“Aaaaaiiiiiieeee,” I squealed involuntarily.
“That was good!” he replied.
Strangely he then cupped the underside of my breasts, and pushed them upward. He wanted me to see his handiwork. My tits were a mess. First, they were bright pink all over; with unmistakable welts and lashes from the belt. There were scratches sporadically from where his fingernails dug in. There was a consistent pattern of teeth marks throughout, including on my raw tender nipples. Lastly, there were a few random wet streaks, from where my tears fell. Tears I tried to suppress, but which flowed regardless.
“I like the things you do to me,” I said, the tears still running down my face.
Simon glanced toward Lewis with a question, “Can I try anal with her? I’ve never done it before.”
Lewis’ reply was cold and emotionless, “Dude she’s a cunt…and today she’s your cunt. Do whatever the fuck you want with her.”
The former Reverend did fuck my ass, without removing me from the cross. Now I knew why Lewis had expertly elevated it earlier, so my height was right. When my intruder achieved orgasm, he grunted and gripped my already aching tits; nearly ripping them off my body. This time there was no pleasure for me. It was pain and nothing else. He stayed in my backside until his cock started to soften. When he pulled out, some of his seed leaked down my inner thigh, while some of it dripped out in dollops, landing on the floor between my legs where much of his earlier load still remained.
I was exhausted and hung there with as much of my weight supported by my aching arms as my wobbly legs. The two men left me while they talked. I don’t know what they discussed. They were within hearing distance, but I simply did not have the strength to listen. I was spent. I smiled softly when Lewis returned to untie me, sometime later. Had I slept? My Master then lowered me to the ground, and I took a moment to rub my wrists, feeling the rope burn; rub my shoulders, feeling the ache; and very softly rub my breasts, feeling the frayed skin and bite marks.
Lewis whispered to me, “Simon is done for today. I’m going to walk him to the door.”
“Thank-you Master, I only hope my performance was satisfactory,” I whispered in return.
“You were enchanting as usual,” he said very quietly, leaning in. But then Lewis looked over his shoulder at Simon, and spoke quite loudly, “Simon – the slut here has something she wants to ask you, but is too shy to do so.”
I do?? I don’t have anything to ask him? Uh oh, I suspected Master was setting me up again.
Simon approached us as Lewis elaborated, “She wants your permission to cum. She wants to rub herself to orgasm, while she laps up the mess that dripped out of her.”
I turned a deep crimson red and couldn’t even imagine how depraved I must have appeared.
“What a dirty little thing you are, Abigail - a very degenerate little brat.”
I felt deeply humiliated. I wanted to explain that I didn’t really request this, but of course I’d never betray Lewis. Instead I slowly bent forward, like a three-legged puppy eating out of a bowl. I say three-legged because my right arm was reaching between my legs. The cum was cold, and utterly disgusting. There was one main pool of it in the middle, surrounded by random globs. I couldn’t support myself properly and decided to lie right down on the floor. This was much easier. I lapped at the biggest spot first, just as two of my fingers found my clit. I was keenly aware of the two men, standing over me, looking down at me. I felt pathetic. That said, my clit was responding. In fact, it was responding big time. I was hotter than a firecracker. I felt so ashamed and yet, I did want to cum. Maybe Lewis wasn’t so wrong after all. As I licked-up the mess on the floor, I gave myself a thundering orgasm that left me breathless. I didn’t dare look up at the men, but I knew they were smiling at my insatiable need.
The last thing I felt was something landing on my shoulder.
The once respected and former Pastor of my church, Reverend Simon Watson, had spit on me.
CHAPTER 17: REVERSE INTERVIEW
The next morning…
It was so wonderful to wake up at Lewis’ suite the next morning. The only other time I slept there was the infamous night with Veronica. We had a lovely conversation in bed, very much reminiscent of our mornings in Paris. We talked about the session the day before, and then Lewis examined my body to see how the wounds were progressing. My tits had taken the brunt of it, and the evidence was there. The bite locations were already turning an angry purple, with tiny imprints from individual teeth easily visible.
We reminisced about the past year, and how things were unfolding between us.
“I want to ask you something?” Lewis said, in a tone of voice I had never heard before.