The Playboy's Proposition (12 page)

I waited. I could sense from the movement of the air around
me, that Michael was near again.   I guessed it was true that other
senses can kick it when needed. My sense of smell was no help, having been
overwhelmed by the heavy incense scent in the room.

I thought I heard the muffled sound of something being
dragged, or pushed perhaps, but couldn’t be sure. It could have been the
thumping of the reverberating music. I couldn’t tell.

Then I felt the pressure of Michael’s hands on the hood and
the music stopped. Relief.

He said, “Now this is a display ... almost.”

I heard him take a few steps away, then he touched my pussy.
His fingers played through the folds of my flesh, downward to my asshole and
back up again. I knew he would find little moisture between my legs.

“I’m thinking,” he said, “that you’re very afraid right now,
and you’re not much enjoying that fear. Good.”

There was a splurting sound, and a dollop of cold liquid hit
me between the legs. I gasped. Michael began rubbing the stuff all over my
pussy and down the crack of my ass and over my asshole. It was lubricant.

Another splat, and another big dollop hit my pussy. He
pushed the stuff inside me with his fingers.

Then splat again. Square on my asshole. I groaned.

Michael shoved something hard and slick against my tight
anus. He twirled the mystery object around and around, but didn’t push it into
me.

He said, “That’s a butt plug that you’re feeling. Maybe you
remember the one I bought the other night at the porn shop.”

I began to moan. No. Don’t do it. Why couldn’t he leave that
part of me alone?

He continued, “Oh it won’t be so bad. It’s pretty slim. For
beginners. I’d give you some warmup time, but you’ve been a very bad girl. Bad
girls don’t deserve an easy entrance.”

Oh God. Panic. No. This wasn’t right, I thought. He was only
taunting me.

He said, “So you’d better relax. You’ve got to the count of
three. One ... two ... three.”

I cried out, “Noooo!”

And with that, he pushed the lube-slicked butt plug inside
me.

I gasped, loudly. I hadn’t been able to relax my sphincter
muscles at all before he attacked, and it hurt.

This butt plug, at the base, was bigger than his thumb, I
could tell from experience. Fortunately, the spike of pain on its entry died
down as my muscles closed back around the narrower part near the base. I
whimpered, and prayed he would leave it be. If he would leave it be and not
move it again, I could bear it.

Without warning of any kind, Michael shoved something into
my pussy. It was hard, and cold, and it was big ... too big. I cried out in
pain and surprise. My insides felt stretched to their limits.

Although the invading thing was well-lubricated and Michael
left it stationary inside me, it remained painful even after my muscles eased
somewhat. I had to assume much of the discomfort came from Michael dry
finger-fucking me before my second punishment.

I felt something cold, like metal, like a thin chain maybe,
drop on my belly. Then Michael’s hands moved over me.

He said, “So you can fully appreciate the effect here, I’ll
describe what I’m doing. I’m basically equipping you with something like a
strap-on belt. The key differences between this and a real strap-on belt is
that this belt is finer and is meant to keep a dildo inside you, not outside.”

I stupidly thought, oh, so it’s a dildo in me. Oddly, that
came as something of a relief, the knowledge it was something ordinary like a
dildo, and not some horrific unknown thing. I could relax some, knowing what it
was.

Michael adjusted the chain around me and between my legs and
over my clitoris. “Once this is all cinched in tight, you won’t be able to push
out the dildo. Also, the pressure of the chain on your clit is uncomfortable
... I’ve been told.”

The chain bit into my sensitive flesh, and pushed down hard
against my clitoris as he tightened the contraption.

He said, his voice gruffer than normal. “There. A sight
anyone would enjoy. The dildo is sticking out of you and spreading your pussy
open. And the black stump of the butt plug is poking out of your asshole.
Good.”

I tried not to listen to his taunts. I didn’t want to
picture it. It was enough torture to feel it.

He said, “One last thing to make the picture complete.”

He walked up next to my head and told me to open my mouth. I
did so and he pushed something round and made of latex into my mouth. He told
me to close my lips around the thing.

He patted my cheek. “Now you’ve got a dildo sticking out of
this hole, too. Don’t spit it out, or accidentally let it fall out. You won’t
like what happens if you do.”

I whimpered. Well, actually, I had been whimpering and
moaning incessantly for awhile now, ever since that plug had been crammed into
me. It was only the intensity and loudness of the whimpering that varied.

I was stretched and bound taut in every way imaginable. My
body thrummed with so many different sensations and emotions, I couldn’t track
them all.

Every moment brought the thought that I couldn’t take any
more. Then the moment would be gone and more would be heaped on me, and I would
think the end had come finally. I wouldn’t be able to take more. And yet I did.

It should have built confidence in me, that I would be able
to accept everything he had done and had yet to do. But it built nothing. Every
new trial was a new burden to learn how to shoulder.

So I clamped my teeth onto the dildo and expected more.
There was always more. To expect less, to expect it to be over, that was
foolhardy thinking. There would be more.

Michael said, “The display is complete. Hoyte would have
loved this. I’d like to send a parade through here to gawk at you. Imagine
people taking pictures of you all spread out and helpless like this. They could
pass by and shove that butt plug in and out of you a few times, fuck you with
the dildo, pinch your nipples. I’d like to see that.”

As emphasis, he pinched both my nipples and yanked them into
a twist. They instantly hardened.

I moaned, and whimpered. I passed some point that made
everything in this experience blend together. Individual torments remained,
some more devilish than others, but they blended too, into a cacophony of
wretchedness.

Somewhere out there, I heard him moving. I was beginning to
feel as if I were in a tunnel, and Michael’s tortures were the very walls
around me, surrounding me, and closing tighter and tighter.

Suddenly, something cracked sharp and hard against my lower
belly. The sharp pain of it seemed to force all the air out of my lungs. I made
a hard “oomph” sound, then gasped and tried frantically to pull in air through
my mouth, around the rubber dildo. Clamping down harder onto the soft rubber, I
swore I would not drop the damned thing.

Michael said, “I just used an old favorite of mine, a little
wooden slapper. It’s not nearly as painful as a rod or a cane. But it’ll do for
you.”

He rubbed the slapper on my belly where he had struck me.
“I’m going to give you ten more blows. As long as you don’t do anything to
screw it up, like dropping the dildo sticking out of your mouth, then your
final punishment will be complete.”

I expected the music to roar to life, but it didn’t.

Smack! He hit me on my belly again. I cried out around the
dildo.

He said, “One.”

He struck again, this time cracking the paddle against the
upper mound of my pussy. “Two.”

God, it hurt. Everything hurt. Everything. My cries bled
from one into the other.

Then crack! He struck the underside of one of my breasts. He
said, “Three.”

And that’s when I began to cry, finally. There was no
stopping it this time. It was complete and total loss of control, utter
surrender. I let it all go. And let the tears fall.

I cried great racking sobs, and I wailed. I think I even
cried words like, “Please,” and “No,” though it was likely I wasn’t
understandable.

He nailed the underside of my other breast. “Four.”

I sobbed, the tears pouring out of me, running down the
sides of my face underneath the hood.

Michael landed a nasty biting crack across the top of my
breast. “Five. Halfway done.”

“No,” I cried. “Please.”

Everything became one thing. I was lost in my head, in the
tunnel Michael had made of my world.

Then he yanked the butt plug out of my ass and crammed it in
and out of me several times. God, I hated it.

Then crack! He struck my breast, straight on my nipple.
“Six.”

Smack! The other nipple. “Seven.”

I sobbed and cried and my body trembled and shook. Michael
pulled on the dildo strapped into my aching pussy, pulling hard enough to make
the chains bite even more painfully into my clitoris.

I begged, “No, no, no,” but my pleas weren’t heeded, if they
were indeed pleas. They seemed more like a situational statement than an
entreaty.

He landed a nasty smack on one of my nipples again. “Eight.”

The butt plug was yanked out of me and shoved back in again.
The dildo in my pussy was twisted and yanked painfully side to side, then given
sharp, short shoves in and out, pulling the unyielding chain against my clit in
tight bursts of alternating spikes of pain and relief.

Through it all, no matter what, I kept my teeth clamped onto
the dildo in my mouth. It was as if I had always had it there and it wasn’t
even a possibility that it might be at home anywhere else. It certainly didn’t
impede my screams.

The second blow landed on my other breast. “Nine.”

Michael was everywhere around me. His torments were the very
air I breathed.

And then the last blow connected ... hard ... the hardest
yet ... straight on my mound, over my clit.

I hardly heard the, “Ten,” I shrieked. And then I returned
to sobbing.

I felt Michael straddling me, trying to wrestle the dildo
from my clamped teeth. I didn’t want to let it go. It was too important that I
hold onto it.

He gave me a firm command of “Let go!” I knew then that it
was okay to let him take it from my mouth.

He leaned down over me, rubbing my poor beaten breasts and
whispering to me. I cried. He cupped my stinging mound, and rolled my aching
nipples between his fingers, easing the stings.

Slowly, his words took shape in my head, and I could make
out what he was saying to me.

His whisper came at me, fierce and strong, “Oh Nonnie.
You’re spectacular. I never thought you could go all the way. Never. You’re
amazing. So sexy. Unbelievable.”

He kissed me passionately and deeply, his tongue plunging
into my mouth over and over, until I was struggling for air, and trying
desperately to breathe through a nose that had long since been stopped up from
uncontrolled sobbing.

He pulled away, and while I gulped air, he resumed his
furious whispering. “I knew, the very first night I met you, that you were
something special. You shouldn’t have been able to do this tonight. You’re too
new, too inexperienced. But you did it.”

He held a tissue up to my nose and told me to blow. I did,
gratefully. Then again. Ahh, relief with that, anyway.

He poured water into my mouth and told me to drink. And all
the while he talked to me. “I thought the hood itself might do you in. I
couldn’t have imagined you making it past the second punishment. You’re amazing.
Wonderful. Perfect.”

I swallowed all the water he gave me, so grateful for it
that I couldn’t keep the tears from starting up again. Or maybe it was because
of all the praise he heaped on me.

I managed to squeak out, “Am I forgiven, Master?”

He barked a laugh. “Of course you are. You took it all,
Nonnie. I’m so proud of you. I knew that if I could get you to let down that
guard of yours, that you would be spectacular. I just didn’t know you’d get
there so soon. You’re beautiful.”

I smiled. I felt feeble, both of body and mind, but his
words found their way through my mental haze, past the throbs of pain still
wending through every nerve of my body, and I cherished them.

He gently told me to try to calm my breathing, and stop
crying. I hadn’t realized I was still crying. When did it start up again? Had
it ever stopped?

He said, “You’re okay, Nonnie. I know that it seemed like
terrible, terrible pain, but I really never hit you very hard. You shouldn’t
even have any marks or bruises. It’s the hood, being isolated like that ... it
made everything seem worse than it actually was. I promise, you’re fine.”

It seemed hard to believe, what he said, but here in the
dark, still strapped immobile and splayed wide and helpless, I would believe
whatever he said. Anything he said. I had to.

He patted my cheek, then climbed off me and rapidly removed
the strap-on chains, pulled the dildo out of me. The cessation of the pressure
of the dildo inside my sore pussy was a relief. The removal of the chain
grinding into my clit was even better.

I cried gently, with a feeling not of fear, but gratitude. I
said, “Thank you, Master. Thank you.”

He said, “You’re welcome, Sweet.”

Would he take out the butt plug now? Please? But it wasn’t
for me to ask. It wasn’t for me to think this way. I thought I had settled that
with myself.

He stuck his fingers inside my pussy. I was sore and
couldn’t stop my whimper, but he shushed me and said I was fine. He moved his
fingers gently in and out of me. I was full of lube and beyond slick both inside
and out.

He gently massaged my poor clit, too. I moaned and
whimpered. It hurt, but I supposed it was a good pain, something that had to be
done to get rid of the worse hurt.

He stopped in a few minutes then straddled me again. Leaning
down, he held my head in his big hands. I felt his hard breath on my neck.