Riding the Horse


Copyright 2000 Lance Edwards




Damn good thing this thing was padded.


Not by much -- just a tacked-on leather cover -- but with everything else in store tonight, Don could do without any slivers or splinters. He lay atop -- and now partially within -- a curious wooden contraption, accepting the last of his necessary attachments before the beginning of the upcoming session.


Already his inner condition had zoomed passed humiliation and discomfort and into a gradually increasing level of pain. Yet despite this fact (and the exciting, delicious trepidation of what still lay ahead), he waited in complete docility while the Lady O finished working on his already aching-hard erection.


As usual she had everything firmly under control. The custom built whipping-horse torture-bench was elaborately made, with provisions for every eventuality. The hinged juncture between the heavy, tilted A-frame horse legs and the hard board bench that Don lay face down upon allowed his head to be raised or lowered to any level. His mistress currently had him facing straight at the floor, rudely bent over at the waist with his blood pounding in his head and his vulnerable ass thrust up high behind him.


His stretching toes hung just above the floor, exposing the soles of his feet, and hard steel shackles fastened his ankles directly to the widely splayed base of the horse. Built-in belt straps further secured him all the way up the sturdy wooden legs: calves, thighs, and a last uncomfortable two clutching his butt-cheeks, cinching him down brutally onto the horse-bench juncture and holding his plump firm ass-muscles spread invitingly out open. Yet that was just the beginning of his bondage. His waist was also being restrained to the bench in much more intimate fashion. That’s what the evil Lady O was up to.


Don Landers’ long, hard, bulging-red cock was socketed through a knothole-sized orifice drilled through the thin maple bench-top right where it joined the legs of the horse. Half an inch away on the underside, a curved steel screw-clamp clutched his boner in a pitiless death-grip, binding him to the bench beyond any possible hope of extraction. The padded fit of the trap holding him was so snug that any attempted movement (or the slightest blow from behind), would tug on him maddeningly, simulating the strongest attentions of the best-trained hand or the tightest vagina. Yet the cruel, uncompromising screw-clamp pinched him worse than any penis ring, ensuring an indefinite swollen erection.


Combined with the pain of the additional clamps and such on his length, and the constant downward drag of the attached weights, this was enough to send Don’s depending rod into twitching spasms, jerking him away from his Mistress’ final touches. Naturally she didn’t take this disobedience, involuntary as it was, lying down. Quite the opposite. “Damn you slave!”


A hard open hand cracked across Don’s bare right buttock, actually a light, teasing sting compared to what surely lay ahead. But then the Lady O seized his wayward cock by the sensitive head, pinching it sharply between her long, elaborately lacquered fingernails.


Don whined helplessly in response. Already the long, hard, seven-inch length of him that protruded beneath the bench was wrapped in tight leather cords and hung with lead weights clamped into place by strong, steel-spring clips. But now the evil Lady O took the last, biggest clip of those available, pinched it open and attached it firmly to the sensitive tip of Don’s soft, swollen penis-head. Not half an inch above the open eyehole, this last spring clamp squeezed him brutally shut.


Despite this horrible cruelty, the hissing intake of Don’s breath was the only evidence of the sudden excruciating increase in his agony and arousal. By now this was an old drill, and he wanted to remain respectfully silent, and avoid the choking humiliation of the ball-gag as long as possible. But whether his moderated response mattered to his mistress or not remained unknown. With his hard, eternally erect cock thus punished and secured, the meticulous Lady O moved lower, accessing Don’s nipples where they peeked out on either side of the narrow board torture-bench. Two tight, serrated steel ‘alligator’ clamps were applied, pinching into his tender little tit-buds until he wanted to scream. Then the inevitable lead weights were added, digging in the teeth and dragging them both down, stretching out his sensitive aureole toward the floor.


This time Don whimpered uncontrollably, wriggling his upper body a bit, but that only set the weights to swinging, increasing his pain. Perversely he did it anyway, enjoying the limited use of his inter-locked arms and shoulders before the inevitable cramps and numbness set in.


Of course, that was practically the first thing she’d seen to, after shackling and strapping in his legs, inserting his erection, and bending him over the horse. The Lady O had tied his hands, but not in any conventional fashion. His bound wrists still made an X behind him, but his forearms had been brutally wrenched around and upward, until they crossed each other not at the small of his back but up between his flaring shoulder blades.


Don’s upper back and shoulders bowed together, lifting his face from the board, and his elbows made angles of excruciation, constantly pulling back and down against the powerful muscular strain on his shoulder sockets. Nevertheless, the extensive overlapping of tight leather straps that lashed his wrists into that uncompromising X felt ready to hold until doomsday.


Of course, stabbing, paralyzing cramps would strike long before then, and eventually merciful numbness. Don wanted to enjoy the last bit of his limited mobility before that happened. He squirmed around, jingling the weighted chains and moaning at the response from his screaming nipples. He immediately felt it in his cock too, the tight wooden knothole rubbing at his base and causing his member to try to bob back up reflexively in mindless, autonomic response.


That unstoppable muscle spasm sent an additional electric sizzle through his tightly pinched-off dick-tip, and Don’s whimper at last became a muffled cry. Then suddenly his breath chuffed out of him altogether, as the evil Lady Ondahlie finally looped up and jerked tight the wide leather belt that bound his belly to the bench. Don struggled frantically, trying to get his wind back, but all he could do was bob up and down a little, shaking his head and wriggling his inverted, contorted upper body. The rest of him was so solidly secured to the torture horse that he might have been an integral part of it.


As usual the delicious futility of his efforts, proof of his utter captivity, was intoxicatingly arousing, and his suffering cock responded again. Another immense bolt of pain lanced up through Don’s twitching dick, breaking the spasm that gripped his chest and finally allowing him to breathe. He managed several deep, panting inhales just as the Lady O at last finished her elaborate preparations and moved up to stand before his suspended face.


Staring down at the thickly carpeted floor, Don’s heart hammered within him as he watched her shiny boots approach. Afraid to raise his face to his mistress, he concentrated instead on her footwear: pointy-toed, stiletto-heeled, rising up to just past the knee.


How many times had he cleaned those boots (and then the feet within), lovingly, with his tongue? After that his gaze was tempted to rise, to seek out the bold dark thighs: smooth, muscular, colored that deep golden-brown he found so exciting. But before he could gather his courage a powerful fist was knotted in his hair, and his head was yanked up and back. The Lady O was leaning over him, smirking down into his captive face.


Her dark, exotic beauty was stunning, as always, and her expression just as unsettling. The thick lips of her African heritage grinned up into surprisingly full cheeks, giving her a cherubic aspect that fit her small round skull, sparkling dark eyes and tight cap of curls perfectly. But the cute, upturned shape of her nose betrayed her mixed blood, and the rich golden hue of her skin seemed to glow from within. All in all it was a face just made for expressing pure, malevolent glee -- which it usually did. If the Lady O had an entirely convincing threatening scowl, and a completely terrifying scream of rage, still her unadulterated joy and excitement at being in command of a helpless naked man invariably shone through.


Tonight was no exception. Mistress Ondahlie was so fired up for the session at hand that her dark eyes danced with a manic anticipation, and her scornful smirk couldn’t manage to stay a sneer. She chuckled fiendishly at Don, holding up the ball-gag in her free hand and shaking him briskly by a fistful of his long dark hair. “Any last words, slave?”


Don opened his mouth to say something, anything, some inarticulate plea perhaps, but before he could even begin to do so she rammed the ball immediately in, laughing delightedly at his goggle of surprise. “Too late!” she cried. Right away she began tightly securing the gag’s straps: behind his neck, under the chin, around his nose, between his eyes and over the top of his head.


As usual, Don at first gagged helplessly on the big ball filling his mouth, but by the time she’d cinched tight the harness he’d trained himself to accept it. His tongue was squashed, his jaw was forced open painfully wide and filled with what felt like a billiard ball, but he could handle it. Struggling with his gorge, seeking distraction from his many discomforts, Don looked around the room as his Lady O at last left him to approach the far wall.


*   *   *


Mistress Ondahlie’s Dungeon, home of the Evil Lady O, was, of course more than just a single room. It was as vast and elaborate as a castle, with many different cells and chambers both above and far below the ground. Sumptuous, spacious and accommodating for everyone except the current unfortunate victim, this place was called the ‘Soft Room’. Couches and recliners for voyeurs or guests (empty now, but not always) sat around three of the four walls, and pillows were piled even under and around the torture horse itself, for the comfort of the reigning mistress.


Various bright white or sultry colored spotlights could also be trained on the victim, (glaring white right now) and three of the four walls and the ceiling were completely mirrored. Riding the horse, Don Landers could see every humiliating angle of himself as he waited, and Ondahlie’s figure as she examined the pegboard was exquisitely reflected ad infinitum around the room.


Her strong round buttocks, muscular arms, shoulders and back were to him, and despite the obscuring straps of her studded leather body harness, he could see the now familiar tattoo on the rear of her left shoulder: panther and boa, locked in mortal combat. Yet also visible were the beautiful big breasts, their heavy, sloping curves cradled by gleaming black straps. Puckering with excitement, her dark brown nipples were nevertheless still the size of blackened silver dollars.


The belly below was washboard hard, the hips deliciously curvy and the crotch well armored. Don had several long moments in which to study her, as his mistress paused before the fourth wall, but despite her fearsome beauty Don’s eyes were dragged inevitably away to the selection hanging in front of her. What would be first on tonight’s agenda?


The whole fourth wall was a pegboard of course, hung with sex toys in the hundreds, enough for the most sadistic dominatrix in history to gloat over. Paddles of all shape and size, heavy and solid or drilled full of holes, hung ranked by size next to whips and quirts and canes and crops of all kinds, an obsessed disciplinarian’s dream.


Next to these weapons hung shackles and straps and harnesses and reins, gags and bits and ropes and chains, plus additional restraining gear for enforcing whatever contorted position the mistress required. And like the furnace room downstairs, other more arcane torture instruments also abounded: branding irons and tattoo needles, vibrators and stun-prods, and of course an incredible collection of strap-on dildoes -- long, man-made cocks in an endless variety of resilience and design.


Mentally Don willed the Lady O away from those, and he breathed a complex sigh of private disappointment/relief when she at last took down her favorite two-handed, drill-holed, heavy wooden ass paddle and turned back to him.


Pulling on a knuckle-studded pair of bicep-high, tight leather gauntlets -- no blisters for her -- Mistress Ondahlie assumed her position beside Don’s butt and prepared to batter him into oblivion. Much more than completely helpless, there was nothing he could do but wait. The first blow, when it landed, was like heaven at last.


The heavy wooden board whistled in, air shrieking through the speed-holes, to crack against Don’s elevated ass with loud, authoritative smack. Intimately bound to the hard bench and horse, there was nowhere to go and room to give. His gluteous maximus, largest muscle in the body, absorbed the entire force of the paddle.


The sudden immense shock of pain sent a fiery surge of adrenaline through Don, curling his toes, cording his neck, shivering up the length of his spine. Ah, yes, mistress! Now this was being alive! His trapped cock tugged at the hole -- or maybe it was the other way around -- the attached weights swung back and forth and the tight leather cords pulled beautifully at Don’s entire rock-hard, uncircumcised length. Meanwhile the viciously- pinched tip continued to scream its misery, and the competing sensations burning through his captive sexual organ made him groan with ecstasy. He lay there, wallowing, as the blow was repeated, and repeated, and repeated.


Soon Don’s ass in the mirror was reddening at an alarming rate, and the pain in his buttocks seemed to climb without end. Still he took each blow gladly, hardly feeling the growing bruises next to the delicious symphony of sensation their rocking force sent up in his captive cock. From root to tip each stroke jerked him harder, harder, yet nevertheless the inevitable damage was being done. Despite the ungodly state of his cock, Don was at last forced to concentrate on the pain in his butt as well. Grunting at each additional thunderbolt clap, he treasured the rush of agony it sent him, blending it into the mix. He writhed as much as he was able to -- head tossing, a little shoulder rock, no movement at all below the ribs -- and jingling his tit-chains willingly took whatever his exalted mistress chose to give him.


The Lady O gave him a good hundred strokes at least, probably more like two hundred. She’d broken quite a sweat, and Don’s ass was beyond red and into an ugly bruise-purple-black when she at last relented.


Don gave a choked sob of relief, driven by the pain of that steady, rhythmic assault to masturbatory extremes he’d rarely achieved. His trapped and strangled cock was so desperate to come that it threatened to drive him insane. Yet naturally the session was barely beginning. He blinked his eyes clear of involuntary tears just in time to see the Lady O exchange the paddle for a thin, plaited whip and a tight black hood. Oh no.


Oh, yes! seemed to say the Lady’s smirk, as she returned to the horse.


Over Don’s head went the hood, sealing him in inky blackness, and more buckles and straps secured its fit. Thickly padded ear covers muffled his hearing, and only his emerging nose had access to the world.


Sealed inside the cell of his captive body, smelling nothing but the leather of the hood and his own acrid fear-sweat, only the organ of touch remained to give Don’s brain sensation. And touches he got in abundance. Out there in the world somewhere the whip surely whistled and cracked, but for Don there was only the sudden deep, flaming bite of the lash across the small of his back. He gagged on his scream, finding it blocked (of course) by the large ball in his mouth, as an immense flash of pain lit up the world behind his eyes. For a moment he almost blacked out, overwhelmed by the neural rush.


This was an entirely different sensation from the almost sexual stroke of the paddle, this was the stinging flame of an agony so intense he didn’t think he could deal with it. Yet deal with it he obviously had to, for here it came again.


Striking from an entirely different angle, at an entirely different place, the Lady O lashed him again, laying the thin leather whip across the soft underside of Don’s thighs in a searing slash of sensation. Again he choked on an involuntary scream, feeling his skin welt up and break open, adding to the lattice of healing whip-scars already covering him. Then again it came, a tearing white agony ripping across his exposed purple ass-flesh.


This was torture indeed, and Don waited in breathless suspense for each new excruciating stroke. Circling him silently, his unseen mistress always chose the most unexpected area to attack -- back of the neck, crack of the ass, etc -- laying open his worthless hide with a skill and precision honed from years of practice.


Each successive blow set off uncontrollable shuddering spasms, as Don’s skin seemed to try to leap off his body. And even though those muscle tremors were damped by his solid belt restraints before they even reached his waist, they still set his tit- and cock-weights to jiggling, compounding his pain. Yet for nearly forty minutes the Mistress Ondahlie striped his shivering flesh, leaving her telltale marks across his body for Don to savor all this week -- and for others to read his humiliating guilt in.


This relatively short time was an eternity for Don, who suffered extensively in his silent, black isolation. Lost in a blind hell he saw nothing, heard nothing, thought nothing, and knew nothing, but the unpredictable agony of the whip. This was no fun at all, but a cruel necessity of submitting himself to his mistress.


Like the occasional golden shower, the whip was something Don endured but didn’t appreciate, accepting the demands of his evil Lady O because there was literally no other choice. To be her captive boy-toy meant to take the whip -- or whatever else she chose to use on him -- and learn to love it. Thus Don Landers suffered his appointed torture, until at last there was a longer pause, and he dared to hope for mercy. That was foolishly vain, of course.


Suddenly out of the silent darkness there came a crippling blow across the sole of Don’s left foot, a howling pain that would have dropped him to the ground had he not become one with the torture horse. As it was, he was helpless do anything but scream in the silence of his mind, and frantically conjecture.


She must have traded the whip for a tough, limber cane. That’s what the pause was all about.


Confirmation came immediately, another slash across the sole, and then the Lady O was beating the bare bottoms of Don’s feet with a vengeance, practicing the ancient Eastern torture with as much fervor as the most sadistic Japanese prison Guard. First one foot-sole and then the other, she caned him for another eternity, until Don’s mind was a hot roaring blank and helpless tears streamed down his face, chafing him in his ball gag-harness and tight, stifling leather hood.


A minor irritant, really, when the most sensitive part of the body (next to those currently clamped off and hung with weights, that is) was under such a punishing assault. Soon the tender bottoms of Don’s feet were as bruised as his ass, and his agony had surpassed anything he’d ever known. He’d long since had his fill of strict, straightforward bodily punishment when the evil Lady O finally decided it was time for more intimate, humiliating torments. At last.


His ear covers were ripped from the hood, and he heard a wicked laugh of relish. There came a clatter as the cane was cast aside, then a rummaging sound, and several tense moments passed. Don waited, wincing back over the many things he hadn’t yet learned to accept.


Now what would he be confronted with, when the hood at last came off? That hot, salty stream arcing down to spatter into his helpless face? It wouldn’t be the first time.


Please, no, thought Don to himself. Please, no. Although the extreme degradation of his mistress pissing in his face was undeniably delicious to him, he hated enduring the smell in the subsequent hours until he was finally hosed off and returned to his cell.


Luckily the Lady O had something else in mind, something he was gradually growing accustomed to. When she walked back over and wrenched off the hood, she was sporting her favorite strap-on cock, evidence enough of her intent to use it.


*   *   *


Not really a ‘strap-on’, Mistress Ondahlie’s current preferred dildo instead mounted itself directly to her body harness, growing from a sturdy peg placed on the armored mound of her pubis. A shiny jet black, it was formed of hard, yet slightly springy rubber, curving up and jutting out at least 8 inches from her shapely, powerful hips.


Don Landers knew from painful experience just how long those eight inches could seem, and despite a strange stirring somewhere deep within he quailed. Slowly, slowly the Mistress Ondahlie approached, until the bulbous, life-like head of her cock was threatening to poke him in the eye. Then suddenly she began loosening the gag straps. Soon the Lady O tore the entire apparatus away, ripping the ball from his mouth unceremoniously and dropping it to the floor.  Then, kneeling on pillows and straddling the inclined torture bench, she confronted Don’s dangling face and shoved the dildo threateningly up and forward, rudely nudging his lips.


“Well, slave, do you want to provide me some lube? It’s all the greasing you’re going to get.”


Wincing, Don opened his mouth, and she immediately forced it in.


“Suck me off, slave!” the Lady cried, her cock filling his mouth, and Don complied, closing his eyes and servicing his mistress the exact way he liked it done to himself.


Cheeks pursing, lips sucking, his eager, obedient tongue worked the cockhead, testing its resilience. Right away his mouth watered at its warm, firm softness, its life-like contours. His mistress had taught him right. Soon Don was slavering extensively, the foreign object bringing a welcome gush of saliva to his fear-dry mouth. Before long the wet drool slicked his lips and chin, escaping along the ribbed rubber shaft as the Lady O started pumping her cock rhythmically up into him.


“You little cocksucker! Look at you!” she giggled. “You suck dick like the cheapest little slut-boy-whore!” Laughing with glee, Ondahlie thrust herself deeper, pushing Don’s head back and invading his throat, and with both hands clutched in his hair she started fucking his open hole with a vengeance.


Don struggled with his gorge, that big black cock pounding up into him, punishing his throat and palate, but fortunately the intense oral assault doesn’t last long. Some nights she tortured him this way for up to an hour, shrieking the filthiest of curses as she skewered his helpless face. But tonight the mistress was too eager to get on to her main goal. Soon she withdrew, her big black cock just dripping with thick, glistening spit.


Surprisingly, the Supreme Mistress Ondahlie left the gag lying useless on the floor this time. Instead she demanded a more emasculating humiliation. “I want to hear you begging me for it, Slut-Boy!” she said as she rounded the horse to approach the rear. “Every step of the way!”


She stepped up behind the horse, settling her stance amid the cushioned floor, until she was solidly placed between those united pairs of widely splayed legs. Aligning herself, the Lady O cracked a palm across a bruise-black butt cheek, just above the cinching strap. Don tried to clench against what he knew was coming, but of course it was useless. The tight black butt-belts held him helplessly open. The Lady O smacked him again, nudging into his nether hole, then cried out, “Are you ready for it, Slut-Boy? Do you want my cock in you?”


“Yes Mistress!” cried Don in return.


Strangely enough, this was now actually true. Suddenly he couldn’t deny it. Here was the ultimate in personal submission! Bent over, blood pounding in his face, while a demon black bitch-goddess prepared to invade him from behind! It was exactly what he deserved. “Let me hear you begging for it, then!” she screeched, and Don again immediately complied, pouring out a flood of debasing supplication.


“Please-please-please-please-please Goddess Mistress Lady Ondahlie, fuck me, take me, fill me up! Split me open, ream me out, make me your little slut-boy fuck-toy, please, please, exalted Lady O, core me out good!”


“What are you?” she demanded.


“Your slave-boy, slut-boy, worthless little man-toy! I'm nothing! I’m anything! Anything you want me to be! I’m the shit you scrape off your shining shoes!”


“Damn straight!” snapped Ondahlie. “You’re my eternal fucking prisoner is what you are, Slut-Boy! You’re my whipping-boy cock-toy gaping-holed man-cunt, now and forever! Just here for me to use! Now tell me how you love it!”


“I love it,” whimpered Don.




“I love it!”


“LOUDER!” A sharp crack across the ass.


“I LOVE IT!” Soon Don was screaming with all the volume his constricted body would allow, and Ondahlie at last relented. Grabbing the sides of his upthrust hips for leverage, she inserted her cock in his anus and slammed it down into his open ass with all the power she could muster.


Slut-Boy’s scream shrilled upward, half in agony, half in ecstasy, as his heartless mistress took him. Halfway up the shaft sunk Ondahlie’s big black dildo, piercing Don’s final privacy with a gross, brutal intimacy.


His cock responded involuntarily, tugging at the hole and straining at the weights. Don gasped uncontrollably, suddenly so turned on he couldn’t stand it. His subjugation was so complete he wondered why he didn’t just drop off the face of the earth. But Lady O wasn’t content with just violating him, she meant to fuck him, and she promptly began doing so, hammering away at his vulnerable asshole and getting it deeper with every stroke. The force of the blows set the clamps and weights to working on his cock and nipples again, and suddenly Don was being reamed out and jerked off simultaneously.


“Ahhhhhoooooow, Goddess!” he screamed.


This made it all worthwhile! The whip, the cane; the crippling soreness he’d feel for days! Dimly he realized he was still screaming, still begging abjectly for his violation, and that piteous mewling must have really set his mistress off. Suddenly she really began fucking out his elevated ass, hammering away like a demon possessed. As she picked up the pace, the springy, upward curve of her cock punished the top wall of his rectum mercilessly.


Abandoning his hips, the Lady O’s grip now found the handy handles of Don’s overlapped and strapped forearms to pull against. She grabbed an elbow in each black-gloved hand and leaned back, gaining precious leverage and inflicting all kinds of additional agony at the same time.


Finally sinking into numbness, Don’s cramped upper arms were suddenly wrenched back into blazing life. Over-stressed muscles screamed with tension, and he felt the balls of his shoulders tugging at their sockets as the mistress heaved back on him with every forward thrust. All the might of her powerfully muscled arms (toned from years of wielding various weapons) she put into pulling back against his captive body, and his entire upper torso arched back alarmingly. Only the wide leather midriff belt held Don bound to the bench.


This excellent leverage the Lady O put to fiendish use, anchoring herself and empowering each forward thrust of her hips exponentially. Soon she was getting it all the way in, piercing Don to the core, and her armored crotch clapped hands with his butt in an accelerating rhythm.


Don’s cries scaled upward, his mind reeling, feeling each individual stab of the cock not just in the most secret core of his body, but all the way down to the bottom of his conflicted soul. The thick, sexual excitement that continued to flood him was as overpowering as it was inexplicable, and he reveled in it, loving his agonizingly brutal emasculation. Somehow his screaming cock distended even more, bulging through the screw-clamp and tight, tugging leather cords, increasing the pounding pressure of his perverted pain and arousal. But if blood was somehow getting through the main penis clamp, semen was certainly another story. At the ultimate, shrieking climax of Mistress Ondahlie’s vicious rape, Don’s captive cock seethed like a column of molten stone, his drill-hole hungered for the hurt of the pile-driver and his throbbing balls at last lost all control, spasming violently as they tried to pump out a volcanic flood of burning come.


Of course, they main curved screw-clamp denied that indulgence, and the misfired energy of Don’s orgasm seemed to rebound through his entire body, causing him to shudder violently all over and wail out a choking sob-scream-plea at the indescribable sensations wracking his suffering form.


Recognizing the symptoms of a blue-ball brain-burst ass-fuck-overload, the Lady O shrieked herself in wild triumph, finishing off her anal assault by lodging herself as deep as she could in that tender ass and grinding her hips around and around and around and around. While Don’s weird neural apotheosis raved through him, she used the stiff, eight-inch length of her rotating rubber cock to pitilessly gouge out the depths of his rectum, grinding in his guilt, his complete complicity. Only long after he went limp, and his strange, whole-body convulsion was clearly over, did she drop his handlebar arms and finally pull herself free.


Don sobbed with relief, nearly swooning as he tried to come to terms with what had just happened. And yet already he could hear his mistress rummaging around, preparing for the next assault....


*   *   *


Fortunately for Don Landers, his potent Mistress Ondahlie finally tired of dishing it out. It was time for taking instead.


After binding him tightly to her adjustable horse, clamping and weighting his prick and tits, beating his body black and blue with paddle, cane and whip; after donning her favorite cock and ass-fucking him into a convulsion, the Lady O at last came around and raised his submissive head. Changing the inclination of the torture bench, she lifted Don’s face until it was at last level with his ass, then straddled the bench and sat. Again confronting his helpless face with her now soiled cock, she teased Don momentarily, threatening to make him suck it clean. Only after forcing him to make all manner of humiliating admissions about his devotion to her did the Lady O relent. Instead she placed pillows behind herself and leaned back, spreading her glorious legs. There, below the shapely spear of her gleaming penis, were no hairy ugly balls but the lovely lips and folds of the most beautiful vagina on the planet.


She scooted forward, splayed open and apart, until that heavenly cleft was right under Don’s nose. “All right, Prisoner,” she said, grabbing his head, “Perform!” And with that she slammed his face down, burying it in her hungry muff.


Don attacked her slavishly, eating her out like her cunt held caviar. Lounging back against the pillows, the Lady O held him there, constantly demanding greater and greater efforts. Playing with her nipples indolently, lashing him with a small quirt kept hanging there for that very purpose, she giggled at his frantic attentions, but at last they seemed to have some effect. Giggles eventually turned to moans, then screams, then an exhilarating banshee howling as the mistress at last ejaculated in her lowly slave’s face. Obediently Don lapped it up, as his Lady O regained her breath. Surely she was just beginning.


Damn straight. This mistress needed more than that to sate her strange tastes. Torture brought out the devilish Lady O’s horns big-time. After a long moment of smirking recuperation, Ondahlie retrieved the ball-gag from the floor and reapplied it. Then she rose and dragged over her favorite vibrator.


Long, thick, and exquisitely contoured, the dildo part rose curving into the air, a stiff plastic prong growing from the top of the big round floor-mounted bubble.


About a foot in diameter and inflated with air, this thick rubber bulb had an adjustable flat base, providing both a solid purchase and a bouncy resilience to goad along the most spirited rider. Combined with the sheer size of that protruding penis and the power of the motor concealed within it, this device was equipped to provide a level of vaginal stimulation no mortal being could ever possibly achieve. In other words, it was just about right for the demanding Lady O.


She raised Don’s head a couple more notches, providing room, then shoved her toy underneath. Easing down under the bench, she straddled the vibe and began removing the ropes, weights and clamps from his long-suffering cock.


This was a glorious relief, the cruel metal tip-clip finally releasing his indented head. Then the drag disappeared, as long leather cords were peeled grudgingly from deep dark furrows in his flesh. But then the Lady O was done, and the main curved screw clamp still clinched him penally captive and brutally erect. If he was free to bob and twitch, that was all he could do, and not for very long. Squatting there amongst the pillows, squirming around and working the huge vibrator up into herself, the Mistress promptly captured his bobbing head between her jaws.


Immediately she started sucking on his dick, a hard and yet soft, pulsing hot popsickle that could ooze a sticky sweetness yet never melt away -- thanks to the imprisoning screw-clamp.


After the extreme pain earlier, this hot wet touch was so exquisite it made Don’s spinning brain want to burst with the contrast. Pleasure itself was now a torment, as the Lady O’s swirling tongue caressed his wounded tip, teasing out the sweetness. Then, as she began bobbing up and down on her fully inserted and finally powered up bubble vibe, her soft thick lips quit tugging on his head and started rhythmically sliding on his shaft -- still ribbed with painful rope indentations.


Don’s balls immediately convulsed, driven by this corrugation to the edge of climax, pushed by the relentless suction over the brink. Yet the hard steel noose on the neck of his cock clamped off ejaculation again, and again violent shudders wracked his spine, as an orgasm that never was rebounded throughout his captive system. But rather than relent, this time Ondahlie only increased her pace, gripping him by the ass, bouncing on her ball-cock and enthusiastically face-fucking herself.


Simultaneous double penetration was the name of this game, and the more Don’s bulging cock convulsed, the more his Lady O liked it, an organic vibrator shuddering in her mouth to match the hot electric one piercing up into her from below. Lunging and plunging, bobbing and sucking, she worked herself and both hard cocks pitilessly, forcing Don into ever more spastic tremors, as orgasm after orgasm struggled with the tight steel screw-clamp and lost. This constant, groin-churning neuro-muscular overload was like being plugged into some kind of space-age bio-electrical torture machine, and Don shivered and quivered uncontrollably on the bizarre rack of his ecstasy.


Normal linear thought was lost, and for Slave-Boy-Slut-Boy Eternal-Fucking-Prisoner Donnie Landers there was only a timeless interval of pain and pleasure and other acute, indescribable sensations, as his Mistress Ondahlie skewered herself to an extensive series of orgasms. Yet at last she tired out and finished up, squirming around on the spike of her cock and chewing on Don’s puffy, swollen penis-head, until she’d finally had her fill of both. Then she flicked off the motor and took a long, last pull with her slurping lips, until he popped out glistening wet.


Don’s head-bulb bobbed there, red-blood swollen, soft and tender with endless tongue-washing and oral immersion. Onto this pulsing, long-suffering plum, the mistress reapplied the cruelly pinching tip clamp, reminding Don of the primary purpose of his penis -- an erogenous conduit for intense personal pain. Then she climbed from her massive vibe and drew it with her out from beneath the bench.


Once she’d cleared the way, the Lady O again lowered her slave’s head to the floor, returning his gagged face to its rightful place. Then, despite Don’s plaintive whines, she grabbed a mallet, removed the stiff black cock from her mound and pounded it remorselessly down into his upthrust ass, filling him all the way up. Only then did she address her prisoner.


“That’s it for today. I’m going to go next door and take a nice long, hot bubble bath -- maybe do myself with the showerhead.” An impish twinkle. “After that I’ll have you released and taken back to your cell.


“That was good, really good. I like the way you begged me, slut-boy-slave, then took my cock, the whole thing, so easily. Next time I’ll use a bigger, harder one. If you can take twelve-by-three inches of ivory penis, I might even let you come afterwards. That’s right, maybe. You haven’t earned an orgasm yet, but that might do it. Until then you’re going to wear the chastity belt, so enjoy that hard-on while you’ve got it. I’ll see you in an hour or two, Slut-Boy. Squeeze those cheeks, suck on that bitch-ball, and concentrate on your rightful pain. It’s all you’ve got left in the world!”


And then she was gone, leaving Don  Landers to whimper on. Riding the Lady O’s horse, stripped and whipped and trussed and stuffed, bent and bruised and gagged and clamped, he mindlessly did as he was told. He owed his wonderful mistress at least that much.