Prima looked around her. There were trees. And more trees. And still yet more. It smelled wonderful, to be sure. Way better than the ‘urban jungle’ she usually called home.
She was unclear as to her Dom’s motives in sending her here.
“Summer camp will be good for you, 3,” He’d said with that smile on his face. That one that tightened her belly into slippery coils of lust.
Just as at home, she could call herself by her nickname to other subs, but to any Doms, she must introduce herself by the name He called, her, 3.
There was something so demeaning about being delegated as a number. And he understood that kind of pushing made her hot. She didn’t completely understand the whole humiliation scene, but he was guiding her along the path.
She knew she wasn’t his first girl, that he had others. Was she, in fact, third? Or was she, really, one of many? It wasn’t something that they talked about; she was content to be who she was with him, submissive, subservient, and wantonly sexual.
And he’d sent her to summer camp like a twelve-year old.
She sighed, glad that she had the money to get one of those snazzy new tents that assembled with one pull. PULL, snap, and up it went. She was going to sleep in the woods inside a nylon bag. On top of a rubber mat. Thank goodness she’d brought the microfiber pad that went on her bed at home. And blankets.
Already it was chilly.
She’d arrived a day after camp had started, thanks to Western Air’s fuck-up. She’d gotten a private orientation from a lively fellow, who kept staring at her capacious bosom.
Master had ordered her to only wear low, low-cut tops here. And after the first day, she had to go out and about naked.
In the woods.
In fuck-all Maine.
In short order she had her tent set, her gear stowed, and she began wandering the camp. Master had directed her to observe, to listen, to represent him well while she was there.
And to expect the unexpected.
yeah, like she didn’t already expect that with him.
She remembered the day of nipple torture. Clamps on. Clamps off. Clamps on. Clamps off. Elastics while at work. The day that dragged on, one torturous minute at a time.
Trying to cum in the airplane bathroom. She’d had 6 minutes. Talk about epic fail. She had no idea how those “mile-high” club people did it. All she felt was abject terror at all the air under the thin metal framework under her feet.
Yet now, under her pink tennis shoes was deep pine loam. Every step was an olfactory wonder. Muscles she hadn’t realized were cramped began to relax. She wandered around, stopping once, mouth open, as she observed a man, hogtied on the picnic table while hot wax was drizzled on the backs of his thighs.
He was moaning, but from pain, pleasure or the magic cocktail of both was hard to say. The Domme, looking up from her ‘work’ smiled at her. It was enough to break her spell, and she smiled back, quickly, like a rabbit caught staring at a wolf, and she bolted off, trailed by the sound of feminine laughter, throaty and low.
She fingered her greenie tag, and wandered up to the Dungeon. Spooky shit in there, she supposed.
She couldn’t help it, she was insatiably curious.
She stepped inside, momentarily blinded by the dim light, after the brilliant sunshine from outside. Immediately, a bag was pulled over her head.
“Hey!” she yelped.
“Shut the fuck up, slut” a gruff voice said.
“Bbbbut….you have the wrong girl…” she sputtered, and struggled against too-strong arms.
“You’re the slut named 3, right?”
She nodded, her heart hammering in her chest.
What the fuck had Master gone and done?
A large hand grabbed her at the back of her head, grabbing the bag and a large chunk of her thick red hair. She yelped but was ignored as she was propelled across a wide space. She fetched up against something hard, and was immediately bent over it.
Her hands were attached to something, ensuring that she would remain bent as he’d set her. She felt cold metal against the back of one thigh, and the unmistakable sound of scissors.
He was cutting off her shorts! OH fuck, and her favorite pair, too.
“Wait,” she tried to say, but her voice was weak, bent over uncomfortably, covered with the bag. Her legs were kicked apart and she felt straps going ’round each ankle. She gasped and tried to move, but too late. In a moment she was secured, bare-assed.
She expected to feel the sharp report of a crop against her pale skin, or the thwomp of a paddle, perhaps. What she felt instead was the cold drizzle of liquid into her asscrack.
And the unexpected feeling of a cockhead gliding down that greased trail. Pressing against her anus, there was no room for dissent or agreement.
He was taking, not talking. She felt his thighs behind her, the heat of them, his bent knees hitting her mid-thigh.
She wanted to scream, hell, scream the fucking hall down. She could not believe that she was going to be ass-reamed her first day at camp.
That her Master had set this up was unmistakable. It had all the earmarks of one of his dastardly tasks.
Thoughts scattered as a thick, hard cock pressed inside her tight hole. She did scream then, he was big, way bigger than her tiny little anus. The only response to her yelp was more cock shoved into her passage, and the happy groan of a man taking his pleasure.
It hurt. It filled her. She felt…full. Like she needed to take the biggest dump of her life. The feelings increased the deeper he went, filling her painfully with the full thick weight of his dick.
When he pulled back, the relief was instantaneous. The pressure was gone, the feeling akin to voiding her bowels, but in a second he was back, harder and deeper than before. His thrusts grew in intensity, her asshole felt battered, stretched beyond reason.
She felt the spatter of liquid on her legs, heard it hitting the floor. It took a moment for her to realize it was from her. She’d had a fucking orgasm while this stranger pummelled her asshole? How fucking sick was that?
And it hurt so much.
And it felt so amazingly good. The pleasure/pain cocktail that her Master had given her a taste of, a magic elixir that filled her with dread and lust. She craved it now.
The cock in her ass pulsed once, twice, and the man attached to it groaned out his cumming. She couldn’t feel it, the way it said in porn stories. Her ass was too sore, or he was too deep. He pulled out, and what she felt was stretched out, throbbing pain.
And the steady drip, drip, drip of semen leaking from her abused ass.
“Was it good?” she heard a voice ask. She tried to gather her thoughts to answer, when someone else did.
“Yeah, it was a tight lil asshole when I started, but it’s stretched out now for you, big guy.” She heard the crack of two male hands slapping together.
They weren’t talking to her.
They were talking about her.
They weren’t letting her go. She felt the press of a very large cock on her stretched rectum.
“nooooo” she moaned, even as he popped the head inside her. And pulled it out again.
The pop was painful going in. It was almost worse going out.
He played with her anus for a few minutes, alternating between in and out, until she writhed in her bonds, and was begging for him to stop.
“Beg me to fuck this stinking asshole” He said, popping out, then in again.
She moaned. She didn’t want that big cock in her ass.
He waited for her answer.
She cried out again. ‘please, please pleaseplease…please stop!”
“Beg me to fuck this asshole,” he repeated.
Faster this time, upping the pain ante. She struggled and moaned. Finally, gasping and crying, she cried out ” Fuck my ass, please, please fuck my ass!”
“Please?” She screamed.
“What did I tell you to say, slut. You think about it carefully if you want this to stop. I could do this all fuckin’ day, my cockhead fucking loves the way this feels. And all your crying and snively shit just adds to the pleasure for me.”
She tried to think. How had she…
had she misspok–
Her head arched back as she moaned in pain.
“Please fuck my asshole.”
“Sir.” He added, his voice gentle and kind, at odds with the harshness of the pain in her butthole.
“Please! Fuck my asshole, SIR” she screamed. There was a sound of random applause around her. She thought she heard the murmur of a voice saying “can’t wait for my turn,” but that couldn’t be right, could it?
*this little side story came courtesy of a special request…i hope you enjoyed it, my dear…~n~*