Burning Bright

[Darinost]

Teaser: Chicago’s fiercest dominatrix has a secret to her success.
-------------------------------------------------------------

The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
-------------------------------------------------------------


Title: Burning Bright
Author: Darinost
-------------------------------------------------------------

Layla was notorious among sex workers in the Chicago area. It wasn’t because of her beauty, though the thirty four year old dominatrix did cut a striking figure: ruby red hair tied into a ponytail that went all the way down her back, long legs that brought her over six feet in height, and a skin tight, full body leather outfit that hugged a full chest and heart shaped posterior.

But what truly made her stand out was her reputation as the cruelest, meanest bitch in the Windy City. Most of the men who hired her came away from the experience shaking and traumatized, slinking out of her playroom in shame to find more mild pursuits. The few who stayed, however, couldn’t imagine kneeling for anyone else.

If questioned, men on both sides would agree that what made her so effective was her sincerity. She was never just playing a role when she was on the clock; she genuinely loathed the men she was dominating, her hatred for them blazing like fire. She wanted them to suffer and beg and be reduced to miserable squirming worms. The fact that they paid her for the privilege was just a bonus.

What most people did not realize, however, is that hate is a finite resource. No matter how massive and red hot a flame is, over time it will sputter out and die.

Unless supplied with fuel, of course.

Layla was already in a foul mood when she slammed open the door to her dungeon. One of her clients had called while she was in the Uber, begging her to remove or at least rename the “crybaby” fee she’d charged to his credit card after he’d broken down sobbing in their last session. Like she gave a fuck if his wife was sure to notice it on their monthly statement and start asking questions. If he didn’t want his infidelity exposed, he should’ve tried not being a weepy little bitch.

It hadn’t taken long to bully the man into giving up and apologizing for wasting her time, but what pissed the woman off was that he’d dared to make the request in the first place. If one of her clients thought, even for a second, that upsetting his wife was worse than upsetting her, then she really was starting to lose her touch. She’d waited too long to book this appointment.

Her dungeon, her home away from home, was the basement of an otherwise unremarkable downtown office building. She’d paid good money to lease the entire floor, and even more to ensure building staff would stay out. This was her domain, and she insisted on being in charge of everything and everyone in it. She’d even persuaded the building manager into disabling elevator access, leaving the back alley stairs as the only entrance and exit.

The lights were still off, the room full of dark silhouettes lit only by the moonlight streaming through the upper windows. Her normal business hours were during the day - it was much easier on her schedule, and she wasn’t the one who had to make excuses for why she wasn’t at work, or slink away in broad daylight after a session - but this wasn’t normal business. “You’re here already, right?!” she called out angrily. “Come the fuck out and show yourself!”

There was silence for a moment, and then one of the silhouettes shifted.

The redhead felt only slightly mollified when she flipped the light switch and saw that at least the agency had given her someone with the right look this time. Most of the men they sent each time looked like male models, goddamn wannabe Fabios stepping out of romance covers to ravish maidens in real life. This one was fat and ugly, with a pockmarked face and bulbous eyes. He looked like the sort of creep who jacked off to underage girls and had a dozen venereal diseases because only the cheapest whores were willing to touch him. Just breathing the same air as him made her skin crawl.

She pointed a manicured finger at him. “Don’t say a fucking word yet. Just listen. First, after we’re done here, you don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, not even as a joke, not even to the employers who sent you here. This stays between you and me, forever, and if that changes, I will fucking ruin your life. Nod if you understand.”

He slowly nodded.

“Second, I’m not here to be your friend or lover, and safe words and triggers are weak bullshit invented for pussies. I’m not going to waste time telling you my limits or preferences because frankly, there is nothing you can do to me that I won’t hate. I’m not looking for a good time, and you’re not here to show me one. You are here to RAPE me, HURT me, and make me sorry I was ever born. Nod if you understand.”

Another nod.

It wasn’t that Layla had secret submissive tendencies, or harbored unspoken feelings of attraction towards the male half of the species. Quite the opposite. She despised not being in control, despised pain, despised sex with men, despised everything that she had paid a small fortune to arrange for herself today.

Because that was the point.

Her career had faltered eight years ago, when she’d found motivation increasingly difficult to come by. It was harder and harder to work up the rage and bile that she’d built her name on when all of her interactions with men involved them cowering on the floor. She still found them pathetic and disgusting, but she didn’t HATE them, not enough.

And as she’d stumbled home drunk one night, trying not to think about her shrinking client list, someone had recognized her. It was one of the many men who’d been too weak for her services, and left her dungeon crying like a baby with her spittle still on his cheek. When he saw how inebriated she was, he manhandled her into a nearby alley, ripped off her clothes, and raped her while she struggled. Hours later, beaten and bruised, bound and gagged with the torn scraps of her clothes, and trickling cum from every hole, she’d been tossed into a nearby dumpster. He’d ended their night by pissing on her, calling her a lousy fuck, and then closing the lid. She’d laid there in pitch black, covered in garbage and urine, until a restaurant worker had come by to throw out trash in the morning

That experience didn’t awaken anything in Layla. No masochistic urges, or newfound empathy for the suffering of others. It just made her angrier. It was the worst experience of her life, and when she took her rage and frustration out on her clients in the days and weeks that followed, her popularity soared. She’d found the secret to success.

Once every couple years since then, whenever anger began to fade again, she called an agency that specialized in these sorts of things and arranged a refresher. The experience was never anywhere as intense or effective as that first genuine time, but it was enough to keep the fires stoked.

Layla stared at her rapist to be and almost smiled. She could already tell that this was going to be fucking awful. “Alright,” she growled. “Let’s get this over with, you ugly piece of shit.”

His speed caught her by surprise. In just a few long strides, he was in front of her, wrapping a meaty hand around her throat and strangling her. Layla was lifted into the air, legs kicking at his torso, her nails clawing tracks of blood down his thick arm. There was never a question in her mind about putting up a genuine fight; if her rapist couldn’t physically dominate her, then he was fucking worthless.

If her violent resistance bothered him, he didn’t show it, calmly balling his other hand into a fist and slugging her in the stomach. The redhead gasped, all the air in her lungs expelled in one violent motion. Her mouth flapped open like a fish as she tried and failed to draw in another breath.

The man punched her in the stomach a second time, and a third, each blow like a sledgehammer. By the seventh, lack of oxygen had made her stop struggling, and she hung limply in his grip. When he pulled her head closer to him, she could only glare at him with bloodshot eyes, her lungs rattling in her chest. “You’re a stuck up, arrogant cunt,” he growled in the raspy voice of a lifetime smoker. “And I’m here to teach you some manners.”

He pulled a pocketknife out and began sawing through the crotch of her bodysuit. He didn’t seem to care about not cutting her, and she winced as the blade sliced through her skin almost as often as leather.

Layla expected him to rape her now that he’d cut an opening for his dick, but instead he carried her towards one of her camera tripods. Sometimes she enjoyed filming sessions with her clients, especially the ones that she knew hated being recorded. Mostly she used the videos for her own personal enjoyment at home, but occasionally she would send a copy back to its co-star to remind him it existed. She never outright threatened to share someone’s videos around if they ever started getting any ideas, but they all seemed to get the message.

The tripod had three stubby legs that met at a long vertical pole where a camera could be mounted and adjusted. She realized what he intended, and a burst of adrenaline gave her oxygen deprived body the energy to renew her struggles slightly, but the choked dominatrix couldn’t stop him from sticking her on top of the tripod and pushing down.

Layla groaned as the thick metal pole sank into her cunt. Its rigid, bumpy sides stretched her wider than any cock ever had, and he forced her down until her cervix smacked into the top. It was only then he let go of her neck, leaving her impaled on the tripod and panting for air.

Fuck, she thought dazedly, with something approaching professional admiration. They’d been at this less than two minutes and it was already more intense than any of her previous sessions. She’d have to get his card when it was over.

Layla was still trying to catch her breath when he grabbed one of her feet and bent her leg back until it touched her butt. He held her limb in place with one hand while the other wound duct tape around and around to bind it in place, then grabbed a triangular leather sheath from her own equipment. That went over her bent leg, covering it completely and then tightened with various straps.

She’d recovered enough by now to kick and scratch at him some more, but he was able to grab her free leg and get it bent and bound like the other. Then he repeated the bondage with her arms, sticking her hands to her shoulders and leaving her elbows sticking out. “From now on,” he hissed, “you’re gonna crawl like the bitch you are.” She tried to rock the tripod and knock it over, but it wouldn’t budge.

“We’ll start with your tits,” he said darkly, and produced the knife again. He cut out two crude circles over her breasts, the knife once again drawing blood several times. She expected him to make the holes big enough to expose her entire breasts, but they were much too small, barely larger than her flat brown nipples.

Then he took out a set of pliers, took a firm grip on her left nipple that made her hiss and grit her teeth, and began to pull.

Layla’s whole body went rigid with pain as her nipple was stretched obscenely far. At first she thought his goal was just to torture her nipple - or maybe even rip it off completely - but he pressed the palm of his other hand against her suit. Slowly, the rest of her full breast began to compress and squeeze through the small hole he’d made, literally dragged out by the nipple.

When he was done, her entire left breast was bare, and the hole felt like a tight noose around the base of her tit. The compression not only hurt like hell, it made the rest of her breast bulge out, easily several sizes larger than normal. Her rapist released her nipple and gave the trapped, swollen tit an experimental slap. It hurt worse than the pliers had, and the redhead couldn’t hold back a squeal of pain.

Soon both her breasts looked like a pair of overstuffed balloons ready to burst, and she was eyeing the leather flogger he’d picked up from her own tools. Layla licked her lips. “You… shouldn’t use that one,” she said carefully, trying not to express any panic. That flogger was for special punishments, the kind she saved for idiots who thought that being groveling pain sluts meant they were able to enjoy even the most severe agony. She’d yet to meet a man who wasn’t sobbing and begging her for mercy after a little while. “That’s the wimpy one I use on soft baby bitches. If you’re going to flog me, use the hard rubber.”

To her regret, he ignored her. Worse, he started by sliding it gently over her tits, which meant he’d recognized exactly what it was for. Layla could do nothing but brace for what came next.

It took a few minutes for the nettles woven into the leather strands to begin taking effect. At first, she just felt MORE: she was acutely aware of the gentle flow of air in the dungeon as it brushed across her flesh, of the drops of blood running down her tits where his knife work had been careless, the many little pinpricks where the nettles had pierced her skin.

Then she began to feel the growing heat, like her breasts were being cooked over an open flame. The temperature quickly transitioned from merely uncomfortable to severe to white hot agony.

But it was the itching that drew an involuntary whimper from Layla. She’d watched in amusement as clients clawed patches of their own flesh off while screaming about millions of bugs under their skin. Whenever it looked like they were in danger of inflicting real harm on themselves, she didn’t go any easier; she just bound their hands.

Now it was her turn to writhe in her bonds, her hands clenched into useless fists, as the overpowering desire to scratch at her swollen tits nearly drove her mad. Her hypersensitive, enflamed, itchy breasts screamed at her for relief she couldn’t supply, the sensations growing crueler with each passing second…

And then he began actually flogging her.

Layla howled as the leather lashed against her balloon sized tits, every fresh welt like a hot poker sizzling against her flesh. She screamed until she was choking on her own spittle as her tormentor struck her dozens, then hundreds of times, seemingly not content to stop until the flogger had licked every inch of sweaty, burning skin.

By the time he was satisfied, the redhead had screamed herself hoarse, and her tits were throbbing orbs of pain. Even now that the flogging had stopped, they remained a source of constant agony, and she knew from experience that it could take hours before the effect of the nettles wore off.

Layla was so distracted by the pain that she barely registered that he was adjusting the height of the tripod. It wasn’t until he took off his pants and squeezed his prick - god, he was so fucking huge! - into the narrow valley between her bulging tits that she realized what he wanted. “D-don’t you fucking dare…” she whispered.

He leered at her. “Welcome to being my fucktoy, bitch.” Then he grabbed two big handfuls and started titfucking her.

The redhead wailed as he crushed her engorged fun bags, his dirty fingernails digging into her bruised flesh hard enough to break the skin. Her breasts felt like they were about to pop as he viciously mashed them against his hard shaft, scrubbing himself with her bloody welts.

The man leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, reducing her screams to soft squeals. He tasted disgusting, like old cigarettes and stale beer, and Layla couldn’t help gagging as his fat tongue hungrily probed her mouth. She tried to push him away with her own tongue, and he responded by slobbering and sucking on hers, mixed drool running down her chin as her attempted resistance was transformed into a sloppy French kiss.

Her squeals rose to a fever pitch as his grip somehow tightened even further on her tits, his calluses palms like sandpaper to her nipples as he bounced her jugs up and down. Semen began to fountain from his cock, and he finally broke off the kiss and released his grip on her tits so he could grab the back of her head and push her face down.

Layla shut her mouth, but not quickly enough to prevent several spurts of cum from shooting between her lips, and she couldn’t do anything about the ones that painted her face. By the time the last drops of his load dribbled down his head and onto her bulging tits, her features were coated in sperm and its taste was heavy on her tongue.

The man breathed a heavy sigh of satisfaction as he wiped his cock clean on her breasts. “Just had to get the edge off, bitch. You’ll need to earn my next load.”

The redhead spat a few times to try and get the taste of him out of her mouth, then gave up. She bared her teeth at him instead. “That what you call not being able to get it up again, pencil dick? Sorry, I don’t have all night to wait around for it to regain that mighty one inch heft.”

Her insults didn’t seem to phase him as he leered at her. “Next time will be straight up your shitter, but not until you learn to beg for it.”

“Do me a favor and whistle ‘Dixie’ when you’re up there,” she retorted. “Otherwise how will I ever know?”

Despite her attitude, Layla felt a knot of anxiety in her gut as he walked away from her to prepare some new torment. This guy was intense, nothing like the usual ones. The only rape she’d had that was worse than this was the real one eight years ago.

And that was good, really. She already wanted to rip this fucker’s eyes out with her nails and shit in the empty sockets, and he hadn’t even stuck his dick in her yet. The leather clad dominatrix could tell that this was the sort of experience that would keep her fueled with rage for a very long time. For the next few years, maybe even all the way through retirement, every pathetic sub who hired her would suffer in this dirtbag’s place.

She just had to make it through this session first.

Her tits were still in agony from the nettles and physical abuse, and her cunt muscles were beginning to cramp against the hard cylinder buried inside her, leaving her insides with a deep and nauseating ache. Her abdominals were so sore after the gut punches that every breath hurt, and her arms and legs felt more uncomfortable in their stringent bondage by the minute.

All of that is to say, Layla was already in a miserable state when she saw him wheeling in the car battery. Two jumper cables were attached to it, their jaws modified to be even stronger and sharper than most brands. A small insulated cable connected the two clamps together, short and stretchy to ensure they would always be taut once attached. It was another torture tool from her own dungeon, but this one was more of a prop than anything else. She often threatened disobedient subs with “frying their cocks off”, but the furthest she’d ever gone was clamping the jaws onto a man’s nipples or nutsack, then letting herself be convinced not to actually run any voltage through.

The redhead prayed the battery didn’t even work, but when he touched the jumper cables together, a bright blue spark danced between them. “Time to burn that stuck up cunt attitude out of you,” he growled. “See you on the other side, fucktoy.”

Layla watched the vicious jaws bite into her swollen, puffy nipples as if in slow motion, their teeth sinking so deeply into the sensitive flesh that blood immediately welled out around them. For a second, perhaps two, she felt nothing much at all, just cool metal against her overheated skin. It was almost soothing.

And then the pain hit her.

The dominatrix knew she should hold still. She’d watched countless men squirm once these were on, and seen how it only made the clamps bite deeper, how the insulated cable between would cruelly tug and stretch them. She knew that no matter how badly this hurt right now, it would be ten times worse if she panicked and started moving.

Knowing this was one thing. Actually following through on it was one of the most difficult tasks of her life. As far as her body and all its millennia old survival instincts were concerned, a wild animal’s jaws were crunching into her flesh, and her only option was to escape. All her mental pleas to stop, to calm down, to resist instead of mindlessly fleeing, were being ignored.

In the end, it was only her hatred that saved Layla. Her pure disgust for this man and everything he represented. She would NOT be weak. She would NOT submit. Through sheer stubborn force of will, she pushed aside the pain and made her body OBEY, dominating it as thoroughly as she had any man. Despite some of the worst pain she’d ever felt, despite her physical and mental exhaustion, and despite her gnawing fear that this session was going too far too fast, she held still. She breathed shallowly, sweat pouring down her body from the effort. She endured.

And then he turned the car battery on.

Layla thrashed from side to side as her hoarse screams echoed through the room. All thoughts of not moving had vanished from her mind. The predator that had her caught in its jaws was chewing, tearing the meat off her bones with teeth that burned hotter than the sun.

For long moments, her body shook and convulsed as voltage ran through it, her mind completely consumed by agony. Layla didn’t remember where she was, or who, or what was happening to her. There was only pain. For a brief moment she wondered if she’d died and gone to Hell, but the idea didn’t stick; she couldn’t imagine even Hell being as terrible as this.

At some point, seconds or minutes or years later, her rapist switched off the voltage, and the pain went from infinite to merely unbearable. She continued to twitch and quiver even without the electricity, and was dimly surprised to notice that her nipples hadn’t actually been ripped off her chest.

The ugly, pockmarked man was watching with a self satisfied smile, and seeing it nearly felt worse than the battery had. He wasn’t just torturing her, he was having the time of his life doing it. He’d enjoyed her suffering almost more than she’d hated it. The thought of being dominated by this sadistic bastard, of this human trash not just getting away with treating her like this, but getting her to actually submit and reward him for the abuse, sent a wave of nausea through her so intense that she nearly vomited.

He met her gaze, matching raw hate with dark glee, and spoke again in his gravelly voice. “Magic phrase is ‘I’ve been a bad girl, so please punish my shithole, master’.”

“Fuck off… shitstain…” she panted back.

He began electrocuting her again.

What came after felt more like a nightmare to Layla than reality. She couldn’t begin to track how much time was passing, or how many times he’d shocked her. All her brain could register was that there were moments where she suffered terribly, and moments that were even worse, and that the latter occurred far more often than the former.

“Stop it…” she found herself mumbling during one of the rare times she wasn’t screaming. “Stop it stop it make it stop…”

“Speak up, bitch,” her torturer snarled, but blessedly, the hand that had been moving to switch the voltage back on paused.

“You… have to stop…” the redhead forced out, her sore throat burning with the effort of speaking above a whisper. “No more… I want to end the session early … I… I’ll pay the full fee… just stop…”

He smirked at her. “What happened to no safe words or limits, slut? You throwing in the towel before we even have a proper fuck?”

She shook her head weakly. “You… you HAVE to stop… killing me…” She didn’t care about finding motivation anymore, or the implications for her career. She didn’t even care if he strutted back to the agency and bragged to everyone there about taming the meanest bitch in Chicago. This was all just too much. He was going to either kill her or break her, and either way her life would be over.

To her relief, he nodded. “Alright,” he said calmly. “I’ll stop.”

“Good…” she breathed, and nearly thanked him. “Now set me-“

“I’ll stop,” he interrupted over her, “when you say the magic phrase, you dumb fucking slut.”

The voltage returned.

“Nooo…” Layla whined when she could talk again. “Have to… have to…”

“I don’t HAVE to do anything, bitch,” he snapped back at her. “If I feel like it, I can just leave this on for good and walk away, let someone find your fried corpse in the morning.”

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare. But… even if he wouldn’t, he COULD, and the thought was an icy ball of fear in the pit of her stomach. No sane person would just leave her to die, especially knowing that he was sure to get caught. But very little about the man struck her as ‘sane’, and it didn’t much matter to her if he spent the rest of his life in jail for it. She’d still be dead.

“I… I’ll pay extra…” she tried. “Double… triple your fee…” She swallowed, and dug deep to find a word that she hadn’t used in years, outside of scornful mocking. A word she could’ve happily gone without for the rest of her life. “…Please…”

He grinned at her, showing off yellowed smoker teeth. “That’s one word down, slut. Just gotta put it together with all the rest.”

The world shattered into endless agony again.

“…Fine…’ she muttered when the pain ebbed. “Just… just do it already…” The thought of anal sex with this horrifying creep made her skin crawl, and the memory of his massive cock sent a shiver down her spine, but she’d meant what she said: this HAD to stop. If that required letting the bastard feel like he’d won for a little while, so be it.

Instead of jumping at her agreement, he gave her a sour scowl. “God, you’re so fucking dumb. If you were even slightly less fuckable, or I didn’t have such a soft spot for uppity red haired cunts, I’d just snap your neck and call it a day.”

“What… more do you want from me?” she breathed, almost more frustrated than afraid now. “I’m saying I’ll … let you fuck me, like you wanted!” Even her actual rapist eight years ago hadn’t achieved that. Everything he’d taken from her had been by force. He might have physically dominated her, but she’d never submitted to him. Didn’t this idiot realize she was giving up and handing herself to him?

“‘Let’,” the creep repeated slowly, savoring the word. “You’ll LET me fuck you.”

“Yes!” Layla hissed. “So hurry up and get it over-“

He’d cut her off with his hand around her throat. The redhead’s eyes bulged, her mouth flapping helplessly as she stared at his expression of rage. This wasn’t like the last time he’d grabbed her. He wasn’t trying to choke her, he was crushing her windpipe.

Something in her throat creaked as his grip tightened. “Fucktoys don’t let their owners fuck them,” he growled. “They BEG for it, just like they beg for everything else, because they are weak, pathetic little bugs that live to serve their betters.”

Layla squawked something unintelligible at him as her head pounded and her vision grew dark. She didn’t even know if she was trying to apologize, or demand he let go, or even beg for her life. She just knew that her life was literally in his hands right now, and he was about to kill her.

“Last. Chance.” He spat the words. “Say it, or we’re done.”

His grip eased only slightly, just enough to let her draw in a faint trickle of breath. His fingers were like iron, ready to clench harder than ever and end her life. “I’ve… been… a bad… girl… master…” Layla gasped. “Please… punish… my… shithole…”

His hand mercifully loosened, and the redhead gratefully gulped in air, her head still swimming from asphyxiation. “Was that so hard?” he said scornfully as she tried to recover. “Stuck up cunt. If you’d just said that an hour ago, I’d be in your guts already. Gonna make you regret giving your owner blue balls.”

While Layla caught her breath, she tried not to think about how low she’d fallen. She’d always thought that she was someone who’d rather die than submit to a man, and yet she’d done it. This man was clearly some kind of deranged psychopath, she reminded herself. A sick fuck abusing the roleplay agency to enact his own disgusting fantasies.

If she was lucky, he’d been dumb enough to register there with his real name, and he’d rot in prison for this once she contacted the police. But she couldn’t allow herself to think about that right now. The important thing right now was to get out of this session alive. Everything else, including thoughts of revenge and her wounded self respect, had to be a distant second.

After his talk about blue balls, Layla expected him to waste no time sticking his cock in her, but she was surprised and horrified to see him instead going back to her tools, and the dominatrix’s heart sank when she what he wanted: the curling iron.

She gulped, tamping down her initial instinct to yell at him to put that fucking thing down. He’d made it very clear that he didn’t like being told what to do. Shame crept up her cheeks as she forced herself to try a more compromising approach. “Don’t you… want to fuck my ass? Master?” Adding that last word made her stomach churn, but she’d watched too many subs screaming while she used that iron on them. “Why don’t we, um, play with that later?” Much, much later, you fucking freak, she added silently.

“Anyone ever told you how stupid you are?” he said, still studying the iron and its controls. “Before me, that is. Even among fucktoys, you’re one of the dumbest I’ve ever met.”

She glared at him, then quickly wiped the look off her face. “I… I’ve had critics…”

“Yeah, I fucking bet,” he said, and looked up from the curling iron. “Told you I wasn’t going to fuck your ass until you begged for it.”

“And, and I did,” she reminded him. Fearful that correcting him might set him off, she added a belated “master”.

“See? Fucking stupid. You begged me to punish your shithole, idiot.” He pointed the iron at her. “And that’s what this is for. The buttfucking comes later.”

A lump rose in Layla’s throat. He meant it. She was in so much pain, and had submitted so deeply, and he STILL wasn’t done torturing her? “Please, m-master…” she stuttered as he began to approach, terror making her stumble over her words. Begging for mercy wouldn’t work. From one sadist to another, she knew it would just make him enjoy himself more. “Can you, p-please, at least remove the, the clamps?”

The jumper cables were still attached to her nipples, still causing a constant thrum of pain that spiked with every breath. Even he had to understand that it was all too much: her stuffed cunt, her restrained limbs, her aching stomach, her itchy burning breasts, her clamped nipples… to add another torture on top of all that was literally crazy. There was sadism, and then there was sheer insanity.

She nearly melted in relief when he paused and nodded. “Battery was fun, but we got lots of other ways to break a bitch here,” he said. “And I wouldn’t want you getting bored.”

“Y-yes,” she agreed. “That’s, that’s so smart!” Maybe like so many other men, he was weak to compliments. If she could beg him to do horrible things to her intestines, she could pretend he wasn’t a hideous monster who deserved to have his balls ripped off.

She was so relieved at the prospect of her nipples finally getting a break, she didn’t think about why he was holding a pair of scissors. It wasn’t until he sliced through the main cables connecting the cruel clamps to the battery, leaving them still attached to each other by the much shorter insulated cable, that she realized something was wrong. “Um…” Layla began, not sure how to broach the subject without angering him.

“You got a problem with your new jewelry, bitch?” he asked coldly.

New… Layla looked down at the sharp jaws buried in her nipples, and the taut cable between them that was still tugging painfully on both. He wasn’t going to remove them, she realized with a sinking feeling. Not now, not when he finally raped her ass, not until he was done with her. The ever present pain in her tits seemed to grow even worse with the knowledge that it wasn’t going to end any time soon. “Y-you can’t be serious…” she said weakly.

She wasn’t even trying to talk back for once. She was just in pure disbelief that someone could hate another person this much. She’d made her entire living off of hatred and sadism, and even for her this was ridiculous. They’d never even met before - his wasn’t a face she’d ever forget - and yet somehow no amount of her suffering seemed to be enough to satisfy him.

Unfortunately, he didn’t take her statement the same way, because he hooked his index finger in the cable and pulled. The redhead shrieked as the pain immediately intensified, her nipples stretching obscenely far. “Thank you for my new jewelry, master!” he bellowed over her screams. “Your fucktoy will wear it forever!”

She screamed out the words through gritted teeth. “Thank you… for… my new jewelry… master! Your… fucktoy… will… wear it… forever!”

He released the cable and shook his head. “Fucking idiot,” he growled, and there was such genuine contempt in his tone that Layla agreed with him. What was the point of expressing her opinions around him, as though it accomplished anything other than giving him a new avenue or excuse to hurt her? Why did she keep pretending he wasn’t the one with all the power here?

“And yeah, you fucking will,” he added from behind her. She’d been so preoccupied with self recrimination, she hadn’t noticed him moving. “Because they’re permanent, slut. Gonna fucking bury you with them someday.”

“Permanent?!” she hissed, too shocked and dismayed at the idea to hold her tongue. And what the hell was this talk about burying her? Her temper rose again, and this time she couldn’t stop it, already forgetting the lesson she’d just learned. “What the FUCK is wrong with you?! You think, what, you’re gonna blackmail me after this, make me keep crawling back for more? Or are you just so fucking full of yourself that you think one night of half assed torture is gonna make me fawn over you the rest of my life and become your simpering little fucktoy?!

Instead of answering, he rammed the curling iron straight up her ass.

The metal was thin, but her asshole was tight; she hadn’t had anything up there since last year’s rape session, and that pansy had used lube. Her rectum walls protested as they stuck to the iron and were then ripped away as eleven inches of unyielding steel drilled into her.

Layla grunted in pain. She felt a deep ache in her bowels, and the uncomfortable sense that her intestines had been rearranged to accommodate the thing. It hurt, but she knew it was going to get much worse very soon. Her anger was already fading, beaten down by the physical reminder in her guts that he could do whatever he wanted to her right now. He was right: she was so fucking stupid. If she just did what he wanted, and didn’t keep opening her fucking mouth, he might be done already. At the very least, she’d be in far less pain.

“You ever play games with your submissives?” he asked. His mouth was right by her ear, and she suppressed a grimace as his foul breath rolled over her face.

“S-Sometimes,” she admitted. She didn’t know why he was asking, but she wasn’t going to complain about the iron not turning on. She kept talking, hoping to draw this out further. “Last week I made one masturbate without finishing while I-“

She yelped as he gave her rear a hard spank. “Don’t care. We’re gonna play a game too. You’re going to tell me why I should take this curling iron out and stuff my cock up your guts instead. You give me a good answer, you get your wish. You fuck up…” There was a hum as he clicked the iron on. “We go to the next setting and you try again.”

Layla’s mind raced as the metal slowly heated inside her. She tried to remember how many settings the thing had. Five? Six? She normally used it at three with her subs, she remembered that much. The warmth wasn’t bad right now, almost pleasant, but she had two attempts at most before that changed.

She took a deep breath and focused, trying to think her way out of this. She had to figure out what he wanted to hear from her. It couldn’t just be simple begging, that would be too easy. Did he want her to demean herself? Or maybe…?

There was another click, the hum shifted tone, and the iron immediately became much less pleasant, though not outright painful. “I, I didn’t answer yet!” Layla snapped, angry at him for breaking his own damn rule.

“I ain’t waiting all fucking day,” he replied. “Ten seconds before we step it up again.”

“That’s not enough-!” she began to hiss, then stopped herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Arguing with him wasn’t going to accomplish anything, and the clock was ticking. “I, I, uh, I BEG you to fuck my ass because I hate anal!” That was true - she found it disgusting and demeaning even in the best circumstances - and she was proud of herself for remembering to include the word ‘beg’.

Another click, and Layla stiffened as the iron began to burn her insides. “Could care less what fucktoys like or don’t like,” said her torturer. “Try again.”

It HURT. The redhead felt like she was being cooked alive, and there was nothing she could do to ease the pain, nowhere to go or shift to evade eleven inches of burning metal inside her. And of course every pained movement brought fresh agony from her nipple clamps, and made the thick cylinder still stretching her cunt stir her insides. Panic filled her as she realized she only had a few seconds to come up with a new answer, and if she failed it was going to get even worse. “B-because you… it… because it will feel so good! It will be soft and tight and hot and and… and you’ll love it!”

To her horror, there was another click. “Don’t tell me what I will and won’t like,” he grumbled. “Arrogant fucking cunt.”

Her insides were no longer being cooked. They were roasting, and Layla wanted to howl at the searing agony of it. This wasn’t just torture, it was mutilation! He was going to destroy her asshole if she didn’t find the right answer soon. “I… um… because…” she said frantically, forcing the need to keep screaming down, trying to think through the pain and terror. “Um… it… it… you…”

Click. “Out of time,” he said calmly.

She could no longer hold back her cries. “I don’t knowww!” she wailed, certain that this was killing her. “I don’t know what you want! Please, just fuck my ass! I need you to fuck my ass! Pleaaaase!”

“There,” he said with clear satisfaction, and the curling iron began to cool. “You’re finally beginning to sound like a proper fucktoy.”

She screamed again as he yanked the iron out of her, taking quite a bit of her flesh along with it. He peeled her butt cheeks apart, and she winced as the air touched her savaged rectum. “You wanted to know my long term plans for you?” he asked. One of his fingers penetrated her, and it felt like being stabbed by a knife. “Hmmm, tender, raw, and hot,” he said, ignoring her shriek. “Swelling too. Gonna have a hard time squeezing a pin in there soon. You were right, bitch, I am gonna love fucking this shithole.”

His finger pumped in and out of her, opening her up in preparation for his cock. “Since you’re too fucking stupid to realize it yourself, guess I have to spell it out: I’m not from your make pretend agency.”

Layla’s face paled, and the anxiety that had been eating away at her all night blossomed into mad terror. “But, but you…!” she sputtered. He had to be lying, bluffing, trying to scare her as another cruel game. “I made an appointment!” There was no way someone just happened to break into her place of business to rape her at the exact same time, a time when she wasn’t normally even here.

“Yeah, and I drove the little twerp here,” he told her. “Kid was so nervous he looked like he was about to throw up in my car. Heard allllll about you and your reputation from him. Told him I had a bit of experience in the bedroom, offered to take over for him. Bitch wants to be raped, and one stranger is as good as any other, right?”

Layla’s heart was pounding in her ears as she tried to keep the panic out of her voice, and hide how terrified she felt right now. “You think I won’t go to the police after this? You think there aren’t receipts and cameras that can track you down?”

He laughed, sounding completely confident. “You think you’ll ever get the chance? After you’re done draining my balls, you’re going into my trunk, bitch, and then into my basement. Bet I can get a few good years out of you before I bury you.”

No. No no no no no. The thought of spending the rest of her life like this, with him, made hot urine trickle down the tripod. “Y-you won’t get away with it,” she insisted as she pissed herself, her voice small and weak even to her own ears.

He twisted his finger inside her, then pulled it out with an audible pop. “You let me worry about the big picture, bitch. You focus on the only thing important anymore: keeping me and my dick happy.”

Layla couldn’t stop a whimper as she felt his hard cockhead poke the puffy, burnt flesh of her asshole, drawing her attention away from the horrifying future he was suggesting and back on the equally horrifying present. The light contact was enough to send a shiver of pain through her. He felt impossibly thick as he began applying slow pressure against her hole. Under normal circumstances, anal sex with a man that big would be awful. With her pussy already stuffed, it was going to be pure torture. And with her insides already tenderized…

She whimpered again.

“You want me to fuck you slow?” He whispered harshly into her ear, still applying steady pressure. “If I ease my rod gently in instead of just stuffing your shithole, will you reward me for it? Will you worship my prick with your raw guts to thank me for being so kind?”

Layla opened her mouth to tell him to go fuck himself, but the words wouldn’t come out. She hated this disgusting freak, hated him so fucking much… but she feared him more. In the same way, she didn’t want to play his sick mind games, but she REALLY didn’t want to know what he’d do if she didn’t play along,

The redhead blinked away tears at the realization that he’d broken her. Not completely, or past the point of recovery, but the night wasn’t over yet, and if he wasn’t bluffing, this was only the beginning. “Yes,” she said meekly. “Yes, please, yes. Please go slow, m-master.”

“Well. I prefer my buttfucks fast and hard,” he whispered, glee in his voice. “Which one of us do think will get what they want?”

She couldn’t stop the tears this time. Or the shriek of pain when he tugged on her nipple clamps. “Which one of us, whore?” he hissed.

“Y-you…” she whimpered.

He laughed. “Guess even the dumbest bitches can learn a thing or two.”

He reared his hips back, then thrust forward. When his rock hard head of his prick struck her spongy, swollen entrance, it felt like a baseball bat to her kidneys, and Layla gasped in pain. She could feel his cock pushing against the clenched, too narrow entrance of her sphincter, trying to wedge itself in. She willed herself to relax, to let this happen, but her body wouldn’t listen. It was certain that this invader would split her in half if it got through, and she didn’t know if it was wrong.

Her sphincter held, and his cock rebounded off, but a moment later he was slamming into her a second time, and then a third, and a fourth. Her muscles paid for each victory, growing weaker and half numb while he remained as solid and eager as ever.

“That’s how it’s going to be from now on,” he growled as he rammed against her defenses again. “For the rest of your pitiful life. I get whatever I want…” *slam* “…and you…” *slam* “…get FUCKED!”

His last thrust smashed right through her sphincter and left five inches of thick cock buried in her guts.

Layla opened her mouth to scream as she was ripped open, but even as she sucked in breath, he was already pulling out, exiting as roughly as he’d entered, and then pushing right back in, sinking six inches into her this time. Out again, her asshole gaping as his head popped free, and then drilling back in, deeper and deeper and deeper each time. The redhead’s mouth flapped open, no sound coming out, as he fucked his way into her ass like a jackhammer breaking new ground.

After every thrust, she prayed that he’d finally squeezed every last inch of his cock into her, but somehow there was always more. His bulbous head pummeled its way further and further into her, plunging into depths even the curling iron hadn’t reached. By the time his balls smacked against her taint, she felt utterly, impossibly stuffed, impaled on a throbbing rod that felt as long and thick as her own arm.

Then he grabbed two handfuls of beaten, swollen, nettle lashed titmeat for leverage, and began to fuck her.

Layla howled and sobbed as her tight, tenderized guts were pounded like a cheap fleshlight. It wasn’t just her hollowed out bowels being tortured; his thick hands were mashing and squeezing her breasts as though he was competing to see where he could make her hurt more. Her clamps bounced and rattled in the commotion like two rabid dogs trying to chew off her nipples.

And somehow, the worst part of all was his voice by her ear, gloating over his conquest of her. “Sniveling little bitch. One cock up the ass is all it took to make you cry like a baby. You thought a pathetic cunt like you could pretend to be a dominatrix? How fucking stupid must your clients be to let such an obvious fake boss them around? You’re not a top. You’re not even a bottom. You’re just a squirming bug in the dirt.”

When he came a few minutes later, his hot spunk in her raw guts felt like he’d set off fireworks inside of her. But despite the pain, she blubbered with relief to feel his cum being pumped into her guts. It was over.

His left hand continued playing with her sore tits as his erection shrank inside her. He wasn’t as rough as before, but it was more than enough to make her whimper in pain. Even after he’d gone completely soft, he still felt massive, and was thick enough to plug her asshole and prevent any of his cum from leaking out. Layla bit her lip, hoping he would pull out soon and stop groping her.

More hot liquid suddenly spurted into her bowels. The redhead was confused, but only for a moment, then understanding sunk in. It was piss. He was taking a piss in her ass. He didn’t even comment about it, like it was the most natural thing in the world to do after anal sex.

She should curse at him for this. Call him a disgusting freak, and demand that he stop. She couldn’t just say NOTHING. That would practically be consent, a silent agreement that her ass was meant to be pissed in.

But when Layla pictured herself saying anything at all to him, even a polite request to reconsider his actions, fear ran down her back like ice water. He didn’t like being told off. He would make her pay for it, and he’d already made her pay for so much.

So she remained docile and quiet, feeling like the lowest and most pathetic woman in the world, as he used her guts as a urinal.

“What’s your password, bitch?” he asked abruptly after his stream trickled to a finish.

“My what?” she asked, caught off guard by the non sequitor, and then noticed he was holding her phone in his right hand and looking at the lock screen. “How did you-?”

He cut her off by tugging on her nipple clamps, transforming her question into a yelp of pain. “Password!” he snapped.

“Uh, 1127!” she said quickly, before he decided to punish her further. Why the hell did he have her phone?

It didn’t take long for her to find out. He pointed the screen at her, and she saw he was on the video tab. “You’re retiring,” he told her. “Today. Permanently.”

Layla began to protest, but the words died in her throat. Right, because… because this was her life now. And even if it wasn’t, she couldn’t do her job, not anymore. Her entire business was fueled on hating men, not being terrified of them. She tried to picture herself dealing with one of her clients, and it just felt wrong. Why would anyone, even a submissive masochist, ever listen to HER? How could she tease and bully them like usual when at any moment any of them could just throw her to the ground, tear off her bodysuit, and… she shivered in fear at the image.

“Alright,” she said, and then squealed when he tugged her clamps again.

“Mind your fucking manners when you talk to me,” he snarled.

“Alright master!” she amended meekly, and hated how that word felt more natural every time she used it.

“All those clients of yours might be suckers, but they still deserve an explanation for why no one’s ever gonna see you again,” he told her. “So you’re going to give them one.”

“Wh-what should I tell them?” She asked, and then quickly remembered. “Master! What should I tell them, master?”

“What the fuck do you THINK you should say?” he answered back, in a tone that suggested that somehow she was managing to be even dumber than he’d already thought she was.

The video didn’t take long to record. He kept the camera trained on her face, so nobody could tell that she was tied up, beaten, and still being groped by a man whose limp dick was resting inside her piss soaked ass. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but that fit the mood they were going for.

“After… careful self-reflection,” Layla announced, “I’ve realized that I can’t keep lying to you all. I have…” She winced, both at what she was saying and her rapist’s thumb digging into one of her bruises. “I have been pretending to be a dominatrix all these years. I don’t… I don’t actually enjoy dominating men, I just needed the money. And I stole all my ideas and… and everything, from other people, so that I could trick you into thinking I knew what I was doing. I’m… I’m truly sorry to have taken advantage of you all, and I promise that I… that I’ll never lie and call myself a dominatrix ever again. Thank you.”

The former dominatrix felt numb as she watched him upload the video to all her social media platforms after reviewing it for any red flags. Her life was over, and so was her career. Even if someone stopped this monster, even if she was rushed to a hospital and woke up with every scar healed and feeling just like her old self, how could she explain what she’d just told everyone? The truth would ruin her reputation as thoroughly as the lie.

She was so focused on her future, it took her a few moments to realize that his soft cock didn’t feel nearly as soft anymore. “No…” she whimpered, as it swelled and hardened inside her. “No… not again… not already…”

“Stupid bitch,” he said sourly. “You think I’m just gonna fuck your ass again like this?”

“Y-you’re not?” she asked, not daring to hope for mercy.

She realized her mistake a moment before his fist slammed into her kidney. “Master!” she yelled belatedly as her insides cramped and shuddered. “Master! I’m sorry, I won’t forget again, I-“

His second punch made her retch, and Layla knew her stomach couldn’t withstand another one. She continued apologizing as quickly as she could, while mentally screaming at herself for still being such a goddamned idiot. “I’m sorry master I’m sorry master I’m sorry master I’m sor-“

After the third blow to her kidneys, her dinner finally rose up, and Layla vomited all over the floor. He didn’t even pause.

Bile was still drooling from her mouth when he was finally satisfied. What was left of her bodysuit hid the damage, but after more than a dozen hard punches to each side, she was certain the skin beneath was black and blue. It hurt to breathe, and there were sharp pains deep inside her abdomen, like it had been filled with broken glass.

She wheezed roughly as his left hand went back to pawing her tits while his right slid down to her crotch. His fingernails found her clitoris, and she squirmed as he found yet another way to hurt her. “Not gonna fuck you until you beg for it, slut,” he hissed as his dirty nails dug into her nub. “Fucktoys ALWAYS beg before they get my cock.”

“Pleaaaase master!” Layla wailed, caught between pinned clitoris, groped tits, and stuffed guts. “Please fuck my ass!”

He responded by pinching even harder, “You gonna just sit there and cry again? Make me do all the fucking work? Or are you gonna clench that butt like a proper fucktoy this time?”

“N-no master! I, I’ll be a proper fucktoy!” she promised, and even tried to demonstrate by gripping his full length inside her. It felt like digging her fingers into an open wound, and she moaned in pain, but that didn’t stop her from doing it again.

He didn’t say anything further, just grabbed both her tits and began reaming her out again.

Layla’s second anal rape managed to be even worse than the first. Between her rapist taking longer after finishing so recently, the urine stinging her raw rectum walls, and the humiliation and agony of rhythmically clamping down on his shaft to help him enjoy raping her even more, she was soon sobbing once more.

She more than half expected him to go for a third round when it was over, but instead he finally pulled out of her ass, though not before giving her a warning. “That piss and cum belongs in you, not on the floor,” he said harshly. “You let a single drop spill, you’ll be licking it up while I take a whip to your ass, understand?”

“Yes master!” she said quickly, and clenched her ass as tightly as she could, even though it made all the muscles scream in protest. She’d learned a new mantra during her second ass fuck, and she repeated it to herself now. It’s better than making him mad. It’s better than making him mad…

“About time you got to suck my dick,” he told her.

Revulsion rippled through her, but she steeled herself. It’s not like she hadn’t expected something like this. “Yes master!”

He picked something up. “Some fucktoys think they’re smarter than me, you know that?”

“N- not me, master!” Layla said nervously. “I, I’m just a, a stupid bitch, like you keep telling me.” The words felt sincere and true.

“Mmm hmm,” he agreed. “But even some of the stupidest ones, when my cock is in their mouth, start getting ideas. Thinking I don’t realize I’ve stuck my prick in a hole with teeth.” He showed her the pliers he was holding. “You know what I do to fucktoys who think they’re smart?”

“I won’t bite, master, I swear!” Layla insisted. To her shame, the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. She wouldn’t dare try anything like that with him.

“I know,” he said, and smirked at her. “You were a little wild at first, but you broke easy enough. Just a tamed slut now, eager to please.”

“Y- yes, master…” she said, and tried to pretend she was lying.

“But you need to know what would happen if you did bite,” he told her, and brought the pliers up to her mouth. “And fucktoys need object lessons to remember anything. Open wide.”

The redhead obeyed, shivering as he angled the pliers past her lips. “We’ll do one of the back ones, less noticeable.” The metal gripped one of her molars. “On three. One, two- “

He yanked hard, and the tooth came out in a spray of blood and hot pain. Layla whimpered loudly, but kept her mouth open as he leaned in and inspected the site. “Clean break.” He dropped the bloody molar on her tongue. “Swallow.”

She stared at him in disbelief, and his eyes narrowed. She flinched, and quickly swallowed. “You start thinking you’re smart, we do the other thirty one,” he told her.

“Y-yes, master.” She could feel the tiny lump in her stomach.

He didn’t give her long to dwell on it, adjusting the tripod to put her mouth at crotch level. This gave her a good look at his cock for the first time since he’d raped her ass, and what she saw made her gag. As she’d already felt, he was massive even when soft, and his entire length was covered in a brownish, sticky residue. That had to be his piss and cum, her blood, and… “Time to suck your shit off my cock, slut,” he said.

She retched at the command, and nearly threw up again. He didn’t seem surprised or concerned by her reaction. How was she going to explain that she couldn’t do something that disgusting.

…She wasn’t. Because even as she tried to think of what to say, Layla realized she was going to end up doing it. It was exactly as he’d told her earlier: he got whatever he wanted, and she got fucked.

Fresh tears began to leak from her eyes. Not because she’d already accepted that she was going to obey his sick request, and not because she wasn’t going to even beg him to reconsider, let alone try to make him. Layla wept because she knew that there was something else he wanted too, and he wasn’t even going to have to ask. His fucktoy wouldn’t dare upset him by making him remind her again.

So as the tears spilled down her cheek, the redhead met her owner’s eyes, and said, voice cracking, “Yes master, please let me suck my shit off your cock.”

The residue on his shaft was bitter and foul and slimy, and Layla did her best to smile for her phone camera while she slowly lapped it off of him. She had no idea what her master intended for the video - would he post it publicly to further humiliate her, keep it as blackmail, save it for a private collection? He didn’t tell her, and it wasn’t her place to ask. Her job right now was to smile and taste her own asshole while keeping her butt clenched for her master’s piss and cum, and that’s what she did.

He began to grow hard again when she was half finished, and she didn’t wait for him to give the order. “May I please suck your cock after I’m done cleaning it, master?”

“Knock yourself out, slut,” he told her, and she felt something almost like gratitude. He’d barely even insulted her. God, this was all so much easier when she was obedient. Why had she been so fucking stupid before, pretending she was too good for this?

The redhead did her best to finish cleaning him quickly, anxious of being perceived as lazy or unwilling. Her tongue diligently explored every bump and vein on him, making sure every last trace of filth was transferred from his cock to her stomach.

Fear did nothing to stop the humiliation. This man had tortured her, raped her, intended to kidnap, enslave, and someday murder her, and how was she answering his cruelty? With a warm tongue bath and a smile. Layla tried to remind herself how much she hated this creep, but she couldn’t tear her thoughts away from how pathetic SHE was.

He casually kicked her in the stomach, making her groan. “Don’t ignore my balls, bitch.”

“Yes master, sorry master,” the former dominatrix said quickly, lowering her head to start spitshining his nuts. Stupid stupid stupid, she screamed at herself. Why was she always so fucking stupid?

When she was certain that she’d cleaned every last inch of him, and left no room for criticism, Layla wasted no time opening wide and mouthing his cock. Its fat mushroom head, slick with her spit, popped in easily enough, but he was still a massive slab of meat in her mouth, thick enough to leave her lips stretched painfully around his shaft.

She’d never given more than a handful of blowjobs in her entire life, and had thoroughly hated every one of them; even in her private relationships, sex was always about pleasing her, not her partner. Layla did her best now to make up for lack of experience with enthusiasm, slobbering all over his shaft with her tongue while trying to purse her sore lips around him. A sloppy, eager blowjob to please her rapist.

It didn’t work. “Can’t even do this right,” he muttered with contempt as he pulled out of her. She flinched, ready to be kicked or hit again, but instead he surprised her by taking her nipple clamps off.

A wave of pure relief washed over the redhead as the terrible biting pain in her chest finally vanished, but it only lasted a few seconds. As blood flowed back into her chewed, compressed flesh, it started to throb with fresh agony. Layla cried out, her sensitive nipples on fire from the pain and feeling worse with each heartbeat.

When he began groping her chest, pushing her beaten and swollen tits together, her first thought was that he’d decided to titfuck her again. But when he pinched her nipples in place with one hand, rubbing them against one another, and picked up the clamps with the other, she knew better. “Please master,” she begged. “I’ll suck better, I promise! One more chance and it’ll be the best blowjob in the world, I swear, the best you’ve ever-“

The clamp bit into both her nipples, a single set of jaws trapping them both together. The brief respite made the return hurt worse than ever, but the pain wasn’t why she began babbling, the words tripping over each other and running together in her desperation to tell him what a wonderful blowjob she’d give him if he stopped. Her panic was because he took the other clamp and began pulling it down, towards her crotch.

“It’ll kill me master, please,” she insisted as his fingers sought out her clitoris again. “You don’t have to do this, I’ll suck you so good, please let me suck you it’s all I’ve ever wanted.” The cable between the clamps was drawn farther and tighter than ever before, visibly stretching her nipples even as the metal teeth sank deeper into them. “Please master I’m sorry I’m sorry I couldn’t suck your cock right please I’ll try harder next time I promise I’ll do better let me suck you pleaaaaase!”

The other clamp snapped shut on her clitoris.

Layla screamed as its jaws immediately crushed her sensitive flesh and yanked it at the same time, stretching her trapped clit upwards. Her owner gave the taut cable an experimental twang, and the effect was immediate and terrible. Her nipples and clitoris felt like they were being ripped off of her. She wished they would, because that would at least end this torment.

He kept toying with the cable with one hand, tugging it this way and that to see what reactions it garnered. His other hand grabbed her long ponytail and wrapped it around his fist. Layla’s mouth hung open, screams pouring out in an endless litany, as he used her hair like a handle, tilting her head until his cock pointed directly at that wailing hole.

He waited, yanking the cable harder with each passing second.

Part of her couldn’t believe he was still going to insist on this final humiliation, that it still wasn’t enough for him to just hurt and rape her. The rest of her couldn’t believe she was so stupid she hadn’t anticipated this. “PEEEEEESH!!” she screeched, struggling to transform incoherent wails into the words he demanded. “FUHHHHH MYYYY THOAAAAAT!! MAHHHH STUHHH!!”

And then he did.

Her throat offered even less of a fight than her asshole had. He didn’t bother moving his hips, using her pony tail handle to slam her face into his crotch. It took only two tries to force open the entrance and bury his colossal shaft down her gullet, and one more to press her nose against his wiry black pubes, his entire member encased in her throat as she screamed and screamed.

He pulled her tightly gripped ponytail away from him, inch after inch of his meat emerging from her lips like a grotesque magic trick, until all that remained was his head in her mouth, an overgrown mushroom that her cheeks bulged around. Then he pulled her ponytail back towards him, his head barreling through the entrance of her throat with barely any resistance, and followed by his rock hard shaft. He repeated these two actions over and over, moving more quickly each time as her throat opened for him.

The experience was dizzying, nauseating, and utterly humiliating. It didn’t even feel like sex to Layla as pumped his entire length in and out of her throat. He wasn’t fucking her so much as USING her, treating her head as a masturbatory tool.

That didn’t mean she ever considered biting, of course. She even rolled her lips to cover her teeth, terrified of accidental contact being interpreted as an attack. Her main concern, as her esophagus was brutally ramrodded, as her breath was reduced to tiny gasps every time he pulled back, was how to keep him happy while he throatfucked her.

Her owner mostly left her clamps alone once he’d gotten started, but occasionally he’d flick the cable when he had new orders to impart. “Eyes up, bitch!” “Who told you to stop using your tongue?!” “Smile you weepy cunt!” She quickly followed each one, staring up into his eyes, caressing his prick as it passed through her mouth, forcing her stretched lips into something that could pass for a smile. After all, if she couldn’t please him with a throatfuck, he’d only find worse ways to enjoy her.

After an eternity, he slammed her face into his crotch a final time, and Layla felt warm jizz spurting down her throat. She didn’t let that distract her: eyes up, tongue busy, smile on. Until her master made it clear that he was done, she was going to keep servicing him. Even as he softened in her mouth, she kept slurping and sucking, fearful that he might be upset if she left any traces of cum on him.

As his member slipped out of her, she prayed that this fourth ejaculation was his last of the night. It wouldn’t be the end of this nightmare, but right now she’d sell her soul for just a small break, just a few minutes where she wasn’t being tortured or fucked or made to humiliate herself. They’d been at this for hours, and she felt like she hadn’t even managed to catch her breath at any point.

Her meager hopes were dashed when he grabbed her by the neck again. Her cunt had molded itself around the tripod by now, and it protested as he lifted her off of it. Layla felt her pussy lips gaping obscenely open as the thing popped out of her, and then she was being thrown to the ground. With her arms and legs bound, she couldn’t protect herself, and her body smacked painfully against the concrete.

He kicked her in the ribs, eliciting a pained yelp. “Get up, bitch!” he yelled. “All fours and crawl! Been lazing about on your fucktoy throne all night. Time to get some exercise!”

She tried to obey, she genuinely did. But every muscle in her body felt exhausted and overworked, and her adrenaline had long run dry. Just trying to roll over onto her stomach made everything hurt more: her abraded throat, her swollen tits, her scorched asshole, her aching kidneys, her pinned nipples, her bruised stomach, her gaping cunt, her tight bondage, her stretched clitoris… she flopped bonelessly to the floor, certain that each and every part of her body was in more pain than it had ever experienced before. Even breathing in and out felt like a colossal effort.

“I… I can’t, master…” she wheezed. “I… I’m sorry… I just… can’t…” Pathetic, frustrated tears ran down her cheeks. “You’re… you’re killing me…” Why couldn’t he understand that?

Layla expected him to yell at her and kick her some more, but he just nodded and sat down next to her, cross legged. His discarded pants were nearby, and he dragged them over with one hand, pulling out a worn pack of cigarettes and a lighter from a back pocket.

She eyed both warily, but after he’d lit a cigarette, he just puffed on it contemplatively, staring off into space. She couldn’t move and didn’t dare speak, so she just watched in silence, waiting to be punished again.

“Got a nephew,” he said eventually. “Good kid, good future, not like me.” He smirked. “Got my sister’s looks, not mine, thank God.” The smirk faded. “Killed himself two years back.”

“I… I’m sorry for your loss… master…” Layla whispered.

He didn’t respond or look at her, just finished the cigarette, threw the butt away, and lit another. “He fell for the wrong girl, got taken advantage of, ended up thinking it was the only way out. It happens. Life goes on, with or without.”

She couldn’t think of anything more to say beyond empty platitudes, and didn’t want to break this fragile, precious chance to rest. He blew out more smoke, watched it drift towards the ceiling. “Then I’m giving some guy a ride, and he’s telling me this crazy story about this woman he’s been hired to rape, and the reputation she has, and I think to myself, that sounds familiar.”

The pit in Layla’s stomach dropped. “I… I don’t… I never…”

He spoke over her. “Made some calls after, asked my sister if she still had his computer. Needed to be sure I wasn’t remembering wrong. But it turned out, yeah, he’d gone to see some big time dominatrix, had a real bad time, and ran out. Then she emailed him a video of some of the stuff they’d done, and a bunch of cutesy little comments. ‘Can’t help wondering what your boss would think if she ever saw the real you.’ ‘Ever imagine how your parents would react if they knew what a freak you were?’ ‘I’d never send this to anyone, of course, but isn’t it fun to think about?’”

Oh god, she… she remembered him. She even remembered his name. It had been right after her last “rape” session. She’d gone to work the next day all fired up, and her very first appointment had been this kid, barely legal and clearly inexperienced. She’d known the moment she saw him that he was going to be a runner, so she’d decided to have some fun with him. Put him through his paces and give him something to really cry about.

She remembered sending that email too. She’d never had any real intention of exposing him, but suggesting it had seemed like a harmless prank. She’d imagined him in a state of constant terror for weeks, expecting his life to come crashing down at any moment, and at the time, it had sounded like the most hilarious thing in the world. When she never heard from him again, she just let it slip from her mind.

“I didn’t know…” she whispered. “And I never meant… I… I… I’m SORRY…”

He finally looked her in the eyes, and she saw the utter loathing in them again. But not for women in general, or for dominatrixes, as she’d previously thought. Loathing for her, personally. He held more hatred for her than she’d carried in her entire life.

“Don’t waste my time with apologies,” he told her with a sneer. “The only man who could’ve forgiven what you did is two years in the ground, bitch. I’m just karma.”

He took what remained of his cigarette and stubbed it out on her forehead.

Layla screamed and tried to twist her head away from him, but her body was too sluggish. She heard her own flesh sizzling, felt the heat inside her skull. Even after he tossed the butt away, her skin still felt like it was burning.

“Don’t care what any of this costs you,” he said darkly as he lit another. “Don’t care if you’re a cripple before the night ends, or die in my trunk while we’re going home. You’re nothing but a fucktoy, and you’re going to CRAWL.”

He put this one out on her inner thigh, right next to her still distended labia, and even as she screamed in agony, the redhead knew then that this was about to get much worse. Her limbs shook like leaves as she tried to get them under herself and avoid what was coming. The couple minutes of rest hadn’t restored any of her stamina, just tricked her wounded body into thinking the danger had passed. Now her muscles protested more than ever, refusing to be put to work again so soon.

In this bondage, all fours meant knees and elbows. She managed the unfamiliar position for maybe half a second before her precarious balance failed and she was sprawled on the floor again, helpless as her master leaned in with the next cigarette.

This one he put out on her pussy lips, directly on the exposed inner folds. She shrieked and pissed herself again as he pressed the red hot tip in and held it there. The pain actually eased slightly as he applied pressure, but that brought her no comfort. Less pain meant he was doing permanent damage, burning away the nerve endings that were crying out. It meant he wasn’t just trying to hurt her, he was marking her. Searing a forever reminder of his ownership and abuse into her pussy. And his pack of cigarettes was nowhere near empty.

She’d heard of animals chewing their own legs off when caught in a trap. She felt like one of them now as she forced herself to rise up on knees and elbows again. She was pushing her body past the point of no return, doing lasting damage just to make it obey for a little while longer. But it was that or the trap.

Her owner left two more scars on her pussy before she finally managed to get in position and hold it. Her stomach churned unhappily from all the movement, and she clenched her asshole even tighter than before, scared the piss and cum would leak out if she wasn’t careful. She nearly cried in relief when he put the cigarettes back in her pocket. “Took you damn long enough,” he growled. “Now crawl! All the way around the room!”

That felt like an impossible task. Her dungeon wasn’t huge, but it did take up almost the entire office basement. Walking the perimeter normally would take about a minute if she was in a hurry, two at a more relaxed pace. Crawling that perimeter, her limbs as awkward as a baby deer… but he wasn’t asking.

Layla lifted her left elbow, wavered as her balance shifted, and just barely managed to stay up. She planted it a few inches ahead of where it had been, and then repeated the process with her other elbow. Next was her left knee, then her right, the movement a little easier each time. Elbow, elbow, knee, knee. Elbow, elbow, knee, knee. It was difficult and slow going, but she could do this.

She had no warning before a line of fire cut across her ass cheek. Layla screamed in surprise and pain, and lost her balance again, going down in a tangle of limbs. She looked back just in time to see her master swing the bullwhip again, cutting a fresh line on her ass. “Faster, you lazy cow!” he yelled. “This ain’t a romantic stroll in the park! Move! Move! Move!”

The redhead tried to scramble up, fell again, was whipped again. She made it back up, took a panicked movement forward, lost her balance again, whipped again. The leather bodysuit offered little to no protection from the heavy whip; it sliced right through the thin material each time, leaving behind a bloody line.

Layla had more than ten whip marks across her clenched heart shaped posterior by the time she managed to get up and moving again. Her master walked behind her, swinging the whip again every time she wasn’t fast enough for his liking, which was far too often. “We call this pace a trot, slut,” he announced at one point, “and it’s the absolute bare fucking minimum. I ever catch you moving slower than this back home, it means you need a fire lit under your ass.”

Fuck, she could picture it too. She’d assumed that at some point he’d take these binders off her arms and legs, let her walk around like a human being again, but there was no reason he had to. He could just keep her like this, scurrying around on all fours like an animal for the rest of her life.

She glanced back at him, trying to anticipate when the next whip stroke would fall, and received it immediately. “Eyes forward, bitch! Only place you look is straight ahead!” She flinched and fixed her gaze in front, his presence looming behind her. Her heart raced even harder as she trotted on, anticipating another kiss from the bullwhip at any moment.

Layla fell several more times, and before long her welted ass was almost completely exposed, but she finally completed the full circuit after about ten minutes, stumbling forward more on pure momentum than any sense of balance. Drenched in sweat, panting like a dog, she felt like she’d run a marathon while wearing weights.

She collapsed to the ground once more, so exhausted that when the bullwhip left a fresh bloody stripe on her cheeks, she barely twitched. “Warmup’s over!” her master called out. “Time to gallop!”

Layla whimpered, and the only thing that motivated her to drag her battered body up to all fours again was the certainty that if she didn’t do it herself, he would find a way to make her. “Nine more laps,” he told her. “And I said GALLOP, bitch!” Another stinging, bleeding line across her ass.

The next few minutes were a mad scramble across the dungeon floor. The only way the redhead could move fast enough to satisfy her master was to almost literally throw herself forward, knees and elbows smashing against concrete as she propelled herself. It was painful, exhausting, and completely unsustainable; she couldn’t manage more than a few bounds before ending up in a heap and earning fresh whip marks. Layla’s limbs felt as heavy as steel girders, her lungs were on fire, and her heart was pounding so hard she thought she might genuinely have a heart attack if this continued, but her master was uncompromising. And as she’d already expected, things only grew worse.

“Two down! Keep your head up! I told you to look ahead, not at the floor!”

“Three down! Arch your back and get that ass higher! Show off that fuckhole you let me piss in!”

“Four down! Make those fat tits dance while you’re at it! Don’t you enjoy your jewelry?”

“Y-yes… master…!”

Every lap brought a new addition, another layer of hell to sink into. It wasn’t enough to break herself for him, she also had to make herself look silly and submissive and fuckable at the same time.

“Five down! Show me that winning smile!”’

“Six down! Shake that butt!”

“Seven down! Let me hear some gratitude for helping you get a workout, you selfish cunt!”

“Thank… you… master… for… for… not… letting… me… be… lazy… cow!”

The redhead galloped, wheezed, and galloped some more. There was always something she wasn’t doing right, always some reason for the whip to kiss her cheeks again and again. But there was nothing she could do about it except keep galloping.

“Eight down! Time to really MOVE, slut! Fast as you can!”

“Nine down! Don’t start slacking now, bitch! I catch you slowing down, that’s another ten laps!”

She barreled to the end, breath rattling in her lungs, arms and legs completely numb. Then she slumped down, half-dead, and waited for him to whip her again and yell that she still had more laps to go. Her body twitched in time with her heartbeat, and drool ran down her chin as she stared blankly ahead.

He nudged her with his foot. “What now, slut? Continue the workout or take a fuck break, see if your cunt has anything to offer?”

“Fuck… break… please… master…” she wheezed, each word a herculean effort.

He dragged over a wooden chair and sat down. “Then get to it, bitch! I’m sick of doing all the work here.”

Layla had to drag herself into his lap, her numb limbs barely cooperating anymore. Despite all the pain she was in, and how tired she was, she went at the task quickly, terrified that if she took too long, he’d change his mind.

His cock had regained its full heft at some point, and pointed straight up at the ceiling. The redhead looked down and nervously shifted herself so that her pussy rested on its head, aware that this wasn’t going to be an easy fit. If he’d fucked her before making her crawl around, when his dick was still slick with her spit and her cunt stretched from the tripod, it would’ve been a different story: a tight squeeze without nearly enough lubricant, but an act that was clearly more sex than torture. Now that his member was dry and her sore insides had regained their usual dimensions, the distinction was going to be blurrier.

There was another problem that was quickly apparent: without her hands free, she couldn’t spread her labia apart. What was already a narrow entrance was now barely accessible. Sitting in her master’s lap had brought their faces so close they were nearly kissing, and she looked up into his eyes, ready to beg him to help rape her.

This close, the burning hatred in her eyes made her freeze. It made the flame she’d cultivated in her own heart seem like a flickering candle. She’d hated men, wanted to see them suffer and submit. He hated HER, and he wanted her dead. She could see clearly, for the first time, how badly he wanted to kill her. The only thing stopping him - barely - from tearing out her throat, was that once she was dead, he couldn’t hurt her anymore.

“P-p-please muh- master,” she stuttered, suddenly more terrified of him than ever. “Can you, um, please, I, I’m trying to…”

He slapped her hard across the face. “Spit it out, bitch,” he snarled as her ears rang.

“Please, I, I want to fuck your cock, master! With my cunt! Can you, can you please spread my, my cunt lips open for me?”

“I’ll do better than that, bitch,” he said darkly. “Think I’m gonna waste time dealing with your cunt flaps whenever I feel like drowning your womb in spunk?” He held up the stapler he’d been concealing in his right hand.

“Thank you, master!” she said automatically, aware that any other response would earn her more abuse, “For, um, for dealing with my c-cunt flaps!” She did her best to smile at him as he pinched her right labia and pulled, stretching it painfully far and pressing it against her upper thigh.

The staple felt like a bee sting as it pierced her pussy lips, only ten times worse. Layla squealed in pain and looked down to see the crude bit of metal fixed to her lips, pinning them to her thigh. The sight was grotesque, but she had no time to dwell on it, because he was already repositioning the stapler again.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! The redhead flinched violently every time a new staple punched through her labia. He seemed intent on using every last staple; there were more than thirty haphazardly driven through her flesh at different angles before he moved on to her left side.

By the time he was done, no staple was separated from another by more than millimeters. It was an ugly metal scribble defiling her intimate entrance, and she smiled at her master and thanked him for it. “Please master, may I service you with my cunt now?”

“Get to it, bitch,” he growled. He tossed away the stapler and turned his attention yet again to her tormented breasts, still swollen like balloons in their bondage. The burning and itching of her nettle kissed flesh resurged as he began kneading her mounds like dough, and the clamps on her nipples and clit chewed savagely as they were bounced.

The former dominatrix let out a pitiful groan as the fresh wave of agony rolled over her, and pushed, grinding her spread pussy against her master’s wide cockhead. The action tugged on all the staples buried in her labia, ripping at her sensitive skin in dozens of places, but she continued, determined to get her rapist’s cock inside her.

It slid in impossibly slowly, forcing her to strain for every new millimeter of purchase. Layla felt like she was literally tearing herself in half to fit him inside her, and all the while he kept clawing at her breasts, rewarding her hard work with nothing but more pain.

His head was completely inside her now, gripped tightly by her cunt muscles, her suffering creating his pleasure. Swallowing the rest of his shaft into her cramping, too tight tunnel was no easier now, only more inevitable. Even if she tried to reverse course, his cock was now locked into her as securely as by padlock, an invader that would only retreat after squirting its thick seed into her, marking her womb as his the same way it had her bowels and throat.

Spurred by gravity and her frantic efforts, his member sank into her, his head scrubbing and stretching her sore walls, the pace so slow she almost wanted to beg him to just get it over with. But finally, she felt it: his head kissing her cervix. Almost half of his shaft still waited beneath her stapled lips, but this was the end of the line.

Her cunt clung to his length, wrapped around him as tightly as a condom. She could feel his heartbeat, his breath, every minute motion of his body through her velvet grip on him. Layla had never felt more stuffed, even when he’d been up her ass, and even as she tried to rise up and fuck him like he wanted, she knew it was going to be impossible. His shaft was stuck to her walls like superglue.

Her only hope was to massage him, her cunt muscles rippling across him as she squeezed down. Layla’s insides ached and burned, but this was the only way she could get him off like this, and she needed to get him off. She wanted this man to cum more than she’d ever wanted anything for herself. So she hugged him with her pussy, and she arched her back to press her tortured breasts into his grasping hands, and when his lips found hers she frantically kissed him back, filling her mouth with the taste of old cigarettes and stale beer again. Ever fiber of her being was devoted to being a good fucktoy for him.

Part of her felt like she was watching herself from the outside, and seeing a total stranger. Where was the confident woman who’d entered this basement mere hours ago? There wasn’t anything recognizable about the cringing, half naked creature whose hips rolled as she pleasured her rapist with her sore pussy, whose burning tits bounced and jiggled as they were mauled, whose chin was covered in drool as her tongue slobbered and danced inside his mouth.

This was Layla now. And he was only getting started.

At any other time, the sensation of a man’s cock spurting inside her, thick wads of cum glazing her womb, would have filled the former dominatrix with disgust and outrage, but now she felt only relief, and feigned a purr of delight as his seed began to gush into her. She’d done what he wanted, and given him no excuse - or so she hoped - to punish her.

“M-may I fuck you with my cunt again, master?” she asked nervously as he shrank inside her. “Or, or serve you with my mouth?” He’d mockingly called this rape a fuck break, but she felt even more tired than before. There didn’t seem to be a single muscle left in her body that wasn’t stiff and sore. If he decided to make her crawl again, she’d… she’d do it, she knew that much, but it would cost her terribly. “Or my ass! I’d be, um, honored to fuck you with my ass!”

“Later,” he growled, and Layla’s heart sank. “Plenty of time for all three once we’re home.”

Home. Like he’d promised, he was taking her home with him. Because this… this was never going to end, not until she was dead. It was a future too terrible for her exhausted mind to wrap itself around, and she found herself staring dully into space as he pushed her off of him and began to clean up the basement.

It was the first time all night that his attention had been focused elsewhere, and the redhead knew she should be trying to take advantage of it. But to do what? She was still tied up, unable to fight back or run. She didn’t even dare to glance towards the exits, scared that he’d notice and think she was plotting something. So she just laid there on her side like a discarded doll as he scrubbed the surfaces and equipment with bleach.

It felt like no time at all had passed before his boot was digging into her ribs again. “Crawl, bitch!” he barked, and she stirred to life. Her muscles protested, but she must have had some time to rest after all, because they reluctantly cooperated.

“Make a sound and you’ll regret it for the rest of your pathetic life,” he promised as he led her up the stairs and out of the building. The cool night air made her shiver even as she greedily sucked it in, eager to breathe something that didn’t taste like her owner.

She SHOULD yell, Layla knew that. It had to be roughly three or four in the morning, and there was little reason for anyone to be in earshot and even less for them to respond to cries for help, but she knew that she should do it anyway. But her throat seized up at the very thought, and she choked on that fresh air.

She knew then that he had won, not that there was ever any doubt. Mentally, it was still possible to pretend that she was a fiery dominatrix awaiting her chance to strike back, even if the lie was obvious, but physically? Her body had utterly submitted to him, a prey animal gone limp in a predator’s jaws. The bondage and the threats were just window dressing on the truth: he owned her now.

His car turned out to be a beaten up old Volkswagen, and the old Layla would have confidently sworn that there was no way a person could fit in that cramped alcove of a trunk. The new Layla just scrunched herself up and went to work, squeezing her bound limbs in until they were all inside and she was looking up at her owner, packed away like a sardine in a tin.

She flinched as his spittle struck her cheek. “It’s a little snug, but you won’t be in here long. Enjoy it while it lasts: after this, you’re going to spend the rest of your miserable life in a dank cell getting fucked and tortured and thanking me for every moment of it.” His words were almost solemn despite the obscenity they were describing, delivered like a judge handing down a sentence. “No more sunlight on your face, no more fresh air. No baths or showers except my piss when you stink too bad to fuck. No bed but a metal dog cage even smaller than this trunk. No food and drink but rotten slop and cum and whatever you clean off my dick.

“If I ever think you might be enjoying any part of your treatment, I’ll burn your clit off. If I ever see you look at me again with anything other than terror and worship, I’ll rip your eyes out with my fingernails. If I ever think you’re learning to tolerate your new life, I’ll torture you to death on the spot. That’s where you’re going, bitch. That’s what’s waiting for you when we get home. Any last words?”

Layla opened her mouth to beg him not to do this to her, to offer him money and sexual servitude and whatever else he might desire, but the words refused to come out. She had enough experience with hate to know there was nothing she could offer that would quench his, and nothing she could do to make things right.

“I’m… sorry, master…” she said quietly instead. “About Nathan. I didn’t… I know he can’t forgive me, I know he wouldn’t even if he were alive, but… I’m still sorry. For what I did to him… and what I did to his family…”

He stared at her darkly for a moment, then he slammed the trunk closed and started up the car.



Epilogue

The trip lasted more than an hour. Layla held her breath every time the car slowed to a stop, wondering if they had reached their destination, and exhaled every time they started moving again.

She could still hear the muffled sounds of Chicago around her, and sometimes when they were stopped at a light, she could hear other cars pull up next to theirs. If she were to yell for help, they might hear her. Someone might rescue her, or at least call the cops and report the license plate.

But her owner would definitely hear her, and he would punish her. So instead of shouting and screaming, she did her best to remain silent and still, terrified that even the quietest whimper or shift might be interpreted as an attempt to communicate.

At last, the car came to a stop once more, and the engine switched off. They had arrived.

The trunk opened and her owner loomed over her; she cringed at his attention. “Out!” he barked, and she scrambled to obey, clambering out of the compartment on knees and elbows and falling onto the pavement.

This… she knew where they were. This was the parking lot next to her building. The same parking lot they’d left from.

Layla looked up at him, not daring to move or speak without her master’s permission. This could just be a trick, or a test. Maybe he’d decided to come back to collect some of her tools to use on her. Whatever the reason, he was in charge here, not her, and she wasn’t going to give him a reason to think she’d forgotten that.

“You know why I’m leaving you here, bitch?” he asked.

Leaving her? He wasn’t really going to… She crawled forward to begin kissing his feet. “Thank you, master, thank you, thank you thank you.” Don’t make him angry, she told herself. Don’t make him change his mind. “May I please suck your cock again before you go? Or, or fuck you with my tits or my cunt or my butt? I’d love to satisfy you however you want, master.”

He scowled and kicked her in the ribs. The redhead flinched back, whimpering, and kept her head down and her mouth shut. She didn’t know what she’d done wrong, but of course she had, she was just a stupid fucktoy. “Do you know why?” he repeated.

Layla looked up and met his eyes, ready to tell him that no, she was just a dumb bitch and he would have to explain it to her, but his gaze held her. There was something slightly different there. He still looked down on her with contempt, but… that fierce blazing hatred for her had changed. It wasn’t gone by any means - he still hated her more than she could have imagined possible - but it no longer burned quite as bright. “Because master is like me,” she whispered. Fueled by hatred, and that hatred had begun to die down.

“I was ready to do exactly what I promised,” he told her, “and you would have deserved every minute… but I already killed that woman tonight. She spent the rest of her life suffering, just as she was meant to, and you? You’re just a whimpering crybaby wearing her corpse.”

She should feel happy, elated that this nightmare was going to pass. But Layla only felt hollow inside as she remained prone at her master’s feet. She’d let him tame her so thoroughly, submitted so completely, that she was just a broken toy. There wasn’t even enough of her left to keep hating.

“What now, master?” she asked quietly, because it was still inconceivable that this man wasn’t going to be in control of her life.

Instead of answering her, he turned around and… just left. He got into his car without looking back and drove off, leaving her alone in the parking lot. She waited in silence for a few minutes, in case he returned, then rose back up to her knees and elbows and slowly tottered towards the dungeon.

It took a minute to get down the stairs and manipulate the door without use of her hands, but eventually she managed to get inside, free herself from the bondage he’d left her in, and peel off what remained of her leather bodysuit. She had a back room with some spare clothes and, more importantly, a shower. She crawled into it, still on all fours, and let the hot water rain down on her back, watching the blood and sweat and cum all flow down the drain.

The pattering drops were enough to jostle the clamps Layla still had affixed to her nipples and clit, sending fresh jabs of pain through her. She looked down at the cruel things. She could finally remove them, right? Her master had never actually said that she could, but it wasn’t up to him anymore. He was gone, she was alone, and the doors were all locked, both to the outside and to this room. She was safe. It was over.

And yet her hand trembled as she reached for them, and it suddenly seemed like she couldn’t get enough oxygen. What if he ever found out? What if he’d left cameras somewhere? What if he saw her without them on the street one day, and her disobedience was enough to change his mind about her? What if he was outside right now, waiting for her to step out so he could punish her for being stupid enough to believe she could be anything but his fucktoy anymore?

She let her hand drop back down, and the panic attack receded.

As tears began to join the fluids swirling down the drain, Layla wondered if she could ever find something to replace the hatred that had burned out completely, or if there would never be anything inside her other than this black oily fear. She wondered if Nathan had felt like this, in his final days.

Still weeping, she finished showering.

[trio]

This was some heavy shit ... like it

[Shocker]

I tend to be rather rough with victims, even cruel but torture doesn’t float my boat. I think the story was well written, but simply not my kind of kink.