Clenching my hands into fists, I refocus my energy. I don’t know what happened, but the whipping stopped, and nothing is touching me now. My body hangs from the pillory. Rustling, I get my feet back under me and push up so I’m bent over and half-standing again. My entire body feels hot, like internally I’m about to combust. Yet in an instant, it turns cold and clammy.
“Awake again?” That mechanical voice, my ever-present companion, comes back.
With my tongue, I wet my lips and take slow breaths. Formulating an answer seems out of the realm of possibility right now, but I know one is expected. A hand presses down on the top of my head, then uses my hair to pull my face up.
“Deep breaths or I’ll have to douse you in cold water to keep you awake.”
Fuck that might be a dream, though. It’d certainly take care of the cold clamminess that I can’t get rid of.
“Should I drown you?”
My head is dropped, and my chin nearly hits the wooden pillory. I need to get myself under control again. Planting my feet more firmly, I steady myself.
“Suffocation can be most…pleasurable.”
God, can’t I just hear the actual voice? For months, it’s been this mechanical thing that’s distanced us. But I want to know exactly who’s behind the mask. Because all I can see right now are boots and pants. I can’t lift my head high enough to see a face or a full body. I wet my lips again.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Tsk tsk tsk…” The sound reverberates through the room.
Vibration inside my pussy starts immediately. I gasp, clenching my thighs together hard. A leather-clad hand moves across my back, across the welts from the whipping to my ass. Each time those fingers glide over a welt, pain explodes, like pouring salt into an open wound.
“You’re the one I’ve been talking to,” I say firmly. I know it at this point. It’s fact, not fiction. And everything we’ve done up until now has nothing on what is happening currently. We’ve never met. We’ve never conversed like this. We never even really dreamed up a moment when we would do this. Well, we had, but I hadn’t thought after so much silence that it’d happen. “What’s your name?”
The low chuckle that echoes in the room is raw power and nothing else. I still have no cards to play. I’m locked in a pillory, stripped naked, raped once already—maybe twice, but I don’t remember—and I know it’s going to happen again. We’re just getting started.
The vibration in my pussy gets stronger and pulses. I hold my breath, close my eyes, and focus. The footsteps my captor makes are light and precise. There’s no drag of the toes or the heel. The voice is the same mechanical voice I’ve heard for ages, but that’s not going to help me to figure out who the hell this person is.
I’m just about to ask another question when a slide of a hand between my legs, against my clit, distracts me. The rubbing isn’t hard, not like every other touch recently. Instead, it’s soft, smooth, a slide of leather against body with just enough pressure and moisture to ripple sensations through me. I groan and drop my hips down unintentionally, creating even more friction.
“My good little slut,” the voice keens.
“H-how is this p-possible?” I can barely get the words out, but it’s not my stutter getting in the way. It’s the arousal that’s flying through my body again, so soon that I can’t even catch my breath to get my bearings.
“Sometimes it takes someone very familiar with the female body to knowexactlywhat a woman needs.”
Is that a brush of lips against the curve of my ass?
Concentrating, I need to know. The touch was so soft, barely even there. I must just be imagining things. Pushing my hips down onto the hand even more, I keep myself right in place.
“R-rape shouldn’t feel good,” I counter.
“But remember, slut, you wanted this.” The slap against my ass is swift.
I grunt and bite my lip. Is the vibration getting stronger? Or is it just that I can feel it more? My toes curl against the cement, the muscles in my legs straining just to keep me upright, andeverything hurts. My back, my hips, my thighs, my feet, my neck, my wrists—fuck, every inch of me is bruised and beaten, and still I can’t help but want fingers inside me again.
From behind…
Just like that suggestion that very first night of DMing. Fuck, it’s the same person. I can’t deny it now, not that my captor would either. I’ve shared so many intimate fantasies and secrets with BandAid42, and now every single one of those is being used against me.
No, not against.
Usedforme.
I cry out, my voice careening through the room as I push forward into the pillory, my shoulders rubbing on the wood with splinters piercing my skin.
Then it stops.
