Collected by Djian
Argus Collection at
www. bdsmbooks.com
Girl on a Leash
by Argus
Chapter 11
One day they led me into a new building and a new room.
The room was small; the size of a closet, with mirrored walls. The centre of it was
a narrow object which stood about waist high.
It was a saddle. In fact, it looked something like a mechanical bull, for the saddle
was on a kind of low post, and there seemed to be wires running up beneath. But the
pommel was located rather far back, and there was an enormous, glistening dildo
protruding from the saddle not much over a half inch back. The dildo was lightly
studded, very round at the top, and widened smoothly as my eyes moved down its
length. The bottom was twice as thick as the top, and the entire length looked to be
close to a foot.
I licked my lips a bit nervously.
"I don't know if all of that will fit in me," I said meekly.
The man said nothing. He gestured impatiently with his head, and I put a bare foot
into the stirrup and threw my leg over the top of the saddle. I had to raise myself
up then, with both feet in the stirrups. The man pushed on my bare bottom, guiding
my pussy over the fat head of the dildo, then slapped my bottom to indicate I
should lower myself.
I did - gingerly, feeling the hardness of the rounded head against my bare slit,
feeling it pushing aside my soft flesh as it moved into the mouth of my sex, then
forcing its entry to the narrow tunnel into my body. I took it in several inches
deep, and then felt it widening.
The man was now looping a strap around my ankles to bind them into the stirrups and
prevent me from getting off. I was adjusting myself slowly to the dildo, slowly
easing lower, starting to feel the heat of the situation. The man reached up and
took my hand, guiding it up above me. There were two little leather sleeves up
above, and he forced my hand through, then tightened the sleeve. He moved to the
other side and did the same.
I looked around me. There seemed to be nothing else to the small room. All the
walls were mirrored. And the only break with them were a pair of horizontal slits
about a couple of inches wide; one on the right wall, and the other on the left. I
took little notice of them. I was concentrating on the dildo stuffed up into my
pussy, trying to work more of it inside me.
I felt a straining at my sex as I slid lower. The dildo was getting very wide indeed.
The man licked his fingers casually, then reached in and began to rub at my clit. I
gave a little jerk, feeling strange indeed. He seemed so indifferent, so casual,
like a worker doing a routine task. He never looked at me, at least, not at "me",
and never spoke. It was like I was just a thing. He rubbed very expertly at my
clit, though, and with the dildo pushing up into me I could feel my body beginning
to thrum with heat and hunger.
I had to go lower, though. My legs were bent awkwardly as they were, and were
getting sore. Besides, it made my insides feel tingly, thinking about taking that
fat cock all the way inside me. I always loved to be really deeply penetrated.
I slid lower, raised myself, and slid lower again, kind of riding the dildo now, my
breathing growing more rapid as I worked at it. I looked at myself in the mirror,
and felt a jolt of excitement. I looked hot and sexy and sensuous.
I was becoming quite the narcissist!
Then again, I always had been.
I rode down further, groaning a little as the dildo probed even deeper into my
belly, my sex lips straining still wider.
The man slid a strap around my leg just above the knee and buckled it in place,
then moved to the other side and did the same. I realized what he had done almost
at once. I could not rise up very high now. I could rise enough for perhaps two
thirds of the dildo to come out, but not the rest.
The man then turned and, without a word, left the little room, closing the door
behind. I was glad to see him gone, though his fingers had felt very nice.
I held still for a bit, but my legs were growing tired just frozen in place like
that, and I had to force myself deeper. I was very wet now, and as I rode the dildo
my juices slickened it and made it easier to take into my pussy. The base was
really wide, though, and I groaned, in that narrow shadowland between pleasure and
pain as my sex lips strained wider and wider around it.
I just couldn't! It was too wide!
I held myself as I was. But it was very difficult. My knees were bent a lot now,
and that put even more pressure on little-used muscles. I rose up, but my legs
could no longer straighten because of the straps. I groaned as I sank back down,
trying to put some of my weight on my wrists to hold me up. But the leather sleeves
wrapped around my wrists seemed to be somewhat elastic. They were strong, but would
not fully support my weight. I could use them to help pull myself up, but if I held
still I would slowly sink again.
I sank down deep, and the dildo impaled me. I groaned as my sex lips strained wide,
trying to engulf that last inch of dildo. The pain began to sharpen as my pussy
opening spread wider and wider, and I gasped and clenched my teeth. Then I
withdrew, panting, easing the pain.
The base was as wide as a cola can, and my pussy didn't want to stretch that much.
But I knew I had no choice. Sooner or later that thing was going to push fully
inside me. My legs were already aching and strained.
I was cursing softly, gasping, moaning as I lowered myself again, feeling the
terrible strain against my sex lips. I eased just a bit lower, gasping, wincing,
and then felt the saddle against my buttocks. I groaned aloud, easing lower still,
slid back up a bit, then eased back down, moaning once more as the dildo spread me
achingly wide.
And now I could feel the pressure, a little, of the "pommel" against the front of
my pussy, against the top of my sex lips - or against my clit to be precise.
It felt slick and soft, with some padding so it had give. It barely touched me as I
sank fully onto the dildo and my buttocks pressed down firmly into the saddle.
"God!" I said in a chocked voice.
I had it all inside me!
I stared at myself in the mirror and my eyes fluttered. But a wave of relief swept
through my legs as the muscles were able to release my weight. I sat there for a
bit, then began to kind of - wiggle - a little, to find the most comfortable
position. For several minutes I sat more or less still. But I was aroused by the
big dildo inside me, and by the sight of myself.
My sex lips ached, but it was a tolerable, and even, in some ways, an exciting ach.
I could use the sleeves wrapped around my wrists to help pull me upwards, and I did,
sliding up a few inches. I did, and the relief of that ache was - delicious. But,
and this was strange, when I sank back down again the stretching of my sex lips was
- delicious - too!
I pulled myself up again, higher this time, then sank back down once more, groaning
at the deep penetration, at how wide my sex lips spread. I ground my hips a little,
and the top of my sex rubbed more heavily against the padded pommel. That taught me
something immediately. When I pulled myself upwards, using both legs and arms, I
found that if I leaned forward my clit brushed much more against that pommel much
more firmly.
I began to ride the dildo more quickly, letting my hips kind of undulate so that as
I rose up and down I pushed myself forward and ground my clit against the pommel.
"Yessss," I groaned, eyes closed.
I rode harder, feeling my hunger mounting, the sexual energy coursing through my
body and lending me strength.
And then, out of nowhere - or really, out of those horizontal slits in the walls on
either side - narrow leather straps swung out simultaneously, so fast I hardly saw
the one and never saw the other.
But I felt them both.
The one on my left struck my back a sharp, stinging blow, while the one on the
right swept in and snapped at my chest just below my breasts.
I yelped in surprise and halted, gasping, staring down at the pink line across my
chest. I turned my head, but couldn't see my back. Nevertheless, I knew I had a
similar pink line across the small of my back. I stared, gaping, at the slits in
the walls. I had only barely seen the one which swept in and struck my chest. It
had almost been a blur.
The stinging had faded quickly, leaving behind flesh which was warmed, and tingled
a little. I waited for another blow, but it didn't come, and despite myself I
started to ride the dildo again. I was in that hot, steamy sexual frame of mind
where almost anything I felt contributed to the heat inside me. What was a little
pain to me?
I rode the dildo, grinding my hips forward so my clit jammed against the pommel.
There was another blur to my right, and I cried out again, my back arching, as the
leather straps cut across my bottom and my lower breasts. The stinging blows jerked
me out of the momentum, the steady, up and down movement I was engaged in. But they
weren't a surprise, this time, and I didn't stop moving.
I groaned, my lower breasts stinging until the sensation eased, and I was starting
to understand the mechanism now, to understand what was intended by those who had
built it. I could have stopped, just stopped dead, and received no blows. Or at
least, I guessed so. But I couldn't bring myself to stop, and the pain of the blows
was not so bad, any way. It wasn't nearly enough to push me out of that sweltering
mood of deep, dark sexual hunger.
I moaned and rolled my hips, and leaned in so that my clit would grind against the
pommel, and I continued to ride up and down, trying to understand what guided the
straps, what movement of mine triggered them. Was it speed? Was it pressure? Was it
- .
They swept out and again I cried out as they struck my breasts and bottom
simultaneously. My upper body was thrown back as my hips were thrown forward. I
hissed, but continued to ride, my head now rolling in and out, up and back, my body
undulating as I groaned and felt that strange, sense of dark hunger, that
masochistic excitement swirling around me.
I rode faster, leaning my hips in, grinding my sopping pussy mouth down so it
ground heavily over the pommel. The straps whipped out, and this time I had guessed
correctly, and cried out in pleasure and pain as the one on the right slashed
across my breasts and the one on the left cut into my buttocks.
Again my upper body was flung back a bit, my lower body flung forward. But I threw
off the blow, the stinging, continuing to ride, gasping for breath now as I used my
legs and arms to ride me faster and faster. Then, another pair of slashes whipped
out, coming quicker now, once more snapping across my breasts and buttocks. This
time the timing was perfection, and they cut right across my nipples.
I screamed, letting myself go, feeling a wild, howling animal heat gripping me,
feeling my body pulsing with hunger and raw sexual need. Another pair of blows,
this time catching me as I rose high, cutting into my lower buttocks and the very
base of my breasts, then another, cutting across the centre of my breasts and my
upper buttocks.
The blows were coming faster and faster, and falling with more power now, so that
the stings were deeper and lasted longer. My breasts ached hotly, my bottom
throbbing with heat. But I didn't care. No, I did. I was getting off on it, getting
off on the pain, and the fact it was largely self-inflicted seemed to make it even
better.
Because I could stop moving, could stop the blows. But at the same time I couldn't
stop, couldn't help myself. I was too close to a climax I knew would be powerful,
would be terrible and wonderful. I was feverish with the need for that release. I
picked up the pace, feeling myself on the precipice, about to drop off.
Now the straps sliced out in pairs. I was struck across the breasts and just below
the shoulder blades, struck across the bottom and the lower belly, and I cried out,
my head thrown back, my body twisting and writhing even as I continued to ride up
and down with frantic desperation.
Now the blows were coming in groups, rather than simultaneously, and my body
lurched in and back, up and down, as the cries broke from my gaping lips. The crack
of pain snapping through my nervous system again and again as the leather straps
lashed out at my bucking, heaving, sweating body.
Another blow across the nipples. I screamed at the pain, for they were already
throbbing and stiff from previous blows, hot and terribly sensitive. The pain had
become almost too much, and I desperately wanted to avoid another blow across the
nipples.
But I couldn't stop myself. I could feel the orgasm spiraling up inside me now, and
threw myself against it, ignoring everything else. Another blow cut across my
breasts as the orgasm now rose around me, and my body began to almost bounce in the
saddle. The straps cut into my back, my buttocks, my belly and my breasts and I
arched my back violently, my hair spilling down my back as I rode wildly.
Another across the nipples! I screamed, but the pain of my exploding nipples almost
seemed to evaporate into the howling maelstrom of pleasure now engulfing me. And
yet, it never disappeared, it was simply absorbed, and seemed to fling the climax
into a still-higher level as my mind and body began to shatter under its power.
Another across the nipples! I screamed out in pain and pleasure, and then again,
for the straps seemed to be aimed right at my breasts now, both of the ones on the
left, slashing in almost in rapid-fire blows that made my breasts burn and my
nipples glow white hot.
I was riding as desperately as I could, now, rising up as high as I could go, and
dropping down as fast as I could, my legs aching, sweat trickling down my chest and
belly and back an forehead as the orgasm continued to shake my mind and body like a
terrier with a rat.
And then, slowly, slowly, it faded, dropping to a lower plateau, then one still
lower, then easing off at last.
The blows stopped as my body's movements slowed, and then I dropped heavily into
the saddle and sat there, spasming intermittently, gulping in air, moaning, my
throat aching, my breasts and belly and back and bottom hot and aching.
My eyes were slitted. I sat limp, my arms hanging by the sleeves. I was limp, the
sexual energy which had powered me now drained away. I was - sore.
My pussy lips were sore, and still stretched wide, still aching. My breasts, and
especially my nipples were sore. My back and bottom were sore, though not as much.
I felt regret, now, for my enthusiasm, for the way the sexual heat had driven me
into ignoring the blows, ignoring the pain.
The saddle was wet beneath me.
The dildo was jammed high into my belly, but my juices had spilled down its length
and soaked the area around it. I grunted weakly, my legs loose, limp, so all my
weight was on the saddle. I was sore, my muscles aching.
For five minutes, maybe ten, I hardly moved at all. Then, my energy returning, I
began to wriggle a little in the saddle, searching for a more comfortable position.
But that dildo was still deep inside me, and it was only my imagination, but it
felt like it was throbbing.
Or maybe it was me.
Soon I was riding it again, gasping and moaning, grinding my pussy against the
deliciously hard cock inside me. And when the whips began to fall I cried out in
pain/pleasure, rolling my hips, bucking up and down, undulating to the sexual high
swirling through my mind. I took the blows across my breasts and cried out again
and again as my orgasm screamed through me, an orgasm that rose and fell as though
it were not one, but a half dozen strung together, as though it or they would never
end.
A woman was in my room. It was the dancing teacher. She stood just as the men had
and pointed and said the word I'd come to know. My reaction was instinctive,
despite my confusion, and I literally tumbled out of bed, crawling to her on my
belly, my face glad, joyous as I reached her and licked at her feet, as I rubbed
myself against her legs and ankles and moaned, moaned like a purring pussy cat.
She looked down at me, and I felt uneasy at her frown, and fearful that she would
not approve, would send me back to the cold cage and a beating. I redoubled my
efforts, and felt a huge sense of relief when she indicated I could go ahead. She
was wearing a robe, and I slowly worked my hands and body and head up its length
until I could pull the ties with my teeth, and then, realizing she was nude below,
licked gently at her belly.
I had never performed oral sex on a woman. But, of course, I knew how it was done.
They had done it to me, often enough, too, and now I put everything I could into
pleasing her, into licking and tonguing, rubbing and blowing and mouthing her sex
lips, rubbing my silky hair against her thighs, moaning and purring at her for all
I was worth.
I should point out that my tongue was much stronger, and longer than it had been.
The weights they had often hung on my tongue, and the way I was forced to work on
their cocks, and even their anuses, had strengthened and stretched it. Now I could
touch the tip of my chin with my tongue, and I put its length to good use,
thrusting it up into this woman's bare little hole, pumping it in and out, then
caressing her clit.
I had come to feel, to know, to understand, that pleasing them - was the most
important thing in the world. I had to please them! I had to make them sexually
happy! And the fact this was a woman didn't matter at all. I did my best to please
her, and felt intense relief when she took me to the bed.
I let her lead, as I let the men. Sex with her was different. But I put on the same
show, and, oddly, just as with the men, it really wasn't that much of a show, for I
really did get aroused, deeply aroused. Maybe it was my own mind fooling me, as I
fooled them, but when she mouthed my nipples I gurgled in pleasure. When her
fingers thrust inside me I bucked and writhed and rolled my hips.
Then her bare sex was jammed in against mine and we were grinding out pussies
together, gasping and moaning, humping and rolling until I came - unfeigned, crying
out in bliss, rocking violently against her, and then she came as well, pulled into
my come.
They did not always come to my room, or the room I thought of as mine. Sometimes I
came to theirs, hands shackled, led by the leash. And one day when I was led into a
room Tommy was at the far end. I didn't even recognize him at first. He was just
another Asian man dressed in black. And he made the familiar gesture as soon as I
saw him.
I felt a shock of recognition run through me, but by now my reactions were
instinctive. I threw myself to my knees, then my belly, and crawled across to him,
moaning and wriggling, licking at his feet, rubbing my head against his ankles,
trying to please him. When I succeeded, I took his cock into my mouth, and it
really didn't matter that it was Tommy. My mind wasn't dead. I was thinking about
what was going to happen now, wondering if he would take me away at last, wondering
for the first time in a while how long I had been there.
But I had to continue to please him, to put everything into the act that was not an
act. He took me to bed, and rode me hard, rode me into a screaming orgasm, even
more intense than the many I had been having lately, and he left me there on the
bed, disappearing like the others always did.
Tommy came every few days after that, and never spoke. One time, after I had come,
and when he was leaving, I called out to him, and he glared at me, rushed back hard
and slapped my face so hard it flung me completely around.
I spent the next several days in the cage, the crop slashing my bottom every
morning and evening.
When I next saw Tommy, a week after I had returned to the bedroom, I did not speak.
He rode me and left.
The days continued, and Tommy sometimes came and sometimes didn't. One day he
showed up for our posing and positioning lesson, and he called out the orders. I
obeyed, of course. Afterwards he hooked me to the little cart, and I pulled him
after me as he visited several of the buildings. I had come to know by now that one
was a bathhouse and sauna, one was a comfortable bar, another a residence for the
Asian men.
I stripped for him and groveled for him, and he whipped me to orgasms, building up
the pain gradually, as the others did, until my skin was raw and every touch made
me gasp, whipping my nipples and breasts and pussy until I came violently.
And then, one day, I was strapped tightly, my arms bound behind me, a gag stuffed
into my mouth, a hood locked tight over my head, blindfold placed over my eyes. I
was strapped so close I could hardly breath, and placed into a box. The box was
lifted into something, a truck perhaps, and I was driven off. Hours later the box
was unloaded and opened, and Tommy was there again.
He did not speak, except to say the words I had learned, the commands. I was stiff
and sore, but I got to all fours, and he leashed me, and I was led into a much
nicer building, a wide, low, Chinese style building of wood, surrounded by gardens.
I crawled on the leash into a kind of central room, where there were a half dozen
other Asians.
Tommy spoke to them, and they looked at me with odd expressions on their faces.
Then Tommy led me away. I later learned these were servants. But Chinese servants
were not like those in the west. These had served his family for generations. And
whatever he wanted was law for them.
Tommy used me every day. He never spoke to me except for the commands. He often
spanked and fondled me, teasing me to the point I could hardly stand the sexual
pressure and hunger and tension inside me. Then he would whip me to climax.
I was always bound, shackled, chained. Most of the time I crawled, led on the
leash, either by him or one of the servants. I was taken outside to go to the
bathroom, and was washed inside, hung by my wrists and scrubbed by an older man who
often excitedly groped and fondled me, though with evident fear his master would
discover what he did.
When Tommy ate, at a long, polished table, I knelt beside him, occasionally being
given treats of the fine food he ate, licking it from his hands. Otherwise, I had a
bowl and dish and would eat like a dog.
It was strange how my mind had come to accept this as - just the way things were.
I didn't really think much about escaping, about running away. The sex was intense,
wild, exciting, thrilling. When Tommy wasn't with me I had a huge pool, luxurious
bed and pillows and mats on the floor, big screen TV, video games, movies and
books.
And, after some months, another slave girl, a Chinese girl a few years younger. I
was not unhappy, though at times I was bored and my mind considered whether or not
this was right, and whether or not I should try to escape. But the walls were very
high, and I didn't even know where we were, and I knew I'd be badly punished if I
tried to escape.
I was with Tommy for several years. It was a life I was used to, and not an
unpleasant one, to be honest. I had no problems in life, no stress, worries,
concerns, except pleasing Tommy and his guests, male and female. When the police
came, it wasn't for me. It was something to do with drugs, something illegal Tommy
had been doing. I was a surprise to them, and they didn't really know what to do
with me.
My new surroundings were white, and smelled of medicine. I had no more freedom than
before, and people treated me very oddly, making me feel uncomfortable,
embarrassing me. I didn't like them at all, and I didn't like the people dealing
with me. They never had sex with me, and seemed very embarrassed when I offered.
They insisted I wear clothes, uncomfortable clothes that were thick and shapeless
and ugly and which I didn't like.
They kept insisting I had been traumatized and needed therapy, but I resented them
thinking I was sick simply because I had lost my inhibitions about sex. Oh, it was
true that I had come to be trained, in a sense, to instant obedience. It was hard
to argue with that. And I think they preferred to "treat" me on that "problem"
rather than the sex one because they found it more comfortable.
And after putting up with their treatment for as long as I could, treatment that
worked well enough for me to begin to assert myself more, I demanded I be released.
I neither wanted nor needed any treatment to address my lack of sexual hang-ups.
Needless to say the job market had little openings for a girl with no degree and no
experience in anything but sex. Outside the world of sex workers anyway. So my
first job was as a stripper. It paid fairly well, but the club was mediocre. As I
learned more about the world of erotic dancing I graduated to better and better
clubs. It wasn't just that I was good at it, but that I loved it and it aroused me.
Most of the other dancers were in the business with great reluctance, and the men
could sense their hearts weren't in it.
After a few months of stripping I met a woman named Barbara Lee, who recruited me
for her escort service. It paid considerably better and provided me with the men I
needed to satisfy the desires my body now craved and needed. There too, just as
with stripping, the men could sense my excitement, my interest, my lust. I wasn't
faking it, and some part of them knew it well. And so I became quite popular,
especially with those into bondage and sadism.
I suppose you could say that I was a sex slave. That's kind of a shocking admission,
I know. But for several years that was indeed what I was, collared, leashed, and
beaten for disobedience. The fact my mind had become conditioned to love the role of
sexual play toy, even to the punishment I was often given, does not alter that.
But I don't look back on it with regret. I enjoyed it, adapted well, and it made me
the sexually uninhibited and happy person I am today.
end
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