Welcome to my A to Z Challenge Blog! Like or comment on this post, or vote at the end of the week for your favorites and I’ll continue the top four stories next month! (For details, see my Theme Reveal.) For the last week, each story has an element of non-consent or reluctance. Without further ado, enjoy W is for Wish.
I was wishing I was anywhere else but here. But this was a situation I couldn’t wish myself out of. This was one I was stuck in. Literally, in fact, because I was tied to a bed.
Okay, “tied” wasn’t really accurate. I had Velcro restraints on my wrists and ankles, and they were clipped to straps that ran under the king-sized bed I was lying on. I was completely naked and staring at the inside of a blindfold.
I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure how I had ended up here. I remember getting out of my car at the library in the underground garage. And then… I woke up here. That’s all I could remember. I mean, I remembered things like my name (Laney) and what day of the week it was (Saturday). But as for where I was or who I was with, I had no idea.
Part of me knew that I should be more afraid, but I was surprisingly calm. I was silent as a mouse, listening to the ambient sounds, trying to pick up on anything distinctive. I heard nothing out of the ordinary. I didn’t even hear the footsteps of my captor.
I must have drifted off because I felt something on my nipple. I wasn’t sure what it was at first but then the pain bit into me, and I knew a clamp had been put on me. Another one followed on the other nipple, and I gasped in pain that time. I took a few deep breaths to fight through the sting of the clamps, and I was just getting used to them when the chain that connected them was pulled. My back arched and I lifted as far off the bed as I could. I knew I was whimpering, but I couldn’t help it.
“Does that hurt?” he asked in a mocking tone. Who ‘he’ was, I didn’t know, but at least now I knew it was a guy who had me.
I didn’t know if I should actually respond, so I didn’t. I bit my lip instead.
“I said, does that hurt?” he repeated, and he tugged on the clamps.
“Yes!” I gasped.
“Yes, Sir,” he corrected.
“Yes, Sir,” I repeated, and then I moaned in pain.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.
I was confident this was a trick question, but I answered it honestly anyway. “Stop pulling on the clamps? Yes, Sir.”
He tugged again and then let them go. I fell back onto the bed gasping.
His hand trailed across my stomach and then lower. He slipped a finger between the folds of my pussy.
“My, my, my,” he said, “you are very wet.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said. There was no denying it.
“Does it turn you on to not even know what I look like?”
Again, I wanted to lie, but I knew there was no point. My body was betraying my desire. “Yes, Sir.”
“Then I better not let you see me,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
I didn’t respond because I didn’t know what to say.
His finger slipped out of me and trailed down my full thigh down to my feet. He tickled me, and I squealed. “Ticklish?” he asked.
“Very much so, Sir,” I said.
He started really tickling my feet then, and I couldn’t help but laugh and squirm on the bed. I couldn’t shake him off, though I tried. I could feel myself getting wetter at the realization of just how helpless I was in this situation.
“Please, Sir, please stop,” I began to beg, but he kept tickling me.
Eventually, he stopped, and I took some deep breaths, trying to work past the pain in my nipples that had been masked by the tickling.
“Do you want those clamps off?” he asked.
I nodded, biting my lip.
He laughed at me. “Too bad.”
He pulled on the chain again, and I screamed. I couldn’t help it. The pain was just overwhelming. He let go of the chain again, and I fell back to the bed.
“Have you ever worn nipple clamps before?”
“Yes, Sir,” I whispered.
“So you know that the worst part has yet to come.”
And even though I knew it, and even though I thought he was going to do it then, I screamed even louder when he pulled the clamps off all at once. As the blood rushed back to my poor tortured nipples, the pain was excruciating. Worse than it had been from anything else he had done. I writhed on the bed as much as I could given the restraints holding me down.
“What do you say?” he asked.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, and then he brushed his fingers across my aching nipples, and I whimpered. “I love hearing you whimper like that.”
I found myself whimpering more after his comment.
“You are such a good little slut,” he praised, whispering right in my ear.
“Thank you, Sir,” I whispered back.
And then he was gone. I heard his steps retreating and then a door open in close. Then I heard nothing. And I wondered where he had gone and when he would be back to torture me some more.
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