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The first sensation Vivie Thraxas felt in hours was the press of cold metal against her forehead. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting, naked and bound to a metal chair, her eyes and ears both thoroughly covered and her mouth gagged. The last thing she remembered was eating dinner — a bowl of unidentifiable slop slipped into her kennel. She must have drugged it, Vivie had thought. She had no idea why, but Handler always had reasons for the things she did with — and to — Vivie. Those reasons were very rarely good, but they were reasons.
The sudden feel of the metal on her skin made Vivie start and flinch, which earned her a sharp knock against her temple, presumably with the same piece of metal. The blow wasn’t especially hard; it may not even have drawn blood. But, the familiarity of the feeling filled in an important bit of information. It was The Revolver. Vivie was intimately familiar with the weapon’s sharply-machined edges and corners. The precision-cut accessory rail below the barrel had bruised her and laid her skin open more times than Vivie could remember. Handler was very consistent about using The Revolver as Vivie’s primary source of motivation, both positive and negative.
After Handler hit her there was a pause of perhaps a minute, which gave Vivie just enough time to wonder if she was alone again, when The Revolver returned, this time pressing against her chest. Vivie’s breath quickened, but she tried to temper her excitement — Handler couldn’t be planning to give her a click right now, could she? Vivie hadn’t done anything to earn it, hadn’t completed a mission for Handler. Vivie had barely even left her kennel since Handler had presented her with her friends, and the Choice.
Vivie tried not to think about that.
Instead, she focused on The Revolver and where it pressed into her skin. Handler was now tracing a line down her torso with the barrel, between her breasts, down her belly, over her navel, and coming to a stop a couple inches above the root of her cock. The sensation, and the knowledge of its source, had made Vivie hard. She tried not to let herself twitch, lest she accidentally bump Handler’s hand. She felt a drop of fluid leak out of her tip, though. The thought of The Revolver resting that close to her dick was almost overpowering, and Vivie could barely resist the urge to squirm and hump and do everything she could to cum.
Handler finally took The Revolver away from Vivie’s pelvis, and then swiftly and silently undid the gag over her mouth. Vivie still couldn’t see or hear anything, but she could talk now — not that she would. She knew better. If Handler wanted her to talk, she’d know. Instead, however, she felt The Revolver touch against her lips, and she instantly reacted, opening her mouth wide and sticking her tongue out as far as she could. This was, apparently, the correct response, because Handler gently stroked Vivie’s tongue with the weapon. The metal felt cold and sharp. The sensation wasn’t pleasant, but Vivie had long since stopped expecting, or even looking for, pleasure in her existence. Still, this was much gentler than Handler usually treated her with The Revolver. Vivie didn’t know what to make of the change, but she did her best to, if not enjoy it, at least appreciate the novelty of it.
Handler played the barrel of The Revolver across Vivie’s tongue a few more times, then slid it into Vivie’s open, gaping mouth. It hit the back of her throat and immediately made her retch, but Handler didn’t remove it. Vivie sat in the chair with her stomach muscles spasming. Nothing came up, fortunately, but the forced gagging left her sore, sweaty, and drooling after only a few minutes. Handler would move the barrel slightly so it wasn’t hitting her throat, giving her a chance to get a breath, before pushing it back down. Vivie wasn’t sure how long Handler went on like that, but at the end she could feel the spit that had leaked out around The Revolver and spilled down her chin and onto her breasts. It quickly went sticky and cold, adding one more unpleasant sensation to Vivie’s limited sensory nightmare.
The Revolver once again returned to the first place Vivie had felt it, against her forehead. Her cock was throbbing now, and Vivie had given up trying to keep it under control. It twitched and dribbled involuntarily, and felt to Vivie as if it was as solid and unyielding as The Revolver itself. When Handler put the gun to Vivie’s head, her cock sprang up and quivered. Then, Vivie felt, rather than heard, a series of light taps or clicks, transmitted through The Revolver and into her skull.
Handler cocked The Revolver, she thought. She imagined Handler’s gloved thumb pulling the cocking lever back, indexing the barrel to the next chamber, and popping up the small red indicator on the back. She imagined Handler’s finger on the trigger, hoping against hope that the image was true to life and she was about to — maybe — get her bullet. The moment dragged on. Vivie sat, unaware of anything in the universe other than the barrel of The Revolver against her forehead. And then—
Click.
Vivie came. She moaned, both in involuntary pleasure and despair, recognizing that once again, she’d come close to release but had been denied. She’d stopped counting how many clicks she’d heard in her time as a hound. It didn’t matter. There was nothing else to do but keep following Handler’s orders.
The disappointed thoughts ran through her head as her seed dribbled down her cock and onto the chair.
Eventually, someone untied her and led her back to her kennel. And, much later, she remembered to take off the blindfold.