His nails dragged down my back getting firmer. I could feel my flesh pulling, my cunt getting wet, my back arched in response - not out of pain but out of lust. I was panting, hot, desperate to cum and we had not yet even begun.

"You like that, don't you, slut?" I could tell he was grinning. "Stand up." I stood, staring down. He slapped my face lightly. I stayed, eyes locked on the floor. I know now to look at the floor. All at once my clothes were gone, my collar on and I was being walked to the edge of the bed. "Bend over, spread your legs....WIDER! I am going to inspect you."

I fucking hate it. I am bent over the bed while he checks me over. I want to stand up, turn around, look him in the eye, tell him to fuck off and walk out. I know if I do that, I don't get what I want. What was it I wanted again, anyway? I am not a particularly good sub. Yes I know all subs say it but really I am not. I am just not subbie. I think I am perhaps a masochist and to get where I want to go with that I feel like I have to submit. I don't like submitting, I don't want to but I can't turn away from it. It is a strange dance, a very strange dance indeed. I could walk away if I wanted to but I don't. I can't quite explain it. Perhaps I am not willing to admit to myself how much I enjoy parts of this game - this however, is certainly is not one of those parts.

I feel cool metal chains press into my wrists and they are pulled up behind my back, beyond where it is comfortable and fastened to the back of my collar. It is almost not bearable. I am face down on the bed and there are cuffs going on my ankles. Now I am standing. My feet are bound to a bar and tied in to my cuffs and collar and my breasts are pulled into tight balls of red burning flesh, the ropes knotted up high so that I might look down on them. He stands back and admires his work. He is fast and efficient. He tells me how beautiful, how perfect they look. The whip is in his hand. My hair is in my face again. I hate it. My fucking hair is suffocating and hot and awful. I know if I cut it though I would miss him grabbing it, twisting it, pulling me to him. I can't see properly. I can't breathe properly. Now he is whipping. How he gets around my bound arms I do not know but the whip strikes. He pulls my hair to one side so that it does not temper the blows to my shoulders. The ends wrap around my body, stinging my breasts, my stomach, my legs. It licks up between my thighs plunging me into desperate panic that he may not stop - or perhaps that he will. The thin leather drives home, kissing my cunt. I am brimming with lust, with want. I am begging with my eyes, pleading for the collar to be loosened, begging to cum, begging for more, for less, to leave, to stay. He strikes again. I shake my head, muffled squeals and grunts he somehow knows what I am saying, through the gag. He knows what I am saying even when I don't.

He moves to the chest of drawers and takes out a cane. He puts it back and pulls out a much meaner looking stick. In retrospect the flexibility of the cane probably makes it a much harsher weapon but at the time I was not thinking clearly. It drops lazily onto my skin, once, twice. I feel my breath hasten, my body tense, the fear grip me like a vice and squeeze. He puts it to one side and pulls me back down to earth before I plunge over the edge into something I cannot escape from.

My hands and legs are freed and I am permitted to lie back on the bed. A few seconds respite. I look over and see his eyes glinting. He is on me, my legs are pulled up and tied open by the ankles to the bar, my wrist chains clipped to the ends. I suppose if I were upright I would look like I was squatting - awkwardly. That glint in his eyes, raw and animal. He slips his fingers into my need and mutters something about what a slut I am. I hear the sound of light metal chinking. My heart races. He grins, the glint is now replaced with victorious, gleeful anticipation. My 'respite' was so he could collect some pegs, some small clamps and The Mother of all clamps.

My eyes wide, I shake my head. He chuckles, I think at me, perhaps to himself. He stares straight at me and opens The Mother clamp so I can see it snap closed. I draw a sharp breath. He opens it again and looks down, hungry to place it on my flesh.

I know I asked for this but really, in this moment do I want it?

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