“Comfortable?”
I managed a muted whimper, unable to properly answer, my own soaked panties, ripe with the taste of my own juices and stuffed into my mouth made it impossible to form coherent words.
No. I wasn’t. And it wasn’t just the physical discomfort, although that was a large part of it. Bent at the waist, my ankles shackled, my legs forcibly spread wide. Wrists and neck trapped, making me immobile. My own fault, really.
“What excites you the most, pet?” She’d asked.
I’d felt like a kid in a candy shop. So many choices. It was, quite literally, overwhelming. Everything I’d imagine I’d find in a sex dungeon, and a few things I hadn’t.
"Everything, Mistress?” I answered, unsure, eliciting an amused chuckle. Kissing the top of my head, her arms loosely confining me, she kept her silence as I surveyed the wealth of toys and devices, thinking that we’d never have time to try them all, my gaze returning to the black lacquered stocks.
“Those?” I pointed shyly, shivering as her hand slid down my tummy and into the waistband of my already damp panties.
I wasn’t really ready for the reality. It’s one thing to look at pictures, or even watch videos, but it doesn’t really prepare you for the feeling of being so exposed. So vulnerable. You don’t really consider that you can’t see what’s going on behind you. I could hear just fine though, and every sound was magnified by my imagination. It was impossible not to recall the dozens of tools at my Mistress’s disposal. Canes, crops, floggers, whips, clamps… the list was endless, really.
I could hear her feet on the floor, her heels supernaturally loud as she moved about. I could hear the rattle as she gathered, one by one, what I could only guess at. Psychological torture seemed to be the theme of the hour and there was nothing I could do about, locked into the medieval pillory as I was. Her choices, from what I could tell, ended up on a table that stood just out of my vision. I could hear them just fine though, as she set them carefully on the wooden surface, the sounds slowly masked by the pounding of my heart and my breaths, each one heavier and thicker than the last until I was practically panting, a mixture of fear and arousal driving them.
Occasionally she would pause, directly behind me, and caress my exposed ass with the tips of her nails. Once, she ran her fingers up the insides of one thigh, tickling and teasing.
“You sweet little cunt is a dripping wet mess, slut.”
I let out a long moan. She responded with a chuckle.
“Patience, girl. Just about ready.”
I was far beyond patience but helpless to do anything about it other than drool into my panties.
There was no warning. No ‘okay, we’re going to begin now, don’t worry, we’ll take it nice and slow, baby girl’. There was only the loud wet smack of leather on flesh causing my entire being to flinch. Had I not been immobilized I would have jumped several feet, as much from surprise as the pain that blossomed suddenly between my legs.