This is part 2, part 1 is here, if you haven’t already, do read it first.
An anonymous reader continues:
My life is a delirious cycle of pleasure and pain. There’s the chamber
of light – where they test the limits of my self control. Many kind
pople in white coats, touching me, washing me, toying me, telling me
not to cum with others standing, watching, taking notes.
After I’m soaking, I’m always put back in my thin nightgown with my
chastity belt childishly secured. This device is slightly more torturous
than those I had read about, as there’s a small plug that fills my
front bottom that keeps me in a state of nearly constant arousal, yet
fully insures there’s nothing I can do about it. And then I can only lie there, dozing off and on… until He comes.
My days are spent with the monsters. These depraved creatures feed off the
sexual energy of humanity and pay highly for the pleasure – my
pleasure. My belt is removed, and suddenly before me is a door. I’m led
through. Torches line the pathway. The stone floor is cold beneath my
bare toes. From every direction comes the sound of sex: flesh against
flesh, whimpers, moans. Through the bars and curtains of each archway I
can see all manner of depraved things…
Two girls are being hung upside-down by their ankles with their legs tied apart whilst
a creature of impossible blackness teases them with his fiery forked
tongue. I remember the feeling of the tortuous heat in my own slit. I
had him all to myself once, and the wonders the double edges of his
tongue could produce make me wet at the memory.
Across the hall, three cells down, is another of my favorites. He is
pleasuring a young lady with his tentacle cock. The recollection of the
suckers of his purple member tugging on the intimate skin inside me make
my nipples grow hard under my thin lace gown.
But this time I’m led to the final chamber and chained in the stocks within. My wrists
locked in beside my neck and my ankles lashed to its frame. It’s an
extremely vulnerable position. Teasingly, there’s a mirror in the corner of this otherwise bare room, and if I move my neck just right I can see what’s
happening in the cell across from me.
She is naked. He is huge, and covered in dark hair, polished spikes running
down his back to the tip of his tail. He is holding her cheeks apart.
Inhaling deeply. I can see her humiliation in the form of tears. Yet her
arousal too is evident too by the way her crotch glistens in the torchlight.
My stomach flips as he turns, and I can see his massive cock brush
against her thigh.
The cool air teases my wet slit and the ache inside me grows. I long
to be filled by the masterpiece I see across the hall. Alas, it is for her, not me. He crouches against the wall and sits her on his lap. At
first letting his length rub against her slit. Then he disappears inside
her. Her pussy lips greedily swallowing him up entirety. He fucks her
harshly. Huge palms lifting her. For every moan she’s awarded an even
harder thrust. I cannot imagine being pounded in such a way.
I hear shuffling behind me; my own creature has arrived. He turns the
mirror so now all I have to look at is the grey of the floor and the
dreary walls. I feel cold breath on my neck. A webbed hand palms my crotch
roughly. I hear slurping as my dampness is sucked from me. I hear a high
laugh. A sharp fingernail slices my gown away. He spreads my cheeks, and his
thin tongue snakes into my bottom. I flush at the humiliation of what
he may find there.
He moves in front of me, and I catch a glimpse of him. Short. Bald. Large eyes. Small cock. He
thrusts into my mouth, his rhythm so fast I barely have time for breath. I
feel a tongue slither into my ass, taking me by surprise. There’s some
garbled conversation – it sounds likes there’s two of them. My mouth is fully of his
sticky ooze. It tastes of mildew. He’s a nimble little fellow. Fucking
my face with confidence. I shriek as my ass receives an unexpected slap.
I can distinguish multiple laughing voices.
Judging by the sting it felt like I’ve received a whack from a leather strap. When I was tested it was
noted that few stimuli made me drip like a good old-fashioned spanking.
My cunt is filled with the squirm of a tongue, whilst a pointed finger is
mercilessly flicking my clit. The cock is forced back into my mouth.
Something cold and very hard is coaxed into my ass hole. Both of my
nipples are being sucked hard.
I recoil from another slap. How many of them are there? Slap after slap. Heat
growing. I feel it building in my stomach. I can no longer keep quiet and moan into my mouthful. My cunt is writhing against the tongue. I
long to be filled to my brink, just like my neighbor. Liquid spurts into my mouth, and I swallow the load delivered.
There is chattering. My ass is emptied of its intrusion, and immediately refilled by a pointed wiggling finger. My slit is licked
clean. I taste myself as a tongue invades my mouth. Then I am entered, and entered, and entered again.
Now every hole is filled. There is more than one cock in my vagina. I should
not have underestimated them merely for being small. They fuck me, until exhausted, I cum.
Loudly. Prompting a squeal of the high giggles.
And then they scurry away, leaving my covered in their strange icky slime. Legs shaking. Humiliated. Used. The kind ones
return and I am unshackled. They have brought a chair where I can sit whilst I
am thoroughly washed. They wheel me back to my bed, where I lie exhausted, only then realizing that I was not belted. I ache with a sensation that might almost be disappointment…
Thank you, dear reader. I’ve received quite a few messages hoping your tale would be continued. I admire the direction you’re taking it, that the “monsters” are paying for the privilege, that the protagonist might be in some inter-dimensional brothel, or a captive in some far-future inter-planetary sex dungeon. Or some illicit experiment with genetically modified chimera that’s exploring the boundaries of primal pleasure. Or maybe something else entirely…
I’ve always thought that given the written word has an unlimited production budget, why shouldn’t one write about something fantastical? That’s what motivated me to write stories like Stolen Essence, Grimoire. and Inevitable.
The web is full of generic stories about seemingly chaste young ladies meeting strict Doms or secret Daddies, cue a bit of spanking and some unexpectedly pleasurable humiliation, then finish off with some “mind-blowing” orgasms. But that’s not really blowing anyone’s mind. We writers can do better than that.
With courage, we can write about absolutely anything, and craft scenes that make readers’ imaginations buzz with their sheer audacity. Scenarios that readers find unexpectedly arousing, and don’t really know why. That is art.
Keep up the great work.