Just as I gave into the sensation of the hot tongue at my arse, I felt cold hard metal at my pussy lips, twisting, turning, pushing in. I tried to pul... away, but my hips were against the bench, and a strong hand pressed down into the small of my back, the tongue at my arsehole replaced by a thumb, rubbing and pushing as the metal rod was slowly slipping into me. As the rod was pushed in, then slowly pulled back, the thumb at my arse pushed a bit harder, the tip just squeezing in, then easing. He has done nothing but humiliatingly stick his cock up my ass. He has reduced me to a piece of meat. And I can’t stop thinking about him, about his fat cock, about sex. it is like some grotesque variant of Beauty and the Beast. I find myself actually feeling sympathy for him. I find myself needing him. If I am honest with myself I will admit I find myself wanting him. And what he does to me. What he makes me do. He exudes power. Mastery. Images of that clinical torture chamber inside the vault. More

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