White Room - 02
White Room | Noncon | Lesbian | Mind Break | Needles
Return
Water. I need water. That need has replaced everything else. My lips are cracked and dry. I no longer feel hunger. The aches of my body are a distant sensation. I no longer drool around the gag, and I don't have any tears left.
Time passes.
No light. No sun. No clock. How long have I been here? How many times have I woken? How many times have I slept? Has it been hours? Days? Weeks? No… It can’t have been hours. Not with how dry my throat is. Nor can it have been weeks. Wouldn’t dehydration have killed me if it had been so long? A day or two then. No more than three or four days. Alone, in the absolute dark. Unable to move. Nothing to do but wait as one each second passes with agonizing slowness. Just pain, fear, and the silent dark.
Time passes.
The only thing keeping me going is the assurance of my cold mind. It's positive that she will be back. She planned this out carefully. She isn't going to stop with one rape. One orgasm, assuming she hadn’t had more than one, wouldn’t be enough. Not for this.
Time passes.
Sudden hope surges. A distant door closes. I wait, but nothing else happens. Was it my imagination? No. Another distant sound saves me from my doubts. I wait, eager for her company. Willing to do anything for a cup of water.
I'm too weak to jump when the lights turn on. A heartbeat later, the door bangs open. She steps into sight and squats down so that she can look into my eyes. One hand holding onto my arm for balance, she smiles at me like everything is right in the world.
Last time everything happened so fast that I didn't notice her appearance. She has short brown hair and brown eyes. A little bulky, but it's solid muscle, not fat. She's wearing blue jeans and a gray t-shirt. As the rough and calloused hand clasping my arm demonstrates, her farmer's tan didn't come from relaxing in the sun.
I try to beg for water, but my throat is so dry that I can't even grunt.
"Are you thirsty?" she asks.
I eagerly nod my head.
She gets up and walks out of sight. She returns with a squirt bottle and a washcloth. She squirts some water on the washcloth, then pushes the ball gag slightly to the side and forces one end into my mouth. The moisture is bliss. I greedily suck, but my mouth is so dry it seems to absorb fluid like a sponge. I sob in frustration, terrified that she will stop there. She keeps the water flowing. Eventually, sweet relief reaches my throat.
Long before I'm satisfied, she drops the washcloth on the ground and sets the water bottle down in front of me. Now that my throat isn't so dry, I plead for more, trying to beg without words.
She walks back to the door. For a terrifying moment, I think she is leaving and feel a surge of relief when she returns with a thick black collar.
"It's solid steel. This side has a covered hinge, the other has a ring. I'll attach it to that chain with this link." She shows me the link with a gap in it that is wide enough to slide the collar's hoop through. She closes the collar, picks up one end of the chain, and threads the link through both.
"Once everything's connected, it'll take just a few minutes welding to make it permanent. You can't tamper with it. Without the right tools, it will be impossible to remove. No lock to pick. No pins to remove. You will wear it for the rest of your life."
She flashes an excited grin and heads behind my back. She returns with a couple of wet towels. After placing one on my upper back, she wraps the other around my neck.
Then locks the steel collar in place.
I don't resist. As much as I hate the idea, it gives me hope that she will release the straps pulling my arms and legs so tightly. I can't stop her anyway.
She returns with heavy gloves, a mask, and a welder.
"Look away and close your eyes."
The words are all the warning I receive before sparks fly. I'm instantly thankful for the wet towels. Like popping bacon grease, sparks that land on my unprotected shoulders or in my hair burn uncomfortably. Before, I would have called it painful, but she had forced me to redefine pain.
In a surprisingly short time, she finishes. For some reason, she explains every step along the way. From the wire brush and grinding wheel to the darkening chemical that she carefully brushed over the freshly exposed steel.
Once she is finished, and all the tools put away, she whispers in my ear.
"First rule; No words."
She takes off her pants and slides down her panties. A quick hop later, and she's sitting on the wooden beam, her vagina in my face once again. It only takes her a few moments to remove the hated gag. I work my mouth and tongue, reveling in my sudden freedom, even if my jaw aches painfully with the movement.
I breathe in to thank her.
The cold side of my mind reminds me that I'm not allowed to speak just in time. Thankful? I feel thankful? Towards her? Sudden overwhelming rage burns through me. Impotent rage. What could I do? Bite the sensitive flesh inches from my mouth? Nothing good would come of it. She couldn't free me without getting tools, so sooner or later I'd need to release her, or starve to death.
I don't dare.
A squirt bottle appears inches from my face. I open my mouth, eager for a drink, and she squirts the water in. I greedily drink the entire thing, shoving my traitorous emotions down.
She scoots forward, one leg on each side of the beam. Her vagina fills my vision. I know what she expects, so I lick, feeling for her clit. Once I find it, I start sucking and licking.
I want this over with as quickly as possible.
To my surprise, she scoots back out of reach.
With an ear in each hand, she savagely twists. I cry out at the sudden surge of pain.
Speaking slowly and carefully, she enunciates every word. "This. Isn't. A. Race. It's not about speed; it's about pleasure. My pleasure. Stay away from my clit, except for the occasional touch, until I say otherwise. Take your time."
She moves back into place. I choke back my rage and follow her orders.
"Do a good job, and I'll let you eat and drink."
My cold mind takes over. I nuzzle her vagina like an eager lover, forcing myself to ignore the nasty tart taste of another woman's vagina. Sucking and licking everything in reach, I tried to pleasure her as long as possible. At first, my lips and my tongue just explored her labia, but before long, her body language made it clear that she wanted more. I forced my tongue inside.
That still wasn't enough.
She ground her vagina against my face, ordering me to reach deeper.
Slowly, my cold mind learns how to please her. I take her to the edge, rapidly flicking my tongue across her clitoris. Then back off. Slow down. Focus my attention on the rest of her labia, thighs, and even her vagina. Build up her pleasure, then just before she crosses that peak, back off, and take her down for a few minutes before building up again.
The sounds of her pleasure, rising and falling, fills me with impotent rage and humiliation. My jaw and tongue ache, this time from too much movement, long before she allows me to bring her.
When she finally finishes, I lay there, eyes closed, still helpless. Hoping my freedom would come soon. I just want my arms back. I want to stand up, to move. Anything is better than this.
She leans against the wall, a languid smile on her lips.
Several long minutes pass before something occurs to me. Freedom no longer meant escaping. It no longer means going back to my life. Freedom meant being able to stand up.
Closing my eyes, I begin to cry silently.
"I have good news and bad news."
At the jarring sound of her voice in the quiet room, I open my eyes, suddenly scared.
I thought I pleased her!
She continues to talk while freeing me from my bonds.
"First, the good news. You did an exceptional job. You earned a meal."
She frees my limbs and helps me to the floor. The strap-on moves, it's still uncomfortable, but I do my best to ignore it. I'll wait for her to leave. My arms and legs, after their prolonged mistreatment, feel numb and strange. It takes several tries before I rise on wobbly legs.
"Now for the bad news. That was fun, but last time was better."
Last time? Does she mean the strapon? That terrible agony?
Scared, I whisper. "Please."
The sound barely leaves my mouth before she backhands me into the wall. Unable to stand on my nearly useless legs, I fall to my hands and knees. She grabs my neck in one firm hand and pins me against the wall.
Rock-hard fingers wrap around my neck, beneath the steel collar, and squeeze tight until I can't draw in another breath.
Her free hand balls into a fist, and she punches me in the stomach.
One.
Two.
Three.
Instinctively, I curl into a protective ball. But held up against the wall, it's like doing a midair sit-up. Gradually, gravity wins, and my stomach is exposed again.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Hissing into my ear, she says. "This is your last warning. If you ever utter so much as a single word again, this will feel like kindness in comparison."
She flips me over, pressing my face into the wall. My panties jerk down, and the strap-on is finally pulled free.
I gasp, the sudden absence of the uncomfortable pressure a welcome relief.
Flipping me back around, she holds it in front of my face. The smooth surface is shiny, metallic, and... small. It's hard to believe it caused so much pain.
She leaned in close and stared into my eyes, and I flinched back at her ferocity I saw there.
"This once is called 'playful.' I have three larger ones called 'painful,' 'brutal,' and 'agony.' Break any rule, and you'll experience things that will make what I've already done seem gentle in comparison."
Shivering with fear, I cower away.
"Do you remember the first rule?"
I frantically nod my head.
"Second rule; No biting."
Considering where my mouth had been a few minutes ago, I slowly nod my head.
"Final rule; Don't attack my face."
Surprised, I looked at her in confusion. Why specify the face?
"You can fight. Hell, I want you to fight! If you manage to hold me off, I'll leave you alone, with light, for a full day." She leaves before I respond.
Dark Fantasies