Jump to content

Aithne's story part 12 - The New Normal


jfraser

247 views

Aithne lowered herself to hands and knees and looked up at her master. He nodded, opened the door, and entered. She crawled after him, the bell clanging with each shuffle of her knees. The gems pinned to her nipples and the tip of her cunt buzzed softly and she couldn’t stop a moan as a low shudder passed through her body. Of all the accoutrements the stranger in Solitude had sold to her master, they were her least favorite.

 

Not that it mattered – she wore them for her master, not for herself. But they kept her body in a near-constant state of need, one that never felt fully satisfied until her master turned them off at the end of each night, no matter how many dicks were shoved into her. But at least the pain of those dicks slamming into her while she was still dry was no longer an issue. Even now, as she crawled to the front of the inn, drawing every eye in the inn toward her, her thighs were damp as the gem stoked her need.

 

Another positive of the new way of business was that there were fewer dicks to deal with each night. At each of the inns they had visited on their resumed trek her master had charged more which had cut the interested parties to a trickle. But what those parties did with her…

 

“Fifty gold.”

 

“Fifty? Are you out of your orc mind? I could get three whores for that much!”

 

“Perhaps. But you can’t do anything – and I do mean anything – to those whores that you want, now can you?”

 

The man paused. “Anything?”

 

“Short of death, of course.”

 

Aithne saw the telltale movement in the man’s groin but hid the shudder that the stab of fear tried to give her. Her master set and hand on her shoulder and she smiled at the man and said her cued line: “I’m a slut. I need to be punished.”

 

No mistake on the movement in his trousers this time. “Done.” He fished out a sack and counted out coins, handing them to her master without taking his eyes off her. “Where?”

 

“I have made arrangements. Follow me.” Her master pocketed the coins and started walking and Aithne shifted and crawled after him, making her ass sway as she moved so the bell swung and clanged loudly enough to fill the room. The man followed with hurried steps.

 

Her master had rented the back room of the inn and shoved all the furniture to one side, then set out the implements he had bought from the stranger. He waved a hand at the room and said, “You have one hour,” then turned and left the room again.

 

The man looked around the room with an increasingly gleeful expression. “This is amazing! Ooh, where to start?” He reached down and grabbed Aithne by the hair and Aithne yelped as he yanked her to her feet. “Let’s get you tied up, shall we?”

 

He dragged her forward to the iron cuffs that dangled from the ceiling beam. Aithne raised her obedient hands into the air without hesitation, though she quailed on the inside. She much preferred the days of simply being used for sex all night long. It was as much as she could do not to flinch as she felt the cold metal snap around her wrists.

 

The man went to work, first with the bullwhip (by far the most popular place to begin, Aithne had discovered). She did not have to fake the yelps of pain at each lash. He circled her, raising welts all over her body with a crazed grin on his face.

 

At last, “That was fun. What other toys did your master provide? Ooh, this looks promising.” As with almost everyone who made use of her, the man used everything he could find, including some items that were not technically part of her master’s inventory.

 

“Ah, this is a nice statue of Mara. Let’s see if it fits in you. Spread your legs.”

 

Aithne’s eyes widened at the idol. It was small as idols went but still thicker and longer than even her master’s massive cock, and some of the carved edges looked sharp. Still, she spread her legs as far as she could without hesitation, then screamed a moment later as the statue filled her vagina, slicing into the soft interior skin and ramming into her cervix with mercliless abandon. Each thrust brought pain strong enough to override even the tingling of the gem embedded over her clitoris – she felt nothing by agony. Again and again, he pulled it back and shoved it up, watching her tortured face with a leer that seemed to fill the room. When he finally pulled it out, it dripped blood, as did her cunt. She could feel it slip down her thighs like a tide, could feel herself weakening already from the loss. She wept and shuddered, closing her eyes and letting her head drop as her legs flopped together.

 

“Open your eyes, slut. It’s time for the grand finale.”

 

She obeyed, lifting her head and peering at the man. He had stripped and stood before her with an engorged dick. He held a dagger in one hand, and her eyes went immediately to it. The blade seemed to glow a little.

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to cut you. That would be a little too dangerous – you might accidentally die, and your master doesn’t seem the forgiving type. But this is better anyway. Too bad there isn’t a forge here to make this as hot as I’d like, but this had been sitting in the fire for a good while now, and it will do. Ready?”

 

He didn’t wait for a response – with one motion, he lunged forward. Aithne pulled back against the chains on instinct, but there was nowhere to go as the heated flat of the blade pressed into the delicate skin of her left nipple just as he shoved himself into her.

 

She had thought she knew the limits of pain until that moment, but as her screams and his fevered grunts and the sizzle of her nipple with the knife still pressed against it mingled with the smell of her flesh burning and the double shock of the literal fire pressed against her breast coalescing with the sharp renewed internal pain left by slashes from the statue and exacerbated by his thrusting cock, Aithne lost all sense of time and place, of self and life. All her senses blanked out at once, replaced by a blinding whiteness with an edge so keen it felt as if had torn reality itself to shreds.

 

Time itself lost all meaning. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, lifetimes passed. And there, in the brightness, the overwhelming sensation, she saw…a face. It was a woman. Or was it? She blinked, or thought she blinked – the light stayed just as bright. The woman looked at her with sad eyes, then smiled gently. Then the brightness overwhelmed her fully and turned to bitter dark and Aithne passed out.

 

*******************************************************

 

“Wake up.”

 

Her master spoke through a haze of pain and darkness, and Aithne struggled to obey. Each motion she made sent a stab of pain through her body, threatened to send her back to unconsciousness.

 

“Wake. Up.”

 

His tone brooked no argument, and Aithne mustered her strength and forced her eyes open.

 

The room spun a little and it took her a moment to gain orientation. She was looking at the ceiling of the room at the inn. She shifted, looking at the face of her master as he knelt beside her.

 

“There we are. That was caused a lot more bleeding than usual. Drink.”

 

He held up a familiar vial and Aithne shifted upward to a sitting position as she took it. She glanced down at herself as she unstoppered the vial, then became momentarily woozy at the amount of blood she was sitting in, then even more so when she saw the distinct shape of the knife that had been branded into her breast. The memory of the pain returned in muted form, and she quickly quaffed the potion.

 

Immediate relief swept through her body as the pain rolled away. She watched in disconnected interest as the brand faded to almost nothing – only the faintest hints of the knife’s edge were visible, and those so faint that she wondered if she was just imagining them.

 

“Get yourself cleaned up. You have thirty minutes before we go again.”

 

She nodded and stood and walked to the wash basin in the corner while quailing fear roiled in her heart. She sighed as the cool water washed over her, willing her fear to flow out of her like the blood that sloughed off her skin, but it clung to her like a burr in her hair, so she tamped it down instead, forcing it into the box with the other things she was no longer allowed to feel. She was his and she would not let him down.

 

She would not be weak.

0 Comments


Recommended Comments

There are no comments to display.

×
×
  • Create New...