You close your eyes, heaving a deep sigh of relief that rolls through your hurting body like a cold caress. In the next moment, you feel hands on your wrists and ankles, removing the rigid leather cuffs that have surely cut into your skin with how much you've struggled against them.

The vertigo is still there, swirling through your head. You only feel how bad it really is when those hands pull you backwards and into a standing position. Not only do your legs feel like jello, boneless as you are, but as soon as your feet touch the cold concrete floor, you yelp and jump as a sharp pain crashes through you.

You stumble against something, someone, balancing on the balls of your feet to keep the contact of your hurting soles to the ground to a minimum. Blinking away tears, you look around, realizing you're clinging to Mistress, who watches you with her head tilted, one hand on your waist, the other in the air as she snaps her fingers at someone you can't see.

And suddenly you are being lifted when two strong hands grab your waist and fling you into someone's arms. It happens so fast, you can barely register the new position.

Once you settle, your heart still pounding frantically and your breaths rattling out of your sore throat, you realize you're held by a large burly man. Heat flushes your face, your nostrils flaring as you try to breathe against the embarrassment.

The man doesn't really acknowledge you, his face a mask, no expression, eyes staring straight ahead. Somehow you get the impression he could be working as a bouncer or security guard. No matter the case, you feel tiny in his arms, and your nakedness really irks you now. It's one thing to be naked in front of Mistress or a bunch of random strangers whose faces you can't see, but being this close to a man, in your current state no less, makes you feel very uncomfortable.

You stare at your hands, trying to make yourself smaller, as he just holds you, one large hand on your lower back, the other under your knees, your body pliant enough to just rest against his broad chest. You hear Mistress' voice, giving hushed orders to her assistants, while you keep fidgeting with your fingers, your eyes glued to the long red welt on each palm and the irritated skin around your wrists. You poke at it to distract yourself, relishing in the cold shudder crashing through you as you do.

“Bring her here.”

The words barely register when the man who holds you starts moving, and you grab onto the front of his black suit jacket instinctively, a gasp on your lips as you look up, finding him watching you.

You blink and lower your eyes again, letting go of him, an awkward little cough stuck in your throat. You don't even know why you're blushing this badly.

Luckily you don't have to find out when he eventually sets you down again, onto a soft surface that feels surprisingly cool against the warm skin of your bruised rear. You still flinch when the cold leather comes in contact with it, but you fight through the sensations, biting the inside of your cheek, hoping that if you won't fuss about this, they will forget about you and this may all be over soon.

Wishful thinking...

Mistress comes into view, ordering the man and other people away, telling them to clean the scene and bring her some water. You watch her silently, as you slump down onto the couch, balancing sideways on your hip instead of your butt, your legs pulled up, your hands hugging them tightly to your chest.

The pain becomes this low thumping in the back of your mind, still there, very much so, but slowly bleeding into something you could tolerate, you're sure. You have to, after all.

Closing your eyes to focus on the warmth of your skin instead, you seemingly drift off a little. When you open your eyes again, your head is lying on someone's lap, a soft hand caressing your arm, another tangled in your hair.

You turn slightly and look up, blushing deeply when you see Mistress smiling down at you. She keeps stroking you gently, and you settle into the affectionate touch, your eyes never leaving her beautiful face. It's oddly calming, even when she starts speaking in a low voice.

“I'm very pleased with you tonight, pet,” she says. “Our guests really like you. The turnout is impressive, isn't it? I've already seen some regulars.”

You blink at her words.
Regulars?

You've had the suspicion before, but this settles it. It's not the first time you've had to endure this. You stare at her, frowning, but she only smiles.

“They didn't even mind the little change of plans your stunt caused,” she adds, her fingers drawing circles on your cheek. “What happened, hm? You're usually so good with the dildo gag. I was surprised to see your gag reflex coming back. I thought we'd trained that away for good...”

You swallow hard at the mention of the thing you don't want to ever experience again. Her words create images in your head, of distant memories, and a shudder goes through your body as you remember the many times she forced the toy down your throat while you gagged and spluttered until one day you didn't anymore.

“You're a little out of it tonight, aren't you?” she keeps going, not waiting for any response. “But you really don't have to worry. I told you, you've done this before. So many times, I mean, look at all the pictures we created, baby,” she adds, raising her hand to wave at the large prints surrounding you.

You don't follow her gaze, you don't want to see a close-up of your stuffed cunt right now. You keep focusing on her. Her calling you something other than 'pet' makes you feel all warm inside, it's almost as if she's a different person when she calls you 'baby', it feels so much more intimate. You lean into it, snuggling against her soft thighs, a weak smile on your dry lips.

She looks back at you, a soft expression on her perfect face. Her hand returns to your head, her fingertips giving you a gentle squeeze that makes you sigh contently.

“How do you feel?” she then asks, genuine concern in her dark eyes.

You consider the question. You're hurting, badly, the worst pain sits between your ass cheeks, and every time you clench your hole by accident, it stings and throbs painfully. Your cunt feels bruised and sore, and your rear, especially the left cheek, feels uncomfortably warm and tight from the many strikes whoever had control over the paddle gave you.

The other bruises and welts don't feel as bad anymore, but overall, yes, you are hurting, but... you also felt really good for a while, when those orgasms crashed through you, so intense the sheer memory of it makes you shiver deeply. It's a strange thing. And with your mind going in and out of memories, when most of the time you wonder why you're here and what is happening, and you keep telling yourself that you don't want to do these things, you also realize, deep down, that you, for one, have no other choice, and two, agreed to this, at a point in your life that you can't remember, but you know you have.

Mistress wouldn't force you to do this, right? She seems so sincere in the moments when she's consoling you, that's not fake, there really is something between you that you wish you could remember more of. Though even when you can't see it clearly, you feel it's there, and that's a relief between all the rough things she does to you, makes you do. And you know: you want this, you want to please this woman, you'd do anything for her, it feels right.

“I...” you start, your voice still raw and hoarse. “I'm okay,” you tell her, and her smile widens, her hand cupping your cheek.

“I knew you'd be. My good girl,” she whispers, and the praise flows through your body, warm and comforting, settling deep in your gut, soothing the aches in your abused core. “You're stronger than you think, baby. You can do this. You make me so proud.”

You give her a jerky nod, pressing your other cheek into her leg as you close your eyes for a moment. She lets you rest, continuing to caress your hair and arm, her touches warm and gentle.

When she speaks again, her voice is slightly different, more detached, harder. “Sit up, pet.”

And despite the aches of your body, you do, sitting up on your knees, eyes fluttering open, facing her with an obedient shine in your eyes. She holds a cup of water with a straw towards you, and you take it carefully as you bring it to your lips and start sucking on it, the cold liquid filling your mouth and running down your throat when you swallow eagerly.

She watches you as you drink, and you can't look away either. Once the cup is empty, she nods to someone behind you and a pair of hands takes it away from you.

Feeling strangely refreshed, you inhale deeply. Mistress pats her lap, eyeing you with a slight smirk. Your cheeks heat up as you crawl over her legs and settle on her thighs, ass up, chest pressed into the couch cushions as you rest your head on your folded arms. Somehow you knew to assume this position, as if you've done this many times before. You probably have.

You feel her hands sliding over your bare curves, teasing down your spine, a gentle pressure on your bruised rear, causing you to breathe harder. Someone approaches you to your right, a strange clinking sound echoing in your ears. You close your eyes and ignore it, relaxing into Mistress' warmth. Until it isn't anything but warm.

Something cold and hard presses between your shoulder blades, causing you to flinch. It's leaving a wet film on your warm skin, melting its way lower. Oh. An ice cube. After the initial shock, the sensation feels almost heavenly, cooling you and your tense nerves and the irritated skin instantly. A deep sigh escapes you as you melt into Mistress' lap like the ice melts on your body.

She drags cube after cube over your back, moves them over your spine, around the curves of your rear before she gathers a handful and slips them right between your tender ass cheeks. The sudden cold on your bruised rim makes you wince and jerk against her, but she presses her other hand on the backs of your thighs to hold you down.

Her hand is just as cold as she gathers the cubes from where they are resting against your puffy pussy lips, and you almost wish she'd let them there, it feels too nice, such a contrast to the harsh treatment you've endured earlier. But she seems to have something else in mind.

The clinking sounds again, and you assume it's a bowl full of ice cubes. You expect more little ice balls on your skin, but instead you feel something harder and bigger press between your cheeks.

A whine slips from your mouth when she nudges your bruised sphincter, followed by a choked cough as she pushes whatever she's holding into your hole, just for a few seconds before she retrieves it again. It's enough to make your skin tingle somewhat pleasantly.

She repeats the motion a few times, soothing the burning in your ass, and you could swear you can hear a quiet sizzling noise, at least that's how it feels when she moves the icy object over your hot skin. Eventually she pulls it away and grabs something else, before she does the same thing to your warm cunt, this object even bigger but equally as cold and soothing.

She dips it in, a few inches at first, never long enough for the ice to do any damage, before she pushes the thing in all the way, causing you to groan as it nudges against your sore muscles. The cold sensation is like nothing you've ever felt before, it chills you from within, feels too good to be true.

“Push,” she tells you quietly, and even though you're confused by her command, your body reacts nonetheless, and you clench your muscles to push the object out again.

She catches it and removes it fully, leaving you wishing she'd put it back in. “Good girl,” she whispers, rubbing your heated ass cheeks with her cold hand. Despite feeling empty and still quite warm, her praise and her soothing touches do help calm you down more and more.

You're almost drifting off now, relaxed as you are, but when she moves her fingers between your thighs and pokes at your entrance, your attention is back on her. She probes your hole for a moment, and with how cold her fingers are, your muscles tense around them, pulling together so hard it borders on painful, but before you can protest, she pulls them out again, caressing your outer lips gently.

“Nice and tight again, hm?” she muses softly.

You squirm a little in response, burying your heated face in your folded arms. She laughs quietly.

“Your body is a marvel, pet. Whatever I do to you, you always bounce right back. That's why I chose you, that's why you are perfect...”

“Thank you, Mistress,” you mumble, the words falling from your lips without much thought. It just feels right to say them.

Her hands leave you for a moment, before you feel them on your shoulders, gently but firmly pulling you up. She then pushes you back towards the other side of the couch and crawls right over you, her hands tangling in your hair, her elbows next to your shoulders, as you lie beneath her, immobile, blinking up at her. Not even the pressure of your bruised skin against the cushions can distract you from the growing throbbing inside your core.

She shifts on top of you and nudges your legs apart before she lies down between them, the soft fabric of her dress pressing into your heated crotch. A strangled moan escapes you that makes her smile down at you.

“Grab my ass, pet,” she whispers, holding your gaze.

Your hands move, a tremble in them but you still do as you're told, fingers scraping over her hips before you curl them around her rear. “Good, now squeeze, show me how much you need me...”

Your mouth feels dry, your heart thundering in your chest, and your hands grab and squeeze, feeling her soft but firm flesh. As you do, her dress rides up more and more until you feel her skin against your fingertips. She grinds her pelvis into yours, pushing against your hands, and when your fingers wander, dipping between her ass cheeks, she throws her head back and moans loudly.

Her reaction makes you gasp and you want to pull your hands back, but she suddenly cups your face and leans closer, her nose brushing against yours. “Keep your hands on me,” she orders, and you do, firmly holding her glutes, fingertips teasing between them, as she keeps bucking against you.

The friction feels so good, your clit throbbing and pulsing against her dress, a new wave of arousal crashing through you so intensely, you can't help but moan too. Her full lips pull into a smirk, and a second later, she presses them to yours, kissing you deeply, swallowing the gasps and whines as you both continue to grind against the other.

In your frenzy to feel her closer to you, you lift your shaking legs and hook your feet around her thighs, pulling her closer. For a moment she lets you, too distracted by how your tongues move against each other, before she lets out a low groan and buries her face in the crook of your neck, her hot breath ghosting your skin.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly against hers, the heat building up between the two of you making you wish she'd bring the ice dildo back. She leans away eventually, propped on her arms, eyes hooded and dark as she stares down at you, while you just lie there, pushed into the couch, still holding her ass.

Her fingers find your wrists as she pulls your hands back, only to put them on her chest. She doesn't have to say anything as you start groping her beautiful breasts through the fabric of her dress, firm and heavy in your grasp, while she hooks one hand under your leg and lifts it up until it rests on her shoulder.

Shifting slightly, she turns your hip and pushes her dress up more (and you realize she's not wearing any panties). Now your crotches align perfectly, skin on warm skin, and she wastes no time to start rubbing them together.

Little moans escape you, your fingers digging deeper into her soft flesh, holding on for dear life, as she grinds against you, holding onto your leg for leverage, her full lips parted, her eyes never leaving yours. The sensation feels as foreign as it feels familiar, and hazy memories flood your mind, of endless hours of being entangled like this, of growing heat and deep trembles, of a passion you wish you'd remember more clearly.

You realize this is more than being her muse and guinea-pig, her pet and plaything, you feel it as warm as the tension settling in your stomach: you care about this woman. And despite her rough demeanor, her intimidating presence, she cares about you too. You see it on her pretty face as she watches you, with her lips parted and eyes trained on you, as she clings to your leg and grinds faster and harder, her moans melting into yours, and it's all that matters.

It's just the two of you, alone on that couch, and you forget about the large photographs on the walls around you, about the TVs still blaring echoes of past moans as she stuffs you full of various objects, about the people standing in the shadows, watching you. In the back of your mind, you are aware of all that, but you don't care anymore. It's you and her, grinding your slick slits together, riding the high that builds and builds, as you lose yourself in the other's touch and warmth.

Your eyes roll back, your hands falling limply to your sides, leaving her breasts untouched, as you drift into that sparkling void, where lights flicker like fireflies, a blissful experience among all the other things you had to endure. You buck against her and she jerks against you, one hand tight around your thigh while her other hand suddenly finds your throat.

You gasp, eyes fluttering back open, black spots dancing at the edge of your vision as she pushes you into the couch, the collar tight beneath her palm, her grip unrelenting. Choked wails escape you as she leans over you, her body undulating over yours, her pace unbroken, as she stares down at you, baring her teeth, her nostrils flaring as she chases that high you've been on for herself.

Your hands move blindly until you find her bare thigh, and you rub it as best as you can, kneading her soft flesh, trying to meet her relentless rhythm. She growls from behind her teeth, rubbing harder and faster, and the friction feels so good you can barely think, barely breathe.

It's all a blur, and when it suddenly stops as she pushes back and away from you, you whine in frustration. But only for so long before gasps and yelps escape you as she rams her fingers into your pulsing pussy.

It only takes her a few hard plunges before you arch your back and hips off the couch, crying out loudly as you come around her fingers, your wetness leaving you in twitching squirts that coat the front of her dress – not that you would have noticed or minded in that moment as your eyes roll back for good and you collapse into the cushions, boneless again, satisfied, too blissed out to care about anything anymore.

You barely notice how she climbs off you, how you're being pulled further down the couch, until you do notice how she sits down on your chest, her wet crotch rubbing over your breasts before she scoots higher. With a tight hand in your hair, she angles your head and presses your face right against her slick cunt, her clit throbbing against your nose.

It's muscle memory at this point as you part your lips and give her slit a languid stroke of your tongue, her taste exploding in your mouth, further adding to the vertigo in your head. She grinds her pelvis against your face, moaning above you, while you lap up her wetness, your tongue parting her labia before you press your mouth between them, sucking in a deep breath, her scent making you dizzy in the best way you've ever experienced.

You keep licking, she keeps grinding, her noises growing louder, and as she rides your face, you fully lose yourself in the job she's given you. It's not a job though, it's a pleasure, your pleasure, and you feel your own pussy pulsing in response to eating hers.

Your tongue dips into her clenching hole then, her warmth overwhelming for a moment, the added weight of her body pushing her down further into your face leaving you breathless and lightheaded. But you lean into the sensation, licking and lapping and prodding and poking, tasting every inch of her that you can reach.

Her hands dig into your hair, pulling roughly, her moans like a symphony in your ears. As she starts shaking on top of you, you move your lips slightly up, and when they close around her pulsing clit, you hear her howling while you suck and suck, pulling more of her soft flesh into your mouth, the tip of your tongue pressing against her sensitive bud without mercy.

It should feel like revenge, making her quake like that after she's done similar things to you for who knows how many times, but instead you feel pride, accomplishment, as you realize that it's your mouth that pushes her over the edge. And you keep at it, sucking and licking, kissing her lips as you'd kiss her mouth, sinking into the taste and scent of her, of your Mistress.

When she comes on top of you, she freezes, gripping your hair tightly, her pelvis pressed against your face, her body arching above you, her drawn-out moan causing deep shivers to crash through your own body. She leans back a bit, breathing harder as she looks down at you, before she moves one hand to her clit and rubs herself, inches away from your drenched face, her eyes on you, and you stare back, mesmerized by the sight.

Even more so when she pushes two slender fingers into her winking hole, pumping hard and fast, and then she comes again, with another jerk that goes through her body. This time she sprays you with jets of her sweet wetness. You close your eyes against the sensation, but keep your lips parted, letting her come all over your face.

“Look at me,” she breathes, voice rough and hoarse, her chest heaving.

You blink up at her, your eyelashes wet and clumped, but seeing her reddened face turning from hard and concentrated into a full-on smile that makes her eyes sparkle, you know that is all that matters. She wipes at your wet face, her thumb pressing into your mouth, and you suck on it instinctively, never looking away from her beautiful face.

“Good girl,” she whispers.

Your cheeks heat up, first from the praise, then from the soft slap she gives you before she clambers off you, wiping her wet hands on your fluttering stomach. You watch her push her dress down over her round rear, her fingers tangling in her wild hair, as she goes back to being the dominating figure you know and fear, the business woman, the artist.

Inhaling deeply, her chest rising enticingly, she turns away from you and faces the crowd that has gathered around the couch. You try to focus on her, licking your lips, absentmindedly wiping at your face, not sure what to do with her slick (wondering if she'll be mad if you wipe it on the couch), but when she speaks, a familiar cold gathers in your guts that makes you pull your legs up as you curl into a ball on the soft cushions.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you enjoyed this little extra performance,” she says, her voice steady again. “This is a night of surprises, after all. But don't worry, we will return to our scheduled event shortly. I hope you still have the toys my assistants provided you with? Yes, you can also keep your impact play items. The next round will be whatever you want it to be. I will prepare my pet and she will be yours to use however you desire. Five more minutes,” she ends with a soft laugh, nodding her head to the faceless people waiting in the shadows.

As she speaks, a new wave of dread crashes over you. As much as you enjoy being her personal plaything, making her come and coming with her, having strangers stuff you with various toys and being spanked again really doesn't sit right with you.

You're still staring at Mistress' back, when one of her assistants pulls you into a sitting position and wipes a wet cloth over your soiled face and chest. It's another girl with a vacant expression, and you wonder how she finds these people, how she found you, how she knew you were perfect for her schemes. In the end it doesn't matter, and you're being guided back to the x-shaped table.

Despite your aversion, you don't fight lying back down on it, you let them cuff your wrists and ankles again, staring up at the mirrored ceiling, letting it all happen. In your mind you go back to being close to Mistress, smelling and tasting her, feeling her skin against yours. It's enough to calm your nerves, at least a little, as she steps next to you with a smile that isn't as friendly or intimate, but calculating and dark.

Her hand finds your face, patting it gently, as she leans down a little. “Be a good girl now,” she tells you. “Let these people have their fun. Don't fight it. Remember, your body is a marvel, it can take whatever will be given to you. Do you understand?”

You nod. “Yes, Mistress,” you whisper back.

“No gag this time, baby,” she adds, brushing her thumb over your bottom lip. “I want to capture your beautiful voice. Will you scream for me, pet?”

You swallow hard, your chest rising and falling faster. “Yes...” you gasp out as she slaps your cheek. “Mistress,” you add, feeling your eyes water under the sting of her smack.

She stares at you, then slaps you again. You cry out, trying to turn your head away, but she grabs your throat, pressing your collar against your windpipe. A gurgle makes it past your trembling lips.

“Yes, you'll scream for me, for all of us. I know you will, and you can. Use your pretty voice, my pretty girl,” she coos darkly. “You are mine to do whatever I want with, right? Are you, pet?”

You nod frantically, opening your mouth but no words come out. She's content with your reaction though. Smiling, she loosens her grip and leans back up, caressing your warm cheek with the back of her finger.

You're breathing harder as you watch her step away, grabbing her camera and motioning to one of her assistants who's holding a slightly larger camera that is already pointed at your face. “Capture every little whine and wail, will you?”

The girl nods, a stoic face, no reaction whatsoever while you're starting to panic in your restraints. Trying to calm yourself by forcing your rapid breaths through your nose, you dare to look around, noticing many men and women standing around the table you're tied to.

They are holding various sex toys, dildos of all shapes and sizes, other phallic looking objects, mostly vibrators that are already buzzing in their hands, others turn ball-shaped items between their fingers, small ones to fist-sized ones. And then there are those holding floggers and whips, paddles and canes, and a croaked whimper escapes you at the sight and memory of what those have done to you before.

You stare back up at the ceiling, knowing you can't escape, knowing you'll have to endure another round of this humiliation. But you also know you will be pushed into the blissful void again, if you just allow it, and you have the certainty that you've done this before, many times, that your body can handle it. You may not remember it, but the evidence is there, along with Mistress' words of reassurance, and that is enough to prepare yourself when the first flogger strike hits your thigh, the soft leather bands fanning out over your skin.

You cry out nonetheless, squeezing your eyes shut and struggling in your cuffs, but you tell yourself this is nothing, just a warm up. As more blows hit your skin, warming it up, you force yourself to merely flinch. They hit your legs, your stomach, your mound and your chest, the blood rushing to the surface, throbbing slightly, but it is indeed nothing compared to the first cane hit to your left breast that leaves your head spinning and your lungs aching as a high-pitched scream rips from your throat.

There's another to your right breast, just inches away from your hard nipple, that forces a similar reaction out of you. The pain stings and pulses, shooting directly into your still swollen clit.

When the canes are gone, you feel gloved hands rubbing over your skin, teasing your bruised breasts, others poking at your cunt, parting your puffy lips before they dip into your clenching hole, one finger, two, three. But before they can fist you again, you feel the first object pushing between your tense muscles.

You groan, thrashing your head back, kicking your legs helplessly as it pushes deep and deeper, poking your cervix with precision. You don't care what it is, it's long and girthy, and you know there are probably bigger things coming. It doesn't matter. It's only the beginning.

This is your fate, and as you give into it, you revel in the sensations growing inside your body, the tension, the heat building up, as you moan and whimper, wail and whine. Every deep plunge causes you to cry out as a sharp pain makes your thighs twitch.

They keep assaulting you with their toys and gadgets, and you let them, you tell yourself that you let them even though you don't have any other choice. It doesn't matter. You're doing this for her.

And she's right there, holding her camera to her eye as she clicks away, capturing your vulnerable moments, creating new memories you will find one day, like you did with the others, and you will wonder how those came to be. And as history repeats itself, you will end on the conclusion that this is what you do.

You are her muse, her pet, the woman she chose to have by her side, to share with others, to portray. And you take pride in it. No humiliation, no embarrassment. This is not to degrade you, it's to honor you.

She said you're beautiful, she praised you, you're her good girl, her pretty girl, and you sink into those words as other things sink into you, as your screams pass your dry lips and as the pain shoots through your nerves. This stunning woman chose you, and you'd be a fool to deny her.

Because you'd do absolutely anything for her. Even sacrificing your own body.