ability to submissively serve, couldn’t even close my lips around the cock forcing down my throat. I was made to take it and it was terrible, amazing, wonderful.

I had to focus on the fact that at the end my master would use me, had to remember that I was his toy and this was how I was being played with for the moment. The cock down my throat choked me and saliva messed down my chin and it had to be dripping disgustingly onto the floor. My pussy pulsed to the thought, humiliation sending shockwaves of stunning desire through my body. I shook in my chains, quivering all over. There was a soft groan above me as whoever was fucking my mouth finished in his condom and for a long moment I was left cold, untouched, alone.

And then another cock pressed to my pussy and I grasped my chains, mouth still held wide, spit still dripping. And with the cock that filled me, I cried out in shock, eyes going wide behind the mask.

I was filthy wet, so sopping drenched that tears sprang to my eyes with the indignity of it. The sound that it made was the sound of a slut who deserved this abuse. I sank even farther down into that horrible abyss where my dark master ruled all, so far that I couldn’t imagine the light anymore. I came around the cock using me and no one stopped me. No one touched my pussy to help my pleasure or hinder it.

Because you’re a worthless little toy and it doesn’t matter. I sobbed to the thought, but also came again in a frenzy.

The stranger finished behind me and left and I was cold again for a few moments. I waited for the next cock to press into my asshole, dreading the moment, but it didn’t. The next one was for my mouth again, choking me. Part of me had hoped in eager dread that my ass would be used and that part was disappointed, but the other part was incredibly relieved. I took two more in my mouth instead, getting used to the flavors of condoms, and in the background I heard the sounds of his submissive suffering one of his toys and I knew it wasn’t the whips or the cane again, but couldn’t focus enough this time to distinguish what it was. I was lost in my own wicked hell, horny and riled and tortured on a rack of the worst pleasure.

Those last two who used me seemed to take forever. The first one slowed down his pacing, then sped up, then slowed again, deliberately making sure he lasted a long time. And the last one lazily used me, while my pussy felt so empty, and he too obviously made it last. My lips felt swollen and my throat felt hoarse and sore long before even the first one finished with me. I took it, thinking of my dark god and the sounds I heard, hating this, loving it, adoring him, dreading him, lost to him. It was strangely transformative.

Whatever implement I heard stopped sometime during the last person’s using me and I barely registered it. I waited in fear, knowing he would be worse than ever. Somehow I knew that it would be terrible, but I had no idea how terrible.

I waited when the fourth person left, trembling again, and a soft whimper of terror escaped me. My master undid the open mouthed gag first, his hands rough at the sides of my face, and I recognized his touch from any other. Excitement laced through me, black waves of adrenaline. Which hole would he use? What would he do? How would I suffer this time? His hands at the gag made me shake. There was something in his touch that made me tense.

To my surprise, he stroked his cock against my pussy, sending shockwaves of pleasure through me, so much that I squeezed on him in eagerness, moaning in ecstasy to feel my master finally use me after being used by others. He thrust inside of me so easily after another had already opened me up and I was wildly drenched still, even more so than when the stranger had fucked me. My master’s pace was different than his cruel prerogative the last times, though. It was strange, almost lazy and hesitant. His cock filled me in long strokes that made me all the more afraid.

And then he brought the axe down. He pulled away with a low noise of disdain that made me choke on a sob, and then he tugged the blindfold off. He undid my ankles first before he came to my side and let my wrists up, staring down at me with a sneer on his face that made me stare up at him in wounded terror. “I thought I wanted to use you after you’d been a whore for the night, but now you’re just fucking filthy. I’m not interested, so go and come back ‪Tuesday at 7‬ instead.”

He turned, but he wasn’t quick enough to hide the pure evil smile that curved his lips, a smile of pure pleasure at seeing my misery. And it was that smile that made me react the way I did.

Because I gave a shocked cry that was despair... but also part of the orgasm that overtook everything in me. It was all-encompassing, a nightmare that made me lift on my knees to him, shaking. And he turned back to me at the sound of my sexed up cry, so fast that I gasped, and then his hand was in my hair and I lifted up to him when he grasped my face in that wicked grip of his. His eyes made me squeal, made another shockwave of devastating pleasure rock through my body. They were filled with that cold excitement and it was terrifying how hot he looked with that sadism flaming in his eyes.

It was like seeing the face of an angel in its wrath and fury. I lifted closer to his face while he drank in the sight of the lancing pain he had so viciously caused me, while he took obvious pleasure in it. His gaze was even more sexually arousal than they were from whatever pleasure he took in his whips, a moment of harshest intimacy where my insight into him was something profound.

He waited until I was finished with the waves of pleasure, holding me in his grip while he watched every last paroxysm cross my eyes, still excited in the way a wolf became excited when its prey ran. But his fire faded into his control as my pleasure finished until he was just sneering coldly at me again. I stared up at him, silently pleading him for a shred of mercy.

He spat instead and it hit my cheek. And I felt as if the chains from before were now a permanent part of my being. It was like he welded them with that action. He stroked his forefinger across my used, swollen lips. “Tuesday. 7. Do you understand?”

There was something intense between us, something that made me nod frantically. Before, I had been certain that there would be no repercussions if I didn’t show, that it would just be the end of whatever was between us. But something in his icy eyes made me think that wasn’t the case anymore. It made me think I had better damn well be there again. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Dress and get out.” And then he finally let me go. I shook even worse than usual when dressing, tears falling down my cheeks. I was supposed to be his whore and he hadn’t even gotten relief or taken satisfying use of me.

How was I ever going to make it to Tuesday with that knowledge? I finally finished with my clothes and turned, so horny even though the orgasm that had rocked me had been the strongest one I thought I’d ever had. I was so desperate to give him pleasure, but also well aware of the fact that I had given him a very dark, different pleasure. Before I left, he softly, sadistically said one last thing that made me whimper. “Filthy fuck.” A shiver shook my body before I finally hurried away from him in a new state of terror, with more fear than ever.

Because there had been affection in those words.

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