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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a vivid, explicit story of love, pain, and torture. It is very unlike my usual stories of gentler taboos. Be warned. Here's an excerpt:
I heard footsteps and stared at the door, waiting and hoping. Hope is the thing with talons that can rip out your heart when you're disappointed, or tear into your most vulnerable tissues when you get your wish. The opening door meant pain, but it didn't matter. He was smiling. I hoped he was smiling at what he saw--my body spread completely with thin trails of blood running down my breasts and thighs. The end of a dildo barely showed between my labia because he had pushed most of its nine inches in, pressing it hard against my cervix, but the wire that would energize it was visible dangling from my vagina and snaking across the floor to the control box behind him.
My nipples pointed at him, red and rough from the needles he'd used on them that morning.
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