A Wooden horse

"Stop," orders Master John. You obey. "Legs wider... Now keep walking." As if you have a choice with your nipple leash. Smooth boards brush between your legs. From their slopping nature, you can tell you are walking over a wooden horse. The pointed edge teasingly caresses your moistening nethers.

Air hisses from your mouth when his rough fingers touch your pussy. They move your lips to either side of the edge, ensuring it will split your slit. You hear a jack being pumped, and feel the dull blade rise. As the **** device presses into your most tender part, you instinctively stand on tiptoe. It continues to rise. And with a whimper, you feel your toes leave the ground

"Bend your legs," is the next order. Wordlessly, your master and mistress tie your ankles so that your feet are close to your cute butt. There is nothing you can do to take your weight off the edge in your cunt, and it is already starting to ache. Your heart skips a beat when you realize your heels, the last piece of normal clothing you were wearing, are gone.

Delicate hands grab your cuffed wrists and you hear a carabiner clip to the chain. There is the sound of an electric winch again, and your arms are pulled up into strappado. The tension in your shoulders forces you to lean forward, pressing your clit into the wedge you're riding. The weighted chain swings, tugging on your clamped nipples.

Lubricant flows onto the device torturing you as you try to listen to your doms. The creak of their outfits, the tap of dress shoes and fetish boots on the floor, and devious whispering are the only clues to their plans.

"Shake that ass for us bitch," Master John commands and strikes your tight butt with a cane. You instinctively twitch and keep jiggling your booty, grinding your pussy into the painful edge in the process.

Slap a hand taps your face. It is gentle enough to not hurt, but reminds you of your vulnerability. Slap this time your other cheek is struck. You can't even see the hand let alone defend yourself. The steady rhythm of the cane on your ass doesn't let up while you are being toyed with. And thats what you are, a toy, something to be used, played with. You moan.

Mistress Mercy's hand grips you by your jaw. "That's our girl, our little whore."

"Toy," you correct, scrapping together a surprising amount of boldness while tumbling through subspace.

The next slap is very hard. "Our toy still needs to learn manners," Mistress Mercy scolds. Your mouth twitches with a grin. "We have a lot more training ahead." You whimper your excitement and nod. She strokes your check, and you think you hear her smile.

"The **** will be a little too busy today for proper training." Master John tells her in a matter of fact tone, still drumming your ass. You don't know if you are turned on by his callus tone or the fact that you apparently have full day as a sex **** ahead of you.

"We have her now," Mistress Mercy counters. Her fingers stroke along your lips. You moan at her tender touch. "Suck," she orders.

One finger slips into your willing mouth. You suck deeply on it and pick up a slight sour taste. Was she touching herself? or maybe fingering another woman? The finger slides back and forth, eventually being joined by the second. You instinctively bob your head like its a cock.

Master's cane leaves your ass and starts painfully tapping your thigh. The echos of pain remain on your red ass as fresh pain kisses your leg.

You squirm. There is a persistent pain while riding the horse. It makes you feel like it is sawing into you. Shifting only makes it hurt worse or better. Over the sound of your own sucking and moaning combined with the constant tap of crop on flesh, you can just barely hear the wet sounds as you rock against the pussy blade.

Two more of Mercy's fingers enter your mouth. "Is your face worth fucking?" she asks while pressing all four fingers to your throat, making you cough. You shake your head. "That's right only good toys get fucked." You nod. "So this toy knows something of her place. I have another toy." You hear the tell tale buzz of a vibrator. "You know what this toy does? It gets people off." The buzzing is muffled as if buried in soft womanly folds. She moans her next question. "Would you like to make people cum?" You nod. Imagining the feel of snuggling into her warm pussy, your tongue wiggles between her fingers. "Good try, toy," she approves, "but you need to do better. Your all tied up. How will you get me to orgasm?"

With a hand hard-fucking your mouth, its hard to answer. Before you can mumble out some half baked idea, Master John's crop strikes your breast.

"I guess your just going to have to be the porn I watch," your domme decides. You attempt to moan an agreement, but another strike to your dangling breast turns your response into a pitched cry.

All that escapes your mouth are gargling squeals as Master John slowly yet deliberately taps your **** tit-flesh. Mistress Mercy doesn't speak to you for a minute. Her hand remains in your mouth, but she seems focused on whatever the vibrator is doing to her. "Mm, hhh, Nnnggh," she moans in rising passion. Motivated by carnal, submissive desires, your pussy grids against the hard edge as if it has a mind of its own.

By the time Mistress Mercy's cries of pleasure reach a climactic conclusion your **** for more. It could be the nicest, thick cock or the cruelest jump cables, your cunt just needs more attention.

And you get it. "Straighten our toy up, please," Mistress Mercy says, "I want access to it's clit." Master John stops tapping your tit, and his strong hand pushes you back. Screams of pain radiate from your shoulders as you are **** to sit up and awkwardly bend them. Then the punishment starts anew on your other tit. The pain is only bearable because your clit is off the wooden hoarse.

"This is more than you deserve," your mistress says, "but my name is Mercy." She presses the vibrator into your sex. It has a small tip she is able to place against your clit and the tender, tormented nub explodes with pleasure.

Pain and pleasure mix so much in your mind you're not sure which is which. Between the wailing "oh yes"s and whimpering "fuck, fuck, fuck"s you manage to plead "may this toy cum?"

"Tell us what you are," Master John orders.

"I'm a useless toy, a cock sheath that needs to be punished," you squeal as the world spins around you. "My holes need to be filled. I want to be fucked and used to satisfy perverted desires."

Your mistress's whole hand enters your mouth again, putting considerable pressure on your throat. "Keep going," she says coolly "and cum for us."

Inhuman coughs and gagging sounds are all that reach your ears, but you keep trying to **** yourself around the oral intruder. You feel a rising build up of pleasure and scream as it reaches its peak.

And then fireworks!

It's the most intense orgasm you can remember: the pain, degradation and overwhelming pleasure. You buck wildly against the horse. Bursts of pleasure continue to make your fingers twitch and toes curl long after your mistress mercifully takes the vibrator away from your inflamed clit. When you're thrashing dies down to whimpers, your doms start untying you.

You slump in a heap to the floor, panting and secure in the knowledge that even if Mercy and John are done with you a whole building full of people have lined up to use and **** you.