Chapter Text
You have no idea how long you’ve been here. Your knees hurt, your jaw hurts, you’re sore and tired and want to sleep- but you can’t sleep, because ‘master’ hasn’t said you could sleep.
The last 24 hours are fuzzy. You were walking home, maybe. It was dark. Then… nothing. You woke up, here, naked and bound by ropes and cuffs and terrified and blindfolded.
You bit the arm of the man who dragged you out of your cage, but that was a mistake because he pinned you down, forced your jaws open, and wedged a ring gag between your teeth. It hasn’t come out since and you don’t know how long ago that was.
The man gripped your hair and yanked your head up, then spit into your forced-open mouth.
“If y’do that again,” he has growled, southern accent thick and dangerous, “then I’ll tan yer hide till yer bleedin’.”
You cringed away- and then he backhanded you for it, sending you crashing to the floor.
Now you’re here, on your knees on a hardwood floor. There’s a collar around your neck, it’s leashed to the floor, you think. You can’t lean too far back or you start to choke- but that doesn’t matter much, because you’re choking anyway.
There are legs on either side of your body, as thick as fucking logs. They brush against your shoulders and if you start to squirm, they squeeze your body in warning until you still again.
The truly torturous thing is the thick, musky, heavy cock resting in your mouth. With the ring gag holding your teeth open, you can do nothing but fruitlessly try and push the cock out with your tongue- but you figured out pretty quickly that protests or fighting in any way would get you smacked, so all you can do is try and regulate your breathing as spit runs down your chin in thick drooling globs, hot tears dripping down your cheeks.
Master had put his hand on your head when he slid his chair close, the hot rod of his shaft bumping against your cheek. It felt big… and long. “Trainin’ time, bitch,” he had grunted. “Get that throat of yers t’work.”
He fisted your hair and pushed you down- his cock slid into your mouth, into the back of your mouth, and rammed into your throat.
It hurt. You retched, gagging and coughing around the pain as your stomach rolled- but he held you down mercilessly as you writhed and squirmed, cold washing over you with each spasm of your diaphragm. Your gut twisted, your eyes rolled back into your skull- and the man ripped you off his cock and shoved you down over a bucket as you threw up.
It was awful. He rinsed your mouth out with a water bottle and then shoved you back down onto his cock, burying it even deeper this time, choking you.
Every time he’d pull you off to let you throw up, until there was nothing left in your stomach. One final rinse and then you heard the bucket being moved away.
Fear was as sharp and cold as a knife as you realized you wouldn’t get anymore relief- and sure enough, he rammed you back down onto his cock, piercing your throat open. You retched again, but there was nothing to come up- and so waves of pain wracked you as you dry-heaved around the thick cock blocking your air. Rippling waves of pain ran up through your esophagus as you struggled to get your body under control, the man’s hand like iron on your head, holding you down.
Your head spun. You felt faint. Your lungs were burning, head pounding, and all you could taste was the heavy musk of this man’s dick sweat, somehow overpowering the acrid taste of vomit.
You’re pretty sure you passed out- because now you’re here, still on your knees in the darkness with a cock in your mouth. Your master’s hand isn’t on your head anymore, but it doesn’t need to be. His cock rests on your tongue, heavy and full, making your senses spin. Everything feels fuzzy, like you’re floating, and you’re pretty sure that you’re losing brain cells from oxygen deprivation.
It’s the only explanation for why, when your master’s hand comes down to lightly rub your head like a dog and he grunts out a “good boy”, you feel warm. Fresh tears run down your cheeks.
He pushes you down further until your nose is buried in his pubes, scratchy and thick. He leaves you there, choking on his width and musk and heat, and somehow you think it would be less humiliating if he would just fuck you until you pass out- but no. Your master is intent on training you to keep his cock nice and warm for however long he wants.
His cock goes soft in your mouth again, gradually withdrawing from your throat and making it easier to breathe. You learned your lesson the last few times- if you start coughing and sputtering, he’ll pull you off, get himself hard again, and fill you back up.
He wants you silent and quiet, a warm mouth to use. It takes everything you have not to heave in a gasp of relief, forcing your breathing steady until your head spins from the effort of cradling the soft dick on your tongue.
With how hard you’ve been crying, you can’t really breathe through your nose anymore. Your cheeks feel raw and puffy and when you try to suck in a breath through your nose there’s a wet snrrrrk sound as snot blocks the way, which makes you cringe- so you have to breathe through the gaps at the corners of your mouth where the ring gag doesn’t fully occupy your lips. It’s a struggle, the drips of spit bubble out each time you exhale, but inhaling around your master’s cock brings you a mouthful of musky sweat that makes you feel faint.
It’s impossible to know when he’ll be satisfied. You flirt on the edge of suffocation, snot clogging your nose and throat as your master’s cock keeps your mouth busy, bathing in your drool. A delirious thought strikes you- maybe if he leaves his cock long enough in your spit, it will go all wrinkled like fingers and toes do when swimming. It almost makes you laugh, sputtering out another thick string of spit that you hope sounds like a cough.
That’s probably not a good sign, that you’re finding humor in the situation. Your head hurts, aching with the throb of dehydration from crying so much. Your wrists ache, your knees have gone numb.
A hand in your hair yanks your head up. You make a truly ugly sound, a thick uurehhhhhkkkchh accompanied by a rush of spit that splatters down onto the floor as the soft dick in your mouth is pulled free.
“Good progress today,” your master drawls. You tremble as his thick fingers work at your collar, untying it. “We’ll keep at it.”
He drags you up to your feet, but you stumble on your pins-and-needles filled limbs. An irritated click of his tongue has you flinching, but then his hands are undoing the strap holding the ball gag in place.
The relief when it comes out is orgasmic. You whimper as your teeth are finally allowed to meet, twisting your head to rub your cheek against your shoulder.
“Easy.” His hands on your face make you startle, but his thumbs dig into your aching jaw and rub in firm circles. You shudder out a breath, starting to cry again, but he just gives your head a pat.
“Please,” you rasp, voice cracking and-
Crack. Pain blooms across your face and you cry out, staggering away. His hand fists your hair and he slams you down to the floor, pushing you down until your face is ground into the wood, ass-up and completely at his mercy.
“Did I say,” he growls, low and dangerous, “that y’could talk?”
You whimper, fear gripping you and making your insides go cold. You frantically try and shake your head.
“That’s right. I didn’t. Are y’gonna make that mistake again?”
You quickly shake your head again.
“Good boy. Sit up.” He releases your hair and you clumsily get your knees under yourself- sitting up is difficult when your hands are stuck behind your back, but you manage it.
He presses a water bottle to your lips and you quickly gulp it all down- or at least, you try to, but he pulls it back when you try and guzzle it.
“Easy,” he says, then brings it back to your mouth. You force yourself to drink more slowly this time and he strokes your hair as you do so. Then he wipes your face down with a damp rag and pulls the blindfold off- and you get your first look at your kidnapper.
Big, is your first, dumbly astonished thought as you stare up at a man that is easily more than a foot taller than you. His shoulders are broad, a barrel chest contained in a flannel shirt with the top two buttons undone to reveal a thick dusting of chest hair. He’s got wavy brown hair and brown eyes, a neatly-trimmed beard and a nose that looks like it was broken and never set.
He looks like the kind of man that’d feature in your guilty daydreams about calling someone daddy.
The knowledge that this man kidnapped you- is raping you- wars with your sudden surge of desire and you can feel arousal pooling in your belly, your prick suddenly perking up its head for attention.
He picks up a bowl from a nearby table and sets it down in front of you. “Eat,” he orders, folding his arms. You stare down at the unappetizing looking gruel in the dog bowl, stomach churning.
Your master gives you no time to be indecisive. He grips your hair again and presses your face down into the bowl. “I said,” he growls, “eat.”
You eat, wobbling on your knees and struggling to not fall on your face as you slurp up mouthfuls of tasteless, lukewarm gruel. Your master stands and watches you eat until you’re reluctantly licking the bowl clean.
He squats down next to you, giving you a pat on the ass. “Lemme tell y’how things work, ‘round here,” he tells you. “Yer m’bitch now. If yer a good dog, life’ll be nice an’ easy. If yer a bad dog, I’ll sell ya and get a better one. Got it?”
You cower against the floor and slowly nod.
“Good. Get’cher ass over here, then.” He moves over to the couch and you follow on unsteady knees, biting your lip to hold back more tears. He plops himself down on the couch and pats his lap- you kneel before him and give him an uncertain look.
“Up, boy,” he says. “Over m’lap.”
You struggle up onto the couch, resting your chest against his thighs until he hooks his fingers into the ropes binding your torso and haul you to where he wants you, ass-up over his lap. You yelp in surprise, scrabbling your feet to brace yourself, but his big hand reaches between your parted thighs and wraps around your stiff dick and balls to give it a painfully firm squeeze.
Pain knocks the breath from you and you collapse against him, thighs clenched around his wrist as you whimper.
“Bitch,” he says, amusement in his voice. “Look at’cha, gettin’ turned on from this. Y’really are a bitch, ain’t’cha?”
You whine and shake your head, but he squeezes again and your vision goes white.
As your sight ebbs back in, you realize that your master’s turned on the TV and is lazily browsing through a selection of movies. He catches you raising your head to see what he’s doing and shoves your face down into the couch again.
“Down, boy.”
You don’t see what he picks, keeping your face down. He shifts, there’s the crack-hiss of a beer can opening, then a plastic pop .
Slick fingers prod at your rear and you yelp, going tense. He ignores your reaction, burrowing a finger between your clenched cheeks to find and rub your anus, massaging it. You whimper softly, his touch making you squirm, but he ignores that, too.
Sprawled over his lap, ass up for him to play with, you find yourself with burning cheeks pressed into the cushions as he sips beer and lazily fingers your ass open while watching a movie. One slick finger prods into you, fucking in and out of your virgin-tight hole and rubbing against your walls. It’s a weird feeling, shivery and hot, and you can’t help the way your prick rubs against his thigh. The fabric of his jeans is rough and scratchy, itching your dick so deliciously and you find yourself starting to rock your hips, trying to chase that feeling-!
“No. Bad dog.”
His hand cracks against your ass like fire and you yelp, writhing in pain. Another smack, then another- each one makes you buck and your knees slip against the couch as you scrabble for purchase and start to sob.
“No,” your master repeats, gripping your collar and holding you steady. You cringe, waiting for another spank, but the blow doesn’t come. Instead, he reaches down and grabs your poor prick again and grips the shaft firmly. “Yer a bitch. Bitches don’ hump.”
He clicks his tongue and scowls. “Knew it was gonna be a problem… should’a just bought th’damn cage.”
He holds your dick in a painfully tight grip, clearly thinking- and then he dumps you off his lap and stands up without a word, going over to his kitchen. You anxiously watch him open his freezer oh no - he pulls out a ice gel pack and gets a towel and comes back over, plopping down. A pillow gets dragged onto his lap, the gel pack is wrapped in a towel and put on the pillow, and you get dragged back down so your prick is shoved right up against the rapidly-cooling towel.
You whimper. He unpauses the movie and slicks his fingers up again, returning to his lazy exploration of your anus. Your dick is smushed against an uncomfortably cold towel, quickly killing all arousal in your veins- but when your master twists his finger or tugs on your rim or fucks his finger in and out of your hole, you can’t help the little throb of heat that races to your dick to try and get it hard. It just gets snuffed out almost immediately by the brutal cold.
It’s torturous. It’s agony. With each little push into your ass there’s a spark of arousal that makes your thighs twitch, but your dick is very quickly going numb, there’s no place for your arousal to go. Humiliated tears are starting to drip down your face, soaking into the couch as you squirm- and get another hard spank for your wiggling.
“Settle down,” your master grunts. With nothing else to focus on, you’re starting to really feel his finger inside of you, how it crooks and rubs, the way it presses along every wrinkle of your puckered hole, the way his thick digit curls slightly at each joint. His touch is warm and languid, unhurried and unbothered.
A second finger nudges at your hole. You bite back a whimper as it coaxes you open to slide inside- and two fingers feel so much bigger than one. It’s a stretch that flirts on the edge of painful, especially as he starts to alternate which finger is curled and which finger is extended to massage your walls in a never-ending roll of sensation that leaves you weakly panting, spit escaping the corner of your mouth.
Then his fingers spread and your back arches as you choke, all strength fleeing your body as he exposes the pink of your guts to his gaze, air cool against your heated insides. The stretch hurts, a painful splitting that makes you whine, and you hear your master chuckle at your distress.
He spits. It hits your ass and he pulls his fingers free to press his thumb against the wetness, rubbing it into your hole and fucking his thumb in and out of your ass. The wet sounds make your face burn, your thighs sore from the constant tensing and quivering- and eventually, you just go limp in his lap, completely out of strength.
Your dick is completely numb when he tugs the cold towel and ice back out from under you. You can’t feel it at all, which should probably be concerning but you’re too tired.
When he works three fingers into you, you can’t do anything but let out a quietly pained moan. Your toes twitch as he moves his fingers in and out of your hole, but with your body surrendering you can’t find the strength to tense around his fat digits.
He doesn’t use more than three fingers. Sometimes he goes down to two and fucks them into your hole, tugging at your rim and making your stomach go hot, sometimes he changes to one finger and rubs along your inner walls until he can find the spot that makes you jerk and ache- but he doesn’t ever touch it for long, just enough to make you jump.
Mostly he just keeps his fingers inside of you, stretching you open. He watches two movies, you don’t know which ones, and by the time he decides to be done your ass hurts from being played with for literal hours.
He gives your sore rear a slap and grunts, “good boy.” Your dick isn’t numb anymore, but it’s still soft despite the fingering. He moves you off his lap and stands up, walking away- probably to wash his hands, cause you hear water running. He comes back with a few things in his hands and you whimper when you see one of them is a mask- he holds you down and fits it over your face and buckles it into place, covering your mouth and eyes and leaving only your nose free to breathe.
Your head turns from side to side, trying to judge by sound where your master is. His hands on your collar make you jump- he attaches what must be a leash because then you’re tugged by your collar off of the couch and you go tumbling, scrambling to get your knees under you.
He pulls you along without a word. You quickly shuffle after him until he pushes at you with his foot, silently telling you to get into a cage.
You reluctantly clamber in and lie down in the dog bed. The door shuts and locks behind you.
He leaves you there until the morning.