Chapter 9
He studied her body a moment, seeking the inspiration to perform not just a correct act, but the perfect act.
She was, herself, perfect. And a body as perfect as hers demanded perfection in return.
For instance ... those breasts.
They were large ... firm ... but they were real. That meant that instead of the rock-hard texture of silicone, they were rubbery and pliant ... organic and yielding.
He ran his fingers over them again ... pressing into the flesh ... squeezing ... pulling ... then he moved his fingers to the base of her mounds ... both of them.
He squeezed in such a way as to force the tissues towards the front, as though they were large tubes of toothpaste, for example.
The frontal curve of each mound grew ... swelled to gargantuan proportions.
He squeezed harder ... the mounds continued to swell ... while the flesh at the base of her breasts shrank, diminished ... and he had an idea.
This was something he'd never seen done although pictures of the deed had crossed his gaze now and again.
There was a smaller coil of rope on the table, which he'd passed over before, due to its being much narrower than the rope he'd used.
But now he saw that such a narrow rope could be effective. More so, even than the wider version.
He retrieved the rope, uncoiled it, and reached out for her tits again.
Her eyes were wide and wild with fright. She kept looking to Jonah, screaming through the gag at him.
He said nothing, which was all Dexter needed to continue.
He wrapped the rope around her right breast, one time.
This was going to be a little confusing.
How did one bind tits? Particularly tits as bindable as these.
He knew that there was a way to do it that would maximize her pain and suffering, and he suddenly felt determined that he would locate it.
He pulled tight, tried tying the rope in a knot, but found that it was ineffective.
The coil continued to slide up towards the front of her tit.
Okay. Another approach was called for.
Her tits both stuck straight out, and despite the shaking that continually ran through her body now, they were virtually perpendicular with the axis of her back.
He lay the rope over the top of her tits, leaving an equal portion to hang down on either side of her titanic set.
So far, so good. He looped each side around one breast, then focused again on her right mound, pushing his hands against the base, forcing the tissues within towards the front once more.
He looped the rope again, pressed harder, squeezing more and more of the tissue towards the front.
Four coils around the mound of flesh, and the natural friction from the pressure of the rope began to hold the bottom coils firmly in place.
He looped the rope a couple more times.
Already the frontal curve was tight, her nipples had swollen to almost twice their normal size and the hue had darkened to a deep crimson.
He let go of the rope and to his satisfaction, the coils held in place.
He now repeated this process on her left breast.
He kept returning to her right mound, however, pulling harder and harder, keeping more and more of her taut flesh in check with the terrible coils of that thin, biting rope.
Finally, both her breasts were bound, and the coils that were around the bottom halves of each mound were rock-solid.
The thickness at these points was nearly half what it was under normal circumstances
Meanwhile, the portion in front seemed to have swelled, like balloons filled with water.
By now they were turning a deep blue.
Dexter re-wound the ropes back over the same portions of her breasts, tightening harder and harder as he did so, squeezing them all the more cruelly.
Her head was thrown back in a pose of sheer, unfettered agony.
Her entire body was pulled tight.
He finished by wrapping the loose ends each around both breasts, pulling hard and knotting them off.
Her tits were totally bound, and when he touched them, he felt as though he were touching objects made of plastic, they were so stiff at the surface.
He slapped her nipples.
Her body jerked violently.
He slapped her breasts.
She jerked again.
He stepped back, looked her over, reached between her legs and found the comforting moisture and dew gathered there, and knew once again that she was responding.
Perhaps not in the manner that she would have preferred, but she was indeed responding.
He slipped a finger over her clit and found it to be nearly as hard as the front portions of her breasts.
He pressed his thumb and forefinger against it and pinched it.
She screamed, and this time, despite her gag, the sound was loud and passionate.
He removed his fingers from her clit, went back to the table and realized now that anything was possible for him. He was capable of ill ... of anything that struck his fancy. This claim he could not have made when he first entered the room.
But then, she'd merely been a naked girl then. Now she was his possession. He owned her, he dominated her, and she existed solely to serve his purpose.
He studied the nipple clamps.
Similar in design to a clothespin, it was far more diabolical and fiendish in concept.
The jaws each were jagged, fitting one into the other like pieces of a jig-saw puzzle.
The spring was strong.
He pressed it, opened the jaws, felt a twinge of nervousness when he realized how strong the jaws were capable of pressing together, and then he took both clamps over to the bound girl.
She stared, tried to draw away, eyes wide with fear.
He held the clamp out to her nipple, opened it ... set the jaws around the hard bud of taut flesh ... and slowly closed it.
It was easy to measure the increasing pressure as the jagged, pointed teeth of each jaw bit more and more deeply into her flesh.
She screamed in mindless pain now.
He released the clamp altogether, and her body shook with several violent shudders.
She paused, breathed in deeply through her nose and started to squirm and shake once more.
He opened the other clamp.
"Now for the other one," he said.
Tears, hot and salty, streamed down her cheeks now.
He let the sharp teeth of the nipple clamp close around her nipple ... tighter ... tighter ... tighter ...
The pain must have assumed proportions of white noise in her head, forcing her response right off the scale.
For she stopped moving altogether, though her breath still came in short, choppy, tortured bursts of explosive energy.
Her muscles spasmed randomly, but one had the feeling that she was no longer in control of her body.
He examined each nipple now.
The teeth were indeed biting deeply into the surface of her flesh, distorting the shape of her nipples ... but the skin was not yet broken. There was no blood.
That suited Dexter. He wasn't a butcher, after all.
He stepped back now, trying to decide what, in fact, he was.
A beast, was what he was beginning to feel like.
The Great Beast, and this his Lady Babalon, absorbing the forces of her body, transcending them, rising through their power up through the spheres.
He focused now on the red meat of her cunt.
Her legs were spread from the position in which he tied her feet.
Her body was stretched painfully, hips thrust forward in an awkward position.
He ran his fingers through her cunt once more, shoving them deeply into her moist flesh now.
The hole remained soft and pliant, yielding and willing.
Two fingers.
Now the forefingers of each hand, pulling in opposite direction, increasing the pressure in small increments.
She opened ... far.
The dildo on the table was huge. One of the largest he'd ever seen.
With the same oil he'd used on her buttocks he coated the full length of the dildo, then rubbed a handsome portion over the surface of her cunt slit.
Her lips were already quite wet from her own juices, but now they were saturated.
He rubbed the dildo through her cunt, pushing up into her, pulling away ... pushing back into her again.
The thing was wider by far than his own cock.
It was wider, he was willing to bet, than any cock she'd ever had up inside her cunt.
He pushed.
The thick glands shoved against the rim of her cunt hole, opening it, but it remained too wide to enter.
He pulled back, then shoved forward again.
The thing progressed a little farther this time.
Again.
Back.
Again, even farther, and this time he could tell that her juices, mixing with the oil, was producing a lubricant that virtually removed all friction.
Her flesh was already quite moist, quite soft.
He pushed the dildo against her harder ... and harder ...
She cried hard, but her hips rolled in an almost obscenely lewd manner, as though she wanted to force as much pressure against her cunt as she possibly could.
He twisted the dildo against her cunt now, pulling back, pushing forward.
The thing was nearly halfway inside her cunt by this time.
He pulled back out ... then he adjusted the angle of approach, having hit an obstruction.
That did it.
She yielded and opened her body to him, and nothing could prevent it this time.
The thing slid all the way up inside her.
All the way.
Her cunt walls spread aside, and finally the thing was pushing directly against the back wall.
And there is seemed that he would meet his match, for no amount of pressure or prompting seemed able to coax her cunt to admit more of the massive phony cock.
Yet Dexter kept trying, shoving harder ... harder ...
He would split her wide open, by God, before he'd admit defeat.
He picked up the riding crop while still shoving the dildo into her pussy.
He said, "Relax, and loosen your cunt walls, or I'll have to punish you."
She tried to answer. It was impossible, of course, but he could make out the gist of what she was trying to tell him. It was impossible, he could yield no more. He'd reached the limits of her body.
That, Dexter knew, was balderdash. You could stretch a cunt almost infinitely, so long as it was done by degrees.
Okay, so now he was going to lay the degrees on one right after the next.
Hard. Really hard.
He pushed ... and at the same time he cracked the riding crop across the blue tips of her breasts.
As he expected, she thrust her hips out in a sudden violent reaction to the increase in pain.
The dildo entered a bit farther. This produced even greater pain, and she once again jerked, and once again shoved her hips forward.
Three more of these, and the dildo was in. All the way. He checked to make certain that there was nothing truly ruptured, found her intact, and then turned his attention to those delightful breasts of hers.
He swung the riding crop with reckless, wild abandon, cracking it across the exposed top of her breasts.
First the right.
Then the left.
Then both at once.
Over and over.
Again and again.
Showing her no mercy.
She screamed, she begged, she pleaded, and it was all to no avail.
He was an avenging angel of doom now, past all need to prove himself to Jonah Sands.
Indeed, the old man sitting in the corner had virtually slipped from his thoughts.
Dexter no longer really cared about him.
If the bastard turned him down ... what of it.
He'd been given the most exciting experience of his entire life in this room ... it was one he'd never forget ...
CRACK-K!!
And again, CRACK-K!!
The clamps on her nipples were biting into her flesh now.. There was a droplet of blood forming.
Crack-K!
CRACK-K-K!!
He pulled the dildo out and cracked the riding crop up into her crack, laying on one, then two, then three, then four solid strokes, bringing each one in a sharp upper cut against her swollen, aroused clit.
She shuddered once, violently, then went totally still, sagging from the ropes like a flag when the wind dies.
Dexter realized that he'd come again. The load was slight, but undeniably it was dribbling down his leg.
He stepped away, suddenly frightened by her motionless form.
"My God ... " he said.
He heard a sound behind him.
It was Jonah.
He stepped aside. The man had a knife in his hand. He cut the ropes, she fell like an empty sack to the floor.
He picked up her hand, felt for a pulse, then nodded to Dexter.
"Wipe your cock off boy, get your clothes on, and then let's you and me go have a drink. We've got business to discuss."