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(CG) Round Three


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(Preamble: This is the fourth chapter of “the Crying Game”.)

The pitiable girl wept for what seemed like many hours, huddled in on herself on the frigid concrete floor. Her traumatized ass pulsed with each heartbeat, as if the flow of *** into her broken flesh was enough to cause more ***. Although her legs were beginning to cramp, the slightest movement of upper leg muscles rewarded her with new suffering. Just thinking about trying to stand was torturous, and she started whimpering again. Of course, she knew the game wasn't over, and repeating this gave her the courage to timidly stretch her legs, groaning as portions of her bum burst into flames.

An extended hand startled her; the sadist was near invisible in his black outfit with the darkness as backdrop. She took his hand in trepidation, as if she was proffering her limb to a vicious wolf, *** and death thick on his bated breath. He gently helped her to her feet, giving her a chance to get her balance against the table before strolling back to the deck of cards. The shivering girl stood with both hands on the tabletop, holding herself up, her gaze locked on the shimmering puddle where her head had been. He studied her, taking in the measure of her anguish; she appeared dazed to his scrutiny.

“Can you continue? Shall you surrender?” he sounded concerned and entertained, the Bastard had an uncanny, yet annoying habit of causing conflicts in her emotions. Case in point: she loathed him in this moment, but at the same time, wanted nothing more than for him to fuck her as cruelly as the thrashing she had just suffered at his very hand. She wanted to stare augers into his skull, but as she raised her view to his face, she couldn't bring herself to look into those cold, dark eyes. Rather, she merely leered at his thick lips, edges turned upward in that infuriating self-satisfied grin.

Anger and arousal welled up inside her. “I'm not done yet,” her confident toned surprised even her, and definitely didn't reflect the disquiet she honestly felt. She stepped into position grimacing, sliding down the table surface slowly, but far less willfully.

Once her hands covered the X marks, he scanned her shivering form before stating, “Pick a number.”

“Five,” she sniffled, trying to remain strong.

The Bastard snickered, tapping absently on the deck with an index finger. His gaze fell to the cards as he turned the top one over, and threw it listlessly to the discard pile. “Four,” he remarked, looking at the Four of Clubs in disdain. “That means you win, and will only receive five strikes. Which item will it be this time?”

As if struck with the cane again, the girl with the very tender bottom abruptly began to weep once more. Not because of the intense *** she still felt; not even because of the overwhelming anticipation of the flagellation yet to occur. It wasn't ***, hatred, or anger that caused her emotional out pour. It wasn't even how much she desired to scream “I surrender” at him until her lungs were empty and throat parched. In fact, all of those things were furthest from her thoughts as the weeping became blubbering, with giant droplets falling from her lashes and snot dribbling from her nose.

“What is it?” he spoke in a smooth, calm tone while reaching into his back left pocket to fetch a black hankie. He offered it in her direction, but she did not move to take it. With a smirk he said, “Take it, clean your face.” The timorous girl peeked up at the dark gentleman, then looked to the hankie before lifting an apprehensive hand to take it. She raised to her elbows and wiped at her cheeks and eyes, taking in his scent on the thin fabric. It was strangely comforting to have him wash over her in such a way, and it restored her determination to see the game through, stopping her tears. All she needed to do was get through another round.

She blew her nose into his hankie and handed it back as she muttered, “Thank you.”

He took the soiled rag with a scrupulous glare, leaving it on the corner of the table. Once the girl had settled, he asked, “Are you alright?”

“It's just...” she sniffled, interrupting herself, “It's just that I don't remember which items I've already picked.” She raised her hand to her face, trying vainly to hold back the immense emotion she was experiencing. Just considering the possibility of choosing the cane again made the wounded girl pule.

A heavy hand stroked her hair softly. “That's okay. Start with one you know you haven't picked, “ his voice was warm and encouraging.

“How many jokers were there?” she asked, calm once more.

“Just one to choose,” he raised a single finger to emphasize.

She considered briefly before saying, “Joker, then.”

He turned to the various instruments, quickly locating the tool she had decided. Flipping over the Red Joker, he picked up the trite item, easily hidden in his palm. “Just as the Joker is wild in many games, so is it a wild card in this game. The good news is,” she could tell he meant that ironically even though his back was to her, “you won't be getting hit this round.” He sniggered as the thunderous crackle of electricity frightened her to attention.

“This is a mini-stun gun. It's much smaller than the average stun gun, but only at a small cost to strength. That shouldn't fool you, though,” he let the small, rectangular black box crackle again as if to hammer the point home; the unsuspecting girl jumped with the abrupt noise. He trekked beside the table on her right, causing her to shift around and fidget to better hold him in her vantage. Certainly, that device terrified her, but not nearly as much as the sadist poised to strike just behind her.

He surveyed his artistry thus far, regarding it with a fond grin. Several places on her ass were already a very dark purple, almost black in contrast to her pale flesh. Across these, glowing red double lines traced the curvature of her cheeks, offering raised welts for his fingernails to rudely scratch through. Small drops of crimson flaked in some spots, but any slight wounds had already scabbed over. He cupped her buttock in his palm, and she pressed back into him in wanton desire.

“This is going to be a different kind of *** from what you've experienced so far,” he said absently, enjoying the heat radiating from her bum. “But have no doubt: This is going to hurt. You can cry and scream, even cuss and curse me. But I would remind you, do not move from your position.” A second passed, and as if an afterthought he cryptically added, “Oh, try not to forget to count.”

She puzzled over his wording of his last statement, but only for the moment. She flinched as the cold metal probes made contact with her battered skin, but the next moment, there was only disorientation and bewilderment, a surge of contractions tore through her body like echos of mistreatment. It left her nauseous as the waves subsided, and she wasn't even sure what she was doing. For some strange reason beyond her awareness, she felt the tickle of a word bubbling up in her throat; she opened her mouth and “One” floated out.

Her frail body hung limp over the edge of the table. She couldn't remember what she was doing, but knew she shouldn't move. The convulsions claimed her again, causing her to rattle violently on the tabletop. She was spitting afterwards, and angrily shouted, “Two!” The second shock seemed to clear the cobwebs from her mind, and she knew where she was once more. She also had a better understanding of what he meant by a different kind of ***, as she could feel the electricity throughout her entire body. What sounded like thunder distracted her just before being jolted another time, her body springing to life and dancing wildly; it was beginning to feel like she had exercised extensively after being stationary for a long time. “Three,” slipped passed her lips, and she realized a metallic taste lingering in her mouth.

She also realized he was suddenly on her left side, somehow. Her memories were fragmented, but she did not recall him moving, at all. He pressed the small box against a sensitive portion of her tattered bum and lit her up, a ragdoll being shook by a petulant child. *** covered her form like a blanket of jagged glass, and she was sweating profusely under it. Only, she wasn't hot; to the contrary, the cool air felt like ice against the perspiration. Fresh teardrops dripped from her cheeks as she weakly mewed, “Four.”

With a single step forward, she could feel his slacks on her leg, and she adjusted her footing to make sure she was still in the proper position despite the tremors. He slipped his empty hand between her thighs, and nonchalantly remarked, “What a filthy ***slut! For all the fussing and tears, it's here,” his fingertip glazed over her swollen, soaked vulva as if to draw unnecessary attention to the area, “that you are most wet. I guess I need to be more cruel; or maybe I just need to change the name of this to the Gushing Game.” The Bastard chuckled, obviously pleased with his cleverness.

Or maybe he was just that pleased with his cruelty, she would come to realize all too late. The small black box pressed against her clit, and in that moment, she knew she would learn, intimately, the depth of the monster's sadistic bite. As if lightning struck her cunt, she shrieked deafeningly, the throbbing ache ripping her awareness from her. It took so much energy for her to not cover her crotch with her hands and clamp her legs together tight, but she knew not to move for some reason, the importance beyond her.

Twitching slightly still, she found that she was weeping again. Far more embarrassing was the consciousness that she was urinating freely, pissing right on the floor with the sadistic fucker laughing over her. She wanted to yell at him, hurling hostile insults at the beast as if to spear him, maybe hoping to scare him away. She knew better though, and as she finished her potty break, she groaned out a victorious, “Five.” She felt like she was foaming at the mouth, and she hurt so bad all over.

However, he was right about something, she thought to herself as she watched him stalk to the instrument table to deposit the stun gun. She was aroused. “This round is over, you may move,” he spoke in a proud tone she thought, and it only made her more horny for him. Of course, she couldn't quite manage to budge a finger yet without a grimace. Rather, she melted into the hard wooden surface, enjoying the experience and the release.

“Once you can move,” there was a stern note in his voice, “clean up your mess.”

(To be continued...)


😂😂 wait ... The stun gun was at half velocity 😈😈


Oh dear God what a fucking arsehole of a man!!!! 😡😡 but....everyone just loves a sadist lol in truth though, I don't think I'd have made it past the previous deck of cards -  kudos to her for that!  Strong will is soooooo under appreciated lol......another great extract Cade!  Well ***y done!!!! 👏👏

  • 2 years later...

Great chapter, Cade! The story unfolding is brilliance and very captivating! You are an excellent writer!

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