Burning Bright

“What’s your password, bitch?” he asked abruptly after his stream trickled to a finish.

“My what?” she asked, caught off guard by the non sequitor, and then noticed he was holding her phone in his right hand and looking at the Lock Screen. “How did you-?”

He cut her off by tugging on her nipple clamps, transforming her question into a yelp of pain. “Password!” he snapped.

“Uh, 1127!” she said quickly, before he decided to punish her further. Why the hell did he have her phone?

It didn’t take long for her to find out. He pointed the screen at her, and she saw he was on the video tab. “You’re retiring,” he told her. “Today. Permanently.”

Layla began to protest, but the words died in her throat. Right, because… because this was her life now. And even if it wasn’t, she couldn’t do her job, not anymore. Her entire business was fueled on hating men, not being terrified of them. She tried to picture herself dealing with one of her clients, and it just felt wrong. Why would anyone, even a submissive masochist, ever listen to HER? How could she tease and bully them like usual when at any moment any of them could just throw her to the ground, tear off her bodysuit, and… she shivered in fear at the image.

“Alright,” she said, and then squealed when he tugged her clamps again.

“Mind your fucking manners when you talk to me,” he snarled.

“Alright master!” she amended meekly, and hated how that word felt more natural every time she used it.

“All those clients of yours might be suckers, but they still deserve an explanation for why no one’s ever gonna see you again,” he told her. “So you’re going to give them one.”

“Wh-what should I tell them?” She asked, and then quickly remembered. “Master! What should I tell them, master?”

“What the fuck do you THINK you should say?” he answered back, in a tone that suggested that somehow she was managing to be even dumber than he’d already thought she was.

The video didn’t take long to record. He kept the camera trained on her face, so nobody could tell that she was tied up, beaten, and still being groped by a man whose limp dick was resting inside her piss soaked ass. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but that fit the mood they were going for.

“After… careful self-reflection,” Layla announced, “I’ve realized that I can’t keep lying to you all. I have…” She winced, both at what she was saying and her rapist’s thumb digging into one of her bruises. “I have been pretending to be a dominatrix all these years. I don’t… I don’t actually enjoy dominating men, I just needed the money. And I stole all my ideas and… and everything, from other people, so that I could trick you into thinking I knew what I was doing. I’m… I’m truly sorry to have taken advantage of you all, and I promise that I… that I’ll never lie and call myself a dominatrix ever again. Thank you.”

The former dominatrix felt numb as she watched him upload the video to all her social media platforms after reviewing it for any red flags. Her life was over, and so was her career. Even if someone stopped this monster, even if she was rushed to a hospital and woke up with every scar healed and feeling just like her old self, how could she explain what she’d just told everyone? The truth would ruin her reputation as thoroughly as the lie.

She was so focused on her future, it took her a few moments to realize that his soft cock didn’t feel nearly as soft anymore. “No…” she whimpered, as it swelled and hardened inside her. “No… not again… not already…”

“Stupid bitch,” he said sourly. “You think I’m just gonna fuck your ass again like this?”

“Y-you’re not?” she asked, not daring to hope for mercy.

She realized her mistake a moment before his fist slammed into her kidney. “Master!” she yelled belatedly as her insides cramped and shuddered. “Master! I’m sorry, I won’t forget again, I-“

His second punch made her retch, and Layla knew her stomach couldn’t withstand another one. She continued apologizing as quickly as she could, while mentally screaming at herself for still being such a goddamned idiot. “I’m sorry master I’m sorry master I’m sorry master I’m sor-“

After the third blow to her kidneys, her dinner finally rose up, and Layla vomited all over the floor. He didn’t even pause.

Bile was still drooling from her mouth when he was finally satisfied. What was left of her bodysuit hid the damage, but after more than a dozen hard punches to each side, she was certain the skin beneath was black and blue. It hurt to breathe, and there were sharp pains deep inside her abdomen, like it had been filled with broken glass.

She wheezed roughly as his left hand went back to pawing her tits while his right slid down to her crotch. His fingernails found her clitoris, and she squirmed as he found yet another way to hurt her. “Not gonna fuck you until you beg for it, slut,” he hissed as his dirty nails dug into her nub. “Fucktoys ALWAYS beg before they get my cock.”

“Pleaaaase master!” Layla wailed, caught between pinned clitoris, groped tits, and stuffed guts. “Please fuck my ass!”

He responded by pinching even harder, “You gonna just sit there and cry again? Make me do all the fucking work? Or are you gonna clench that butt like a proper fucktoy this time?”

“N-no master! I, I’ll be a proper fucktoy!” she promised, and even tried to demonstrate by gripping his full length inside her. It felt like digging her fingers into an open wound, and she moaned in pain, but that didn’t stop her from doing it again.

He didn’t say anything further, just grabbed both her tits and began reaming her out again.

Layla’s second anal rape managed to be even worse than the first. Between her rapist taking longer after finishing so recently, the urine stinging her raw rectum walls, and the humiliation and agony of rhythmically clamping down on his shaft to help him enjoy raping her even more, she was soon sobbing once more.

She more than half expected him to go for a third round when it was over, but instead he finally pulled out of her ass, though not before giving her a warning. “That piss and cum belongs in you, not on the floor,” he said harshly. “You let a single drop spill, you’ll be licking it up while I take a whip to your ass, understand?”

“Yes master!” she said quickly, and clenched her ass as tightly as she could, even though it made all the muscles scream in protest. She’d learned a new mantra during her second ass fuck, and she repeated it to herself now. It’s better than making him mad. It’s better than making him mad…

“About time you got to suck my dick,” he told her.

Revulsion rippled through her, but she steeled herself. It’s not like she hadn’t expected something like this. “Yes master!”

He picked something up. “Some fucktoys think they’re smarter than me, you know that?”

“N- not me, master!” Layla said nervously. “I, I’m just a, a stupid bitch, like you keep telling me.” The words felt sincere and true.

“Mmm hmm,” he agreed. “But even some of the stupidest ones, when my cock is in their mouth, start getting ideas. Thinking I don’t realize I’ve stuck my prick in a hole with teeth.” He showed her the pliers he was holding. “You know what I do to fucktoys who think they’re smart?”

“I won’t bite, master, I swear!” Layla insisted. To her shame, the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. She wouldn’t dare try anything like that with him.

“I know,” he said, and smirked at her. “You were a little wild at first, but you broke easy enough. Just a tamed slut now, eager to please.”

“Y- yes, master…” she said, and tried to pretend she was lying.

“But you need to know what would happen if you did bite,” he told her, and brought the pliers up to her mouth. “And fucktoys need object lessons to remember anything. Open wide.”

The redhead obeyed, shivering as he angled the pliers past her lips. “We’ll do one of the back ones, less noticeable.” The metal gripped one of her molars. “On three. One, two- “

He yanked hard, and the tooth came out in a spray of blood and hot pain. Layla whimpered loudly, but kept her mouth open as he leaned in and inspected the site. “Clean break.” He dropped the bloody molar on her tongue. “Swallow.”

She stared at him in disbelief, and his eyes narrowed. She flinched, and quickly swallowed. “You start thinking you’re smart, we do the other thirty one,” he told her.

“Y-yes, master.” She could feel the tiny lump in her stomach.

He didn’t give her long to dwell on it, adjusting the tripod to put her mouth at crotch level. This gave her a good look at his cock for the first time since he’d raped her ass, and what she saw made her gag. As she’d already felt, he was massive even when soft, and his entire length was covered in a brownish, sticky residue. That had to be his piss and cum, her blood, and… “Time to suck your shit off my cock, slut,” he said.

She retched at the command, and nearly threw up again. He didn’t seem surprised or concerned by her reaction. How was she going to explain that she couldn’t do something that disgusting.

…She wasn’t. Because even as she tried to think of what to say, Layla realized she was going to end up doing it. It was exactly as he’d told her earlier: he got whatever he wanted, and she got fucked.

Fresh tears began to leak from her eyes. Not because she’d already accepted that she was going to obey his sick request, and not because she wasn’t going to even beg him to reconsider, let alone try to make him. Layla wept because she knew that there was something else he wanted too, and he wasn’t even going to have to ask. His fucktoy wouldn’t dare upset him by making him remind her again.

So as the tears spilled down her cheek, the redhead met her owner’s eyes, and said, voice cracking, “Yes master, please let me suck my shit off your cock.”

The residue on his shaft was bitter and foul and slimy, and Layla did her best to smile for her phone camera while she slowly lapped it off of him. She had no idea what her master intended for the video - would he post it publicly to further humiliate her, keep it as blackmail, save it for a private collection? He didn’t tell her, and it wasn’t her place to ask. Her job right now was to smile and taste her own asshole while keeping her butt clenched for her master’s piss and cum, and that’s what she did.

He began to grow hard again when she was half finished, and she didn’t wait for him to give the order. “May I please suck your cock after I’m done cleaning it, master?”

“Knock yourself out, slut,” he told her, and she felt something almost like gratitude. He’d barely even insulted her. God, this was all so much easier when she was obedient. Why had she been so fucking stupid before, pretending she was too good for this?

The redhead did her best to finish cleaning him quickly, anxious of being perceived as lazy or unwilling. Her tongue diligently explored every bump and vein on him, making sure every last trace of filth was transferred from his cock to her stomach.

Fear did nothing to stop the humiliation. This man had tortured her, raped her, intended to kidnap, enslave, and someday murder her, and how was she answering his cruelty? With a warm tongue bath and a smile. Layla tried to remind herself how much she hated this creep, but she couldn’t tear her thoughts away from how pathetic SHE was.

He casually kicked her in the stomach, making her groan. “Don’t ignore my balls, bitch.”

“Yes master, sorry master,” the former dominatrix said quickly, lowering her head to start spitshining his nuts. Stupid stupid stupid, she screamed at herself. Why was she always so fucking stupid?

When she was certain that she’d cleaned every last inch of him, and left no room for criticism, Layla wasted no time opening wide and mouthing his cock. Its fat mushroom head, slick with her spit, popped in easily enough, but he was still a massive slab of meat in her mouth, thick enough to leave her lips stretched painfully around his shaft.

She’d never given more than a handful of blowjobs in her entire life, and had thoroughly hated every one of them; even in her private relationships, sex was always about pleasing her, not her partner. Layla did her best now to make up for lack of experience with enthusiasm, slobbering all over his shaft with her tongue while trying to purse her sore lips around him. A sloppy, eager blowjob to please her rapist.

It didn’t work. “Can’t even do this right,” he muttered with contempt as he pulled out of her. She flinched, ready to be kicked or hit again, but instead he surprised her by taking her nipple clamps off.

A wave of pure relief washed over the redhead as the terrible biting pain in her chest finally vanished, but it only lasted a few seconds. As blood flowed back into her chewed, compressed flesh, it started to throb with fresh agony. Layla cried out, her sensitive nipples on fire from the pain and feeling worse with each heartbeat.

When he began groping her chest, pushing her beaten and swollen tits together, her first thought was that he’d decided to titfuck her again. But when he pinched her nipples in place with one hand, rubbing them against one another, and picked up the clamps with the other, she knew better. “Please master,” she begged. “I’ll suck better, I promise! One more chance and it’ll be the best blowjob in the world, I swear, the best you’ve ever-“

The clamp bit into both her nipples, a single set of jaws trapping them both together. The brief respite made the return hurt worse than ever, but the pain wasn’t why she began babbling, the words tripping over each other and running together in her desperation to tell him what a wonderful blowjob she’d give him if he stopped. Her panic was because he took the other clamp and began pulling it down, towards her crotch.

“It’ll kill me master, please,” she insisted as his fingers sought out her clitoris again. “You don’t have to do this, I’ll suck you so good, please let me suck you it’s all I’ve ever wanted.” The cable between the clamps was drawn farther and tighter than ever before, visibly stretching her nipples even as the metal teeth sank deeper into them. “Please master I’m sorry I’m sorry I couldn’t suck your cock right please I’ll try harder next time I promise I’ll do better let me suck you pleaaaaase!”

The other clamp snapped shut on her clitoris.

Layla screamed as its jaws immediately crushed her sensitive flesh and yanked it at the same time, stretching her trapped clit upwards. Her owner gave the taut cable an experimental twang, and the effect was immediate and terrible. Her nipples and clitoris felt like they were being ripped off of her. She wished they would, because that would at least end this torment.

He kept toying with the cable with one hand, tugging it this way and that to see what reactions it garnered. His other hand grabbed her long ponytail and wrapped it around his fist. Layla’s mouth hung open, screams pouring out in an endless litany, as he used her hair like a handle, tilting her head until his cock pointed directly at that wailing hole.

He waited, yanking the cable harder with each passing second.

Part of her couldn’t believe he was still going to insist on this final humiliation, that it still wasn’t enough for him to just hurt and rape her. The rest of her couldn’t believe she was so stupid she hadn’t anticipated this. “PEEEEEESH!!” she screeched, struggling to transform incoherent wails into the words he demanded. “FUHHHHH MYYYY THOAAAAAT!! MAHHHH STUHHH!!”

And then he did.

Her throat offered even less of a fight than her asshole had. He didn’t bother moving his hips, using her pony tail handle to slam her face into his crotch. It took only two tries to force open the entrance and bury his colossal shaft down her gullet, and one more to press her nose against his wiry black pubes, his entire member encased in her throat as she screamed and screamed.

He pulled her tightly gripped ponytail away from him, inch after inch of his meat emerging from her lips like a grotesque magic trick, until all that remained was his head in her mouth, an overgrown mushroom that her cheeks bulged around. Then he pulled her ponytail back towards him, his head barreling through the entrance of her throat with barely any resistance, and followed by his rock hard shaft. He repeated these two actions over and over, moving more quickly each time as her throat opened for him.

The experience was dizzying, nauseating, and utterly humiliating. It didn’t even feel like sex to Layla as pumped his entire length in and out of her throat. He wasn’t fucking her so much as USING her, treating her head as a masturbatory tool.

That didn’t mean she ever considered biting, of course. She even rolled her lips to cover her teeth, terrified of accidental contact being interpreted as an attack. Her main concern, as her esophagus was brutally ramrodded, as her breath was reduced to tiny gasps every time he pulled back, was how to keep him happy while he throatfucked her.

Her owner mostly left her clamps alone once he’d gotten started, but occasionally he’d flick the cable when he had new orders to impart. “Eyes up, bitch!” “Who told you to stop using your tongue?!” “Smile you weepy cunt!” She quickly followed each one, staring up into his eyes, caressing his prick as it passed through her mouth, forcing her stretched lips into something that could pass for a smile. After all, if she couldn’t please him with a throatfuck, he’d only find worse ways to enjoy her.

After an eternity, he slammed her face into his crotch a final time, and Layla felt warm jizz spurting down her throat. She didn’t let that distract her: eyes up, tongue busy, smile on. Until her master made it clear that he was done, she was going to keep servicing him. Even as he softened in her mouth, she kept slurping and sucking, fearful that he might be upset if she left any traces of cum on him.

As his member slipped out of her, she prayed that this fourth ejaculation was his last of the night. It wouldn’t be the end of this nightmare, but right now she’d sell her soul for just a small break, just a few minutes where she wasn’t being tortured or fucked or made to humiliate herself. They’d been at this for hours, and she felt like she hadn’t even managed to catch her breath at any point.

Her meager hopes were dashed when he grabbed her by the neck again. Her cunt had molded itself around the tripod by now, and it protested as he lifted her off of it. Layla felt her pussy lips gaping obscenely open as the thing popped out of her, and then she was being thrown to the ground. With her arms and legs bound, she couldn’t protect herself, and her body smacked painfully against the concrete.

He kicked her in the ribs, eliciting a pained yelp. “Get up, bitch!” he yelled. “All fours and crawl! Been lazing about on your fucktoy throne all night. Time to get some exercise!”

She tried to obey, she genuinely did. But every muscle in her body felt exhausted and overworked, and her adrenaline had long run dry. Just trying to roll over onto her stomach made everything hurt more: her abraded throat, her swollen tits, her scorched asshole, her aching kidneys, her pinned nipples, her bruised stomach, her gaping cunt, her tight bondage, her stretched clitoris… she flopped bonelessly to the floor, certain that each and every part of her body was in more pain than it had ever experienced before. Even breathing in and out felt like a colossal effort.

“I… I can’t, master…” she wheezed. “I… I’m sorry… I just… can’t…” Pathetic, frustrated tears ran down her cheeks. “You’re… you’re killing me…” Why couldn’t he understand that?

Layla expected him to yell at her and kick her some more, but he just nodded and sat down next to her, cross legged. His discarded pants were nearby, and he dragged them over with one hand, pulling out a worn pack of cigarettes and a lighter from a back pocket.

She eyed both warily, but after he’d lit a cigarette, he just puffed on it contemplatively, staring off into space. She couldn’t move and didn’t dare speak, so she just watched in silence, waiting to be punished again.

“Got a nephew,” he said eventually. “Good kid, good future, not like me.” He smirked. “Got my sister’s looks, not mine, thank God.” The smirk faded. “Killed himself two years back.”

“I… I’m sorry for your loss… master…” Layla whispered.

He didn’t respond or look at her, just finished the cigarette, threw the butt away, and lit another. “He fell for the wrong girl, got taken advantage of, ended up thinking it was the only way out. It happens. Life goes on, with or without.”

She couldn’t think of anything more to say beyond empty platitudes, and didn’t want to break this fragile, precious chance to rest. He blew out more smoke, watched it drift towards the ceiling. “Then I’m giving some guy a ride, and he’s telling me this crazy story about this woman he’s been hired to rape, and the reputation she has, and I think to myself, that sounds familiar.”

The pit in Layla’s stomach dropped. “I… I don’t… I never…”

He spoke over her. “Made some calls after, asked my sister if she still had his computer. Needed to be sure I wasn’t remembering wrong. But it turned out, yeah, he’d gone to see some big time dominatrix, had a real bad time, and ran out. Then she emailed him a video of some of the stuff they’d done, and a bunch of cutesy little comments. ‘Can’t help wondering what your boss would think if she ever saw the real you.’ ‘Ever imagine how your parents would react if they knew what a freak you were?’ ‘I’d never send this to anyone, of course, but isn’t it fun to think about?’”

Oh god, she… she remembered him. She even remembered his name. It had been right after her last “rape” session. She’d gone to work the next day all fired up, and her very first appointment had been this kid, barely legal and clearly inexperienced. She’d known the moment she saw him that he was going to be a runner, so she’d decided to have some fun with him. Put him through his paces and give him something to really cry about.

She remembered sending that email too. She’d never had any real intention of exposing him, but suggesting it had seemed like a harmless prank. She’d imagined him in a state of constant terror for weeks, expecting his life to come crashing down at any moment, and at the time, it had sounded like the most hilarious thing in the world. When she never heard from him again, she just let it slip from her mind.

“I didn’t know…” she whispered. “And I never meant… I… I… I’m SORRY…”

He finally looked her in the eyes, and she saw the utter loathing in them again. But not for women in general, or for dominatrixes, as she’d previously thought. Loathing for her, personally. He held more hatred for her than she’d carried in her entire life.

“Don’t waste my time with apologies,” he told her with a sneer. “The only man who could’ve forgiven what you did is two years in the ground, bitch. I’m just karma.”

He took what remained of his cigarette and stubbed it out on her forehead.