Free Owned And Owner by Anneke Jacob

course I couldn’t see it coming. I strained with all my might to hear through the hood, thinking I was tracking noises that were masked by my heart pounding in my ears.
    When at last I accepted that I was accomplishing nothing, I gave up, to the darkness and near silence, to the loss of control through the loss of those most important senses. I had no hands available to feel with, either, and all I could smell or taste was leather and the rubbery substance of my gag. All I had to sense with was the soft skin of my body, up against the cool air, waiting, waiting, waiting for a touch.
    When the touch finally came it was hands stroking my breasts, pulling on my nipples, and then my first experience of nipple clips. I remember bowing my hooded head in pain, bowing my body around my painful breasts, and then feeling my head pulled tightly back and fastened by something to my ankles. My thrust-out nipples felt another tug as weights were added to the clips, and I groaned into the gag. Big hands parted my knees, and then I felt pinching there, too, painful pinches that stayed on my labia. The hands left me but the clips did not, seeming to increase their pressure as I waited and throbbed.
    I shivered after a while as I felt a subtle sensation, so subtle I had trouble identifying where it was coming from against all the pain and restraint. I knew it was making me clench and tremble. I finally realized it was a light stroking across the tips of my clamped nipples, almost feather light, but it went on for several minutes, turning my level of arousal up and up. Then a prickling sensation, as if a stiff brush was being used in the same place, going back and forth over that border between stimulation and pain. Then the almost imperceptible stroking began on my labia, swollen against their clamps, and then light but painful prickling. Back and forth, nipples and labia, without ever touching my clit. Most of me was so tightly tied I could hardly even squirm, but my breath was hoarse under the hood.
    After what felt like hours of torment with no release, in the darkness and the silence I lost my bearings. I was so disoriented that when something hurt my cunt more than usual I tried to close my legs. Quickly a strap slashed down on my thighs, making me squeal and open them wider than before. I took the additional punishment on my inner thighs, my legs shaking with tension. Then the tiny stimulation continued, only both areas at once, with an occasional brush over the welts nearest to my cunt. I was way past the point where I thought I couldn’t stand anymore, when a cold metallic clamp suddenly closed on my clit. This bundle of nerves seemed to swell and burst. Within a moment I was shrieking my release into my gag, the fierce spasms stabbing my cunt like knives. I kept screaming, my gagged voice shrill in my ears, and kept coming as the clamp was yanked off and then replaced, again and again.
    That night they had to carry me to my little kennel under the stairs; I was so shaky and exhausted I could hardly crawl. I lay there, curled up on my side, my hand closed as usual around the chain that linked my collar to the wall. My bruises hurt against the floor. My clit was an aching awareness between my thighs, themselves painfully pressed together, welt against welt. I couldn’t sleep. My mind was for once shying away from what had happened, and this was so unusual that I began to wonder why. Reluctantly I took the experience out and touched it gingerly around the edges.
    My subjection that day had been unnerving, had left me shaky and off-balance, far more than could be accounted for by the physical experience alone. But why? I’d been confined for long periods before. For that matter, I’d been quite helpless from the moment I landed on this planet. They could do whatever they wanted to me; I couldn’t stop them.
    The hood. I winced. I had sometimes been able to see it coming – up to now. I’d had the sense of preparedness that goes