Warning: This chapter contains some potentially disturbing sexual/violent content. It's the start of a long night.


Chapter 7

In the next few minutes, Vernara once again fitted John with a studded leather contraption, while making a supposedly witty running commentary that he blocked out. He focused on channeling Teyla's inner calmness to detach himself from being powerless to stop her handling him like a mannequin. Vernara kept on talking while she slathered his imprisoned part with lubricating oil. He snapped out of his fairly successful meditation to conjure up all sorts of non-sexually stimulating mental images to try to stop the growing erection.

She moved to stand behind him. Knowing what she was going to do did not help him prepare one bit. As she pushed him forward with one hand, he automatically resisted. She loosened the end of his G-string strap and yanked it. His eyes dilated at the pain that blossomed in his crotch.

"Are you really in a position to fight me on this John? Lean forward." Seeing stars and wanting to curl up into a ball, he complied. Her heavily oiled fingers slid down from the bottom of his tailbone and she entered him.

He gasped. "Why can't you find men that would willing enjoy doing this with you?"

"That wouldn't be as much fun. You are too stiff, you really need to relax."

Without waiting for that to happen, she escalated the assault. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out. Her probing continued. A twinge of unexpected pleasure lapped around the deeply uncomfortable burning sensation. In response, John's mindless member stiffened even further.

"That always works," Vernara said with pride. "Men are so uncomplicated."

When she removed her fingers, the relief was immense. John knew if wouldn't last. This time, he tried to prepare himself for her predictable next move by attempting to slacken his muscles. But he just couldn't. He was too full of anger and anxiety to dissipate the tension that stiffened his abused body. Truthfully, he almost asked her not to do it, but he knew that it would have been no use. Without a doubt, she enjoyed violating him like this. She would delight in ignoring any pleas.

After slathering him with more oil—she seemed pretty much committed to proper toy maintenance—she ruthlessly penetrated him again. This time with a bulbous metal rod. A moan escaped his lips. From his position, he certainly couldn't tell if it was the same implement she had used before. Regardless, it felt like a hot poker had been rammed into him, just as bad if not worse than the previous time. She climbed back on the bed to sit facing him.

John hadn't noticed that somewhere along the way, Vernara had lost her robe. A black leather bustier squeezed and uplifted her breasts without covering the nipples. He had the sneaky suspicion that their outfits matched. Since her legs surrounded him, it was very clear that the tong she had on was strategically missing some material.

"The dominatrix outfit really suits you," he said as flippantly as he could manage. "You would make quite a splash in certain establishments in the world where I come from."

"Do not mock me," she backhanded him hard enough to draw a little blood from the corner of his mouth. "I may not understand everything you say, but I am not a fool."

She shifted her right leg and placed her foot snuggly at the apex of the "V" formed by his kneeling legs. Her toes wiggled to snuggle themselves underneath him. He could see the knife strapped to her leg—it definitely went with the outfit. It was so close and yet stayed unreachable.

She rose up tight against his body so that the her crotch was at the level of his mouth. She straddled his left shoulder with her right leg. He could feel the bindings of her knife sheath scrape his back. Using one hand to hold herself steady on the canopy crossbeam, she entwined the other hand in his hair and pushed him into her.

"This is a better use for your mouth," she said. "You will pleasure me to fulfillment. You can easily imagine what will happen if you refuse."

Again, he really had no choice. He was effectively imprisoned by the various restraints, her leg practically wrapped around his neck and most of her weight pressing down on his knees which, by the way, were positively killing him. Not to mention that she had one foot right where it would hurt the most. In fact, her sharp toenails seemed to have started on that job. He wanted to fight her off, but he knew that once again this was not the right moment. This forced passivity in the face of escalating subjugation was eating away at his soul, bit by bit.

He didn't know what was worse, being forced to go down on her or being unable to come up with any snarky remarks to throw back at her. He decided that the best approach was to get this over with quickly. Flying, fighting, military strategy and math were not the only areas at which he excelled. Despite the awkward position and the inability to use his fingers to move things along, he soon had her moaning and writhing. He mentally apologized to Teyla for conjuring up the ways he had fantasized he would please her (when and if they ever had some real privacy) as an inspiration for his current forced labor.

When she came with violent exuberance, Vernara screamed his name and almost ripped hair out of his scalp. Thank goodness that for all her horrible faults, she at least maintained reasonable personal hygiene. It could be a lot worse, he imagined—ever the optimist. Regardless, he would pay almost anything for a swig of a bottle of mouthwash right now.

Quickly regaining her composure, she unwrapped her leg from his shoulder and released his hair. In a smooth motion she widened her stance and repositioned her feet to his sides. Holding on to the columns to which his wrists were bound, she slowly lowered herself onto the most attentive part of his body. Once again, almost all her weight pressed down on his bent knees. Her feet moved behind him to press into his butt, rekindling the pain from the ever present invading rod.

"I am sure that the ladies have also complimented you on these other fine skills of yours," she said holding his slicked-up face. "Now, I suggest that you hold on. This might be a little rough on you."

Before he could vocalize his next witty reply, she entrapped his mouth with her lips and tongue. Her fingers hooked onto the back straps of his jocks, she began to rock. The pressure on his knees intensified. He grabbed onto to the ropes attached to his wrist in fear of being crippled. She rode him for long time, pumping and rubbing to maximize contact.

Close to her climax, she released his mouth and smashed his face into one of her breasts. The position was causing havoc to his neck. He didn't wait for her orders to suck her tit (of all the things she had forced him to do so far, this seemed to be the least horrific), he just did it to speed things along. He derived no enjoyment, but he felt himself release into her as she came again and again, loudly and demonstratively. At least the pressure in his dick had finally decreased to a more tolerable level.

She dismounted him and freed his shrunken genitals from their leather bondage. Afraid to look down to check on the damage, he rotated his neck trying to ease the pain radiating from it to both his shoulders and everywhere else in his body. He felt shaky and utterly exhausted.

"Well done John," she ruffled his hair playfully and then moved away to retrieve her gown. She put it on and, looking at the mirror on top of the dresser, she adjusted her braid. "As a reward, I may let you rest a little before the big surprise I have for you."

"You are so kind," he said sarcastically, while frantically thinking that any surprise she had in store could only mean really bad things for him.

"True," she replied. She then slipped the ball gag back into his mouth and quickly retrieved and replaced the blindfold. "I don't want to spoil the surprise."

John had learned to be especially nervous when she moved behind him. This time she started innocuously enough by nuzzling the back of his neck, right below the hairline.

"You know John, I do enjoy some of your witty remarks," she said in his ear. Her tone turned frigid as she continued, "but your insistent impertinence is not acceptable. I have been too lenient and now I must teach you a lesson."

He felt her touch his lower back with something that was thin and flexible and (big surprise) felt like leather. As she pressed the point and then the length of the implement on his bare skin, he realized that it was some sort of riding crop or whip. Crap, he thought, I should really learn when to keep my mouth shut.

"Get off your haunches so that I don't accidentally hit your feet," she warned him. "You would really not enjoy that."

Knowing that maintaining his mobility was essential to any escape plans, he took her advice and rose up off his heels. She struck him eight or ten times on the back. The sharp stinging pain accumulated. He bit into the gag to choke off his moans. As he hunched forward, she took a moment to delicately ease out the rod plugging him. He shuddered. Her free hand reached underneath him to find the G-strap which she pulled tight before knotting it to the back of his jocks. Just for good measure, she whipped him a few more times with a slightly more gentle touch. John did not allow a single sound to escape his lips.

"I'll stop now because I don't want to ruin you for my other plans." She used the whip to lightly trace abstract lines all over his torn back. Then, contradicting herself, she struck him once more with full force. "But mind your tongue, John, or you won't be able to sit for a very long time."

Having no choice but to keep his seething thoughts to himself, he took deep breaths to ride through the searing aftershocks of the punishment. She released the straps that had held his calves to the divan and pulled him to a standing position. He did not show how much it hurt to unlock his knees, and then lock them again so he wouldn't collapse against her. He loathe to touch her in anyway. His ankles were still restrained to something else, maybe the legs of the divan. His mobility was limited to perhaps half a step, and he couldn't close his legs. He shook and bent them to try to get back some circulation. He did the same to his still bound arms.

He froze when the door opened and Vernara said, "You two, put him in the harness and switch his restrains. Kharla set the tray down on the dresser, you may begin as soon as they are done."