She cried

She approached the heavy black main door at the bottom of the stairs with a deep breath. It was the first door she would open, the first thing she would be able to manipulate in over 12 hours. A sign of freedom she had longed for weeks to give up. Almost exactly half a day earlier, losing this freedom had been exactly what had happened, the moment the had stepped through this door. And now as she faced this very boundary to regain her normal self, she hesitated for a moment, one breath, no more, but also no less.

When she emerged on the other side, any observer would have seen a friendly girl, confident, looking a bit younger than her late 20s. Black hair and her eyes gave her Asian roots away. Her knee-long yellow skirt, the blue Doc Martens, the black faux leather jacket, her outfit was neither cheap nor overpriced, but always a bit out there unusual.

With a steady pace, she took a left and walked towards the main road. If her gait had been reluctant for the first half dozen steps all that was gone in seconds.

But with her steady pace her mind turned back to the moment when she had walked the path she was now tracing back, she remembered her own arousal, not sexually but everywhere else in her body. Her nipples, firm, her chest a little heavy, feeling every movement of air in her lungs as she had come to meet him.

The moment she had rung the bell, waited, pushed the door open at the sound of the buzzer, rushed up the two flights of stairs, entered the second door on the landing, then closed it behind her, to undress, folded her clothes neatly and then place the heavy leather mask over her head, waiting for him.

For minutes she had not been sure if she could hear him if he was indeed in the flat if he was just letting her calm or maybe the opposite, then eventually she had felt the draft of air, pass her body as a door opened. The hood, only lose over her head had been tightened at the back, then, locked in place. Darkness, the night of this summer day had started early for her.

He had taken her body through its paces. First chained, forced to stand, her hands had been forced nearly a foot above her head. Cuffs on her wrists attached somewhere above, connected, via a pulley to the clamps that he had placed on her nipples. When she tired, when she tugged on them, she’d scream, but a gag in her hood had barely allowed a sound to escape. Her elbows, her shoulders had soon hurt more, she would cry, beg, but he would have come, have hugged her helpless body and kissed her through the leather that covered her head. “Just a little more, a little longer, for me.”
She had no idea how long she had endured when the clamps were removed and the real pain was released. She cried tears no one could see when he had further pinched her already vulnerable nipples.

But he knew and he handled it so perfectly, a quick massage of her trembling muscles, before he tied her ankles to her thighs, making her crawl, still blind follow his sound, even if that was muffled.

He did not allow her to rest for long, something started to poke the underside of her feet, fixated, without her noticing. He had not given her rest. Instead, he had made her more helpless, exposed, his own to torment. her rest. Pain gave way to a feeling of being tickled, to only be replaced by more pain, her breathing paced as if she had been out running.

As she had tried to escape her chest hit the floor. Still sensitive from the earlier clamping, the pain shot through her body, as she had splashed against the hard tiles. It was the second time she had wanted to cry, the second time she did cry and the second time she endured.

The rest of the night, he had held her, given her a little water, bound in bed next to him. At some point in the night, her hands had tried to explore him, had hoped to find his manhood, touch it, please it. He had refused, evaded her, then taken the cuffs and attached them to the collar around his hood.

The next morning, still hooded, he had placed her on her back, her wrists and ankles forced far apart as he started to place ice cubes on her body. “Count” he had instructed her as he added one every minute – but she had no clue how long it really took. Her body had started to shiver lightly, at the count of 12. Shortly after the cubes had started to drop. Each time that had happened he would stop, drip some hot wax and start placing the ice cubes on her again, increasing his pace.

She had counted to 15 when he eventually freed her, hugged her, removed the hood, shielded her eyes. Her body a mess of pain, barely capable to return his hug, he let her calm.

After a while, she had felt the urge for more, still unsteady she had climbed onto him, admiring his naked body, lowered herself right onto him, feeling him inside her. Everything felt right. She stayed like that for a bit, then whispered “Thank you” and stood up.

He showed her the bathroom, she had needed it, had taken a short, cold shower, gotten dressed and without saying her goodbyes she had left.

Lost in thought she reached the bus stop, boarded and sat almost silent for the next 17 stops. Mechanically, she got off, crossed the road, and opened the door to her home. Tears overcame her when she closed the door behind her.

9 weeks until he would allow her to see him again. 9 fucking long weeks. She wanted to smash something, plates, glasses, windows, anything. Instead, she found her vibrator, sat back on the couch. She cried as she came.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/hmi762/she_cried