Alpha Annie 4
(F/FFff, F/Fgg, fdom, cons, bdsm, tit tort, ws, viol, pain, light blood, light scat)
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This story is a work of fiction and does not purport to depict any real people, places, or situations. It is entirely fantasy and should be treated as such. This story describes explicit sexual acts between girls, teen girls, and women. If this type of content offends you or if you are not of legal age to view adult content, then do not read it.
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Copyright 2016 by Olivia Palmer, all rights reserved.
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I was on the floor. On my knees. Naked. In my own slippery mess of piss, squirt, sweat, and stink. My arms were folded behind my back. Doing what I was told to do: looking at the mistress's swanky black platform heels – open-toed, at least a four inch spike of doom in the back.
Fuck. They were really nice shoes. I hoped she'd make me lick them.
Yes, fuckers. I wanted to lick her hot-ass rich bitch slutty Italian shoes. You would, too.
I was not beaten. Just resting. Waiting. Playing The Fucking Game. I had served before. I knew how it all went down. Serving did have its charms. Its little moments. Why not enjoy it while I was there? While I was so far down the chain, hanging off that slippery end, barely keeping my wits together... why not find the shine on the turd?
I'd have time to rise.
But meanwhile, in review: knees, floor, eyes cast down. I craved to taste that Italian leather and that sweet, sweaty insole. Tina's toenails were painted black. Same as Siobhan's. I wanted to suck them. I wanted the big one jammed hard into my slick needy asshole. I did. That shit feels good. Who the fuck wouldn't want that?
Not like I could do anything else, anyway. So yeah, I let her do her thing, have her way. Eventually, I knew I'd have mine. Maybe not with her. Couldn't fucking imagine that shit. I knew a Goddess when I saw one.
But with other bitches, yeah, I knew. I could tell. It was a test.
I knew she'd let me rise if I could first stay low and serve. Call it alpha intuition – but I knew what I was going through. I could see, smell, hear, touch, and taste every moment more clearly than the next. Hard, brutal comes will do that to you. Sudden, terrifying handling by an Amazon dyke and her tiny Sprite superior – it knocks you out, shakes you up, wakes you up.
You begin to finally become aware of that thin red line you walked in the world.
And I was up on my tippy-toes, tripping right along where they wanted me to go. I was dancing to their tune. There was a rhythm driving me forward – started with the beating of my body, a pounding in my heart, then the hard loud burst of damage, of breaking within, without, whatever it took. Coming like it might kill me. Gushing like I was utterly unglued.
And what next?
I mean, I was naked on my knees, half-past-fucked, in a dungeon. A Dungeon.
I couldn't rule anything out.
But, then again, I was a Tough Fucking Nut.
I was going to have to get through it. I had to stay on my line. If I did, I knew what I'd win on the other side would be worth it. Knew it in my bones.
I was still reeling from the insanity of my earlier orgasm, no doubt about it. My head spun inside my skull. I panted, mouth slack, tongue a little out, and I couldn't quite catch my breath. On my knees, staring hungrily at the Goddess's perfect shoes, perfect toes, perfect ankles, I tried to clear my head.
Let it happen. Be Here Now. Belong to Her. BE for Her.
And live to fuck another day.
Otherwise, I had no doubt I was about to be officially kidnapped. I'd be tied down, locked up, goosed, loosened, and left to regret stepping off that line.
This lady was beyond simply rich, beyond merely powerful. This lady was in charge. This lady was the boss of bosses. I had no doubt. I had no choice.
The proof? The shit she'd say next. Straight-up chillsville, folks, right up my spine. Like she'd read my mind. Like she was, in fact, The Goddess.
"My dear, sweet Annabelle... your silly father has already called the sheriff's department about you," purred her voice from far above. She wiggled her toes. I could hear her quietly slurp-sipping her wine. "It's almost two o'clock in the morning. Did you know that?"
I shook my head. Shrugged. Only a little.
"Are you surprised?"
I nodded. I was. The fucker must have come earlier than usual and not passed straight out from all the whiskey. Funny time for him to care.
"Not your folks, though, my precious little angel," purred our mistress. "They still think you're with Jimmy. They want you to be with Jimmy. They want you pregnant. They want you settled. They want you to stop being their weird gay little girl."
My redneck bitch gasped and squeaked a little – quietly, quickly, like a rabbit caught leaping halfway into its den. I didn't look at her. I kept my eyes on the shoes. Beside me, though, I could feel emotion rolling off my bitch in waves. I could feel her silent sob.
Something caught in my throat. Some rise of some feeling. A throb utterly disconnected from my pussy – and a hell of a fucking lot more intense. The poor girl. Did she not know what everybody else did? Was this her first time facing the obvious truth?
"Now, now, don't weep like that. It's a good thing. It is." I watched as Tina handed her wine glass to Siobhan and then stepped over in front of my bitch. She squatted.
I kept my eyes on her shoes, but now I got her calves and thighs and ass to see, too. Her scent flowed over me – musky pussy, rich perfume. She had a constellation of freckles on her bare left hip that sort of took the shape of a smiley-face with one eye winking, one eye wide open. I stared at that. I tried to ignore whatever thick feeling it was that kept rising within me. I focused on that hip.
I swallowed hard. I let her have my bitch, as best I could.
"Annabelle is not your first. How many other girls did you try, before you found your match? Ten? Eleven? You started in sixth grade. You were caught in the bathroom with your best friend. You were licking her little pussy in a stall and she made too much noise. That's when your daddy started drinking again. But you couldn't stop kissing other girls. Licking other girls. Letting other girls lick you."
More sobs. Tina cooed and shushed and seemed to be stroking my redneck bitch's soft, wonderful hair.
"Did you know what kind of girl Annabelle was? Did you know how she'd use you?" My bitch must have nodded. "Yes, of course you did. The moment she came on campus, I'm sure. You couldn't wait for her to claim you. That's why you were the first to pick a fight. That's why you pushed all your friends into it, too, afterward, to see just how strong she was. To get off on her power. To have something to think about at night while you fucked yourself."
Tina spent some quiet time stroking my bitch's perfect, round tits. Made her moan. Made her shake. I could hear her fingers sliding across my bitch's fat hard nipples in the otherwise silent room.
"And when you finally decided to come all the way out, to put yourself, willing and ready for anything, in Annabelle's path... that's the happiest you've ever been in your whole little life. Isn't it?"
Tina leaned forward. She was kissing my bitch. A long, deep, slow frenching. My redneck bitch's breathing grew more and more ragged through her nose. Surely her tits were still being fondled. Maybe a hand was down between her thighs. Maybe.
But I was not stupid. Not then, at least. I'd brought my bitch so she could be handled, hadn't I? Didn't much like it actually happening right next to me, when I couldn't watch and gloat and enjoy all that shit. Nevertheless, though, there it was – my plan, being followed. I did not look.
Then the kiss was over. Our mistress slowly stood.
"Why the shame, then? What's so bad about being who you are? You're only a few months away from graduating. You're just a few of life's little inches from deciding your own fate."
Tina walked the three steps over to the armless black leather couch and sat, crossed her legs. Siobhan stepped forward and handed back the glass of wine. She sipped.
"You could live here with me, you know. With my daughter and with Sal and all the rest of my girls. You could serve me here for a while, until you felt better about being yourself, until you were ready to live the life you want."
More sips of wine. My redneck bitch was silent beside me. Still as stone. Soft as butter in the sun.
"I would pay for school, whenever you want to go, wherever that might be," Tina continued, "And I would make sure you are safe and happy and have what you need for your journey while you're here, busy with being you, exploring yourself."
Siobhan handed our Mistress the empty Nigori bottle next. Tina sniffed it between sips of wine. I could tell her attention was turning.
Oh. Fuck. It was about to happen.
"Think about it, my dear," came her last soft purr on the subject. "You don't have to decide tonight. And you have nothing, ever, to fear from me."
Sniffing. Sipping. Staring. I kept my eyes on her shoes. I began to sweat. A trickle ran down my ribs. Another ran down between my goose-pimpled breasts.
How was she going to do it? And when? Fucking when would she start?!
"Now you, Annabelle," Tina hardened, her voice flat. All biz. There was no more purr. "Your father has been reassured. Deputy Stella has paid him a visit. He's resting peacefully and should continue to rest until near the end of Tuesday. Maybe Wednesday. Nurse Fiona was brought over, and she's already called into his work for him. Poor silly man has come down with a bit of a bug. For just a few days. We're writing him a note."
She stood, stepped forward to stand right in front of me. Her toes were inches from my knees. I stared straight down. My bare, exposed neck prickled, tickled. My ears turned hot. My mouth went dry.
Just go ahead and do your shit, lady! FUCK.
"Then he'll be fine," Tina finished. "And he won't remember this weekend at all."
A warm trickle. On my neck. Some ran onto my shoulder, down over my collarbone, tinkling down around my right nipple. Some ran right down my back, my spine arching despite myself fighting hard to be still. Liquid slid into the top of my ass-crack, ran down to the small sloppy gape of my pussy, and joined the rest of my horny flow, the juices slowly creeping farther and farther down the insides of my thighs.
Then her mouth was on my neck. Licking. Sucking. Her soft full lips. Her warm tongue. She tasted me. She slurped my skin and sampled my sweaty, slippery surface.
I couldn't help it. I groaned. I trembled. I wanted that mouth. I wanted it on me. Everywhere.
Some things you feel, they have nothing to do with being top or bottom. Some things you feel because you're an animal and you just can't help it. I felt that mouth. I began to melt.
Her breath on my neck. Her lips on my ear. Her tongue behind my earlobe, right where Sal had clutched and controlled me. I was bruised. Her lips kissed it. The soreness shuddered down through me, a sweet dull pain. A reminder.
Her hands slipped over my breasts. Her fingers slid across my rigid nipples. I groaned again. I leaked. I flowed.
Her heavy breasts in their black leather demi-cups, her thick nipples with their thick steel rings, they were right there in front of my face as she bent down and worked her magic mouth. Her flesh pushed against the top of the corset, gravity bulging her tits toward me obscenely, beautifully. They were almost out. They were so big, so round, so firm but silky. Smooth. Freckles across her chest. The scent of spice. Of sweetness and musky, smoky spice.
Her mouth stopped. Lifted away. She stood up straight, and I froze.
"What's this?" came her voice. Tight. Clipped. "What are you looking at?"
Red flash. Stars. My face burned. I lost balance, my posture snapped, and I fell sideways to the cold tiles. Her hand had whipped across my mouth, my nose. Right where fucking Mags had fucking done it. I could already taste the blood. The swelling was immediate. The floor seemed to tilt as I struggled to get back up.
Ever had those tight, bright bursts behind your eyes? Those prickling, dancing, tiny blooms of lightning that swirl and vibrate all across your vision? My ears rang. My eyes flowed freely. Snot ran down over my split upper lip.
But I got back to my knees. I folded my arms behind my back. I looked at her glamorous, slutty shoes.
"Your breasts, Mistress," I managed to say. I croaked it like a fucking frog, if you want to know the truth.
Beside me, my redneck bitch remained every bit the obedient statue. I tried to do the same. Hard as fuck when you're dizzy and in pain. I let the tears run down my cheeks, the blood drip into my mouth, the snot clog my nose and plaster shut my cut lip. And I was still. I was so fucking still.
"Yes," I heard her sneer. "My breasts. My beautiful tits."
She circled around behind me. Her heels straddled my right calf. Then her left shoe went up gently against my sloppy cunt. Slid back a little, pressed against my hungry asshole.
"I didn't say you could look at them, did I?" my mistress asked, rubbing my holes. I shook my head.
Her foot kept working me. Back and forth. Slow. Steady. It took every ounce of my control, every muscle in my athlete's tight body, to keep still. I wanted to rock on that foot So Fucking Much. But I knew what that would get me.
And then, of course, I got it anyway.
Her foot drew back in an instant and returned almost immediately. The toe of her shoe crashed, sharp and hard, against my swollen, needy pussy.
A swift, hard kick in the cunt.
I yelped like a fucking dog.
I fell onto my tits, my face turning just in time, my cheek bouncing off the tiles. My arms couldn't come around fast enough to break my fall. I was stunned again. I curled into a ball. I hurt. OH FUCK did that hurt!
Ever been kicked in the cunt? A girl's genitalia Does Not Like that kind of assault. Those tender bits are soft and precious for a reason. They're fucking sensitive. They fucking feel every fucking little thing. So yeah. Kick my shit and that's gonna hurt. Bad.
Point of her fucking toe, too! No fucking mercy.
I needed to breathe. I sucked for air. I put my hands over my mound and just kind of held it. I stayed in that tight little ball. I kept my eyes closed.
Never, not once, had Kylie's mom ever done that. Never, not once, had I ever thought a woman really would.
Sure, I had recognized the threat, that's why I'd kept so still. But Tina had done it anyway. She had really, truly attacked my one and only pussy. My muffin. My tasty taco. My panty clam. My beaver. It was fucking bruised. Call it whatever you want, "it" was "in pain". Not. Fucking. Cool.
"Get up," I dimly heard her command. "Get up NOW."
I uncoiled. I rolled to my knees. I pushed myself back up. Folded my hands behind my back. Kept my face lowered. Focused my eyes on the floor.
She was still behind me. She was once again straddling my calf.
"I did think you were tougher than that," Tina condescended.
"But I guess not. Pity."
A finger went right up my ass. Deep and straight. I jerked, but only a little. I didn't whimper. I wanted to. I didn't groan. I wanted to. The finger turned, crooked upward, downward, swirled, pushed forward, dug around. The heavy end of my fat cheeseburger turd was prodded, wiggled. My guts spasmed. I almost lost control.
That would have been bad.
The finger withdrew. Tina walked around to stand in front of me again. The finger went into my mouth, but not without knuckling up against my bloody, swollen lip. Not without dragging a fair amount of bloody snot-sludge in with it. But again, I didn't make a sound.
I opened my mouth. I took it.
There was a blob of my shit on the end of her long finger. She circled my tongue with it, then scraped it off against my lower front teeth. She withdrew her finger and my mouth stayed open. I knew enough, even in my pain and dizziness, to wait for a command.
Tina stepped in front of my redneck bitch, stuck the same finger in her mouth.
"Clean it off, dear," she cooed. My bitch did, with a lot sucking and slurping. With a lot of enthusiasm.
"Good, perfect," chirped our Mistress. "You are such a good girl."
Her voice hardened again as she turned to address me. "Now Annabelle, you may swallow your filth."
I did. At least that wasn't a problem. Not like I'd never done it before.
I wondered if she knew that about me. I mean, if she knew what Mags had done (like Sal and Siobhan apparently did), if she knew all about my bitch the way she did (going back to sixth fucking grade!), if she knew how to take such easy control of my idiot father (then again, that might not be so surprising) – what else did she know?
As it turned out, she knew pretty much everything.
"So much like your mother," the Goddess declared. I froze. MY mother? What?
"How old were you when you first saw your mother eating Karen Massingale's filth?"
Karen. Kylie's mom. Feeding my mom. Fuck. How did she fucking know that? But I answered.
"I was ten."
Kylie and I had knelt beside my mother's face, inches away from Kylie's mom's squatting ass, looking up under her from either side, and we'd watched turd after turd creep out, pinch off, and drop into my mom's watering mouth. We were made to watch that a lot, and before long we were so damn hot to try it ourselves. There was no way we were going to say no. Kylie's mom had made sure we got used to it – the stink, the mess, the obvious shameful ecstasy that made my mother quiver all over and come like a hurricane. We fisted my mom while she ate. We bit her nipples. We licked her feet. We licked her armpits. We watched her chew and swallow Kylie's mom's firm, fat, perfect shit, and we wanted to do it, too.
Tina returned to the couch, sitting again, crossing her legs again, sipping again at her wine. In between sips she sniffed at her finger, eyes half-closed. Savoring.
"And who," she asked, "do you think taught Karen Massingale how to rule?"
I answered without thinking. Because it had all come back to me. "It was you, Mistress."
"Yes," Tina confirmed, low and proud. "I owned you before I even knew you. Then, once I finally saw you... well, after that I never had any doubts. I knew you'd show up sooner or later."
I nodded. I stared at her shoes. I remembered Tina now. She'd come over sometimes. She'd sat in a corner and watched. She'd said nothing. Done nothing. She'd simply observed Kylie's mom as she worked us over. The teacher testing the pupil. The master assessing the apprentice.
"And then those careless little stoners got arrested," Tina sighed. "Seemed like such a waste of my time."
She finished her wine and handed the glass back to Siobhan, who padded away to refill it. Sal remained standing by, next to the cross. I could feel her flexing and relaxing her massive arms. Wiggling her cruel fingers. Working her jaw.
"But still, I did love them. The lawyers were easy. The judges were lenient. Their sentences were light." The Goddess shrugged, then studied her smelly finger before sniffing it some more.
So I owed her. That was clear. Fucking plain as the fucking day. No wonder she felt like she could use me so hard right from the start. No wonder Mags had attacked so quick. No wonder Siobhan had smiled so big. No wonder Sal had been so cruel. No fucking wonder.
I had been expected. I had debts to pay.
When Siobhan returned with a fresh half-full glass, our mistress sipped, then continued. "And now I think it might have truly been worth all that effort. Look at what you became. Look who you've brought me. Such a precious gift."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw my redneck bitch straighten a little, raise her cute little chin, puff out her beautiful round tits. She flashed just the slightest, sweetest smile. Something caught in my throat again. High and hard.
Damn right. I'd brought Tina some choice meat.
But what kind of meat was I?
"Now get up on that cross, my dear."
I got to my feet, stumbling a little at first, and wandered the few steps over to the giant black X. I took the hand that Sal offered. It was so huge and hard. Calloused. Thick. I couldn't help but flash to earlier, to that hand around my neck, to passing out, to pissing so hard and coming even harder, as her fingers held me like a puppet, pressing in just the right places, making me howl and hurt and hunger for more of the terrible, wonderful orgasm that I'd thought might kill me.
I stepped up on the rolling platform. Sal locked the wheels, then raised my arms. I was strapped to the thick leather pads at my wrists. She knocked my feet out wider with the back of her massive hand. My ankles were strapped down. Another strap went around my waist, cinched tight.
Then she took my tit. My left tit. Siobhan handed her a thin black rope, soft and strong. Sal wound the rope, over and over, tighter and tighter, about the base of my titflesh, where my cute perky boob was connected to the flesh on my chest. I watched my breast slowly swell, round out, and turn pink, then a little blue, then purple. The rope was long. She criss-crossed it over to my right tit, wound it tight. Back and forth.
There they were – purple boobs. Painful swelling. Then a near-nothing kind of hot tight buzz of pressure. Numbness that wasn't numb. It was so different. It was a feeling and yet it wasn't. It was a sensation I'd never known before. There was this change. This tight, fat, bursting Throb Of Need. The need to have them set free. The need to have them sucked and licked and nibbled, whether they were set free or not. The need to stare at them, horrified and thrilled. Worried and excited.
My sore pussy was working again. It drooled its need down the insides of my thighs. Now that my feet were spread farther apart than my shoulders, I knew some of it was going to start dripping lewdly onto the black platform. The little girl in me wanted them to save that tiny puddle – save it just for me, to let me lick it up! I used to do that for Kylie's mom. She used my mouth to clean the floor. I'd done it in front of Tina back then, more than once, I was certain. My scrawny ass in the air, my face smearing across the linoleum, my mouth seeking what my mother and Kylie and me had leaked and spewed and spat and shit.
I did like doing that. I thought I'd like to maybe do it again.
Sal finished by wrapping the last length of the rope behind my back, looping it somehow around to my ribs on the other side, through the far end of the rope that was tight against my other tit. Without being told, I arched out from the pad as far as I could, then she brought the rope back again behind me, knotted it, then pulled it up and wound it twice around my neck, just tight enough to feel. She finally pulled it down the center of my chest and tied it off on the tight little x of rope that stretched between my fat, plum-colored, helpless tits.
She stepped away, out of sight behind me. Siobhan was over by the tall, glass-faced cabinets. Wearing white latex gloves. She was picking things up, placing them on a surgeon's long cart, atop a folded white towel. The long needles. The skewers. One by one, she peeled back their sterile plastic wrappings until they lay in a gleaming row, ready for use.
Oh. Shit.
Siobhan rolled the cart over and stopped it next to the cross. Next to me. Next to my helpless, hopeless self. What the fuck was this woman about to do to?
Tina stayed on the couch, sipping her wine. Siobhan stood patiently next to the cart, her arms limp at her sides, her eyes bright, focused on my tightly bound tits.
"Now dear," the Goddess began, "can you imagine my surprise when, out of the blue, you end up interrupting my lunch at Donna's, taking that seat next to me, and trying – of all the silly things – to pick me up?"
She sipped from the cup, sniffed at her finger. She studied my swollen boobs, my oozing cunt.
"Imagine me, knowing you, following your little career as I have been, and suddenly I'm confronted in the clumsiest way possible." Sip. Sniff. "It was the hardest thing I've done in a long time, keeping a straight face while that little scene played itself out."
Then she raised her glass to me and smiled. Tipped it a little in my direction. In my honor?
"But you were charming, no doubt about it," she admitted. "And you were – are – a beautiful, intelligent, strong young woman."
Sip. Sniff.
"And your scent, it's so powerful, so perfect. Such a frisky little beast you are. Such heat."
Sip. Sniff.
"I actually rode home and made Siobhan service me right away, which is really something."
Sip. Sniff.
Sip. Sniff.
Sip. Sniff.
"But you should never have touched my bike."
She thrust her chin, with a quick upward flick, toward the Sprite. Then more sips. More sniffs of her once-shitty finger.
Siobhan grabbed several of the long needles and stepped lightly up onto the platform. Her t-shirt, which had once been white, was now damp and stained by my piss and squirt. It clung to her breasts, heavy and round on her tiny frame – not huge, not obscene, but larger than her small body could easily support. I wondered how sore her back must be at the end of every day.
The collar of the shirt was still slung far over on one shoulder, and it hung lower than ever as it clung to her wetly. The tattoo on her chest, in mostly red and black, was of a nude raven-and-red-haired woman – Siobhan, I realized, her face rendered even more beautiful by the artist – with unfurled dark angel's wings and long sharp claws for hands and feet. She floated just above Siobhan's breasts and smiled out at me, her head tilted slightly forward, slightly down. She was in mid-flight and ready to strike. A sharp-tipped tail flashed from behind a sultry round hip. Her nipples and bare cunt were pierced with heavy gold rings. Her eyes were hooded, with red irises and slitted pupils. Her tongue forked wickedly and tasted the air, lolling out between two fangs above and two fangs below in a mouth full of otherwise perfect white teeth. In one hand she held the severed head of an exquisitely beautiful blonde woman by her long silken hair. In the other was a jagged, cruel dagger dripping blood.
Siobhan saw me staring and glanced down at herself, then back up. Shrugged. Rolled her eyes. "Ex-girlfriend," she muttered.
"Now now," our Mistress interrupted. Siobhan stopped. Stiffened. "You will pay for that later, my dear. This is not the time for words. This is the time for deeds."
Siobhan's shoulders slumped a little, but then she recovered. She stepped around the far side, my right, so that my full body was in Tina's view. She wiped my swollen flesh thoroughly with an alcohol-drenched pad. Then she did it again with another one. Finally, she held up a needle, its thin tip a millimeter above my swollen right breast.
Tina had sipped and sniffed, and then finally she thrust her chin again.
"Don't forget to breathe, OK?" the Sprite whispered. I nodded. I nodded and breathed. In and out. In and out.
Siobhan pressed down. My skin felt like it popped. In the woman's firm, expert grip the needle slid deep into my flesh. Only the light green plastic end of it remained to be seen. There were four inches of stainless steel acupuncture inside me. It was a deep, pinching prick. It didn't stop pinching. Didn't stop pricking. As a second, then a third, then a fourth needle punctured me, I hung my head and watched, astounded.
My own tits, porcupined. My own tits, purple, bristling with needles, burning with fire.
Not a single spot was bleeding, but around every needle my plum-colored skin swelled even more, turning pink like a bee sting around the needles' invading steel.
I was panting, staring hard at what the Sprite was doing. There were twelve needles in all. Six per tit. Up, down, sideways, diagonal. I was a pin cushion. My breasts burned. My head was a balloon. Felt like it was about to lift off, float away. It was a little like being high again, the rush, the sliding weirdness of it, the thump-thump in my chest and the rush-roar of blood in my ears. The lightness. The heat. All the way up my neck. All the way down to my sloppy crotch.
Then my eyes closed. I closed my head. My tits ...turned off. There was just the floating. The warmth. The strange throbs down deep inside my sore pussy. Then... then....
"She's fading, sweetheart," Tina warned, from a million miles away.
Something jolted me awake – and hyper-aware, with an instant headache, snorting, coughing. Smelling salts. I'd been knocked out cold in a soccer game last season, and it was that same shit that brought me back. I would never forget that nasty, biting slap in the snout.
Sal was back in front of me, handing the cracked little wrapper to Siobhan and reaching for the knots that bound my punctured titties. As my eyes watered and my head spun, she expertly untied, unwound, and un-numbed my breasts.
That shit hurt.
The needles were worse than fire. As the blood pumped back in and out of my titflesh, every micro-millimeter of needle felt like a thousand miles of acid burn. Just breathing – and really I was panting like a fucking bitch by then – was moving my tits around enough to move those needles ever-so-slightly. Blood began to bead where the things poked up out of me.
Sal finished and stepped away with the bundle of rope, coiling it around her huge hand as she strolled toward a cabinet. Siobhan stepped back into my field of view, her eyes level with my sore tits. She flicked the plastic end of a needle.
I yelped.
One by one, over and over, she flicked the needles. Sweat began to pour off of me. Blood trickled freely from all twelve insertions. My nipples were stiff, long, needy things. I wanted sucking. No way to explain it, really, but that's what began to rule over me – this crazy lust to have a mouth on my tit, licking away the blood, sucking hard on my nips, nibbling, chewing.
"Yes, good," murmured Tina, still on the low black leather couch, still sipping her wine and sniffing her finger. "Looks like I was right, wasn't I dear?"
Siobhan didn't look away from her patient work flicking at the needles. She nodded, "Yes, mistress."
"You, Annabelle," proclaimed my host, "are a bit of a pain sub. A humiliation sub. Definitely a degradation sub. Just like you were when you were ten."
My head was hanging low, my eyes focused on Siobhan's flicking fingers, my eyes watering, my eyes blurring. But I nodded. Yeah. Nailed it.
Tina was still waxing philosophical. The Bitch. "Isn't it fascinating how we find our pattern and stick to it? Whether we even know we're looking for one or not."
I shrugged, but being tied to a giant black leather X probably made that just look silly. Bondage, honestly, always felt that way to me. Silly. I was definitely more into the defilement side of subbing, there could be no doubt.
Siobhan's fingers kept the fire burning. Kept the blood tinkling out of me.
"I once watched Karen Massingale defecate into your mother's mouth and then she made you and her own daughter take turns biting away the bulk of the feces that still stuck up beyond her lips. You kissed your little friend and shared the filth back and forth, until it was all swallowed and gone. By that time it was clear you'd done such a thing much more than a few times."
Nodding. We'd loved doing that.
"That day, though, Karen tried something new. Maybe to impress me, I suppose," Tina mused. She stood up from the couch and wandered a few steps away to where my panties and bungee cord lay on the slippery tiles. She prodded them with her beautiful Italian shoe.
"She made each of you three produce excrement – a nice heavy pile from each of your sweaty bottoms, as I recall – and she then ordered each of you to dig out a bit from each coiled mound of waste. You were made to combine all three pieces of filth together into one little ball about the size of, well, the inside of a mouth. And then, of course, each of you held it there in your mouth. You were commanded not to chew. Not to vomit. Only to swallow the sludge as it melted. Then she worked on you, each one in turn, beating you with that leather belt while you knelt there and swallowed that disgusting mess one melted bit at a time."
She raised her glass to me. "And you, Annabelle, you never failed."
I remembered that day well, of course. Who could forget something like that?! My whole body surged with pride that she was impressed and inspired by my childhood training.
"You never forgot and let reflexes overcome you. You didn't chew until she said you could. That meant you got to stuff the other two full with their own filth – because they'd given in, hadn't they? They'd chewed and puked long before Karen was done with the beatings. So you were rewarded. You were allowed to stuff them. Mouths, nostrils, ears, assholes, vaginas. Then you smeared them from head to toe. Karen urinated on their faces as you crammed their own waste inside them. You packed them utterly full. You were flying. You were so high on that moment. On being the winner. On being the new tormentor. I'll never forget it."
Tina used her toe to flip my wet, slobbery panties toward my redneck bitch's kneeling, trembling body. My bitch stared at them with wide eyes. Her bruised, beautiful skin was flushed pink. She was ready for whatever. However.
"Now, my sweet girl," Tina smiled down at my excited slave, "please bend over onto your hands and knees and push that silly sock out of your bottom."
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Copyright 2016 by Olivia Palmer, all rights reserved. Do not repost or redistribute without prior written permission of the author. One copy may be saved for private use, insofar as that use does not extend to personal or financial gain by use of the author's work without consent.