CN Flower vs. The Spider Ch. 03

A Whole New Kind of Sting

The steely-eyed man left CN Flower, protectress of Toronto, hanging out the window for a while, panting, cum dribbling out of her pussy, before finally releasing the windowpane which had locked her in place. He reached out the window to grab her hair, and used it to yank her back inside, where she landed in a heap on the floor. She saw that the man's cock was already back inside his pants. In fact, to all appearances he'd been involved in no strenuous activity at all; he could have been reading the newspaper a few minutes ago, rather than relentlessly pounding her sloppy cunt.

The moment she was free of the window some of Flower's former will started to return. To hell with how she had allowed herself -- nay, enjoyed! -- to be used as this stranger's fuck toy, she'd deal with that later. Not to be outdone by his calm demeanour, she looked up and asked him, "Is that the best you've got?" In response he stooped down and slapped her in the face. Not hard -- not nearly as hard as he'd been spanking her ass a few minutes ago -- but the shock of it caused the blood to rush to her cheeks in humiliation. The worst part was that she sensed no anger in him. He wasn't lashing out, he was teaching her a lesson. The way one might hit a dog with a newspaper.

The comparison didn't sit well with her, and she realized she needed to get away from here, before he continued with anything like this "training." As she had done before, she feigned weakness for a moment, before suddenly getting up and bolting for the stairs... only to find herself immediately back on her face. In her confused state of mind she'd completely forgotten that her tights and panties were still halfway down her legs; the moment she'd begun to run, she'd tripped on them and fallen flat. A fresh trail of tears began to run down her masked face. She'd been trapped, used, and potentially even broken by this man, and now she had made herself look like an idiot in front of him. "You bastard," she whispered at him; the only thing she could think to say. "You fucking bastard."

Again, he gave her a moment to lie crying on the floor, before grabbing her by the hair, and walking toward the closest door. He was in no hurry, but neither did he give her much time to adjust, so she struggled madly to keep up with him, walk/crawling behind him, with her legs still impeded by her tights. If she'd had just a second to cope, she could have pulled them up or further down -- either would have helped -- but as it was she struggled to move along with him, and ended up half dragged by her hair.

Inside the room he threw her back to the ground, and with the flick of a finger indicated to her that she was to remove what was left of her tights. It dawned on her, at this point, that she hadn't yet even heard his voice; he had violated her pussy with his cock and her womb with his cum, and spanked her bare ass, but he hadn't even deigned to talk to her!

She also noticed that he hadn't bothered to close the door to the room. He didn't seem to be worried about her trying to escape, and as she removed her boots and her tights she realized that part of her really had been broken, she really had learned a lesson: She might get out of the room and down the hallway, but what would be waiting for her next, trapping her as effortlessly as the window had? Not to mention the fact that she was now completely naked. Where could she go without a stitch of clothing (other than her cowl), his cum drying on the inside of her thighs?

Once her boots and tights were off, she simply sat there on the floor, head down, naked but for her cowl, waiting for whatever was to come next. She was numb; she wasn't sure if it was shock from what had already transpired, or her mind shutting down as it tried to process the new, submissive role she'd started to take on, or both. She found herself wondering what he thought of her body, whether it was pleasing to him, whether it stirred desire within him.

There was a bed, and he motioned to it. She didn't put up a struggle, she just went to it. There was a sex pillow on it, the kind that a girl draped herself over to more easily expose herself to the man behind her, and she supposed her pussy was in for another round of abuse. But she was past the point of caring (truth be told, there was more than scientific curiosity as to whether he'd make her cum as hard as he did last time), so she simply got onto the bed, draped herself over the pillow, and presented herself to him. There was no pretence left: she was his, to do with as he willed.

Part of Flower's mind was actually relieved by this willing submission to a stranger. There was a certain freedom in giving up one's will, and allowing oneself to be used as her "owner" desired. (Was that really what this man was? Her "owner"? Her "master"? She didn't know what to call him, she just knew that, for now, she was his, and part of her was eager for him to take her again.)

While these thoughts were crossing her mind, the man came to the head of the bed, where she noticed that there were bracelets attached to the wall. In her most profound statement of submission yet, she put up no fight when he cuffed her to them, and then went down to the foot of the bed and did the same to her ankles. With her lithe body spread-eagled on the bed, face down, draped over the sex pillow, she wondered again how sexy she looked to this man. Did he enjoy the site of her ass, shown off so nicely in this position? Her legs were far enough apart that her cheeks were spread a bit; if he really wanted to, he could probably see her asshole. She wished that wasn't the case -- the asshole isn't the sexiest part of the body -- but it was probably worth it for him to have easy access to her pussy.

Thinking of her ass made her slightly trepidatious again. She could take another pounding of her pussy (even yearned for it), but she wasn't sure if she could take any more spanking. Her cheeks were still red and tender from his earlier ministrations.

Whatever she was expecting, it was not the cold sensation she suddenly felt on her asshole. Had he poured some kind of liquid on her? And why there?

Flower's eyes flew open and she came awake as from a dream, when the realization hit: He'd applied lube, and he'd applied it to the wrong hole! All of her earlier docility was gone, and she struggled in vain against her restraints. She couldn't let him violate her there! But with the shackles -- which she'd let him attach with no struggle whatsoever -- there was nothing she could do. They were too tight, and her position on the pillow, which gave him such easy access to her back passage, also made it awkward for her to move.

She felt the head of his cock pressing against her back door, and found herself pleading with him: "Please no, not there! You can have my pussy! My pussy is yours! Please don't put it in my bum! Please -- Owww!" This last was a cry of pain, as he pushed the head of his cock inside her sensitive sphincter. Even with the lube, his entry wasn't nearly as easy as sliding into her pussy had been; she bit down on the sheet to try and deal with the pain, and to dampen the sound of her scream. His cock felt so big -- her ass was being stretched wide!

He left the head of his cock inside for a while, not pushing any further, letting her deal with the sensation of having a cock where she'd never had one before. When her cries died down a bit he started slowly rocking in and out of her ass, pushing a little deeper into her with each intrusion. Tears streamed down her face, from both the pain and the humiliation of having her ass violated, but she realized that once the head was inside, taking the rest of his cock didn't cause much further discomfort. She was even starting to get used to the sensation.

More than anything, it was a sensation of being full. This was the same cock which had been in her pussy short minutes ago, but it felt so much larger pushing into her nether regions. She had never felt as stuffed full of cock as she did now. That sensation of being filled up helped her deal with the entire situation: she was full of him. He was filling her up.

By this point he had managed to get himself completely inside her ass, and she could feel his balls slapping against her pussy with each thrust. He started to fuck her harder, now, and the pain was starting to recede. It still wasn't comfortable, but it was getting better. Aside from what was happening in her ass, her clit was rubbing against the sex pillow as he fucked her, which helped. In fact, she found that if she focused on that, and not the burning in her asshole, it was almost even... pleasant.

So she did. All of her concentration was aimed at the sensitive little nub of flesh at the top of her pussy, pressing against the sex pillow and starting to bring waves of pleasure to her body. Her breasts pressed against the bed. When she thought about being fucked, she didn't think about her asshole or even his cock, she thought only about being filled by him.

In this manner she found herself nearing an orgasm much quicker than she would have expected, but as opposed to the seismic, toe-curling orgasm she'd experienced earlier, in the window, this was a pleasant climax. She felt her body go warm, and felt her juices running down the pillow upon which she was draped. She didn't try to hide the fact that she was cumming; she was past the point of trying to prove anything to anyone, even herself. He had brought this pleasure to her; her cunt was flowing with juices he had caused to flow.

Before long he pushed hard into her, she felt his cock spasm, and she assumed he was cumming. She couldn't feel it, the way she could when a man came in her pussy, but she knew it must be the case, and it brought a sense of completion to her own orgasm: Not only was he deep inside her, filling her up, but he'd left his seed in her.

He stayed inside her for a few moments, and then he pulled out. There was a another moment of pain, as his cock pulled her asshole slightly inside out, but more importantly she was suddenly left feeling empty. He had had both of her holes; now she was bereft of him.

He walked around the bed and unshackled her hands and feet, then grabbed her clothes and threw them to her on the bed. Finally, after this entire ordeal, he said his first word to her:

"Out."

This hurt most of all. After the way he'd taken her, forced orgasms out of her -- and then let her have one on her own -- after he'd abused her body, used it for his own pleasure, and brought her to the point where she actually wanted to be used, he was leaving her empty and casting her out.

She said nothing as she put on her clothes, but she had to fight to keep back tears of shame and confusion. He walked her down the stairs and out the door, then locked it behind her.

In a daze, she walked down the block to her motorcycle, and drove it home. There were few cars on the streets at this time of night, but she drove slowly anyway. Her mind was so jumbled, and her body so confused, that she half expected the vibrations of the motorcycle to excite her once again, but the pain of her still raw bum cheeks, her over-stretched asshole, and the sensation of the grey-eyed man's cum leaking out of her ass as she drove, all worked together to prevent the ride from being pleasant.

Aside from that, her mind was on bigger things: Was she going to let this man own her?