Bondage story - The Phantom of the Roxy - 32

Finally he was ready, and he withdrew his immense, glistening cock from her pussy with an abrupt sucking sound and repositioned it at the mouth of her ass. It was hot, hard and slippery with her juices, and her anus had been stretched so thoroughly by his thumbs that he was able to plunge straight in without hesitation. She screamed as he forced his way into the hot depths of her rectum, flling her body with thick, hot, living meat in that unnatural yet overpoweringly exciting way she had experienced only once be- fore. Suddenly, despite the way the clamps yanked on her nipples with each wild swing of the weights, despite the way her ravisher’s powerful hands were clutching agonizingly at her aching buttocks, the huge cock plowing its way in and out of her bowels became the focus of her attention. The different agonies combined within her, swirling together with her rising passion to become a crashing wave of overwhelming ecstasy.

Ever since he had sodomized her the frst time, she had been fghting a secret, unbearably humiliating desire to experience it again. So deeply ingrained was her shame con- cerning her anal desires that she had been mostly unaware of that inner battle. But now that it was happening, those desires were suddenly shooting to the forefront of her awareness, and she found her arousal soaring in spite of the ter- rible shame. In fact, it now seemed as though the shame only increased her wonton libido. She wanted to be the dirty little slut her shame told her she must be. She wanted to be the madman’s plaything, the tortured, degraded slave that he plunged his cock into whenever it pleased him. She wanted it! The Whisperer had been right, she truly wanted it! She was screaming and groaning continuously now, barely even aware of the sounds she made as the massive, powerful cock plunged wildly deep inside her. Her ecstatic cries were wordless, but to her lust-crazed master, they held a world of meaning. Her wailing rose to a high-pitched squeal as she began to come, the delicious waves of pleasure drowning her consciousness in their overwhelming sweetness.

Jessica rode the waves of orgasm for nearly a full minute. When the ecstasy began to dwindle she found herself suspended in a mindless, transcendental state similar to how she’d felt during her strapping, buoyed by the all-consuming sensation of her master’s tremendous cock still thundering away deep inside her bowels. Soon she was lifted by another tide of orgasmic waves, this one almost painfully acute and longer lasting, though not so intense.

Finally her master began to come, his mighty organ heaving and spitting deep inside her, and she nearly laughed with the exaltation of it. When it was fnally over and he withdrew from her punished body, she found that she was sob- bing and trembling.

The Whisperer quickly unbound her and released her poor nipples from the terrible clamps. Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her to the upholstered couch and laid her down on it, drawing a warm blanket over her quaking nakedness. Then he sat down and allowed her to rest her head in his lap until she stopped sobbing and shaking, his big hand idly stroking her cheek and neck. It seemed out of character for him to show her such tenderness, yet it was what she desperately needed, and he somehow seemed to sense it. Some time later, he rose and began dressing her. When she was dressed as she’d been when he’d taken her, he produced a brush from somewhere and brushed her hair for her. With a cloth he wiped the streaks of mascara from her cheeks and eyes. Not a word had been spoken, and in the state she was in, she didn’t think she could speak anyway. Finally, once more garbed in his shirt, cloak and hat, he picked her up in his arms and carried her from the room. With practiced ease he navigated a convoluted maze of dark passages, musty, cobwebbed chambers, narrow, steep stairs and crazy, twisting turns. Finally a door opened before them and he carried her into the cavernous, cool darkness behind the stage. He stood her on her feet, and gripped her shoulders from behind for a long moment.

“I will give you time to recover,” he whispered in her ear. “When I want you again, I will call you. If you come willingly, I will not have to take you again. You are my slave. I should not have to force you to come to me.”

With that he released her, and though she heard no sound, she knew he was gone. She stared around her, forcing herself to begin thinking again. Her thoughts were muddled, her emotions in turmoil, and she was exhausted. She didn’t want to face anyone, or have to deal with questions. Instead of returning to the theater, she went to the stairs and slowly climbed them up to the catwalk, then let herself out of the building and onto the roof. She was amazed to fnd that it was still daylight as she made her way across the pebbled expanse and then down to the dim seclusion of her room. As she climbed into bed, she knew without thinking about it that Ira would cover for her absence. Her job would still be secure, her role in the play would be assured. Her role in life, however, was another matter entirely.