Chapter 8
He finished whipping her.
On the table there was oil, which Dexter now retrieved. He smelled it, noting a strangely soothing aroma.
He rubbed it over her tortured ass cheeks, and while she cried out at his touch, he could tell by the sensation against his palm that it would take some of the heat out of her shattered nerve-endings ... and prepare her all the more rapidly for the next time. Which would be coming rather quickly.
He then turned her around, so that her front was facing the two of them.
He untied the knot that fastened her arms to the ring and allowed more slack in the rope.
"On your knees," he told her.
She dropped, as he instructed.
He pulled down his jockey shorts.
His cock was drooling rapidly now ... a steady stream of his jism flowing from the tip of the shaft.
His balls were close to blowing. He could feel the heat building inside his body.
He knew that he had to make this look good.
She was on her knees now, arms still above her head.
He held the other end of the rope, pulling on it now to make certain her arms would remain above her head, stretching them once again taut.
He slipped the rope through a second brass ring and tied it off, firmly, making certain that her arms remained tight.
Her face was right at cock level.
He grabbed her hair, a thick fistful of it, pulling hard, and then he jammed her face into his crotch.
She whimpered, begging for consideration now ... but of course he ignored her.
Already he'd forgotten that but moments earlier he'd stood before the post, regarding it with horror, realizing what it was that Jonah Sands wanted from him.
Now, he was elsewhere in the cosmos ... having entered a new, heretofore unsuspected dimension inside himself, he realized that he was capable of things that went far beyond his conscious thoughts.
He forced her mouth against his cock, she opened her lips and he jammed the shaft into her face.
Her teeth scraped against his cock.
"That hurt," he said. "Be careful."
He sensed that the proper tone of voice here was one that suggested infinite control.
One didn't abuse these women, simply because one was dominating them.
One merely addressed them in a firm voice, made their demands known, and accepted nothing short of total, absolute compliance with one's will.
Her throat opened with the professional polish of a true whore, one who knew cocks and the sucking thereof.
He started to stroke her mouth, drawing out ... pushing back in ... drawing back out again ...
He slammed against her mouth, hard. Forced his cock down her throat ... pulled back ... slammed hard against her once more.
She moaned ... gurgled ... struggled, tried to breathe, with only partial success ... but she kept sucking his cock.
He held her head rigidly in place with her hair, the thick hank of it twisted like rope now.
He moved his hips against her, pulling out ... shoving back in ... pulling out ...
Over and over and over ... again and again ... again and again ...
His balls were there. He wasn't sure how he was holding back. That he could, however, he saw as a positive sign. More evidence that he was in control of himself.
He didn't want to blow his cool here. He wanted to do it RIGHT, whatever that might mean.
He was feeling his way. He was improvising ... making it up as he went along.
And always, the coldly appraising gaze of the man in the corner, the man who said nothing, but who was thinking God knows what.
Dexter started to stroke harder and harder now.
Faster.
Each stroke brought his cock into sharp, unyielding contact with the back of her throat.
He wondered if perhaps he could damage her tissues with such violent thrusts ... then decided that she knew what to do ... that she would surely know how to contain any damage.
She tilted her head now, within the limits permitted her by the tight grip which he had on her hair.
His cock was slipping all the way down her throat as he drove it into her mouth.
Closer ...
He pulled back ...
Closer ...
He slammed forward ...
Closer ...
Closer ...
He gasped.
There was a light in his brain.
Heat rising ...
Filling him.
Rushing through him.
Blasting him.
Driving him.
Harder. Harder.
She cried out.
His cock filled her mouth ... he pulled back ... his cock was out of her mouth now ... just the glands was in her mouth ...
His glands even was partly in, partly out ...
And his balls blew.
A massive wad hit her mouth, splattering over her teeth, her lips, her cheeks.
More followed.
He gasped ... he moaned ... he felt his body drifting away from him ...
NO ... it was the other way around!
He was drifting away from his body, carted off on currents of ecstasy rising from his balls.
He glanced down and saw a mess. Her face was almost buried in cum, the stuff oozing from her mouth, coating her nose, spilled across her left cheek.
Some was even in her eye.
And he was still coming, though the wads weren't as forcefully ejected from his cock now.
He said, "Swallow it."
She was, actually, only she knew how to make a good scene. Her mouth was filled with his cum. She let it gurgle to the surface, held it at her lips, as if to spill it all over, herself, and then she swallowed it.
All of it.
Her body was coated with sweat.
Her hair was a wild mat of confusion.
Her arms were pulled tightly above her.
And her face was filled with his cum.
He took the tip of his cock and rubbed it over her face, slowly working the wads of his jism down towards her mouth.
As each approached her lips, she extended her tongue and licked it in ... sucking eagerly, then swallowing.
He first worked the goo over her cheek ... then moved up to her nose ... then the stuff that was dripping from her eye.
All of it, finally, moved down towards her mouth.
She took it all in ... and she seemed to know that it was good ... seemed to truly enjoy what she was doing. That was important ... to both his own enjoyment of it, and to the success of his vision as well. The woman who performed for him would have to enjoy it. It would have to be REAL. No cheap act. No corny stage show, with bored bimbos going through rote motions that they couldn't even stop yawning through.
REAL.
Like this slut.
Her face took on a strange plastic sheen as his jism dried.
He started to pull now ... jerking once again on the rope, drawing her arms more and more tightly above her head, until at last she got the idea that she was supposed to stand back up.
Which she did.
Slowly. Haltingly.
Her body seemed uncertain of itself, as if it had forgotten what it was supposed to be doing.
He knew that he would have to lead her through the next steps as well ... for he had something very strong planned for her.
He tied her arms again, tits and pussy and cum-stained face aimed out towards the room ... and then he said, "Put your feet behind the post."
"I ... I don't understand," she said.
He knelt and pulled her feet back, forcing them together behind the post on the other side.
He wrapped the ends of the rope around her ankles, securing her feet behind the post in this manner.
She could just barely use them still to support her weight.
Most however now shifted to her arms.
The tendons in her shoulders stretched, bulged, and then began to jerk wildly as the pressure continued to mount.
She cried out ... she gasped in agony.
"Oh ... God ... what are you going to do? Don't hurt me ... please ... please ... this is enough ... I don't want any more ... please ... take back your money."
She was talking to Jonah now.
Dexter had a notion to turn to the man and ask for his approval, but he sensed that to do so would be unwise ... would be most out of phase with the man's own desires and designs.
No ... there was indeed a reason for the small rubber ball with straps attached to either side of it, Dexter decided ... and now, he fetched it, found that the rubber was most soft, pliant ... almost like the flesh of her breasts, which he would be attending to soon.
He knew what the ball was meant for ... he now set himself to using it.
He brought it to her mouth, but she turned her head.
He spoke in a calm voice. "Open your mouth. Come on ... "
And when she refused to obey and he was forced to slap her, he slapped her hard, but only once. Then he spoke again. "I said open your mouth."
And still she refused. "No," she said, quickly, clamping her jaws shut again.
Dexter slapped her again. Twice this time, the second time harder than the first.
Then he slapped her left breast. He grabbed the nipple, in a smooth, quick movement, and started to pinch.
Hard.
Twisting ... turning ... twisting harder and harder ...
She opened her mouth to scream, an involuntary reflex, and he popped the ball into her jaws ... forcing them to remain open, and at the same time, rendering her screams a muted, incoherent babble.
Then he pulled the straps around her head, buckling them together in back.
She was silenced, and she was ready for the next step!