I was bound up again. It had been like that for a week. He’d bind me up, keep me locked to the table for hours. He’d spoon feed me to help me stay healthy enough for his play, and then spend time poking, prodding, pinching, biting at me. He’d let me up for exercise a couple of times a day, always guarding me, always locking me back up directly after. I heard the door open and knew that he’d come back. I felt his fingers at my feet before I ever saw him. He clawed up my leg, over my belly, across my tit. He leaned down as if to kiss me, but bit my throat instead. He bit hard enough that I felt trickles streaming down. He licked the wound he’d just caused before kissing me, so that I’d taste my own blood. Then, he slid his fingers over the still-bleeding mark and started rubbing bloody trails across my body. Every time the wound would stop bleeding, he’d finger it until it started bleeding again. When my body was sufficiently marked, he slammed his fingers into my cunt, ripping it in places, before working his cock into me. He pounded my pussy over and over, so painfully, until he came inside of me. I did my best not to cry, but tears trickled down my face, I couldn’t help it.
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