Poor Little Rich Slut

by Dusseau, Lizbeth

  “Wiggle on them,” Garrison said.

  That went without saying. For the next five minutes the beads seemed determined to push themselves out of my cunt. In time I relaxed and they nestled deeper inside, allowing me to eat my scampi and salad hardly noticing their presence. The leatherette seat cushion was becoming quite wet from my leaking pussy juices, but by then, I really didn’t care; I was horny and wanted more.

  “Now this,” he said, as he again laid an object on the table with his hand carefully covering it.

  When he moved his hand away, another erotic wave passed through me as I stared at the small anal plug he left there. I swiped that quickly and held it in my lap.

  “You don’t really mean…” I started, already blushing.

  “In your ass.”

  “Right here?”

  “Right here, babe. It should be easier than the beads.”

  Easier than the beads, right!

  “You might want to lick it first…or maybe you could smear it with butter?”

  I took the suggestion to heart, knowing that my body might well fight the thing if I tried inserting it in dry.

  Gazing around the busy dining room, everyone seemed engaged in conversation and oblivious to us. So far, so good, I thought as I contemplated the anal plug and the butter dish for nearly a minute. Finally drawing the dish toward me, I pulled out the plug—held inconspicuously inside the palm of my hand—and swiped it through the soft butter. Just as fast, I raised my ass, sat up a bit, as if I were adjusting my skirt and wedged it in the cleft between my bottom cheeks. Feeling the tip at my anus, I then sat back down, feeling the plug slide into my rectum. Although it widened at its center, it managed to slip inside with little difficulty and my anus closed around where it narrowed at its base. The flat end fit snuggly against the opening.

  I was, thusly, double-penetrated. I felt as if I was about to explode!

  Garrison smiled smugly and shook his head.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked, suspiciously.

  He laughed. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes, I really want to know.”

  “I’m thinking how you’d look now with your mouth stuffed too.”

  I blushed, red as beet, as the picture instantly came to mind.

  “You want to do that too?”

  “And why not?”

  “You are cruel.”

  “And you’re not loving it?”

  As full as I might have been, my arousal crept through me stealthily, disturbing any indignation I might have pretended to feel.

  “Know what?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “I’d really like you to fuck me,” I whispered.

  “Then you did miss me.”

  “I missed getting fucked.”

  “Hmm. All that from a woman who barely knows what it’s like to take cock.”

  We finished our meal saying hardly a thing. Our eyes and my barely audible groans seemed to feed us as much as the food. I could see that Garrison was aroused, as was I.

  “Imagine what it’s going to be like getting punished for this scandalous act?” he finally said, amusedly.

  “It would have to be hard and hurt really bad,” I said in a flushed whisper. My heart was beating a little more rapidly and with every slight move, my crotch seemed to explode a little more.

  “And why is that?” he asked.

  “Because this is bad…really, really bad.”

  “That’s right, Heiress,” he said exultantly. “And I have just the thing to deal with your shameful behavior.”

  We continued with our intimate repartee for several minutes, but when the food no longer satisfied our clamoring hunger and we couldn’t take another moment repressing our demanding hormones, Garrison moved to his feet and nodded to the waiter.

  “On my check,” he told the man.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Garrison reached for my hand, and with my lower body clenched tight, I stood up. For a moment I felt the plug and the beads shift, but as I settled, they both seemed safely lodged inside. I’m not sure I walked all that smoothly to the door, but I managed, then sighed relieved when we finally slipped outside.

  “I think it’s time we test how much pain you can endure,” he whispered to me as we walked in the direction of his car.

  I could feel the wine working on my body to relax my apprehensions. I hardly responded to Garrison’s suggestion with anything other than a shudder of excitement. Pain, as in getting spanked, seemed like little more than an aphrodisiac for me. But what exactly he meant by pain I wasn’t sure of.

  We walked some distance before I realized that we’d actually passed by his car and were now moving into a marginal neighborhood where I’d never walk by myself. Seemed both risky and intensely thrilling. I clung to Garrison’s arm as fiercely as I was clinging to the intruders in my body.

  “Where are we going?” I asked. I might have been sobering up as I viewed the squalid surroundings and wondered exactly where we were going.

  “Just some friends,” he said.

  Not more than a block later, we moved into what looked like an old warehouse building, and found ourselves in a dingy, yellow-lit stairwell, climbing up. With every step, I risked expelling the beads; the particular motion of climbing seemed to shift the things even more. I stopped along the way. “They’re going to fall out,” I warned him.

  “They’d better not,” he warned right back.

  I took a deep breath, tightened my inner muscles and prayed that we wouldn’t be going much further. He’d said something about pain, testing my endurance. For some reason this seedy building seemed like the perfect place to do just that. He’d said friends. What kind of friends would meet us here?

  At the top of the last flight, several floors above the street, Garrison opened a heavy metal door that led to the smoldering darkness of a deserted, open warehouse. I nearly choked on the strong scent of cigar smoke that filled my nostrils. As if that weren’t enough, my body seemed to go rigid with fear for a good sixty seconds. Then my eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, and as the foggy smoke lifted, I saw the shapes of several men on the far side of the warehouse. They milled about under a pair of high windows, waiting for us, I suppose.

  The sound of my heels clicking on the hardwood floor seemed to echo through the entire space, while my nervous heart pounded hotly at my temples. My palms began to sweat and I could taste the desire on my parched lips, a desperate, needy, hungering desire. So overwhelmed, I clung tightly to Garrison’s arm for support.

  I don’t think I’d ever been as excited or scared or wanting. Just the atmosphere of the seedy building raised goosebumps of anticipation across my flesh.

  The shapes of the waiting men loomed ever larger as we closed in on them. However, they soon closed in on me, taking me from Garrison with no effort and covering my eyes with a scarf to blind me. They wore leather gloves and smelled strongly of smoke, with a hint of garlic and wine, perhaps from their evening meal. Suddenly one big, firm hand shoved me against a cold metal surface. My ankles and wrists were chained to the wall. I could barely move. Trembling with fear, I lost the ability to hold the sex toys in my pussy and rectum. The beads slid out, a fact not lost on one member of this frightening number. He tugged the end and they all fell out, giving me a jolt of sexual stimulation I hardly needed, while letting loose a trickle of pussy juice that was as obvious to him as it was to me. It tickled my inner thigh as it slithered down my leg.

  Moments later, I felt the warmth from a spotlight bearing down on my back with a powerful heat. The strange combination of cold metal and hot light had me wriggling thoughtlessly inside my bonds. I’d begun to sweat and my pussy was nearly orgasmic now and threatening to explode any second as it ground lewdly against the metal wall.

  But any climax was stopped short moments later when I felt the first of many teasing and terrible strikes of a leather whip against my backside. With this threatening menace and a new experience of pain for
me, my fear ran rampant through my being—my mind and body were on overload. “Oh, God, please!” I cried.

  The whipping stopped and someone grabbed my hair, jerking my head back.

  “You been a bad girl,” the fellow scowled. I know only that it was not Garrison speaking. Not his manner, not his voice. “Say it!” he ordered, gruffly.

  “S-say what?”

  He slapped my butt real hard. “I’ve been a bad girl, say it!”

  I panted heavily, hardly able to talk. “I-I’ve b-been a bad girl,” I finally repeated, in a voice so shaky, I could hardly be heard.

  The man was not pleased. “I’ve been a bad girl! Say it again, louder!”

  “I’ve been a bad girl,” I tried to raise my voice, but I’m not sure that I was capable of anything more than a frightened squawk.

  “Yeah, that’s better. Tell me you want it, want it hard, really hard. You want to get hurt, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” I said, my voice a breathless but unwavering whisper.

  “Then say it, slut! You want it hard. Tell me that.”

  “I want it hard!” I practically shouted now. I so wanted to please him—for lord knows what reason. None of this made sense. “I want it really hard, please!” I practically pleaded to be punished.

  “Yeah, and what else?”

  The desire seemed to ignite from my own words and I began to clip them off hardly thinking about what I said, but feeling every word. “I want you to hurt me, please, hurt me really bad, whip me hard.” I don’t think I ever felt anything so true as that. From deep in my gut, as far as my hungering spirit could travel I needed to be hurt. I wanted him to take me where I didn’t matter anymore. “Please! Please punish me!”

  I could sense him scowl with pleasure as I gave him all the consent he needed.

  “You heard that, boys? You got that on tape, huh? Miss Richbitch, hoity-toity Eleanor Rule wants us to punish her.”

  Yes, yes I did.

  The play of the whip resumed as the man backed away from me. All across my upper shoulders, across my back and my ass and the back of my thighs, the painful strikes scorched my skin. It hurt, just as I desired it to and I screamed. Still I wanted more, something meaner and more ruthless, to absolve me of my guilt. To balance some internal scale by which I judged myself a worthy woman or a contemptible slut.

  Hurt me harder! I felt my soul yearning from its depths. I wanted to feel the pain, hard, vicious, agonizing pain.

  Yet as the pain came on me, as the torment of my body became almost too much to bear, my endorphins suddenly kicked in and took me flying to that magical place where pain morphed into pleasure and the ghastly whipping became pure joy.

  When the whipping ended, I slumped in my bonds exhausted, thinking how much I was ready to be sexually taken. I wanted them to use me, all of them to use me.

  I might well have been ready for sex, however, my torturers were not.

  There was more pain to heap on me.

  Following the whipping, several of the men swarmed my body. The filleted flesh across my shoulders was pinched at least a dozen times with clothespins, forming what felt like two ribbons of pinched flesh. Surprisingly the pins hardly hurt at all, though they did feel dangerous and wonderfully wicked.

  “You know what happens when I tug on these handles and pull the clothespins free?” The man’s fingers danced along the pins and I felt each one tug my skin.

  I shook my head; I didn’t know.

  “I pull this string and they’ll all rip off, every last one of them in a split second.”

  I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew enough to be afraid, to have my dripping cunt seize up in fear, and more tears dampen the scarf until it was soaking wet. The man heard my sob.

  “Ah, slut, you’re just starting to weep,” that ugly voice spat at me.

  The man stood back and I felt a tug. Then something sudden and swift roared through me like a bolt of lightning. I saw lights and colors; I tasted my own blood as I bit down on my lips. I smelled heat and sex like I never had before. All this happened within the same small second, then everything was gone.

  I fainted.

  I revived when a hand slapped hard against my ass and I woke up feeling woosy and yet strangely at peace.

  Yes, yes, now they’d lay me down and fuck me.

  But they didn’t lay me down to rest.

  True, the bonds were undone and a pair of supportive hands pulled me from the metal wall. But it was only to turn me around and push me back against the hard surface, where my wounded skin felt the sensation of being rubbed against the wall. I was anchored again, face forward this time, my breasts, belly and cunt made vulnerable to their attack.

  A different kind of pain followed. Weights were dangled from both the rings in my crotch. Clothespins were clamped on my nipples and breasts. Others were attached to my labia until I felt like a gigantic pincushion.

  Then the action of the whip began again. The delicate end jumped off my body in strike after strike, sometimes biting the flesh like the devil; at other times just grazing the skin teasingly, as if to remind me for a moment what pleasure felt like. I seemed a glutton for this kind of punishment; the sensation felt dangerous, frightening and resplendent at the same time.

  Sometimes, when the next strike hit with a viscous bite, the pleasure vanished and was replaced by a persistent, piercing pain. I cried again, and then again, when with razor sharp precision, each of the clothespins were one-by-one snapped off my flesh. Some expert wielded the awful implement. My body battled back and forth from pain to pleasure until I was completely drained.

  Again, when the torture was over, I slumped limply against the metal wall. I was nearly dangling by my wrists, about to faint again.

  Once I was removed from the restraints, a pair of large hands shoved me to my knees and then dragged me by my hair. Some mean hand slapped my face back and forth, until I was delirious. That hand hardly stung, but I cried as I endured this humiliating show of the man’s contemptuous brutality.

  Jerked upright on my knees, I felt several bodies move in close; one directly in front of me, a cock pressed to my mouth. That first cock gagged me; though it wouldn’t let me refuse it. Grabbed by the ears, my face was shoved forward, my throat impaled. I was forced to submit and give the man what he wanted.

  “Suck it, rich slut!”

  I sucked. I had no choice.

  “And use your hands,” he ordered.

  This was all new to me. I’d never been taught how to satisfy a man this way. I tentatively reached for the organ I serviced with my mouth. Then at the same time, someone guided my other hand to my side where it found another impatient erection. I stroked that one while I sucked the other, pouring my energy into both in hopes that I could please both men.

  What a ghastly pleasure this was!

  I was faced-fucked by who knows how many turgid erections. I sucked in, ran my tongue about their cock-heads, let my saliva slather the meaty stalks and took one spewing member after another to climax. This was a first for me in my young sexual life. I had no idea what to make of it, how to feel or think about what must have looked like a porn video, repugnant, slutty but definitely arousing.

  “All the way down, rich girl!”

  I gulped fiercely, trying to keep up with the cum that splashed in my mouth, on my face, against my hair, jetting in streams that bathed me with the pungent smells and sticky substance. I drank as much as I could, the rest I wore.

  Afterwards, they batted their slowly diminishing erections against my face.

  “Lick them clean!”

  “Yeah, just look at our little society girl now,” someone jeeringly exclaimed.

  Strange irony that was: I’d never been the society girl in my mind. But maybe I couldn’t run away from the truth of how the world thought of me.

  “Poor little rich slut!” My face got slapped again.

  “String her up!”

  I went from my knees to the air. With thick s
upportive cuffs strapped around my ankles, I was dangled from some apparatus that pulled me upside-down into the air. My fingertips just barely grazed the hardwood floor. My legs had been spread and fixed to either end of a wide bar so it was impossible to close them.

  Someone slapped my ass with the palm of his hand.

  “You’re right, she likes pain,” the man exclaimed. He had his hand in my crotch finding my cunt juicy.

  “And she’ll take a little more before we’re through,” another voice chimed in.

  “Goddam right!”

  More? I couldn’t imagine more.

  I hadn’t realized until then that the butt-plug Garrison had me insert in my ass during dinner was still in place. Someone touched it—more like pushed it deeper into my anal cleft and my memory returned. A warning of things to come. A few moments later, I felt someone prying the thing from me, which was no easy task after it had been in me so long. When it finally slurped from my body with a popping sound, I felt empty without it. Even after all this torture, there remained a gnawing sexual ache in my belly that had not yet been satisfied. Perhaps the desire went away when the pain crashed through me, but it never fled altogether.

  “This will widen her ass if anything will.” I imagined the man holding up another, larger butt-plug for his friends to see.

  Within moments, there were hands roughly mauling my ass and massaging that nether gateway. I felt the opening stretch as they stuffed fingers into my ass. Despite the way I’d been mercilessly worked over and should have been ready to pass out, the invasive activity awakened my body again. Before long, I sensed the end of the thick plug pressing the opening of my rectum and moving inside.

  “Go ahead and shove it!” For the first time since the warehouse door opened, it was Garrison’s voice speaking. His voice was gritty and stern—no comfort at all. A whole lot of misery followed as whoever did the shoving took him literally. I may have been well-greased but the fat thing didn’t go in easily.