Content Warning: CNC, consensual non-consent play, with explicit consent shown. || My body was taut, bound stretched across the table. The wood slats were smooth, cool beneath my back as I squirmed upon them. I adored feeling the captivity of my chains – cold, hard metal digging into my flesh, heavy and cruel, unbreakable. Digging their marks into my skin.
Goosebumps prickled over me as he stepped near. Master – in gray jeans, a black tank top, hair slicked back. But I could not see his face: he wore the mask we reserved only for this dark place, for our dungeon, for our depraved moments. A white mask of a horned devil, glaring down at me. The sight sent shivers through me, even though I knew who was behind it.
He looked me over, silent and slow, taking in every inch of my naked body. At my feet were laid his tools: a red candle, just lit, and a dozen wooden clothespins. My heart quickened as I watched him pick each of them up and turn them over slowly in his hands.
“How should I corrupt my little Angel today?” he said, his voice deep yet soft, the kind of voice that rumbled in my belly and made me shudder with fear. “What depravity should I use to make her cunt drip?” He approached my head, seized my hair, and stared down into my eyes with that terrifying mask.
“Ooh, I think I know just how I’ll destroy my Angel,” he cooed. “I think I’ll make her drip red from her pretty cunt.”
My breath began to come in gasps. “Please,” I begged, my voice desperate. “Please, Master, please…” It felt so good to let the words flow, to let them stream out of me in almost babble. “I’ll be good…I’ll be a good little angel for you…don’t destroy me…don’t, please!”
But he knew this was exactly what I wanted, and I knew the word that would truly make him stop, if need be. But him stopping was the last thing on my mind. I wanted all the filth he could visit upon me, every second of destruction. I trusted him to use my body – to break it down, drag it into the depths of pain, pleasure, and stimulation. I trusted him to bring me back, to keep me safe in the darkness.
A Devil protects his Angel, always.
“Keep begging, Angel. You sound so pretty when you beg.”
The clothespins opened their cruel mouths. One by one, almost inconsequential at first but swiftly growing alarming, he pinched the pins along my skin: lined the soft skin of my belly, my tender nipples, the flesh of my labia. I could barely move so restrained, but the pinch made me squirm. Holding the pins tightly he spread me apart, staring with devilish dark eyes at my delicate folds.
“Please don’t hurt me,” my voice was a whisper, the desire within it lying heavily on my tongue. He chuckled beneath that mask, a wicked promise.
“Aww, is my little Angel scared?”
“Yes!” – there was no fear in me, only the thrill – “Please don’t” – oh please, please, do – “I’ll be good, I’ll be good, please!” – but I’ll be oh-so-bad for you first.
He picked up the candle, hovered the flame close to my legs. I shuddered from the heat, cringing from the nearness of it. Goosebumps prickled as he ran the flame close up my side, hovering near my nipples still held cruelly captive. I began to shake – anticipation bubbling over. The candle hovered higher, my eyes fixated upon the flame and the oozing red wax, almost molten in my mind, so close to dripping over.
Two red drops fell. Thick, heavy and hot they pattered upon my skin, that tender shuddering skin on my breast. I sucked in my breath, ready to cry out – but the heat was so brief. A breath of fire on my body, the illusion of danger wrapped in safety.
“I love watching you shake, Angel. I love watching you tied so tight and helpless.”
Oh god, I loved it too.
Another drop – another – and another. Red dripped across my chest as I shuddered and whimpered. “Fuck…please…please…” He moved lower, dripped that deep dark red over my belly – splattered, macabre. I pulled at my chains again as he moved lower still, struggles becoming more frantic.
“Oh god, please not there…” – yes, please, right there – “Aahh please, please, no…” – god, yes, fucking do it, please –
“I told you I’d make your cunt drip, Angel,” he said. He pressed aside the clothespins again, so he could see how wet I was, dripping down onto the rough wood to which I was bound. “I’ll keep making you drip even as you beg for me to stop. You just can’t help it, can you?” His fingers slid over me, rubbing roughly over my clit and sending waves of overwhelming pleasure through me. I tried to close my legs but my chains kept them spread. “Ahh, trying to close me out, Angel? None of that. I like you so beautifully spread. So ready to drip even more.”
The candle hovered over. My breath quickened. Pleading words streamed from my lips as my eyes dilated and the thrill of helplessness overwhelmed me. I anticipated the molten drip on my cunt long before it fell: the expected heat and pain made me strain, struggle, and then, turned my begging to almost incoherent beastly sounds of a primal nature.
Fuck you, just do it, please god, I want to feel it – I want to feel the pain, don’t make me wait, please –
“Please don’t, please, please-”
Drip…drip…drip…red, fiery, overwhelming…shocking, making me squeal and arch and try to get away. But my cunt was still spread wide, wet and eager. No escape. He would paint it red slowly, one drop at a time, and watch me become more turned on with ever red drip.
“Keep squealing, Angel,” he said. “I know you love it.”
And I did love it – every dark, twisted, drop of it.
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