Beautiful Nightmare Part 3

by Rhys B. Crabtree about a year ago in fiction

A Liars Into Lessons Story

Beautiful Nightmare Part 3

"Please... I'm sorry."

I pause and look up from where I'm cleaning the blood off the 'tail in the attached bathroom. Mariah is a sight to behold, dripping blood from multiple open welts that dot the once pristine landscape of her body. She looks good like that, all open and sore and filled with agony.

"Sorry for what exactly, whore?" I question, shaking my head as I go back to cleaning my toy.

"I'm... I'm sorry," she repeats and I huff an exasperated breath. It's bad enough this bitch is making me waste time washing my dragontail because she bleeds so easily and soaked it. Again. This was the fifth time in less than an hour that I'd had to stop just to clean it so that it could catch and tear across the skin properly. But now she wants to babble nonsensical pleas? Seriously? "I-I'll be good... I promise. Please."

"I'll be good," I mock with a roll of my eyes. "Sweetling, you'll never be good, whether at all or enough. Otherwise I wouldn't be here." I let out a deep, controlled breath, trying to regain my composure and give up on cleaning the dragontail. It's clean enough.

Well, probably not but I'm impatient and if she's going to make noise, it may as well be screaming and begging in the proper way. I didn't plan to cut her tongue out quite this early but I'm not opposed to it if it's necessary to shut her up.

There is only so much blubbering I can take before my control snaps.

"Please," she begs mindlessly again and I snort, closing the distance between us in three strides I slip behind her. Grabbing her by the knee, I jerk her left leg up, exposing her redened, bleeding cunt. She's whimpering pathetically before I've even gotten myself positioned properly.

"Beg like that all you want, whore. It will net you nothing but pissing me off." I lean forward, chin hooked over her shoulder, bare chest pressing along every one of the open whip marks on her back, my sweat sinking into them and making them sting. "And if you think what I've done so far has been unpleasant?" I laugh low and dangerous.

"I'm even worse when I'm angry."

With no more warning than that I flick the 'tail up from behind and underneath her, the tip making full contact with her throbbing clit. I don't even mind that her scream makes my eardrum feel like it's burst, it's worth it to feel the way her body ripples against mine, every muscle tightening and relaxing in spurts and at random while it tries to decide what direction to go to escape the agony it feels. But there's nowhere to go. Between her shackles, me, and the near-blizzard conditions outside? She's not making it anywhere. Least, nowhere that's safe.

"Please! Please," her voice cracks around the edges, new tears streaming down her bruised and bloodied face. "I'll be good. I promise. I'll do anything, Sir, anything. Just... mercy... Please, God, mercy."

I guffaw. I can't help it. The absolute audacity of this waste of a soul in a meat shit. Bargaining, with me of all things, when she knows she has no leg to stand on? I'd be impressed if she hadn't already managed to thoroughly piss me off.

"Oh, am I your Sir, now?" I coo and she freezes, realizing her mistake too little, too late. "Are you going to suck my cock clean of your blood after I've dry fucked the only truly tight hole you have left?"

I toss the 'tail onto the bed behind me, bringing both hands up to her hips, trailing my fingers over her abdomen with its pregnancy stretch marks and C section scars, over her ribs to cup her breasts, heavy and sagging from carrying milk for four children and the gravity of age. I pinch and roll her nipples gently, teasingly, if only because it'll fuck with her mind for me to completely 180 from mind-shattering torture to this. And sure enough she moans softly, the sound bitten back, fought against, body shifting as the first scent of arousal tinges the air.

Gods surrounding, but I miss having a plaything that gets off on the torture.

"Are you going to beg to cum while I fuck your throat raw until your vocal chords give up entirely and you're voiceless for weeks afterwards?" She tosses her head back when I pinch just a little harder, not enough to be painful but rather enough to catch her attention and hold it. "Are you going to proudly wear the scars I leave across your body, press your fingers into the bruises from my teeth and my hands and my toys while you fuck your useless holes with toys and cocks that will never fill you like I can?"

All she does is whimper, rolling her hips back against me as much as she can given she only has purchase on her toes.

I snort. "You haven't earned the right to call me Sir. You haven't even earned the right to beg me for mercy, for forgiveness. All you've earned," I go still and feel her tense as she registers the shift, as she remembers where she is and who it is that's touching her, "is a slow, painful death."

With a vicious pull and twist, nearly rip her nipples off, making her kick and flail, back bowing to try to follow after my hands.

"God, help me!" She cries out, sobbing around the words as I let go of her and step back in front of her.

"Your god can't hear you here," I pat her cheek, giving her my award winning smile as I do. "No one can."

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Rhys B. Crabtree

Originally from the Mississippi Gulf Coast (USA), I now live in the Lowcountry of South Carolina (USA) with my husband and three cats. I am currently working on my larger series which can be found at

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