hard against her cunt.
The rubber French tickler hurt all the tender spots of her pussy. It was tearing her apart.
The man didn't stop his fucking. He drove in and out of her pussy with speed and precision. She went into some kind of a daze as he reamed her out. The pain wasn't too much now; some of it had been replaced by the pleasure-filled feeling of having a prick pressed into her cunt.
Pleasure and pain intermingled and made her gasp. The pain, the joy, the confusion of the two. Trembling like a leaf in a high wind, she felt her legs go weak. Yet, she didn't dare collapse. She could strangle herself in the wooden stocks holding her head. The woman, tried to think what had happened when she'd blacked out before and decided that it was past history. She hadn't killed herself then, but she might this time.
When he reached, around her waist and began squeezing her clit, the woman began to tremble and finally came.
The man mercilessly brought her off again and again. Her exhausted body could hardly stand the joy he gave her. Yet her clit always begged for more, no matter how intense the come. His finger stroked from the base all the way to the tip of her clit. When it reached the point where she no longer spoke coherently, he pressed down hard on her clit.
The woman moaned loudly, unable to scream out her desires.
'You like that, don't you, bitch? I'm going to give you more of the same. I enjoy the feeling of power I have over you. Your pleasure is entirely in my hands,' he said, pinching her clit.
He started fucking her. He slammed hard into her buttocks, giving her a shot of pain that rocked her senses. His hairy thighs ground into her tortured flesh until she almost passed out.
But she couldn't tell if it was from pain or pleasure.
He ground his prick hard against her cunt. His pubic hair tantalized her clit as much as his finger did. And she came again. She hated herself even as she soared on winds of ecstasy blowing through her body. This was the man who had brutally, cruelly tortured her. Now was giving her pleasure. She hated him for what he did, what he was, what he stood for – and yet, she loved him.
He was a man, a real man. He saw what he wanted and took it. Period.
She didn't know if she liked the idea that he'd seen her and wanted her. Her body was convulsed with sensations too potent to bear. Just as she came again, she felt his prick slip from her wet pussy. She almost pleaded with him to stuff his cock back in her cunt and keep fucking.
She looked up and saw him standing in front of her, his oil-drenched cock held firmly in his hand. He began stroking up and down his cock until a tiny bead of pre-come formed on his cock. Then a fountain of jizz spattered into her hair and face. He kept jacking off until the last of his come had hit her in the face. Silently, he turned and walked off, leaving her all alone.
For a moment, she wondered what she was going to do. Then she knew. Her eager tongue licked up all the come on her face that was within reach.
CHAPTER TEN
Paul left her there for hours and hours. Sandy didn't think the man could do anything more to her. She was dead wrong. Just standing, with her head in the stocks and her hands securely fastened behind her back, was torture all by itself.
She anticipated. Her mind worked feverishly trying to guess what the man would do to her next. The woman couldn't figure out what would happen. She had tried to please Paul with her cock-sucking, but that hadn't worked out right. Paul refused to be pleased by anything as simple as that. She could have done better. She could have…
It suddenly hit her. She was still trying to blame herself for this. Sandy cursed silently and then began to cry. None of this was her fault. She didn't ask to be put into wooden stocks. Who in her right mind would want her hands tied behind her back with such rough, biting cord?
Not her!
And yet this was the way she'd ended up. Paul had done all that and more to her. And she knew there was still more to come.
More hours passed. Sandy felt her muscles knotting and hurting more than ever. Her shoulder muscles were tensed from being hunched over. Other body aches still bothered her as well, from the time she'd spent tied to the tree and strapped to the arm of the pump. Her ass burned with a fire that she doubted would ever go away. The whipping from his belt had left marks, but the coat hanger had been worse.
Blood had caked on her ass-cheeks, the only visible marks on her body. But deep inside there were scars that couldn't be erased. She hated Paul, but she hated herself more. She had easily fallen into the trap he'd laid for her. She was a willing participant in all this.
Sandy had actually responded sexually when he beat her and raped her!
That thought kept churning in her mind. She couldn't understand why she got sexually aroused by the man when he did all these horrible things to her. She doubted if his analysis was correct. In some ways, she had been a real cock-teaser before, but not like he made out. She enjoyed dominating men, but that was only fair. Men always tried to dominate her.
None had done it so thoroughly before Paul, however. And that made him special.
Sandy hated with a growing intensity. But, she I had to come to grips with the fact that, in spite of the pain, she got off on all this in a big way. It was more psychological than anything else. Paul commanded, she obeyed. And if she didn't, he had the power to discipline her.
She loved him.
She hated him.
She both loved and hated him at the same lime in a complex, confusing torturous way that left her crying. He had done everything to her in just the right ways to make her his willing slave. She might not like what he did, but she loved him. She had to. He was her master.
Sandy jumped when the automatic timer turned on a lamp on a nearby table. She poked her neck out as far as she could and looked around. She was still alone in the cabin. He hadn't returned yet. The woman looked down the length of electrical cord until she saw the timer, a small black box sitting beside the light socket.
Her attention was pulled away by the sound of the door opening. Paul walked in and stood in front of her.
'Paul! Why'd you leave me like this? It's been hours and hours. It… it's sunset outside. You've been gone all day!'
He didn't hear her, or at least he pretended not to. He studied her as if she were a bug under a microscope, then slowly moved around her, running his hands over her flanks as if examining a prime piece of horse- flesh.
Paul had to admit that she was one hell of a beautiful woman. He was softening her up a lot. She would have broken out with vile curses at his presence just a few hours before. His training procedure was working wonders on this once-cold bitch.
Her tits dangled down under her chest, massive and tempting. He stroked them, cupping them in his hands and then squeezing. She moaned softly. He saw the woman's cherry-red nipples spring erect. Her nipples were hard little marbles of aroused flesh that pulsed every time her heart beat.
He pressed his thumbs into her nipples and applied all the pressure he could. He buried her nipples in her soft tit-flesh. He enjoyed watching her squirm and move around as much as he got his rocks off on the smoothness of her tits.
'Ummm, Paul darling, that's great! Keep doing it! I love the feel of your hands all over my tits. Make me feel good all over!'
He didn't answer. This was certainly a major change in the woman's attitude, but he didn't know if she were sincere or not. Sandy could be a cunning bitch when she put her mind to it. This might be a trick on her part to get free. He wouldn't play along with her. He would keep doing the things he wanted and if she didn't like it, tough shit.
