British Indian Malvina (compilation Of Solo Scenes)

I won’t kill you, but I will break you to get what I desire.”Belind looked up and saw an emerald mist around her hand, feeling a tingling he noticed too the mist was swirling around his genitals. He looked at her in fear as she slowly started to close her spread hand.He felt a squeezing and let out a sharp gasp of pain, curling into a ball as agony lanced through him, he felt tears spring to his eyes as she released the pressure, stopping the pain as if it had never existed, tilting her head curiously, “I will continue to do this until you submit.”He lay there, without responding. “Very well…”“Wait! Wait! Please, no!” he cried out, desperate not to suffer a repeat of the phantom pain, “What… What would you have me do?”Ariela grinned and lowered her hand, resting it on the arm of the throne, though the mists still lingered, “You’ve lain with a woman, yes? You’re no virgin?”He nodded tentatively.“Then you’ve had your cock sucked I presume?” she said, grinning as she waved her hand. The only real marker of reality, the last vestige of the mind’s connection to the body of the creature, now almost abjectly object, animal, property is in her movement. There is no part of my body that is not physically, palpably hurting, aching dully or stinging with pain without reprieve. The endorphins have long worn off – a frustrating paradox. What is now pain that I want direly to escape was precisely what was integral in bringing about the incredible rush that I had craved all my life in the first place. Such sadistic pain giving such perverse pleasure, and now, even feeling the full extent of hurt and no longer able enjoy it, there remained a deep need, an almost mechanical response to you. Like a child awaiting Santa, the Gothic version of that tale.It starts from my toes to my feet, neatly caned in rows from sole up, the design similar to that on my back, ass and thighs, only from different instruments of torture. The layered stripes now a mix of angry red, bruised.
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