The real life, Zoe nightshade part three
re like a caress against his bruised psyche, and Wiŋyanpata felt his body respond despite the agony he’d just endured. She was playing a dangerous game, one that was as thrilling as it was terrifying. He knew he was in no real danger, but the fear was part of the thrill. It was a dance of power and submission, and he was all too eager to see where it led.
Zon's touch was gentle now, almost tender, as she unstrapped him from and grabbed his hips, lifting him off of the table. She placed his right arm around her neck, and with surprising strength for her small frame, she guided him to the marble stairs. Each step he took sent jolts of pain shooting through his body as the soles of his feet, marred with pink stripes from her earlier attentions, made contact with the plush carpet. His whole body was a symphony of pain and pleasure, the line between the two blurred beyond recognition.
As they ascended the stairs, she whispered sweetly in his ear, "You're lucky I didn't hit the palms of your hands, baby. You'd be begging me to carry you up like a ragdoll."
Once they reached the top, Wiŋyanpata took in the sight before him. There was a bathroom with a simple white door, and even though was open he could see his color from the side, with a pink tiled floor and a matching pink tiled wall.
"There’s another bathroom down in the basement where we just came from. It’s got lovely yellow tiles on the floor and wall. My third bathroom is right across from the kitchen near the front door. It has mint green tiles on the floor and walls. My playroom is right across from my towel-and-rag closet, and both are in the center of the hall,” Zon explained, pointing to the playroom’s red door and the towel-and-rag closet’s violet door.
Then she continued walking, guiding him to her living room. Right before they reached it, Zon pointed to a burgundy-colored door that wasn’t facing any other and said that that was her bedroom.
The living room was a sight to behold. The floor was covered in a plush pink carpet, adorned with Hello Kitty characters that were about a foot long and four inches wide. The couch had lining fabric and cushions the Canadian flag. Just like the hallway and the outside of the house, the walls of the living room were made of Opal stones cemented together. Right next to her sofa on the right side near her back door, which is made of a large sliding glass door covered with white blinds. On the northwestern living room wall there was a wooden dragon clawfoot table with a gap in the spot where the top of the table should’ve been in a big glass panel resting on top of it. On the north end of the living room was a large flatscreen TV that also had a hello Kitty design with dark-pink Plastic covering it, and a little hello Kitty face at the bottom center of it’s plastic covering. Wiŋyanpata’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the whimsical yet oddly comforting decor.
Zon laid him on his stomach on the carpet and said “I’ll be right back baby. Don’t go anywhere!”
Wiŋyanpata watched her walk behind the sofa to the back door of the kitchen, his eyes glued to her shapely form in the tight leather. She opened it, and the sound of the microwave beeping echoed through the house. He heard the clatter of a bowl being taken from the cabinet, followed by something being dropped inside of it, and then the cabinet door closing. Then he heard what sounded like a microwave door being opened, the beeps of timer buttons and a start button being pushed, and then the microwave turning on. 30 seconds later, the three beeps are represented the microwaving head ended sounded in his ears. Wiŋyanpata heard Zon open the microwave door, take the bowl out, and close the door back. He listened to her footsteps walk down the kitchen floor to its back door.
The scent of buttermilk filled the air, and Wiŋyanpata’s stomach rumbled despite his current situation. He lifted his head, wincing as the pink stripes on his neck, push together, and saw that she was carrying a medium-sized bowl that had a blue Chinese design on it. As she got on her knees about a foot away from him and set the ball down in front of her, he asked, “did you use butter spread or butter sticks?”
“Butter spread would’ve taken too long so I dropped in two butter sticks that I had already opened in used previously. Buttermilk is absolutely great for getting rid of welts, bruises, and swelling!” She answered. Then Zon cupped her hands, scooped up the buttermilk, and gently rubbed it onto his throbbing backside. Wiŋyanpata couldn’t help but let out a deep, content sigh as the coolness of the milk soothed his skin. The sting of the welts from the whip slowly fading away with each caress.
Her touch grew softer, almost tender, as she worked her way up his spine, the warmth of the buttermilk mixing with the heat of his skin. She took her time, savoring the power she held over him. His sighs grew louder, and she could feel his body start to relax under her ministrations. The smell of the buttermilk filled the air, mingling with the scent of their sweat and the faint hint of leather from the whip she had just used on him. After all of the buttermilk in her hands had been rubbed into his bottom, she took a smaller amount and began to gently rub it into his arms and hands. Each stroke of her palms over his bruised flesh was like a gentle kiss, a stark contrast to the pain she had just inflicted.
Moving down to his neck and shoulders, Zon's gentle strokes grew more deliberate. She knew that the tender skin of both areas would be sensitive after the ordeal he had just endured. As she reached his upper back, Wiŋyanpata could feel his muscles loosen, the pain slowly giving way to a warm, soothing relief.
Then she did something unexpected. She reached down and, with surprising strength, hoisted his hips up so that he was on his knees, his body bent over in the doggy style position. Wiŋyanpata gritted his teeth, preparing for another round of pain, but instead, she took more buttermilk from the bowl and began to rub it onto his bruised and swollen genitals. The coolness was shocking at first, but then it turned into a soothing balm, easing the ache and swelling from the earlier whipping. Her touch was surprisingly tender, almost loving, and Wiŋyanpata found himself leaning into it despite the humiliation of his position. He began to slowly become erected her movements, which she deliberately made was slow enough so that he would not orgasm.
Once his dick and balls have been taken care of, she pushed him back down flat to the carpet on his stomach. Zon then scooped up the remaining buttermilk with both hands and returned her attention to his bruised and battered ass. Wiŋyanpata felt the cool liquid trickle down his crack, pooling at the base of his spine. The Dutch Arabic woman continued, making sure that no buttermilk was visible on his butt, and her hands were only damp, before pulling away.
With a racy smile, she grabbed him by the waist, lifting him up with surprising strength, and placed him over the arm of the sofa. Then Zon lean down over him, pressing her full body into him this time and whispered in his ear, “ i’m going to butt rape you!”
Wiŋyanpata turned around and looked at her and complete shock, which made her snicker. Zon then turned around and walked away from him in a predatory fashion, out of the living room down the hallway and then he heard her open the door to her playroom.
The silence was deafening as he laid there, the pain from the whipping and the anticipation of what was to come, making his heart race. The sound of a door closing echoed through the hall, and Wiŋyanpata braced himself for what she had in store. This time he didn’t dare turn around and look at the entrance to the living room to see what she was carrying. It was only when she grabbed the top of his bald head and lifted it with her right hand that he saw the purple dildo with a white saucer-shaped attachment in her left hand. In the same hand, she held a black remote control and had three buttons.
With a mischievous glint in her eye, Zon held the toy out to him, and with a playful tone, she ordered, "Suck on this, baby."
Wiŋyanpata stared at the purple dildo for a brief moment before taking it into his mouth, the taste of plastic and the faint metallic tang of the batteries mingling with his own fear and arousal. He did as she instructed, suckling and licking the toy as if it were a lollipop, his eyes never leaving hers.
After a minute that felt like an eternity, she abruptly pulled it from his mouth and strode behind him. He could feel her warm breath on his neck as she leaned in to whisper, "Good boy," sending a shiver down his spine. Her right hand’s nails dug into his flesh as she spread one cheek with a deliberate, almost cruel precision. With her knee, she parted the other, leaving his anus exposed and vulnerable.
Without warning, she shoved the saliva-slicked dildo into his anus, and Wiŋyanpata screeched like a startled cat. Zon cackled loudly. Then she pressed the lowest button on the remote control turning the vibrator setting on. As she pressed the top button for maximum speed, the intensity was like nothing he’d ever felt before. His body spasmed around the toy, trying to adjust to the intrusion, as the vibrations shot through him like bolts of lightning.
Her giggles grew louder as she watched his face contort with each pulse of the dildo, his moans a symphony of pleasure and pain. She took great delight in his squirms and squeaks, feeling a sense of power that was intoxicating. To increase his suffering, Zon grabbed the white saucer-shaped attachment at the base of the dildo and began to pull and push it back and forth, the movement sending shockwaves of agony through his entire body. The combination of the toy's vibrations and her cruel manipulation was overwhelming, a dance of pain and pleasure that Wiŋyanpata never knew existed.
Somehow, he managed to hold out, his body rigid as he clenched every muscle, fighting the inevitable climax. His eyes watered, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip to keep from crying out. The room grew hotter, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. His mind raced, trying to find some semblance of control amidst the chaos.
Then, without warning, it hit him. The dam burst, and Wiŋyanpata’s body convulsed as he came harder than he ever had before. The orgasm lasted for a full minute and a half, a seemingly endless crescendo of pleasure that left him gasping for air and his legs trembling uncontrollably. He shot ropes of cum down onto the pink carpet, painting a stark contrast against the vibrant color.
Zon watched with a mix of fascination and satisfaction, her eyes gleaming with excitement. When his spasms finally ceased, she turned off the vibrating dildo, squatted down, scooped up the mess, and began to rub it into his ass, her fingers tracing the curves of his buttocks with a disturbing intimacy. Wiŋyanpata cringed at the feeling, his body still sensitive from the intense climax. She chuckled at his discomfort, spreading the warm, sticky liquid over his skin with a wicked glint in her eye.
With a dramatic flourish, she removed the toy from his body with a wet pop that made him jump, and he felt the sudden absence of the intrusion. He looked back at her over his shoulder, his breathing ragged and his eyes glazed with a mix of pleasure and pain. She smirked and knelt down out of view, planting a kiss on his bruised cheek. Wiŋyanpata gasped at sensation of her lips on his caboose, the kiss lingering for 10 seconds before she moved onto his other cheek, she pulled back and stood up, looking down upon with a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Has anyone ever kissed your ass before, literally or figuratively?” Zon asked, her voice low and playful. Wiŋyanpata Shake his head no and there was a gentle smirk said, “But I’m sure plenty of men and women have done both to you!”
“You’re damn right they have, honey!” Zon excalimed as she helped him off the sofa, his legs wobbly from the intense experience. She led him down the hallway, and Wiŋyanpata couldn’t help but feel like a ragdoll in her grasp. They reached the burgundy door to her bedroom, and with a flourish, she swung it open.
The room was a whimsical blend of fairy tale and futuristic opulence. The walls were adorned with an intricate apple orchard mural, each tree laden with fruit that looked so real he could almost taste their tartness. The carpet beneath his sore feet was designed with a pattern of lemon and lime slices, a stark contrast to the softness beneath him. Her bed, a gleaming masterpiece of silver bars, looked both inviting and a bit intimidating. The sheets and pillowcases were a pristine white, adorned with a delicate four-leaf clover pattern that shimmered in the dim light.
Zon guided him to the center of the bed, and with surprising tenderness, she laid him down. She pulled the sheets up to the top of his thighs, leaving his bruised backside exposed to the cool air.
"Rest up, my little spy," she murmured, her voice a seductive purr.
"In one hour, I shall return to ride you like the stallion you truly are. I promise that it will be an experience more exhausting than what we've just shared," Zon whispered into Wiŋyanpata's ear, her breath tickling his skin. Her words hung in the air like a dark promise, sending a thrill of anticipation through his body despite his current state of pain and arousal.
With a graceful pivot on her heel, she stepped away from the bed, leaving Wiŋyanpata to ponder what new torments and pleasures she had planned for him. As she reached the door, she cast a playful smile over her shoulder, the pink leather of her leotard hugging her curves like a second skin. She blew him a kiss, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and then shut the door behind her.
Zon's touch was gentle now, almost tender, as she unstrapped him from and grabbed his hips, lifting him off of the table. She placed his right arm around her neck, and with surprising strength for her small frame, she guided him to the marble stairs. Each step he took sent jolts of pain shooting through his body as the soles of his feet, marred with pink stripes from her earlier attentions, made contact with the plush carpet. His whole body was a symphony of pain and pleasure, the line between the two blurred beyond recognition.
As they ascended the stairs, she whispered sweetly in his ear, "You're lucky I didn't hit the palms of your hands, baby. You'd be begging me to carry you up like a ragdoll."
Once they reached the top, Wiŋyanpata took in the sight before him. There was a bathroom with a simple white door, and even though was open he could see his color from the side, with a pink tiled floor and a matching pink tiled wall.
"There’s another bathroom down in the basement where we just came from. It’s got lovely yellow tiles on the floor and wall. My third bathroom is right across from the kitchen near the front door. It has mint green tiles on the floor and walls. My playroom is right across from my towel-and-rag closet, and both are in the center of the hall,” Zon explained, pointing to the playroom’s red door and the towel-and-rag closet’s violet door.
Then she continued walking, guiding him to her living room. Right before they reached it, Zon pointed to a burgundy-colored door that wasn’t facing any other and said that that was her bedroom.
The living room was a sight to behold. The floor was covered in a plush pink carpet, adorned with Hello Kitty characters that were about a foot long and four inches wide. The couch had lining fabric and cushions the Canadian flag. Just like the hallway and the outside of the house, the walls of the living room were made of Opal stones cemented together. Right next to her sofa on the right side near her back door, which is made of a large sliding glass door covered with white blinds. On the northwestern living room wall there was a wooden dragon clawfoot table with a gap in the spot where the top of the table should’ve been in a big glass panel resting on top of it. On the north end of the living room was a large flatscreen TV that also had a hello Kitty design with dark-pink Plastic covering it, and a little hello Kitty face at the bottom center of it’s plastic covering. Wiŋyanpata’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the whimsical yet oddly comforting decor.
Zon laid him on his stomach on the carpet and said “I’ll be right back baby. Don’t go anywhere!”
Wiŋyanpata watched her walk behind the sofa to the back door of the kitchen, his eyes glued to her shapely form in the tight leather. She opened it, and the sound of the microwave beeping echoed through the house. He heard the clatter of a bowl being taken from the cabinet, followed by something being dropped inside of it, and then the cabinet door closing. Then he heard what sounded like a microwave door being opened, the beeps of timer buttons and a start button being pushed, and then the microwave turning on. 30 seconds later, the three beeps are represented the microwaving head ended sounded in his ears. Wiŋyanpata heard Zon open the microwave door, take the bowl out, and close the door back. He listened to her footsteps walk down the kitchen floor to its back door.
The scent of buttermilk filled the air, and Wiŋyanpata’s stomach rumbled despite his current situation. He lifted his head, wincing as the pink stripes on his neck, push together, and saw that she was carrying a medium-sized bowl that had a blue Chinese design on it. As she got on her knees about a foot away from him and set the ball down in front of her, he asked, “did you use butter spread or butter sticks?”
“Butter spread would’ve taken too long so I dropped in two butter sticks that I had already opened in used previously. Buttermilk is absolutely great for getting rid of welts, bruises, and swelling!” She answered. Then Zon cupped her hands, scooped up the buttermilk, and gently rubbed it onto his throbbing backside. Wiŋyanpata couldn’t help but let out a deep, content sigh as the coolness of the milk soothed his skin. The sting of the welts from the whip slowly fading away with each caress.
Her touch grew softer, almost tender, as she worked her way up his spine, the warmth of the buttermilk mixing with the heat of his skin. She took her time, savoring the power she held over him. His sighs grew louder, and she could feel his body start to relax under her ministrations. The smell of the buttermilk filled the air, mingling with the scent of their sweat and the faint hint of leather from the whip she had just used on him. After all of the buttermilk in her hands had been rubbed into his bottom, she took a smaller amount and began to gently rub it into his arms and hands. Each stroke of her palms over his bruised flesh was like a gentle kiss, a stark contrast to the pain she had just inflicted.
Moving down to his neck and shoulders, Zon's gentle strokes grew more deliberate. She knew that the tender skin of both areas would be sensitive after the ordeal he had just endured. As she reached his upper back, Wiŋyanpata could feel his muscles loosen, the pain slowly giving way to a warm, soothing relief.
Then she did something unexpected. She reached down and, with surprising strength, hoisted his hips up so that he was on his knees, his body bent over in the doggy style position. Wiŋyanpata gritted his teeth, preparing for another round of pain, but instead, she took more buttermilk from the bowl and began to rub it onto his bruised and swollen genitals. The coolness was shocking at first, but then it turned into a soothing balm, easing the ache and swelling from the earlier whipping. Her touch was surprisingly tender, almost loving, and Wiŋyanpata found himself leaning into it despite the humiliation of his position. He began to slowly become erected her movements, which she deliberately made was slow enough so that he would not orgasm.
Once his dick and balls have been taken care of, she pushed him back down flat to the carpet on his stomach. Zon then scooped up the remaining buttermilk with both hands and returned her attention to his bruised and battered ass. Wiŋyanpata felt the cool liquid trickle down his crack, pooling at the base of his spine. The Dutch Arabic woman continued, making sure that no buttermilk was visible on his butt, and her hands were only damp, before pulling away.
With a racy smile, she grabbed him by the waist, lifting him up with surprising strength, and placed him over the arm of the sofa. Then Zon lean down over him, pressing her full body into him this time and whispered in his ear, “ i’m going to butt rape you!”
Wiŋyanpata turned around and looked at her and complete shock, which made her snicker. Zon then turned around and walked away from him in a predatory fashion, out of the living room down the hallway and then he heard her open the door to her playroom.
The silence was deafening as he laid there, the pain from the whipping and the anticipation of what was to come, making his heart race. The sound of a door closing echoed through the hall, and Wiŋyanpata braced himself for what she had in store. This time he didn’t dare turn around and look at the entrance to the living room to see what she was carrying. It was only when she grabbed the top of his bald head and lifted it with her right hand that he saw the purple dildo with a white saucer-shaped attachment in her left hand. In the same hand, she held a black remote control and had three buttons.
With a mischievous glint in her eye, Zon held the toy out to him, and with a playful tone, she ordered, "Suck on this, baby."
Wiŋyanpata stared at the purple dildo for a brief moment before taking it into his mouth, the taste of plastic and the faint metallic tang of the batteries mingling with his own fear and arousal. He did as she instructed, suckling and licking the toy as if it were a lollipop, his eyes never leaving hers.
After a minute that felt like an eternity, she abruptly pulled it from his mouth and strode behind him. He could feel her warm breath on his neck as she leaned in to whisper, "Good boy," sending a shiver down his spine. Her right hand’s nails dug into his flesh as she spread one cheek with a deliberate, almost cruel precision. With her knee, she parted the other, leaving his anus exposed and vulnerable.
Without warning, she shoved the saliva-slicked dildo into his anus, and Wiŋyanpata screeched like a startled cat. Zon cackled loudly. Then she pressed the lowest button on the remote control turning the vibrator setting on. As she pressed the top button for maximum speed, the intensity was like nothing he’d ever felt before. His body spasmed around the toy, trying to adjust to the intrusion, as the vibrations shot through him like bolts of lightning.
Her giggles grew louder as she watched his face contort with each pulse of the dildo, his moans a symphony of pleasure and pain. She took great delight in his squirms and squeaks, feeling a sense of power that was intoxicating. To increase his suffering, Zon grabbed the white saucer-shaped attachment at the base of the dildo and began to pull and push it back and forth, the movement sending shockwaves of agony through his entire body. The combination of the toy's vibrations and her cruel manipulation was overwhelming, a dance of pain and pleasure that Wiŋyanpata never knew existed.
Somehow, he managed to hold out, his body rigid as he clenched every muscle, fighting the inevitable climax. His eyes watered, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip to keep from crying out. The room grew hotter, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. His mind raced, trying to find some semblance of control amidst the chaos.
Then, without warning, it hit him. The dam burst, and Wiŋyanpata’s body convulsed as he came harder than he ever had before. The orgasm lasted for a full minute and a half, a seemingly endless crescendo of pleasure that left him gasping for air and his legs trembling uncontrollably. He shot ropes of cum down onto the pink carpet, painting a stark contrast against the vibrant color.
Zon watched with a mix of fascination and satisfaction, her eyes gleaming with excitement. When his spasms finally ceased, she turned off the vibrating dildo, squatted down, scooped up the mess, and began to rub it into his ass, her fingers tracing the curves of his buttocks with a disturbing intimacy. Wiŋyanpata cringed at the feeling, his body still sensitive from the intense climax. She chuckled at his discomfort, spreading the warm, sticky liquid over his skin with a wicked glint in her eye.
With a dramatic flourish, she removed the toy from his body with a wet pop that made him jump, and he felt the sudden absence of the intrusion. He looked back at her over his shoulder, his breathing ragged and his eyes glazed with a mix of pleasure and pain. She smirked and knelt down out of view, planting a kiss on his bruised cheek. Wiŋyanpata gasped at sensation of her lips on his caboose, the kiss lingering for 10 seconds before she moved onto his other cheek, she pulled back and stood up, looking down upon with a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Has anyone ever kissed your ass before, literally or figuratively?” Zon asked, her voice low and playful. Wiŋyanpata Shake his head no and there was a gentle smirk said, “But I’m sure plenty of men and women have done both to you!”
“You’re damn right they have, honey!” Zon excalimed as she helped him off the sofa, his legs wobbly from the intense experience. She led him down the hallway, and Wiŋyanpata couldn’t help but feel like a ragdoll in her grasp. They reached the burgundy door to her bedroom, and with a flourish, she swung it open.
The room was a whimsical blend of fairy tale and futuristic opulence. The walls were adorned with an intricate apple orchard mural, each tree laden with fruit that looked so real he could almost taste their tartness. The carpet beneath his sore feet was designed with a pattern of lemon and lime slices, a stark contrast to the softness beneath him. Her bed, a gleaming masterpiece of silver bars, looked both inviting and a bit intimidating. The sheets and pillowcases were a pristine white, adorned with a delicate four-leaf clover pattern that shimmered in the dim light.
Zon guided him to the center of the bed, and with surprising tenderness, she laid him down. She pulled the sheets up to the top of his thighs, leaving his bruised backside exposed to the cool air.
"Rest up, my little spy," she murmured, her voice a seductive purr.
"In one hour, I shall return to ride you like the stallion you truly are. I promise that it will be an experience more exhausting than what we've just shared," Zon whispered into Wiŋyanpata's ear, her breath tickling his skin. Her words hung in the air like a dark promise, sending a thrill of anticipation through his body despite his current state of pain and arousal.
With a graceful pivot on her heel, she stepped away from the bed, leaving Wiŋyanpata to ponder what new torments and pleasures she had planned for him. As she reached the door, she cast a playful smile over her shoulder, the pink leather of her leotard hugging her curves like a second skin. She blew him a kiss, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and then shut the door behind her.
31-35, M