Get on all fours

You reluctantly get onto your hands and knees.

The guard kicks your knees apart with his boot, then puts his hand between your shoulderblades and pushes, forcing you to drop lower, onto your elbows. Your left breast slides across the leather of his boot as he uses it to push your elbows out from under you, until your face is against the floor, your breasts pressed against cold flagstone.

He pushes his hand insistently against the small of your back, forcing you to drop your belly, arching your back and raising your ass in the air - which is surely what he intended.

He kneels down behind you, between your spread calves. He slides his fingers into your wet pussy, and spreads the moisture over your puckered anus, repeating the process until he can slide two fingers into your ass easily. It shouldn't be that easy, you think - this body must be fashioned specifically for the role of submissive sex ****.

Then you hear him shift fabric aside, and you feel something hot, fleshy and bulbous pressing against your anus. He's gripped your asscheeks and pulled them wide, and in one excruciating thrust, he forces his cock deep into your ass, burying it so deep his balls nuzzle up against the insides of your thighs.

You scream into your forearm, and try to raise yourself up, but he holds you down with no obvious effort.

He pumps you hard, slamming his cock into you. You've never been violated this way; the feeling of something hot and alien and bulging inside you, in such a sensitive place, is overwhelming, and you briefly wonder if the whipping would have been easier, less complicated.

Because this is turning you on, just like everything else about this situation.

The guard has evidently noticed. “That's right, cunt, remember what you're good for. Show me your true colors, that's it, girl. Try to hit a man, will you? You ain't a man, girl - you're nothing but a piece of flesh, good for fucking and not much else. And you like it, God help you.”

Some time later, you come out of a haze of pain and arousal and realize that you're lying prone on the floor, the guard's come seeping out of your rectum. He's standing over you.

“Get up, bitch,” he commands, and pulls you by your hair back up onto your hands and knees. “Crawl.” He opens the door and drives you out of the cell, swatting your bare buttocks with a riding crop to keep you moving.

You crawl ahead of him in a fog - you're in some kind of dark, windowless arched hallway. He bids you turn right at an intersection between two hallways, then has you stop at a stairway.

Here he outfits you with a leather collar, leather wrist and ankle restraints, then attaches a leash to you. “Heel, cunt,” he hisses, and leads you up the stairs.

He leads you through a large, open hall with a large, roaring fireplace at the opposite end, then east through a short hall and into a room that looks like a library of some sort.

“Sit and stay, bitch. Show me you remember your place here.” With that he leaves.