Burning Bright

Her tits were still in agony from the nettles and physical abuse, and her cunt muscles were beginning to cramp against the hard cylinder buried inside her, leaving her insides with a deep and nauseating ache. Her abdominals were so sore after the gut punches that every breath hurt, and her arms and legs felt more uncomfortable in their stringent bondage by the minute.

All of that is to say, Layla was already in a miserable state when she saw him wheeling in the car battery. Two jumper cables were attached to it, their jaws modified to be even stronger and sharper than most brands. A small insulated cable connected the two clamps together, short and stretchy to ensure they would always be taut once attached. It was another torture tool from her own dungeon, but this one was more of a prop than anything else. She often threatened disobedient subs with “frying their cocks off”, but the furthest she’d ever gone was clamping the jaws onto a man’s nipples or nutsack, then letting herself be convinced not to actually run any voltage through.

The redhead prayed the battery didn’t even work, but when he touched the jumper cables together, a bright blue spark danced between them. “Time to burn that stuck up cunt attitude out of you,” he growled. “See you on the other side, fucktoy.”

Layla watched the vicious jaws bite into her swollen, puffy nipples as if in slow motion, their teeth sinking so deeply into the sensitive flesh that blood immediately welled out around them. For a second, perhaps two, she felt nothing much at all, just cool metal against her overheated skin. It was almost soothing.

And then the pain hit her.

The dominatrix knew she should hold still. She’d watched countless men squirm once these were on, and seen how it only made the clamps bite deeper, how the insulated cable between would cruelly tug and stretch them. She knew that no matter how badly this hurt right now, it would be ten times worse if she panicked and started moving.

Knowing this was one thing. Actually following through on it was one of the most difficult tasks of her life. As far as her body and all its millennia old survival instincts were concerned, a wild animal’s jaws were crunching into her flesh, and her only option was to escape. All her mental pleas to stop, to calm down, to resist instead of mindlessly fleeing, were being ignored.

In the end, it was only her hatred that saved Layla. Her pure disgust for this man and everything he represented. She would NOT be weak. She would NOT submit. Through sheer  stubborn force of will, she pushed aside the pain and made her body OBEY, dominating it as thoroughly as she had any man. Despite some of the worst pain she’d ever felt, despite her physical and mental exhaustion, and despite her gnawing fear that this session was going too far too fast, she held still. She breathed shallowly, sweat pouring down her body from the effort. She endured.

And then he turned the car battery on.

Layla thrashed from side to side as her hoarse screams echoed through the room. All thoughts of not moving had vanished from her mind. The predator that had her caught in its jaws was chewing, tearing the meat off her bones with teeth that burned hotter than the sun.

For long moments, her body shook and convulsed as voltage ran through it, her mind completely consumed by agony. Layla didn’t remember where she was, or who, or what was happening to her. There was only pain. For a brief moment she wondered if she’d died and gone to Hell, but the idea didn’t stick; she couldn’t imagine even Hell being as terrible as this.

At some point, seconds or minutes or years later, her rapist switched off the voltage, and the pain went from infinite to merely unbearable. She continued to twitch and quiver even without the electricity, and was dimly surprised to notice that her nipples hadn’t actually been ripped off her chest.

The ugly, pockmarked man was watching with a self satisfied smile, and seeing it nearly felt worse than the battery had. He wasn’t just torturing her, he was having the time of his life doing it. He’d enjoyed her suffering almost more than she’d hated it. The thought of being dominated by this sadistic bastard, of this human trash not just getting away with treating her like this, but getting her to actually submit and reward him for the abuse, sent a wave of nausea through her so intense that she nearly vomited.

He met her gaze, matching raw hate with dark glee, and spoke again in his gravelly voice. “Magic phrase is ‘I’ve been a bad girl, so please punish my shithole, master’.”

“Fuck off… shitstain…” she panted back.

He began electrocuting her again.

What came after felt more like a nightmare to Layla than reality. She couldn’t begin to track how much time was passing, or how many times he’d shocked her. All her brain could register was that there were moments where she suffered terribly, and moments that were even worse, and that the latter occurred far more often than the former.

“Stop it…” she found herself mumbling during one of the rare times she wasn’t screaming. “Stop it stop it make it stop…”

“Speak up, bitch,” her torturer snarled, but blessedly, the hand that had been moving to switch the voltage back on paused.

“You… have to stop…” the redhead forced out, her sore throat burning with the effort of speaking above a whisper. “No more… I want to end the session early … I… I’ll pay the full fee… just stop…”

He smirked at her. “What happened to no safe words or limits, slut? You throwing in the towel before we even have a proper fuck?”

She shook her head weakly. “You… you HAVE to stop… killing me…” She didn’t care about finding motivation anymore, or the implications for her career. She didn’t even care if he strutted back to the agency and bragged to everyone there about taming the meanest bitch in Chicago. This was all just too much. He was going to either kill her or break her, and either way her life would be over.

To her relief, he nodded. “Alright,” he said calmly. “I’ll stop.”

“Good…” she breathed, and nearly thanked him. “Now set me-“

“I’ll stop,” he interrupted over her, “when you say the magic phrase, you dumb fucking slut.”

The voltage returned.

“Nooo…” Layla whined when she could talk again. “Have to… have to…”

“I don’t HAVE to do anything, bitch,” he snapped back at her. “If I feel like it, I can just leave this on for good and walk away, let someone find your fried corpse in the morning.”

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare. But… even if he wouldn’t, he COULD, and the thought was an icy ball of fear in the pit of her stomach. No sane person would just leave her to die, especially knowing that he was sure to get caught. But very little about the man struck her as ‘sane’, and it didn’t much matter to her if he spent the rest of his life in jail for it. She’d still be dead.

“I… I’ll pay extra…” she tried. “Double… triple your fee…” She swallowed, and dug deep to find a word that she hadn’t used in years, outside of scornful mocking. A word she could’ve happily gone without for the rest of her life. “…Please…”

He grinned at her, showing off yellowed smoker teeth. “That’s one word down, slut. Just gotta put it together with all the rest.”

The world shattered into endless agony again.

“…Fine…’ she muttered when the pain ebbed. “Just… just do it already…” The thought of anal sex with this horrifying creep made her skin crawl, and the memory of his massive cock sent a shiver down her spine, but she’d meant what she said: this HAD to stop. If that required letting the bastard feel like he’d won for a little while, so be it.

Instead of jumping at her agreement, he gave her a sour scowl. “God, you’re so fucking dumb. If you were even slightly less fuckable, or I didn’t have such a soft spot for uppity red haired cunts, I’d just snap your neck and call it a day.”

“What… more do you want from me?” she breathed, almost more frustrated than afraid now. “I’m saying I’ll … let you fuck me, like you wanted!” Even her actual rapist eight years ago hadn’t achieved that. Everything he’d taken from her had been by force. He might have physically dominated her, but she’d never submitted to him. Didn’t this idiot realize she was giving up and handing herself to him?

“‘Let’,” the creep repeated slowly, savoring the word. “You’ll LET me fuck you.”

“Yes!” Layla hissed. “So hurry up and get it over-“

He’d cut her off with his hand around her throat. The redhead’s eyes bulged, her mouth flapping helplessly as she stared at his expression of rage. This wasn’t like the last time he’d grabbed her. He wasn’t trying to choke her, he was crushing her windpipe.

Something in her throat creaked as his grip tightened. “Fucktoys don’t let their owners fuck them,” he growled. “They BEG for it, just like they beg for everything else, because they are weak, pathetic little bugs that live to serve their betters.”

Layla squawked something unintelligible at him as her head pounded and her vision grew dark. She didn’t even know if she was trying to apologize, or demand he let go, or even beg for her life. She just knew that her life was literally in his hands right now, and he was about to kill her.

“Last. Chance.” He spat the words. “Say it, or we’re done.”

His grip eased only slightly, just enough to let her draw in a faint trickle of breath. His fingers were like iron, ready to clench harder than ever and end her life. “I’ve… been… a bad… girl… master…” Layla gasped. “Please… punish… my… shithole…”

His hand mercifully loosened, and the redhead gratefully gulped in air, her head still swimming from asphyxiation. “Was that so hard?” he said scornfully as she tried to recover. “Stuck up cunt. If you’d just said that an hour ago, I’d be in your guts already. Gonna make you regret giving your owner blue balls.”

While Layla caught her breath, she tried not to think about how low she’d fallen. She’d always thought that she was someone who’d rather die than submit to a man, and yet she’d done it. This man was clearly some kind of deranged psychopath, she reminded herself. A sick fuck abusing the roleplay agency to enact his own disgusting fantasies.

If she was lucky, he’d been dumb enough to register there with his real name, and he’d rot in prison for this once she contacted the police. But she couldn’t allow herself to think about that right now. The important thing right now was to get out of this session alive. Everything else, including thoughts of revenge and her wounded self respect, had to be a distant second.

After his talk about blue balls, Layla expected him to waste no time sticking his cock in her, but she was surprised and horrified to see him instead going back to her tools, and the dominatrix’s heart sank when she what he wanted: the curling iron.

She gulped, tamping down her initial instinct to yell at him to put that fucking thing down. He’d made it very clear that he didn’t like being told what to do. Shame crept up her cheeks as she forced herself to try a more compromising approach. “Don’t you… want to fuck my ass? Master?” Adding that last word made her stomach churn, but she’d watched too many subs screaming while she used that iron on them. “Why don’t we, um, play with that later?” Much, much later, you fucking freak, she added silently.

“Anyone ever told you how stupid you are?” he said, still studying the iron and its controls. “Before me, that is. Even among fucktoys, you’re one of the dumbest I’ve ever met.”

She glared at him, then quickly wiped the look off her face. “I… I’ve had critics…”

“Yeah, I fucking bet,” he said, and looked up from the curling iron. “Told you I wasn’t going to fuck your ass until you begged for it.”

“And, and I did,” she reminded him. Fearful that correcting him might set him off, she added a belated “master”.

“See? Fucking stupid. You begged me to punish your shithole, idiot.” He pointed the iron at her. “And that’s what this is for. The buttfucking comes later.”

A lump rose in Layla’s throat. He meant it. She was in so much pain, and had submitted so deeply, and he STILL wasn’t done torturing her? “Please, m-master…” she stuttered as he began to approach, terror making her stumble over her words. Begging for mercy wouldn’t work. From one sadist to another, she knew it would just make him enjoy himself more. “Can you, p-please, at least remove the, the clamps?”

The jumper cables were still attached to her nipples, still causing a constant thrum of pain that spiked with every breath. Even he had to understand that it was all too much: her stuffed cunt, her restrained limbs, her aching stomach, her itchy burning breasts, her clamped nipples… to add another torture on top of all that was literally crazy. There was sadism, and then there was sheer insanity.

She nearly melted in relief when he paused and nodded. “Battery was fun, but we got lots of other ways to break a bitch here,” he said. “And I wouldn’t want you getting bored.”

“Y-yes,” she agreed. “That’s, that’s so smart!” Maybe like so many other men, he was weak to compliments. If she could beg him to do horrible things to her intestines, she could pretend he wasn’t a hideous monster who deserved to have his balls ripped off.

She was so relieved at the prospect of her nipples finally getting a break, she didn’t think about why he was holding a pair of scissors. It wasn’t until he sliced through the main cables connecting the cruel clamps to the battery, leaving them still attached to each other by the much shorter insulated cable, that she realized something was wrong. “Um…” Layla began, not sure how to broach the subject without angering him.

“You got a problem with your new jewelry, bitch?” he asked coldly.

New… Layla looked down at the sharp jaws buried in her nipples, and the taut cable between them that was still tugging painfully on both. He wasn’t going to remove them, she realized with a sinking feeling. Not now, not when he finally raped her ass, not until he was done with her. The ever present pain in her tits seemed to grow even worse with the knowledge that it wasn’t going to end any time soon. “Y-you can’t be serious…” she said weakly.

She wasn’t even trying to talk back for once. She was just in pure disbelief that someone could hate another person this much. She’d made her entire living off of hatred and sadism, and even for her this was ridiculous. They’d never even met before - his wasn’t a face she’d ever forget - and yet somehow no amount of her suffering seemed to be enough to satisfy him.

Unfortunately, he didn’t take her statement the same way, because he hooked his index finger in the cable and pulled. The redhead shrieked as the pain immediately intensified, her nipples stretching obscenely far. “Thank you for my new jewelry, master!” he bellowed over her screams. “Your fucktoy will wear it forever!”

She screamed out the words through gritted teeth. “Thank you… for… my new jewelry… master! Your… fucktoy… will… wear it… forever!”

He released the cable and shook his head. “Fucking idiot,” he growled, and there was such genuine contempt in his tone that Layla agreed with him. What was the point of expressing her opinions around him, as though it accomplished anything other than giving him a new avenue or excuse to hurt her? Why did she keep pretending he wasn’t the one with all the power here?

“And yeah, you fucking will,” he added from behind her. She’d been so preoccupied with self recrimination, she hadn’t noticed him moving. “Because they’re permanent, slut. Gonna fucking bury you with them someday.”

“Permanent?!” she hissed, too shocked and dismayed at the idea to hold her tongue. And what the hell was this talk about burying her? Her temper rose again, and this time she couldn’t stop it, already forgetting the lesson she’d just learned. “What the FUCK is wrong with you?! You think, what, you’re gonna blackmail me after this, make me keep crawling back for more? Or are you just so fucking full of yourself that you think one night of half assed torture is gonna make me fawn over you the rest of my life and become your simpering little fucktoy?!”

Instead of answering, he rammed the curling iron straight up her ass.

The metal was thin, but her asshole was tight; she hadn’t had anything up there since last year’s rape session, and that pansy had used lube. Her rectum walls protested as they stuck to the iron and were then ripped away as eleven inches of unyielding steel drilled into her.

Layla grunted in pain. She felt a deep ache in her bowels, and the uncomfortable sense that her intestines had been rearranged to accommodate the thing. It hurt, but she knew it was going to get much worse very soon. Her anger was already fading, beaten down by the physical reminder in her guts that he could do whatever he wanted to her right now. He was right: she was so fucking stupid. If she just did what he wanted, and didn’t keep opening her fucking mouth, he might be done already. At the very least, she’d be in far less pain.

“You ever play games with your submissives?” he asked. His mouth was right by her ear, and she suppressed a grimace as his foul breath rolled over her face.

“S-Sometimes,” she admitted. She didn’t know why he was asking, but she wasn’t going to complain about the iron not turning on. She kept talking, hoping to draw this out further. “Last week I made one masturbate without finishing while I-“

She yelped as he gave her rear a hard spank. “Don’t care. We’re gonna play a game too. You’re going to tell me why I should take this curling iron out and stuff my cock up your guts instead. You give me a good answer, you get your wish. You fuck up…” There was a hum as he clicked the iron on. “We go to the next setting and you try again.”

Layla’s mind raced as the metal slowly heated inside her. She tried to remember how many settings the thing had. Five? Six? She normally used it at three with her subs, she remembered that much. The warmth wasn’t bad right now, almost pleasant, but she had two attempts at most before that changed.

She took a deep breath and focused, trying to think her way out of this. She had to figure out what he wanted to hear from her. It couldn’t just be simple begging, that would be too easy. Did he want her to demean herself? Or maybe…?

There was another click, the hum shifted tone, and the iron immediately became much less pleasant, though not outright painful. “I, I didn’t answer yet!” Layla snapped, angry at him for breaking his own damn rule.

“I ain’t waiting all fucking day,” he replied. “Ten seconds before we step it up again.”

“That’s not enough-!” she began to hiss, then stopped herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Arguing with him wasn’t going to accomplish anything, and the clock was ticking. “I, I, uh, I BEG you to fuck my ass because I hate anal!” That was true - she found it disgusting and demeaning even in the best circumstances - and she was proud of herself for remembering to include the word ‘beg’.

Another click, and Layla stiffened as the iron began to burn her insides. “Could care less what fucktoys like or don’t like,” said her torturer. “Try again.”

It HURT. The redhead felt like she was being cooked alive, and there was nothing she could do to ease the pain, nowhere to go or shift to evade eleven inches of burning metal inside her. And of course every pained movement brought fresh agony from her nipple clamps, and made the thick cylinder still stretching her cunt stir her insides. Panic filled her as she realized she only had a few seconds to come up with a new answer, and if she failed it was going to get even worse. “B-because you… it… because it will feel so good! It will be soft and tight and hot and and… and you’ll love it!”

To her horror, there was another click. “Don’t tell me what I will and won’t like,” he grumbled. “Arrogant fucking cunt.”

Her insides were no longer being cooked. They were roasting, and Layla wanted to howl at the searing agony of it. This wasn’t just torture, it was mutilation! He was going to destroy her asshole if she didn’t find the right answer soon. “I… um… because…” she said frantically, forcing the need to keep screaming down, trying to think through the pain and terror. “Um… it… it… you…”

Click. “Out of time,” he said calmly.

She could no longer hold back her cries. “I don’t knowww!” she wailed, certain that this was killing her. “I don’t know what you want! Please, just fuck my ass! I need you to fuck my ass! Pleaaaase!”

“There,” he said with clear satisfaction, and the curling iron began to cool. “You’re finally beginning to sound like a proper fucktoy.”

She screamed again as he yanked the iron out of her, taking quite a bit of her flesh along with it. He peeled her butt cheeks apart, and she winced as the air touched her savaged rectum. “You wanted to know my long term plans for you?” he asked. One of his fingers penetrated her, and it felt like being stabbed by a knife. “Hmmm, tender, raw, and hot,” he said, ignoring her shriek. “Swelling too. Gonna have a hard time squeezing a pin in there soon. You were right, bitch, I am gonna love fucking this shithole.”

His finger pumped in and out of her, opening her up in preparation for his cock. “Since you’re too fucking stupid to realize it yourself, guess I have to spell it out: I’m not from your make pretend agency.”

Layla’s face paled, and the anxiety that had been eating away at her all night blossomed into mad terror. “But, but you…!” she sputtered. He had to be lying, bluffing, trying to scare her as another cruel game. “I made an appointment!” There was no way someone just happened to break into her place of business to rape her at the exact same time, a time when she wasn’t normally even here.

“Yeah, and I drove the little twerp here,” he told her. “Kid was so nervous he looked like he was about to throw up in my car. Heard allllll about you and your reputation from him. Told him I had a bit of experience in the bedroom, offered to take over for him. Bitch wants to be raped, and one stranger is as good as any other, right?”

Layla’s heart was pounding in her ears as she tried to keep the panic out of her voice, and hide how terrified she felt right now. “You think I won’t go to the police after this? You think there aren’t receipts and cameras that can track you down?”

He laughed, sounding completely confident. “You think you’ll ever get the chance? After you’re done draining my balls, you’re going into my trunk, bitch, and then into my basement. Bet I can get a few good years out of you before I bury you.”

No. No no no no no. The thought of spending the rest of her life like this, with him, made hot urine trickle down the tripod. “Y-you won’t get away with it,” she insisted as she pissed herself, her voice small and weak even to her own ears.

He twisted his finger inside her, then pulled it out with an audible pop. “You let me worry about the big picture, bitch. You focus on the only thing important anymore: keeping me and my dick happy.”

Layla couldn’t stop a whimper as she felt his hard cockhead poke the puffy, burnt flesh of her asshole, drawing her attention away from the horrifying future he was suggesting and back on the equally horrifying present. The light contact was enough to send a shiver of pain through her. He felt impossibly thick as he began applying slow pressure against her hole. Under normal circumstances, anal sex with a man that big would be awful. With her pussy already stuffed, it was going to be pure torture. And with her insides already tenderized…

She whimpered again.

“You want me to fuck you slow?” He whispered harshly into her ear, still applying steady pressure. “If I ease my rod gently in instead of just stuffing your shithole, will you reward me for it? Will you worship my prick with your raw guts to thank me for being so kind?”

Layla opened her mouth to tell him to go fuck himself, but the words wouldn’t come out. She hated this disgusting freak, hated him so fucking much… but she feared him more. In the same way, she didn’t want to play his sick mind games, but she REALLY didn’t want to know what he’d do if she didn’t play along,

The redhead blinked away tears at the realization that he’d broken her. Not completely, or past the point of recovery, but the night wasn’t over yet, and if he wasn’t bluffing, this was only the beginning. “Yes,” she said meekly. “Yes, please, yes. Please go slow, m-master.”

“Well. I prefer my buttfucks fast and hard,” he whispered, glee in his voice. “Which one of us do think will get what they want?”

She couldn’t stop the tears this time. Or the shriek of pain when he tugged on her nipple clamps. “Which one of us, whore?” he hissed.

“Y-you…” she whimpered.

He laughed. “Guess even the dumbest bitches can learn a thing or two.”

He reared his hips back, then thrust forward. When his rock hard head of his prick struck her spongy, swollen entrance, it felt like a baseball bat to her kidneys, and Layla gasped in pain. She could feel his cock pushing against the clenched, too narrow entrance of her sphincter, trying to wedge itself in. She willed herself to relax, to let this happen, but her body wouldn’t listen. It was certain that this invader would split her in half if it got through, and she didn’t know if it was wrong.

Her sphincter held, and his cock rebounded off, but a moment later he was slamming into her a second time, and then a third, and a fourth. Her muscles paid for each victory, growing weaker and half numb while he remained as solid and eager as ever.

“That’s how it’s going to be from now on,” he growled as he rammed against her defenses again. “For the rest of your pitiful life. I get whatever I want…” slam “…and you…” slam “…get FUCKED!”

His last thrust smashed right through her sphincter and left five inches of thick cock buried in her guts.

Layla opened her mouth to scream as she was ripped open, but even as she sucked in breath, he was already pulling out, exiting as roughly as he’d entered, and then pushing right back in, sinking six inches into her this time. Out again, her asshole gaping as his head popped free, and then drilling back in, deeper and deeper and deeper each time. The redhead’s mouth flapped open, no sound coming out, as he fucked his way into her ass like a jackhammer breaking new ground.

After every thrust, she prayed that he’d finally squeezed every last inch of his cock into her, but somehow there was always more. His bulbous head pummeled its way further and further into her, plunging into depths even the curling iron hadn’t reached. By the time his balls smacked against her taint, she felt utterly, impossibly stuffed, impaled on a throbbing rod that felt as long and thick as her own arm.

Then he grabbed two handfuls of beaten, swollen, nettle lashed titmeat for leverage, and began to fuck her.

Layla howled and sobbed as her tight, tenderized guts were pounded like a cheap fleshlight. It wasn’t just her hollowed out bowels being tortured; his thick hands were mashing and squeezing her breasts as though he was competing to see where he could make her hurt more. Her clamps bounced and rattled in the commotion like two rabid dogs trying to chew off her nipples.

And somehow, the worst part of all was his voice by her ear, gloating over his conquest of her. “Sniveling little bitch. One cock up the ass is all it took to make you cry like a baby. You thought a pathetic cunt like you could pretend to be a dominatrix? How fucking stupid must your clients be to let such an obvious fake boss them around? You’re not a top. You’re not even a bottom. You’re just a squirming bug in the dirt.”

When he came a few minutes later, his hot spunk in her raw guts felt like he’d set off fireworks inside of her. But despite the pain, she blubbered with relief to feel his cum being pumped into her guts. It was over.

His left hand continued playing with her sore tits as his erection shrank inside her. He wasn’t as rough as before, but it was more than enough to make her whimper in pain. Even after he’d gone completely soft, he still felt massive, and was thick enough to plug her asshole and prevent any of his cum from leaking out. Layla bit her lip, hoping he would pull out soon and stop groping her.

More hot liquid suddenly spurted into her bowels. The redhead was confused, but only for a moment, then understanding sunk in. It was piss. He was taking a piss in her ass. He didn’t even comment about it, like it was the most natural thing in the world to do after anal sex.

She should curse at him for this. Call him a disgusting freak, and demand that he stop. She couldn’t just say NOTHING. That would practically be consent, a silent agreement that her ass was meant to be pissed in.

But when Layla pictured herself saying anything at all to him, even a polite request to reconsider his actions, fear ran down her back like ice water. He didn’t like being told off. He would make her pay for it, and he’d already made her pay for so much.

So she remained docile and quiet, feeling like the lowest and most pathetic woman in the world, as he used her guts as a urinal.