The Palace

His words made little sense to me. I knew, vaguely, the activity a man and a woman might engage in together, though I had no personal experience. I thought I had understood from this man that that was what would be expected of me tonight and in the future. But he spoke now of three holes. If the vagina was one, and the mouth was another, then the third must be... I gasped in horror. Surely he would not want to use that hole for anything!

"It seems you have deduced something," he said, with that amusement in his voice again. "Quite innocent, indeed. It is time I claimed some of that innocence." What I heard now could only be him undressing, the thunk of his slippers as they hit the carpets, the swish of a shirt pulled over the head. Now I smelled his musky scent, and the faint odors of soap and cologne, and something warm, hard yet yielding, bumped against my lips. "Open," he ordered. He used my braid as a handle to keep my head in place as he inserted something into my mouth. This must be his penis. I allowed my tongue to explore the shaft as it entered, learning the shape of it, the taste, the heat. "You are eager," he commented. It soon became uncomfortable to hold my mouth open wide enough that my teeth did not graze him, and as the tip of his penis met the back of my throat, an image of its size began to form. If his penis was so wide that my jaw became sore, and so long that even when it touched the back of my throat its entire length was still not enveloped by my mouth, how would it fit in the smaller holes below?

I was overtaken by fear again, struggled to keep my teeth apart, jerked my head back so that I could swallow the saliva that pooled on my tongue and rest my jaw. The movement surprised him. He had relaxed his tight grip on my braid when it had appeared I would cooperate, and while I had not intended to be disobedient, my actions were interpreted that way all the same. Without a word, he marked another line on the back of my neck. I trembled.

"Perhaps a small preview of what is to come will persuade you not to fight me, girl. I can assure you that the more you resist, the greater your pain will be." He left my side and returned, then made quick work of tying something around my braid. "Had you not resisted, I would have taken this more slowly."

I expected him to use the paddle again and tried to prepare myself for the pain. Thus, my shock was all the more severe when instead something cold and round was pressed against my anus, confirming my suspicion that this was, indeed, the third hole he referred to. Instinctively, I tried to close that hole, a heavy ball of dread forming in my stomach, but he forced the mysterious object through, past the strong outer ring of muscle and into the passage. Frantic, I tossed my head and shrieked, the violation so awful, the penetration so appalling that I thrashed and twisted, desperate to relieve myself of the invader.

And the pain! At once, a sharp, piercing pain tore through my anus and deep inside as well, while at the same time a burning and stretching prolonged my screams.

My efforts were in vain, of course. The object settled inside of me, apparently attached to some thinner rod that protruded from my anus and then curved up and around my tailbone. It rested against my lower back, a constant reminder of this man's complete power over me.

He was not pleased with my wriggling, either. A third line was added to the back of my neck, though the second punishment was not yet finished. Would this night of torture never end?

My braid was pulled taut, forcing my head back, and soon there was tension both on my scalp and in my anus as my hair was tied in some way to the hook he had inserted.

"Oh, Master, please," I begged. "The pain is too great!"

"Girl, you are only digging yourself a deeper hole. What I have done so far is next to nothing compared to what you will experience in nights to come. Be silent, and be obedient." And a fourth line joined the three on the back of my neck.

Now came the paddle again, and with every strike my body tensed, and the tensing caused my hair to be pulled and the hook to shift within me. I shook with sobs, crying out for mercy, but there was none to be had. My world was pain. Nothing but pain.

"That was twenty again," he said, when he finally stopped. "You are lucky to have a compassionate master."

Compassionate! I dared not contradict him, but a compassionate master would not require still more punishment after the agony he had already inflicted upon me.

I felt his hands on my breasts now, reaching under me to perform the same massaging, kneading, squeezing that I had so enjoyed before. And despite all he had done since, I found the sensations pleasurable, the touch welcome. "Now you understand, sweet girl," he said. "One more small punishment." He pinched my nipple then, quite hard, and clipped something to it that both squeezed and tugged, hanging down and swinging with every breath. He did the same to the other nipple, and now I had torment all around me, in my bottom, my neck, my scalp, my nipples. My knees ached, and my shoulders, my elbows, and I was so exhausted I had no strength left for weeping.

He put his hand under my chin and kissed my lips. "You are doing very well, sweet girl. I know it's hard. Let go and accept." I felt his penis against my mouth again and opened, striving for the obedience he demanded. He moved in and out of my mouth, driving to the back of my throat. The soreness in my jaw was now just one more discomfort among many, and I knew that any relief would be a luxury to me. I could only be granted such relief by pleasing my master.

After some time, the strain on my neck and tug on my hair lessened, and he allowed me to close my mouth. Then still more luxury, as he removed the weights from my nipples and then the hook from my anus. My nipples tingled and throbbed as the blood rushed back in, and the hook was almost as painful coming out as it was going in, but the pain faded quickly.

"Now you have known pain, sweet girl. Do you deserve to know pleasure?" His hand on my head was almost affectionate.

I was afraid to respond, unsure if I was permitted to speak. I did not know what the correct response would be. I tried to think, considered carefully everything he had said. I had no agency. That much, I understood. "Only if my master wishes it," I whispered.

"That's right!" he said. "I knew you understood. You're a good girl." He cupped my chin, kissed me again, and my chest swelled with pride at his words. He unchained my wrists and ankles once again. "Turn over."

My weary muscles were not as quick to react as I'd hoped, and I had a brief moment of terror that he would notice the delay. I heaved myself to my side and rolled carefully to my back, uncertain of the width of the table. My left arm dangled off the side, but I did not fall. I had not considered the consequence of my welted buttocks landing on the hard surface, but I had learned my lesson well. I hissed, but I did not lift my hips.

He left me alone for a blessed minute, unfettered and without pain (aside from my buttocks, but even that was tolerable). He then slipped one arm under my shoulders, the other arm under my knees, and lifted me up. My side pressed into his bare chest and I felt the strength in his arms in the effortless way he transported me a short distance and then lowered me gently, almost reverently, to a bed. Soft fabric delighted against my skin, and the mattress embraced me. I thought I had never been anywhere so comfortable, but possibly it was only the stark contrast with the extreme discomfort of the table that gave this impression.

"A smile, sweet girl? That is lovely."

I was smiling, I realized, at the simple pleasure of lying in a bed unrestrained.

He did not leave me free for long, of course. My arms were guided up behind my head and secured there, as they had been on the table, though my head was now supported by a pillow. He raised one of my legs and bent my knee, then connected the ankle cuff to something above me so that my leg was suspended. I could straighten my leg, but I could not bring it down nor close my thighs together. He did the same to my other leg, forcing them wide apart. My collar, too, was put to use, connected in some way to the bed as well so that I could not raise my shoulders. He removed the straps from my thighs and fastened a new one around my waist. This belt was then chained to the bed on both sides so that I could not lift my hips by pulling down on the ankle cuffs.

He put his hand on my forehead, as though checking for fever. "The bed is for my comfort, of course. Yours is incidental." He moved his hand to my chest, traced a path between my breasts with one finger, down my stomach, to the top of my pubic hair. "You are far from the first girl whose virginity I have claimed," he said. "Indeed, it is rather a specialty of mine. An interest, if you will. The process fascinates me, the fear, the anticipation, the journey from ignorance to knowledge, from purity to depravity, the confusion you feel because you both desire and despise me." His finger traveled farther now, to nestle between the lips of my nether regions, grazing the sensitive little nub that I had thought to be hidden and safe. The slightest motion of his finger, back and forth across the tiny button, was echoed deep inside me, creating an itch much like the one he had evoked with his attention to my nipples. My hips twisted and rocked of their own accord, and a rumble in my chest became a moan.

"Very good, sweet girl." How I craved his praise and words of approval! "If you allow yourself to feel pleasure when it is granted, your life here will be less burdensome." He continued his ministrations until I moaned again, then stopped abruptly. "Ah, but you must earn your pleasure," he said, as though I had voiced the protest that had formed on my lips. "It is unfortunate," he continued, "that virginity can be taken only once, for the excitement of the second thrust can never match that of the first as it tears through the hymen and opens the passage. The cry of surprise, the slight resistance, the shock of entry can be achieved only once. And the transition is so very quick."

My fear was ignited once again as he painted his vivid picture. I was suddenly grateful to be so thoroughly restrained.

The mattress dipped as he climbed up between my legs and put a finger to my center of pleasure again. His constant shifting from torment to praise, fear to excitement, pain to enjoyment overwhelmed me. His words were frightening but his fingers enticed. I wished for this night to end, but that would not be the end of this nightmare. I wished for him to bring me the ecstasy that tantalized, but with that would come further degradation.

He stroked me until my breath came in high pitched gasps, so that my fear was nearly forgotten in the throes of my desire, and then he spoke again. "You please me, sweet girl." His finger slipped lower, probed at my vagina, but did not enter. I tensed, awaiting the intrusion, but none came. His finger slid lower still, prodded at my anus. "When I eat a delicious meal," he said, the tip of his finger circling my puckered hole, "I like to save the choicest bits for the end, so that I might enjoy them all the more for having waited. The same is sometimes true when I deflower a new arrival." I didn't understand, but a shiver ran through me.

I felt the heat of his body as he bent over me, and he touched his finger to my mouth. "You'll want this to be wet," he said. He moistened his finger on my tongue, then sat back. He teased my anus, and my terror spiked as his intention became clear. I had not forgotten the pain of his earlier punishment. I thrashed and struggled in my bonds and shook my head, dread overtaking reason. He ignored my defiance this time, and his finger slipped inside me despite my silent protest.

There was little pain, though, and I tried to calm myself. He moved his finger in a small circle within, and at the same time toyed with my sensitive little button. The combination of sensations brought my arousal to new heights.

"Yes," he said. "I think we will let the anticipation build." He stopped his stimulation and left the bed. Without warning, he yanked my head up by my braid and added a mark to the back of my neck. He had not ignored my protests, only delayed his acknowledgment of them. My head fell back onto the pillow, and the ball of ice in my belly took over my senses.

"Fear is acceptable, girl," he declared, "but defiance and refusal are not, even if they are born of your fear."

A line of searing pain bloomed on the inside of my right thigh, quickly mirrored by one on the left. He struck me again, right then left, creating neat, evenly spaced stripes. I screamed as each new mark flared, then tensed, anticipating its twin on the other side, only to scream again, unable to prepare for the pain. "Please, Master," I choked. "Please have mercy. Please, Master!" When my inner thighs throbbed from knee almost to my pelvis, he began again on the outside of each thigh, then finished with three strikes to the sole of each foot. I felt as though my legs had been held in a fire, and I could not breathe for the piteous sobs that wracked my body.

His hands were on me again, but this time to apply a cool salve to the tortured skin. The relief brought on yet more weeping, but this time out of gratitude. I could never predict whether he would show me kindness or cruelty, but the knowledge that he had any capacity for kindness was itself as soothing as the balm he was so carefully spreading over my thighs.

He smoothed my hair and kissed my forehead. "You took that well, sweet girl," he said. "You see, pleading for mercy is permitted, though it will rarely be granted. Protests, however, are punished further. Do you understand the difference?"

"Yes, Master," I whispered. My throat was sore and hoarse from screaming. I had not uttered the word "no," nor begged him to stop, and the distinction was important. Perhaps that was why he had chosen to show me kindness in the end.

He resumed his position between my legs and worked his fingertip into my anus again. Reassured now that this would not be painful, and more fearful of further punishment, I did not resist. "Good girl," he said. He removed the finger and leaned across me, then sat back again.

A cold, hard object touched my anus. "I will show you mercy, sweet girl. I will prepare this hole to receive me so that the pain will be less." The object opened me as he forced it in, beginning at a point and tapering out until it was at least as wide as the hook he had used for my punishment. The pain took my breath away, and my mouth gaped in a silent scream. Tight bands of shock around my ribs prevented me from taking a breath for a long moment.

My master bent over me and kissed my forehead, then each cheek. His fingers massaged my scalp, and he crooned "shhhh" near my ear. I finally drew in a breath, and another, and another, and the pain began to fade. "Be calm, sweet girl," he urged me. "It is time."

Time for what?

I did not need to wonder long. He kissed my lips quite tenderly while he pinched my nipples, and when I began to respond to his touch once again, he shifted his weight so that he hovered over me. The pressure between my legs increased, and he thrust into me. I screamed as muscles strained and skin tore, and yet he pushed forward, unconcerned with my distress. He stopped once buried within my untried depths, resting atop me, clutching my head against his shoulder.

I writhed beneath him, wishing to escape. The agony was so much greater than I had anticipated. The only relief would be his withdrawal, yet he stubbornly held himself in place, murmuring in my ear. I could not make out his words over the roaring blood, and my vagina throbbed and stung, straining around his girth.

"Good girl. That's it. Relax and accept. Be calm, sweet girl. The worst is over." His words coalesced and gained meaning, my breath slowed, the pain receded, and still he did not move. "And now the second thrust," he said.

I had only a moment to process his statement before he pulled out nearly all the way and then reentered with less force than the first time. The pain flared and retreated, though the penetration was no less traumatic. I whined and tried to buck my hips, only to be stymied by the restraints.

Again he paused once fully enveloped by my newly claimed channel. "Perhaps that was not what you envisioned, sweet girl, but for me the moment was perfect." He kissed my lips, then thrust a third time, and a fourth, and then more, so that I lost count and became immersed in the motion, the sensations, the tenuous balance of pain and pleasure he had been building all evening.

"Are you ready for the finale?" he asked, and withdrew completely.

Irrational fear seized me. The horror that filled me at the idea of his violating my anus had not been reduced, and the discomfort I still experienced from the object he had inserted could only be a hint at the unpleasantness to come. "Please, Master," I begged. "Not there. Please. Please have pity on me. Have mercy."

"Girl, if it is not I, it will be another, and he may not show you the same consideration that I do. Your plea borders on refusal." He tugged the object out of my anus, and his tone softened. "Be brave, sweet girl. You are doing very well. Perhaps you can still earn true pleasure this night."

True pleasure, if I could but endure. I had no choice, bound as I was.

The constant pull on my waist loosened. "Lift your hips," he ordered. Bewildered, I did so, and he shoved something soft, perhaps a pillow, under my bottom to support me in this position. He wrapped his arms around my thighs and held me tightly as his penis sought entrance at my anus. I could but wait, bracing myself for the breach, overcome with fear.

"The final task," he said.

Pain flooded my pelvis as he drove himself forward, the last of my innocence ripped away, stolen by this man I couldn't see and would never know. I sobbed as he sawed in and out, still grasping my thighs in an iron grip, my breasts bobbing with the force of every thrust.

Perhaps he did show me mercy, as it was over quickly. I was aware of his penis twitching inside me, and then he was gone, silent.

Someone released me from the restraints and picked me up. It was he, Master. His scent was familiar now, the warmth and strength of his chest comforting against my cheek. He cradled me in his arms. "We are finished, sweet girl. I am very proud of you."

Finished? He had promised me pleasure. I had clung to that hope throughout the ordeal. "Yes, Master," I said.

He chuckled, and his laugh rumbled in his chest, vibrating in my ear. "Very good," he said, and lay me back down.

A test. I had passed.

He did not restrain me, just began with my nipples as he had at first, kneading my breasts, sucking and nipping, pinching and rolling, until my hips rocked and moans erupted from my throat, and the itch in my chest was echoed between my legs. My vagina was so sore, and my anus, and yet still the tightness and throbbing were welcome.

"You will have the honor of my tongue," he said, and then he moved lower, licking that hard little nub buried within my folds. Nothing he had done before mattered. I knew only the need building deep inside, the need only he could fulfill.

The itch became an ache and then an urgent pulsing that defied definition. I embraced it, drank in the pure delight, soothing my soul. My thighs trembled, and I forgot how to breathe.

His tongue did not stop, but his fingers found my nipple again, and with that, I left my body, floating on a cloud of bliss.

The ecstasy lasted only a few seconds, and then I shouted. I tensed, relaxed, and fell limp.