Millie
The speculum opens a notch, forcing my bottom to stretch even more than before. It’s an odd feeling, discomfort bordering on pain, but my brain is going a mile a minute, conjuring images of him spreading me open beyond what any human body can take.
Somewhere deep in the logical recesses of my brain, I know that’s ridiculous. As he said, he’s a sadist, not a monster, and I know he would never actually harm me.
At the moment, however, my dramatic side has taken the reins, and she is fully convinced he means to rip us open. “Daddy, no! It’s too much!”
To my surprise, he does stop, rising to his feet and rounding the table to brush my damp hair from my face. “It’s all right, little one. We can take a break if you need to.”
Panting too hard to speak, I just nod, letting my eyes drift close on a whimper as he continues petting my hair.
“I’m so proud of you, Camilla. You’ve done such a good job for me today, little one.”
At his words, some of the panic eases, and the band around my chest loosens. It takes a few more deep breaths, but finally I’m able to force my eyes open again to look up at him. “I’m okay now.”
“Are you sure?” Worry fills his eyes. “We can stop if you need to stop. I won’t be disappointed.”
That is, I realize, all I needed to know. All I needed to give me the strength to continue. “No, Daddy. I’m good. Really.”
“Hmm. I don’t know. Daddy might have to make sure.”
Sliding his gloved hand down my stomach, he slips his fingers through my dripping lips and smiles. “According to your pussy, you are still enjoying yourself rather thoroughly. Do you like it when Daddy hurts you, Camilla?”
What’s the point in lying now? “Y-yes, Daddy.”
“Good. Because I’m about to hurt you some more. But I’m also going to make you feel good. Do you want Daddy to make you feel good, baby?”
“Please, Daddy. Please.”
Those wicked, skilled fingers stroke my clit, pressing against the swollen little bud so that pleasure soon floods my system. Now, I cry out for a different reason altogether as I writhe against the exam table, every movement reminding me both of the torture devices clamped to my nipples and the speculum shoved in my bottom.
“That’s my sweet girl. Come for Daddy, little one. Let me hear you scream.”
And scream, I do. Because just as I’m teetering on that knife’s edge of pleasure, ready to fly, he yanks the clamps from my nipples. Pain stabs at my breasts, but the pain quickly melds with pleasure, creating the most exquisite agony I’ve ever experienced. With every rolling wave of pleasure, my muscles contract, and the speculum in my bottom adds another sensation to the already overwhelming maelstrom inside me.
By the time it all finally ebbs, I collapse on the table, unable to move or even think. I am adrift on a sea of pleasure, and nothing can touch me here.
Or so I think.
Donovan
She is a vision, her eyes glazed, her nipples still swollen and rosy from the clamps. Everything about her seems tailor-made for me and my particular brand of sadism.
Hopefully she can bear a bit more before we’re through.
Leaving her to float with that blissful smile on her lips, I make my way back to the end of the table. With a slow twist of a knob, one designed specifically for this part of her anatomy, I spread her bottom hole even wider. When she doesn’t protest, I give it another turn. She whimpers softly, so I leave it be for now, reaching for the next item on my tray.
Pressing the silver wheel to her calf, I run it lightly up the inside of her leg, drawing a delicious shiver from my Little girl. It's fascinating, watching the way her body responds even when her mind is still untouchable.
And because it is all so incredibly fascinating, I let myself explore, running the spiked wheel over different parts of her body. Her inner thigh, her stomach, the swell of her breasts. The whole time, she lies compliant, not protesting even once.
It isn’t until the spikes press against her areola that she responds, her nose crinkling softly as her head falls from side to side. “No more, Daddy. Hurts.”
Her voice is so high and sweet, I’m almost tempted to give her what she wants. But that dark, depraved part of me that craves her cries of pain, craves her tears, wants more.
So I press harder, dragging the spikes around her nipples as she whimpers and shifts on the table. “Hurts.”
“I know, little one.”
