A Story of Consensual Submission
Her breasts bound and tortured, her face hooded, her mouth gagged… Her Dom’s degrading words ring in her ears, turning her on even more. Pharos loves to hear her scream and Natalia knows her torture has only just begun.
Yes, My Lord is a serial story. This is Chapter 3. To start at the beginning, here is Chapter 1.
Tags: Consensual BDSM erotica, breast bondage, maledom, femsub, hoods, gags, deep throating, mind fuck, fear, degradation
Yes, My Lord: Chapter 3
Pharos’ words are deliberately degrading. ‘Your hole had better be good to fuck, because I’m so hard right now.’
I am a mess and we have barely begun. My legs are trembling convulsively, and I can feel wetness running down my inner thighs from my pussy. My face is a mess of saliva from my gagged mouth.
Pharos chuckles and I can feel him watching me. Suddenly, I feel his hand roughly on my shoulder, pushing me down, and his voice says roughly ‘Kneel, whore, get on the floor where you belong’. I drop to my knees but not fast enough for him, and he grabs me again by the hood and slaps one of my breasts viciously. ‘Faster, next time.’
Then I am kneeling on the floor, and he kicks my knees wide open with his foot. ‘Hands out low where I can see them,’ he orders and I open my hands low and wide, still holding the squishy balls. ‘Pull your shoulders back,’ he orders, ‘I want your udders on display, right where they should be.’
I don’t want to obey him, my breasts still hurt and I don’t want them on display for him, not when he has hurt me. They feel so vulnerable, bound in rope and turned into toys for him.
‘Do it, you stupid whore,’ he warns harshly in that voice I love so much, and I obey, pulling my shoulder blades back and down and feeling my breasts rise and spread wider open, the rope cutting in harshly around the bases.
‘You belong on the floor, animal,’ he says from above me. Then he is moving in close and I can smell his sex. He takes me by the back of the hood and I feel his cock against my lips.
He is big, wide and hard, and he feeds himself into my open mouth, past the gag. I breathe roughly through my nose as he pushes himself to the back of my throat and starts to facefuck me, filling my mouth, his scent swirling around my senses.
‘I’m going deep, darling,’ he warns me, and it is only a split second warning before I feel the silken soft head of his shaft pushing against, into my throat. I gag, of course, tasting the musky scent of his precum running down the back of my throat, and he backs off but only for a moment.
‘Let go of the balls for red,’ he murmurs, and I wince deep inside. I love and hate the feeling of him in my mouth, I can’t breathe and I feel invaded, used, but I also love the sensation of his hard cock sliding across the roof of my mouth, and I want to please him, I want to please him so badly, and I want him deeply inside me.
He doesn’t ask me what I want anyway. He waits only for my choking to stop, then he pushes again into the back of my throat, past my gag reflex, going slightly deeper this time. I gag again, but I can feel my throat is becoming slippery from all his precum that I can taste and smell, and anyway he barely gives me time to recover before he is pushing again into my throat.
‘We’re going to keep doing this until you get it,’ he remarks from far above, and even without being able to see him, I can see he is smirking at me. ‘I can do this all day. Just keep breathing and swallowing and soon you’ll be a proper whore.’
On the word ‘whore’, he drives himself again into my throat, holding himself there for a long moment and I can feel the unyielding strength in his hands on my head. I panic and struggle blindly to get away, and this time I gag properly, wretching deeply.
‘Breathe,’ he laughs at me, and I am suddenly blindingly furious at him for how superior and smug he sounds. Part of me wants to wrench away, to call red, to let go of the balls in my hands. But I am also loving the feeling of him in my mouth and as usual, the feeling of being physically overpowered is turning me on even more.
I don’t have time to think anyway.
Pharos keeps fucking my mouth, pushing deeper each couple of strokes until the opening of my throat feels soft and tender, and so much of his precum has flowed across my tongue that my mouth and throat feel slippery and lubricated. I have no time to think, I have to use all my concentration to force myself to keep breathing, training my brain to override the overwhelming need to gag. It feels wrong and deeply invasive, but some twisted part of me loves the sensation and wants it to continue forever.
I lose track of time, I lose track of the number of times Pharos has slid his head, thick and hard and slippery with precum, into my throat, cruelly forcing me to take all of him. All my concentration is tied up in not gagging, in breathing and keeping my throat open for him.
He senses, somehow, the moment my throat relaxes, my gag reflex under control, and with that, he pushes harder, sliding incredibly deeper, until I know with some startled part of my brain that the head of his large cock is embedded deeply down my throat and he is holding firmly onto my head, and he has no intention of releasing me anytime soon.
‘Swallow,’ he murmurs. ‘Take it all, like a good hole. This is what you were made for. This is why you have a mouth.’ He is still and unyielding in my mouth, and my throat feels stretched, as if I have a log of wood inside my throat. I want to panic from the sensation and I pull away instinctively but his hands tighten on the hood and he doesn’t let me, instead pushing himself unbelievably deeper, his hips grinding against my face as I feel him growing even thicker and harder in my mouth.
I can’t breathe, so I swallow, convulsively, and just like that, Pharos cums down my throat, a hot stream of cum that I can taste and feel and smell. He cums again in my mouth as he is pulling out, and I swallow again instinctively, feeling the hot, salty liquid slide down my abused throat.
Then I am choking and half-crying from the intensity of the sensations as he holds my head against him, standing over me still kneeling on the floor.
My senses are reeling, I desperately want to pull off the hood and look at him, but he hasn’t said that I can. My breasts hurt in their bindings, and I sense that I am even wetter between my legs than I was before. In the hood, I feel disconnected from the room, unable to connect with who I really am.
You are his hole, my brain tells me, and his breasts, and his pain slut, you will scream and writhe and beg for mercy that will not come.
Would you like to read more? Here is Chapter 4.
If you’d like to support me as an author, please buy my published novella here: Pleasure Doll: The Enslavement of Isobel.
© 2022 Pixie Isobella
The author asserts their right to be identified as the creator of this work under the name “Pixie Isobella”.
Pixie Isobella 