Willing Victim  Ch. 1

By Succubus

Most of my life I have been drawn to the darker side of life. Something deep and primal in me has lead me to search my life and myself in the attempt to fulfill and understand my strange desires.

Violence and sexuality have an unbreakable link for me. My earliest fantasies were of rape and being forced to submit to a man or men who were not only strong, but worthy of respect--a man who was strong enough to make me his. This search for violence and understanding has led me down many paths. One of these was the path of slavery.

My fantasies were strong. The image of a leather glove in my mind was enough to keep me wet and distracted for hours. The classic fixations of fetish were starting to take root in me. So, like any dedicated slut would do, I went looking for a Master.

When he first stepped through the door, I looked into his eyes to make certain he was really the man I thought him to be. I was trembling, my stomach in knots; my heart raced. I had wanted this for years, but was I ready to go through with the reality my fantasies had become? This was truly the moment of truth.

"Hello," he said, then told me walk in front of him, into the living room.

I had prepared myself meticulously, eager to gain his approval. I wanted to appear as a goddess before him. My make-up was heavy, but perfect: black kohl circled my eyes, my lips painted blood red. I'd worn my hair up--something told me he'd prefer my neck bare. Every inch of my body was shaved and scented. I had answered the door in black heels and a short sheer black robe.

I was feeling very vulnerable and could feel his eyes on my ass as he followed me. "Slower," he called out behind me, startling me. Stopping in the center of the room, I looked at him. "Get rid of the robe,” he said.

From his pocket, he pulled a set of nipple clamps out, and my eyes grew wide; I wondered what they would feel like. He came around behind me and started caressing my breasts, rubbing his palms over the nipples, squeezing and lifting them as if to weigh them. He pumped at them, filling them with blood, as he attached the clamps. They hurt, but not unbearably.

Attaching a leash to the chain on the clamps, he led me around the house. I stumbled after him, struggling to keep some slack in the leash, him tugging every so often. Bringing me back into the living room, he stood behind me. His breath hot in my ear, he ran his arms down my arms, softly, reaching out to stroke and fondle my breasts some more. He asked me if the clamps hurt, smiling when I said no. "They will when I remove them." he growled, giving a low laugh.

His hands slid across my breasts.  He slowly removed the clamps as I looked down, watching.  Pain rushed over my tits in a wave; remembering what he had said, I couldn't help but smile, even through the pain--in fact, part of my smile was due to the pain.

He had me kneel before him as he sat on the sofa. He talked to me softly, telling me all the horrible and wonderful things he would do to me, adding "It's what you want, isn't it?" I moaned a yes, provoking him to respond with "Of course you do. You're a fucking whore, and you deserve to be used and abused like the little slut that you are!"

He had me lie on the floor before him and masturbate, telling him everything I had thought and felt since his arrival. He called me "slut" and "whore" and "pig" and "cunt", and I moaned on the floor, feeling myself climbing, his words firing my passion, bringing me to orgasm.

Nudging my cheek with his boot, he told me to show the proper gratitude, to thank him, and then clean his boots. I opened my mouth, my tongue slid over the leather obediently, thoroughly demolished by my orgasm.

When his boots were fully polished by my mouth, he stood me up, circling me and examining me. Walking to a case he had brought, he pulled forth a pair of leather gloves, and slipped them on methodically. Walking back to me, he smiled; "I will be whipping you today" he said.

My heart jumped into my throat. I thought on his words while he wrapped a length of rope around my waist, securing it. Telling me to bend over, he slid a butt plug into my ass, bringing a gasp of surprise from me. It didn't hurt, but it made me very aware of my ass. It was a definite feeling of violation. Attached to the base, were two ropes, which he deftly pulled up--one across my clit, one up my back, tying them to the rope at my waist. A test told me that every breath of mine would make the plug move inside of me. He bound my crossed wrists behind my back, pulling them up to attach to the rope at my waist. I stood before him, my heart racing, back arched.

He asked me if my skin had ever received the kiss of a whip before. "A playful slap here and there by amateurs, but never by one who knew how to wield it," I replied. As he questioned me, his leather-encased hands stroked my body, petting me; a finger sometimes strayed to my mouth, or poked inside my ear. His voice was soft and gentle now.

He slipped a blindfold over my eyes, and now his voice seemed to come from all around me. I heard him first in front, then back; he stepped forward to whisper in my ear, then moved back. He circled me. Another whisper in my ear, and his fingers squeezed my nipples, first gently, then painfully. I cried out. I could feel his breath on my neck; I leaned back against him. Laughing cruelly, he pinched again--I squirmed. The feel of his clothing against my bare skin made me feel all the more exposed to him. He released me and I heard his steps recede.

Moving back to me, he kissed me deeply, exploring my mouth aggressively with his tongue. Pulling back and leaving me panting, he slipped a gag between my lips. I felt the straps of a leather whip slide against my thigh, brushing it softly. The whip slid all over me, pet me. A brief silent pause, then "Smack!” he began.

The first blow made me jump and yell into the gag, almost losing my balance. I spun, trying to guess which direction the blows were coming from. I stood in anticipation, listening, waiting for more. When the lash dug into me again, I was almost relieved, until the pace of his blows quickened. It seemed like a fury of pain raining down upon me, I jumped and spun, twisting and crying, the plug driving into me and moved by each movement I made.

Suddenly he stopped, pulling aside the rope at my pussy and drove his fingers inside of me, telling me how wet I was. His gloved hands slid over the marks he had just made, bringing fresh little riots of pain, yet also soothing me. Removing the gag and blindfold, He looked into my eyes, smiling and gentle, his hands freed my wrists.

 Slipping his fingers into me once more, he said, "Now you are mine, you belong to me." So saying, he kissed me.