Fantasy
Owned by Persephone
A Sadism Story
“You should know, Paul,” she said, “That if I let you come now, I’ll own you and I can use you however I like. Sometimes it will be for pleasure. Other times it will be pain.”
Pain.
It was the first thought in my head when I came to.
The chains around my wrist pinched, but it was nothing compared to the agony over every inch of my torso.
I couldn’t really make out much in the dark room, but I knew I was chained upright and naked against the wall in some sort of dungeon. The walls were rough against my nude back and they chafed my wounds when I moved.
The door to the dungeon creaked open and light poured in. It silhouetted the figure of a petite woman.
“Are you awake?” Her voice was gentle, traveling like a whisper all over my skin. I squirmed against it.
“Yes,” I said. “Am I dead?”
The last thing I remembered was suffering repeated strikes against my chest before I gave into the darkness.
“Why do you mortals always ask that?” She giggled as she walked, a light tinkling sound. “Of course you are, that’s why you’re here. Now, whether or not you remain dead, well…that depends.”
“On what?”
When she got closer, I could make out her features. She was devastatingly beautiful, long red curls tumbling down in waves to her waist, cat-like green eyes, and cherubic cheeks that dimpled when she smiled.
“On me,” she said.
She reached out, and I hissed as her fingers brushed over the large bruise on my chest. The sharp pain faded to a prickle, then cooled into obscurity. I watched in wonder as the bruise disappeared. She trailed her hand over the rest of the wounds and every spot she touched felt like a breeze blew on it as the healing occurred. I looked back into her eyes, immediately enraptured by her gaze.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Persephone,” she said with a wink. “I’m kind of in charge of the underworld.”
The name sounded familiar, and so did the place. But something about the statement didn’t seem right. I didn’t have time to think about it, because her hand continued to move over my chest and then suddenly, it grazed over my nipple. I jerked.
She smirked at my reaction, pinching the nipple between two of her delicate fingers and rolling it. A moan tore out of my throat. My cock instantly rose, beckoned by the pain.
“Do you remember how you died?” she continued in that conversational tone, twisting my nipple until I gasped. Fuck. Right now, I couldn’t remember my own name, much less details like that.
But she wouldn’t relent. Her other hand drifting down to stroke my naked cock. She did it expertly, seeming to know the exact amount of pressure to exert to drive me crazy. After a while, I started moving helplessly into her grasp.
“You better remember, Paul, or I’ll stop.”
“No. Please.” I shook my head. She couldn’t stop. If she stopped, if I lost the feelings…I think I might die.
“Then remember.” She leaned in and her scent, like lilacs in rain, invaded my senses. I couldn’t think past anything but the smell of her and her soft hand on my cock. It had been so long. I could feel my semen rushing up, feel tingling at the back of my spine that signaled an incoming explosion so intense I just might choke on it…
Then she gripped my cock tight, cutting off my release. Pain ripped up my spine, and I screamed.
“Mmmmm,” she murmured, her eyes curling upwards with her smile. “You cry out so well. Truly beautiful.”
She loosened her grasp and started stroking my cock again, soothing me while I flinched in aftershock. She leaned forward and licked my neck. With her eyes on mine, she licked all the way down to my reddened nipple, circling the puckered nub with her little tongue. Shit. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t watch. Feeling it was bad enough. She bit my nipple lightly and my head fell back, grinding into the wall.
“I liked when you screamed for me,” she whispered into my ear, her hair brushing my oversensitive skin. “It goes straight to my clit. Can you do it again?”
“Wha-?” I cried out as her hands tightened once more on my dick. My toes curled, and my breath burned in my chest. I didn’t exhale until she released her hold and caressed it softly.
And somehow I was even harder than before.
Lord, I don’t know how much of this I’ll be able to bear.
But she did it again, and again, and again. The pain-pleasure cycle drove me insane, so much so that I didn’t know which one I craved . Agony and ecstasy merged, becoming one until my cock was throbbing, aching, and abused, but I wanted to beg for more.
And then I did.
“Please…” Was I asking for the torture to stop or for it to continue? The longer it went on, the more it chipped away at sanity, until I lost all cognition and became a purely sensate being. “Please…”
She immediately removed her hands.
I opened my eyes and watched her standing there with an impish grin on her face.
“Paul,” she said. “I’m really going to need you to remember why you died.”
What? Now?
My mind was racing, but not with anything relevant. My cock was jerking and leaking pre-cum, every surface of my body so sensitive that a stiff wind would probably get me off.
Please, fuck. Give me a wind.
But she didn’t. Her soft hands were laced behind her back. She wouldn’t give it to me if I didn’t remember.
I gritted my teeth, forcing my brain to work again.
My name. She called me Paul. Paul…
Tisdale, it whispered in my mind.
With that, bits and pieces of memories dropped into place.
My name was Paul Tisdale. I washed dishes at a restaurant for a living. Great. How did I die?
Pain. A beating. I was beaten up. What did I do? There were five of them, but they weren’t there for me. They were harassing a lady in the corner, and I went over to stop them, despite common sense dictating otherwise.
Idiot.
It was five against one. I tried to fight back, but it was no use. One of them, an absolute behemoth, kept kicking me in the chest. I yelled at the lady to run, but I think they grabbed her, anyway. I couldn’t help her. The hits kept coming until…it faded to black.
“I remember,” I told her, mostly because I was desperate to have her hands on me again. I wanted her to bury the unpleasant memories under her glorious touch once more.
She smiled, stepping closer. “Good boy.” One fingernail trailed down the middle of my chest, over all the places the wounds had been. “You were very brave Paul.”
As her hand went lower, she leaned in to lay a kiss on my chest, over my heart. A heat built inside me from where her mouth touched, turning my whole body into an inferno. I’ve never felt so alive as her hand snaked back around the base of my erection, jerking it at the perfect tempo.
She continued talking as she did. “Now that you know who you are, you should also know about me. Like I said, my name is Persephone. Hades left me in charge after he died and…well, there are quite a few people who aren’t happy about it. His brothers for one. They want me dead…or worse. I could use a brave soldier like you on my side.”
“Why me?” I managed to gasp out.
She bit my earlobe, and every nerve in my body jumped. “Because I want you, Paul. Because you’re so special and you don’t even know it.”
Special? She must be talking about someone else. Paul Tisdale was nobody. Always has been.
But the woman with the hand around my cock could make me believe otherwise.
“You should know, Paul,” she said, “That if I let you come now, I’ll own you and I can use you however I like. Sometimes it will be for pleasure. Other times it will be pain. You will be mine in every sense of the word, my fuck toy, my protector, my slave. If you’re not amenable to this, then you should say so now and I’ll stop.’”
Stop? Not a fucking chance.
“Yes,” I begged. “Yes please, I’ll be yours. Just let me fucking come!”
She must have been pleased with my answer, because she leaned in and kissed me, squeezing as she stroked, once, twice…
I detonated in an orgasm that zapped my mind.
She didn’t stop jerking my cock as I screamed out my pleasure. She didn’t stop after that either, and the ecstasy quickly morphed into pain.
“Fuck.”
I squeezed my ass cheeks, trying to twist away from her grasp, but I couldn’t. I was held in place by the chains around my wrists and now a heavy collar had appeared around my neck.
She laughed, a cruel and beautiful sound.
She stroked me faster and faster, and I couldn’t escape from it. I could only take it waiting for the torture to end, until, to my surprise and shame, I came again. It was a torturous, biting orgasm that should not make sense, but had me roaring all the same.
After the second orgasm, she blessedly let my poor cock go.
As I panted, spent, against the wall, she smeared my cum on my cheek.
“Welcome to the underworld, Paul Tisdale,” she said.
