Daphne Says

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Her fingers abandoned my imprisoned c**k and moved lower, hunting more vulnerable flesh. The stainless steel ring that encircled my balls was locked to the c**k cage at the top, and the lower end of the c**k ring was locked to the steel strap dividing my bottom cheeks. I could feel the hasp of the padlock teasing my perineum. Between these two locked torments, the balls between were left dangling, helpless and terribly available. She stroked them slowly before releasing her claws and raking them downward across the sensitive underside of my scrotum until each ball was being juggled on a sharp point. Her thumb and forefinger were crab claws as she prodded and pinched until I whimpered. She touched her tongue to my ear and exulted in a hoarse whisper,

“Mine.”

My c**k raged against the bars of its prison. The shaft inside me pulsed as internal muscles gripped it. She lifted my chin to fix me in her gaze as she held those pincers tight on my balls. I tried to let her see the love in my eyes, even as I winced and whined softly into my gag.

“I believe we shall have the belt off for now,” she said, lifting the key from her neck. “Your bottom needs a respite before the real fun begins.”

She unlocked the belt in the front while I remained kneeling and admired the thick auburn tresses tumbling across her cheek. The night before, I had washed and conditioned them in accord with her standards and brushed them a hundred strokes before she settled in under her covers and dismissed me to the foot of her bed. When she was pleased with my services, I would sleep there, usually chained. She preferred keeping me close at hand in case she woke and wished to make use of me during the night.

When Daphne wasn’t sufficiently pleased, banishment to the cellar was the alternative option. I often spent the night shivering down there on a thin pad, chained by my c**k to the wall, with barely enough links to just reach the floor drain should I need to piss. On such nights, I was always well- marked and cruelly plugged. Her standards are very high, and her just punishments are swift and sure. She is cruel and I love her. I love her because she is cruel.

“Get down on your all fours now, knees well apart. Good Boy. Now this other lock.”

The hasp of the padlock prodded me a bit springing open, then the weight of the heavy chain clattered to the floor as her fingers grasped the base of the plug.

“Work with me now,” she crooned. “Relax and let it ease out. I’ll tug a bit to help. The lubricant tends to dry out over time, doesn’t it? Ahh! There you are!”

The thick shaft slithered out of me and into her waiting hand. She slid it immediately back in as I sucked in air around the rubber bone. She worked it in deep and pumped it in and out a few times to test the fit.

“I believe you’re ready now! Oh, this will be smashing!” She ruffled my hair, and I nuzzled her hand as she used the other hand to slip the hard length all the way out again.

“Stay”, she said, and took the plug over to the sink to clean it. There is a tiled area in the corner of the cellar that serves as my bathroom; a sink and countertop, a floor drain, and a combination shower head and douche nozzle that she had cleaned me with early that morning.

The rest of the cellar is well equipped for her favorite forms of play. Beside the shower are shelves laden with lotions and potions and infusions. Daphne is a bit of an alchemist when it comes to s*x. Some of these concoctions are rubbed on my skin to make it tighten and tingle, I become sensitized to her slightest touch until the erotic stimulation of her hands upon my skin becomes nearly unbearable. Stinging disinfectants may be applied after a whipping to intensify and prolong the fire on my flesh. The infusions are injected deep into my bowels before a thick plug is inserted as a cork to retain them. She enjoys watching me writhe on the floor as I endure the effects, and slowly absorb whatever aphrodisiac or hallucinogenic it has been laced with.

Another shelf displays her array of dildos and plugs. She maintains an ever growing collection of them, in a variety of shapes, sizes, materials, colors, and configurations. Below that shelf a row of shaker pegs is festooned with paddles, straps, crops, canes, and whips. There is the thin mattress I sleep upon and the oversized armchair that serves as her throne. All other furnishings are bondage devices of one sort or another, designed to secure me in a variety of positions that are convenient for her, but often uncomfortable for me. Displaying the most sensitive and private portions of my anatomy to be r***d and tortured.

“Congratulations are in order to you. This dilator is quite the largest in my collection. I can only imagine that it must have poked into your bottom all the way to the tripe’s.” She shook water from the plug and reached for a towel. “You’re stretched beautifully now. I can see you gaping from over here. You do need to be well opened for what is coming later.” She dried the plug and set it on its shelf with the others.

My hole flexed as it celebrated this moment of surcease. It felt oddly empty and abandoned, though the aching memory of invasion persisted. At this point, only the c**k apparatus confined me. I could, if I wished, simply bolt for the cellar stairs and escape. The logistics of removing the c**k cage and finding suitable clothing could be addressed after. I never even considered such a plan. I was bound to her with more than chain. So, I waited on all fours to find out what Daphne had planned for me.