The Older Man

After breakfast he beat her breasts.

He started with hard slaps with his hand. His other hand grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, forcing an arch in her back that pushed her tits forward. Her hands clasped behind her back and she let out a string of breathy gasps as the sharp sting of the blows grew worse.

"My friend wants your tits bruised when he gets here," he explained, as if she didn't know. Her cunt throbbed with both the pain and the additional humiliation that he wasn't even doing this because he wanted to (although of course he enjoyed torturing her), but secondhand, for some guy who wasn't even here. It was such a distanced way to suffer, for someone she'd never met who was going to fuck her throat without her having any say in the matter.

He was still using his hand and her breasts were already a dark pink. It was getting hard to keep her hands behind her back and resist the urge to protect herself from the pain. She was very conscious that he had laid his belt and cane beside them and that the pain was likely to get much worse.

"You know why he wants your tits bruised?"

She hadn't really thought about this but, assuming it was obvious, replied by asking, "Because he likes seeing bruises, Sir?"

Sir almost laughed. "Sure, but that's not it. He wants you bruised so that when he beats your tits it will hurt worse."

She groaned at this with genuine fear, and hated that it made her wetter; her hips bucked a little with arousal. She had a sudden impulse to surrender a little more to her own suffering and said, "Thank you for bruising my tits so they'll hurt more for your friend, Sir." The sentence was punctuated by short squeals and grasps as the beating continued.

Soon after that he picked up the belt, doubled into a loop, and continued the beating using that. The thick, dull pain of the belt was easier to take than the stinging slaps, at least at first, but he still had to adjust his grip soon to hold her arms behind her back because she couldn't help bringing them forward defensively as the pain got worse. "Arch your back," he barked, and she pushed her tits forward for him to hit. The worst shots were the ones that landed across her nipples but soon her breasts were battered enough that every impact was excruciating and as tears started to flow she let out a slow, mournful "Please".

To her surprise he released his grip on her arms and dropped the belt. She stopped herself from reaching forward to stroke her swollen breasts. She had barely taken a breach before his hands were on her, squeezing and digging into the freshly beaten skin so that she screamed and cried harder.

Using her sore tits like handles, he pressed her down to her knees. "Grab your ankles," he said, picking up the cane. "I'm gonna give you ten, maybe twelve clean strokes. If you hold still, that means ten or twelve total. If you thrash around and make it hard for me, I'll do as many as it takes to get to a clean ten. If I have to break your skin that's gonna make me mad, understand?"

She couldn't stop crying so she nodded and let out a strained, jerky "Yes Sir" and tightened her grip on her ankles.

He put the first stroke clean across both nipples and for a moment she thought the pain was bearable, but then the real agony arrived like a line of fire tearing through her chest. She screamed but clenched everything tight and held her position. While she waited for the next blow she tried her best to take deep breaths but the tears, heavier now, made her breathing ragged.

The second stroke just missed her left nipple and fell diagonally across her breast, another thick burning line that produced another howl of pain. She dug her fingernails into her ankles, desperate to hold herself still. She wanted to be determined she could get through this, but eight or ten more--it just didn't seem possible she could get through that without clutching her chest and rolling around sobbing.

The third was, again, uneven, and tore another heavy scream. The fourth was the worst yet because it cut across the mark left by one of the previous strokes and the point where they intersected felt like she was torn open. She looked down and through her tears she could see not just bruises but thick welts where the cane had struck her.

Five. She wanted to die. She could not possibly take another five or more of these. Six. Her throat was raw from screaming and her consciousness shrank back till she was nothing but the burning pain in her chest. Seven.

Seven? She couldn't believe she'd gotten this far. The pain was still unbearable but she had managed to hold still. Eight. She was still screaming at every impact but now she knew she could get through this. Nine. She was still sobbing because it hurt so bad but there was a joy inside her, and pride.

Ten. The tenth stroke landed, again, squarely across her nipples, lined up perfectly with the earlier blow. An animal howl ripped through her and she held her position.

She had assumed he'd give her the higher number of strokes but he threw the cane down at ten and shoved her face to the ground. Soon his cock was inside her ass and he was fucking her hard, her burning tits pressed against the carpet, which felt like sandpaper as he slammed into her. The combination of sensations turned her on almost beyond belief, and she was sure that her pussy would leave a puddle on the floor. She was still crying with pain but the sound of her crying included unmistakably aroused moans.

The day before he had said he would finish in her mouth when he fucked her ass, and he was as good as his word. She barely got his cock into her mouth before he came, the taste of her own asshole mixing with his cum to coat the inside of her mouth. She swallowed eagerly, hungrily, her needy cunt grinding desperately against the empty air.

Once he'd finished he sat for a minute, telling her not to move. When he was ready he stood and walked over to the laundry hamper in the corner of his room and reached in to pull something out. "I wore these all week so they'd be good and ripe for you," he said, and she saw he'd grabbed a pair of socks. Her stomach sank at the prospect of being gagged with his dirty socks again, and as he crossed the room towards her he could smell that he'd meant what he said about making them extra dirty. She gagged as he pushed them into her mouth but fought down a wave of nausea, not only because she didn't want to be sick but because she was afraid she'd just end up with a mouthful of puke-soaked socks.

Satisfied, he sent her to the kitchen to bake for him and his friends. She arrived at the bench a drippy mess, disgusted and horny and sore, so overwhelmed by the sensations she'd just been subject to that she could barely think or see. Slowly, finding the ingredients she'd need for muffins, she pulled herself together.

Her chest was still burning with pain. He'd said he didn't want to break her skin but in a couple of spots where the welts intersected it looked like he might have, or come close. She was proud of the harsh marks and the beating she'd taken and, although she was still scared of Mikey, excited that strangers were going to see (and touch, and torture) her wounded tits.

Her baking came together quickly; one tray of savoury cheese muffins and one tray of sweet blueberry muffins. With more time, she'd have liked to show off by making them something fancier, but she was happy enough with what she'd managed with the mostly basic ingredients Sir had in his kitchen. She imagined spending more time here in this kind of role, his naked servant in every way: sexual, domestic, masochistic. She imagined living like this full-time, exposed to and used by all of his friends, treated like an object and constantly belittled and degraded. She got so turned on thinking about it she could barely resist the urge to touch herself.

She was so close now, so close to being allowed to come; she could barely imagine how good that was going to feel. All she had to do was suck two more cocks and get their owners' approval. And she knew she was a good, enthusiastic cocksucker. Surely it couldn't matter how sadistic this Mikey was, these old men were bound to enjoy having a hot young girl worship their cocks. It would hurt and humiliate her but at least one of them was going to admit he liked it, and that would be enough for her to come.Surely.

Once she was finished in the kitchen he pulled the socks out and used her mouth as a urinal again. He made her masturbate while he did it, edging with excruciating need. When his stream finished he put the socks back in and made her stop touching her desperate cunt. "I think you liked that. Maybe if you're allowed to come again, I'll make a rule that you can only have an orgasm with piss in your mouth." She groaned, unsure whether this was a passing idle thought or was really in her future.

Over the next hour or so he toyed with her, alternating between forcing her to edge herself and making her crouch silent and immobile so he could use her as a footrest. These long, still periods intensified her anxiety as she remembered the half warning she'd heard yesterday about Mikey. He was getting here soon. She would find out what he would do to her.

The fear turned her on. Really, everything Sir did to her turned her on.

Finally the doorbell rang and he told her to go and answer it. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he lifted his feet from her back and she stood to go and greet the new arrivals. She was naked, gagged, badly bruised, and whoever was at the door was about to fuck her face and probably do worse to her. Her skin tingled and her cheeks burned. She was sure she couldn't open the door like this, not knowing who was out there, it was too humiliating, too degrading. She watched with horror and delight as her hand, only slightly shaking, reached out to grasp and turn the doorknob, pulling the door open and exposing her nude body to Sir's guests.

As soon as she was them she thought,Oh no. It was so much worse than she'd expected. She had been ready for two more gross old men and the humiliation of allowing them to use her. But the two men on the doorstep, looking her up and down with cold, undisguised appraisal, were both her own age. The thought that of anyone her own age knowing the things she'd let a 60-year-old do to her was mortifying beyond belief, and she wanted to cry thinking about what was about to happen to her.

She truly could not imagine anything worse than this, and yet she wanted it more than anything. Her words inaudible through the still foul-smelling socks that filled her mouth, she breathed the wordsThank you Sir.

The two young men stepped inside and immediately reached out to begin groping her exposed flesh.