Page 68 of Cruel Pleasures
“This rope,” I breathe, “it feels…”
“Good? Bad? Too much? Too little?”
I’m not even sure.
As my pussy pulses and juices slick between my thighs, I’m breathing harder. I’ve lost concept of anything beyond this moment.
“And now,” he goes on, “we’ll put you on display. The real punishment will begin.”
My heart leaps in my chest as I realize what’s happening.
He’s hooked the harness he’s created on my body to a rig that’s mounted to the ceiling. He pulls on another end of the rope and my feet leave the ground. I yelp as I’m lifted up higher, the sturdy rope becoming a cradle that holds me suspended several feet in the air.
“You are art, bunny,” he says once he stands back to view the end result. “But I need your little cunt to be on display too. Which means…”
I squirm against the rope to fend him off, though it’s useless.
He pushes my thighs up against my chest and secures me with another layer of the rope like the expert rigger he is.
And just like that, I’m suspended midair, folded up like a pretzel, completely naked.
I moan as the rope scrapes my skin. It tugs at various points on my body, taut around my breasts. But most humiliatingly of all, my pussy is out, no longer hidden by my thick thighs.
He gives me a light spin in my binds as if thinking something over.
“Do you like your binds, bunny?”
“Mmmmm.”
It’s the only thing I can think to say as I rock along in the rope like a swing.
“You should,” he says. “You should consider yourself lucky this is your punishment. Now would probably be a good time to let you know what you did—or more so, who you pretended to be.”
“No,” I pant. “I wasn’t trying to be anyone?—”
“Imani Makune. Age twenty-four. Clerk at Strictly Pleasures on Bell Boulevard. Five sisters. Middle child,” he recites listlessly as if bored. “Best friend of a woman named Lyra Hendrix. The same woman who was murdered by the man the press dubbed the Cleaver, Kaden Raskova.”
“Oh, no! Let me explain!”
Talking is noticeably difficult when suspended in midair. Every word takes effort and draws deep breath from my lungs.
“There is no explaining. You’ve been caught red-handed and the Hostess isn’t pleased with you,” he explains. “Which is why you’ve been sent to me. For punishment. Some suffering. Just know I intend on collecting.”
It’s now that I notice he’s come into the room with a briefcase. I had been too busy spinning around in circles to notice at first and then distracted by him and the rope. It clicks upon falling open and he reaches inside to retrieve nipple clamps.
“Have you ever worn these before?” he asks, holding them out in the palm of his hand.
I gnaw on my bottom lip and nod. “Yes… a few times.”
“Then this should be familiar to you. You have the perfect puffy nipples for these, bunny. I hope you enjoy them.”
The Warden steps toward me in another assured movement, like he’s already calculated the scene in his head and determined its outcome. I’m fixated on the pair of metal clips he’s about to attach to my poor breasts.
They ache already. The teeth on these look like they just might bite my nipples off.
His palm smooths over the round, full shape of my right breast almost lovingly before he rolls my nipple between his fingers and I flinch on that alone. The anticipation is almost worse than the clamps themselves…
“You might feel some discomfort as these go on. But you should grow accustomed soon.”
