The Van

You know you want me. You know you can’t stop thinking about  me. You crave what I have to offer, what I will give to you. Pain, so much pain, the best pain of your life.

This is how almost every email from him starts. He’s been hounding me for so long now, I barely remember the start of it. I’ve been part of that Kinks r Us website for a long time, it’s how I met my Sir, after all. And although I’ve chatted up friends, subsisters and Dom’s there, ….it’s not the focus of my energies. Sir is.

And then he came along. This Dark Lord Pain Master. He came, as others had from time to time, to my profile page, and inquired about my availability. I responded politely that I served another. Yet, he did not back off as other Doms did.

He pursued.

Sir said to ignore him, but it ate away at me, until finally after one provocative message, I exploded. I wrote the most anger-filled, mean, nasty email to him.  I went on and on about him disrespecting me, my Sir, my life. About his continued pushing for something that was out of his reach. About what a fucking stupid idiot he was to keep knocking on a door that was closed to him.

I knew you were thinking about me. Such passion. I know how to channel that. How to make you hurt. You want me. I know you do. You know you do.

I growled, I paced, yet I kept it together and just ignored him.  Still,  he was a constant irritant. And it fretted me. Why me? Why does he keep coming back to me? Surely there are more submissives in the Big City near to him. Why would he keep sending me email?

Sir said it was because I was amusing him, by replying now and again. That he was fishing and I was obliging by taking the bait time and again.

And likely He was right. So I continued to ignore the fool. I no longer mentioned it to Sir when I got an email, just read it,  boiled with righteous indignation, and deleted it.

I know who you are. I know where you are. You are mine. It’s time to admit the truth here.

Yeah. Right. Fucktard. I finally went to the website and got the fucking asshat blocked. No more emails. No more him sitting and jerking off to my profile pics. This huge weight just fell from my shoulders, and life was rosy once more. I didn’t bother Sir with any of the details, He’d told me to handle it, and so I had.

2.

This getting in shape thing is for the fucking birds. And, okay I did procrastinate a bit. Had the dinner dishes to do, and then the dog was curled up on the couch and trying to entice him off there once he’s settled? Impossible.

“Fine,” I grumble, fast-forwarding my ipod to my Walking Music set, as I set off in the gloaming without the damned pooch. I have the music up loud, driving me forward. I start slow, heading up West Street, and up it is. It goes for a long while at a gradual incline, which warms me up and makes me puff a bit. Traffic is getting lighter, which is a blessing. Walking while dragging in deep lungfuls of car exhaust is gross.  I walk to get healthy, not inhale second-hand car exhaust.

A car slows beside me and it’s dusky and I’m jumpy. I’m torn between moving on and ignoring, or taking a look. I can’t help myself, I look. Oh, she’s got to be 80 if she’s a day.  I give her directions to the street she is looking for, and pick up my pace as she slowly peels into traffic. A white van almost, almost takes her out, but stops in time. She does a wide U-turn, making me shake my head.  The van creeps by, as do the three other cars behind it.

I turn down my first cross street, then just a half-block ahead, the second street. This street is so quiet. Houses have lights on inside, families moving through their evening. It’s peaceful, serene even. I relax and remember why I love walking at this time of night.  I hear a vehicle come up behind me, and I move to the right side of the street to let it pass. A white van pulls a bit ahead of me then stops. The side door opens.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

I pull out my earbud. I come abreast of the door. It happens fast, though it feels like slow-motion. He whips a bag over my head, his hand over my mouth and throws me into the van. I hit my head, breath whooshes out of me. Reaching up I try to tug off the hood, yet I’m propelled forward. I feel something closing around my neck,as the sack is pulled off, and a ball gag is forced between my lips. It’s fucking huge, way bigger than the ones Sir and I have played with. My jaw starts aching, and I’m slapping and fighting. My wrists are secured, and I can dimly see the outlines of a cage? No, it’s a gate. It separates the front driving area from the cargo area. Along the sides are a things I can’t fully see. There is only a tiny bit of light, he has curtains separating so someone looking in the windshield won’t see anything amiss.  And my head is stuck through an opening, and secured with straps.

I’m folded in half, head and hands stuck through the gating, when I feel him cutting my shirt. He’s not said a word beyond that initial “excuse me Miss” that caught me. I pull and tug on the gate, trying to scream but only mewling sounds come out. And drool. Lots of drool. I feel the cool metal of scissors, hear the snic snic snic snic  as he works his way up my tee-shirt. He tugs and pulls until I feel cool air on bare skin.

He snickers, and I feel the pinch of clamps against my nipples, and the tug of chain.

“You’re gonna want to stay on your feet, cunt. If you fall over, you might just rip those nips right off.”

I hear the side door open then shut quickly.  He comes around and jumps into the driver’s seat. I feel like he’s been there, van running, for a long time, but no one has come to see what’s going on.

My heart is racing, as he drives off. As I try to get my balance, I feel the tug in my tits. He must have fastened the chain to the fencing in front of me. Hurts. Hurts.

He called me slut.

He had nipple clamps.

And a ball gag.

I shake my head. It’s impossible. There is no way he could have tracked me. Traced me. I don’t have my city listed. How. How could he?

No it couldn’t be the asshat. Yet in my racing heart, I knew the truth. He had, indeed, found me.

3.

The van drew to a stop, and I tried to hold myself up. My legs were trembling; we’d been driving for a long time. My nipples were throbbing, my jaw hurt like fuck-all, and there was a line of drool running from my mouth to the floor.

There was a final jerking of the van as he put it in park, then silence as he killed the motor. My heart was flying out of my chest, and panic was making it hard to breath. The side door opened, closed.

“Hello, fucktoy. I told you I knew where you were. It wasn’t nice of you to block me that way.”

I heard a click, and a small light went on behind me. His hands were on my hips.

“Love this easy access.”

He tugged down my skirt, then before I could even think about kicking him with my trembling, aching leg, he grabbed my ankle, threaded a rope around it, and tied it off to a bracket on the far side of the van, then my other ankle. I was spread eagle, but with a lot of slack, enough that I tried kicking. I only hit air.

Ignoring my struggles, He secured a wide strap around my hips, and pressed a button. In moments, my hips were lifted just a bit higher than my head, and I was suspended. He pulled the rope around my ankles until it was taut, and there I was, hanging in the air, legs splayed.

“Pretty as a picture. Remember, slut, I promised you pain. A great deal of pain.”

He came around to my side, and tugged the chain on my nipples. Tears of pain came instantly. They were already tender and hurting. Fiddling with the chain made the throb more relentless. I felt the pull on them grow more intense.

“Nips need a bit of stretching out,” He said, with a laugh. “These weights will keep you thinking about them. For a short while, anyway, until I give you something else to think about.”

I felt the heated burn from my nipples. It felt like licks of flame, starting at my nipples and fanning out. It was intense, deep, uncontrollable pain. I was screaming around the gag, which made him laugh.

“See? You needed this. Pain is good for cunts like you.”

He slapped my ass.

“Mmm, nice big ass. Just how I like ’em. Meat to be beat, I always say.”

He slapped the same spot repeatedly; each blow seemed to be harder than the last. Each jolt made my tits bounce and bobble, hanging face down as I was, each jarring slap tugging on the chain holding my nipples. Instead of tiny licks of pain now, it was fire, pure white-hot fire lancing up through my tortured nipples, as I hung there, suspended.

Slap.

Jiggle.

Cry.

Snot, tears, drool splashed off of me with every blow. He kept hitting the same fucking spot.

“Fucking hurts, doesn’t it, cunt?” I lay, limply hanging, ignoring him, trying to not lose my mind. In a millisecond, his fist is in my hair, roughly pulling my head back and shaking it. My tits swing, the chain swings, the weights swing, and I scream. Try to scream.

“Answer me you fucking hole. Hurts. Don’t. It.”

He bobbles my head in a parody of agreement. His voice is mincing, mockingly high “Yes Master of Pain, it fucking hurts so much…” He reaches under me and grabs my right tit, squeezing it. He unbuckled the gag, lets it fall to the floor.

“Wanna hear you scream you fucking bitch cunt. SCREAM…” and his fingers clamp into the burning flesh of my tit, the clamp on my nipple folded over against the palm of his hand.

I want to disobey but I am unable to hold back the scream.

“We’re in my garage. Soundproofed.  Van is, too. Love the sounds you cunts make when I play. I told you I played hard, and I told you that you’d love it, too. Fucking slut. You bitches love this shit.”

He went back, and I heard something opening, shutting. Then a tap-tap along the back of my thigh.

“nothing like a little caning, eh, fuckhole?” The blows were rapid and sharp. Up one leg, and covering my ass. Across my back, even between my thighs. He kept hitting me, though fingers of his other hand began fondling my folds.

“Fucking slut. You’re cunt is wet. Soaked. You fucking little whore. You love your Sir. Right. Love him all you want, but you fucking crave what I’m giving you.”

His fingers slid in and out of my pussy, then split and pressed into my ass, too.  I hated that it felt good. I hated that my pussy grabbed his fucking, probing fingers.  The cane slapped against my ass and hips, all the while he fingered me.

His fingers left me, and he wiped the proof of my defeat across my ass. Leaning over me, he slapped the side of my tits with the cane. OH fuck that hurt. Gods it hurt. I was moaning, crying and begging for him to stop, please.

“yeah, right, you want me to stop?”

He threw the cane onto the floor. I felt him moving between my legs and I knew he was going to fuck me hard. His cock pressed against my pussy, and I heard the wet sound. He had to describe to me how it felt, to enter the hot wetness of my cunt. Had to laugh about my lying to him, to myself.

4.

He fucked me hard. His hips banged his cock deep inside of me, and I felt it coming, my own orgasm. I tried to push it away. I didn’t want it. Didn’t want to feel that feeling.

His hand reached under my floating body and pinched my clit, and I came unglued. He groaned as my cunt clamped down on his dick, pulsing and squeezing. His fingers kept squeezing me, making me squeak and wriggle to try to get away. It hurt, it felt so good, it was so sensitive. As the aftershocks died down, he grabbed my hips and began fucking me like a wild man, slamming into me harder than before.

My tits were rocking, the chain tugging against the floor with the force of every fucking stroke. I came again, screaming, back arching, nipples tightening. I felt the squirt, heard it splatter on the floor of the van.

He pulled out of my pussy, and pushed his way into my ass.

“Gonna fill your asshole with baby juice,” he groaned, pushing balls deep.

I have a love-hate relationship with getting my ass fucked. Sir is so good at it, it hurts and I cum like a crazy bitch. It feels good and I cum like a crazy bitch. There is something about getting my ass fucked that drives me wild. Even when I think I don’t want it…it turns me into a fucking wild whore.

This was nothing short of an invasion. He took. He used. His cock hammered into my asshole like the Allies swarming over Iwo Jima. I felt another orgasm building, and then his hand grabbed my hair again, pulling my head back like a bad pony.

“CUM,” he growled.

I came.

 

***********************************************************

dear readers. this story, this fantasy, has been building between nilla and Master for a week now. it remains to be finished…..

About vanillamom

For over 8 years--(EIGHT?!) nilla and M have been a D/s couple. I'm the "small s" side of that designation, as he often reminds me. I'm silly and prone to giggling at inopportune times. He's a wicked Sadist, who feeds me my drug of choice--pain. My brain is always spinning dirty and dark little fantasies, which I sometimes share with the world. Welcome to the nilla-verse. It's wet and slippery here...with a dragon or two lurking.
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6 Responses to The Van

  1. tipacanoe says:

    Great, I use to have a white van,when I was a much younger man. I think you must have known that somehow??? Tip

  2. Wordwytch says:

    Um…. whoa. And just how much do you go walking alone? On a Sunday? With headphones? Hmmm????

    • vanillamom says:

      i walk alone, a lot, with earphones, yes. Once DST starts? Almost every night (tho sometimes with the pooch)…ergo, the start of the scenario, eh?

      nilla

  3. Michelle says:

    For me, the fantasies that have a kernal of reality in them are the strongest so the idea that your Master could bring this one to fruition is super hot.

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