Chapter 27
The Gift
Jenna
Killian is already waiting in the piano room when Ian takes me there for a lesson a week after our dinner.
I tense at the sight of him, but only a little.
I’m still nervous about bumping into him around the house when I’m alone, but I’m getting used to having him at my side when we’re playing.
And more so, I feel recklessly safe when Ian’s here.
I keep my eyes averted while I wait for Ian’s order to join Killian at the piano—I’m still not ready to willingly be close to him.
But instead of issuing the usual command, Ian grabs the back of my neck and leans close.
“I’m tired of having to cover my piano benches in towels to make sure you don’t soil them, so I’ve found a solution. ”
Heat flares across my face, and seeing Killian’s wide grin makes my stomach churn with the realization that this won’t be another regular lesson, simply sitting beside him and playing.
“I have found something that will keep my bench clean and keep your unruly hips in place.” Ian pauses for effect, then releases me. “Go see for yourself.”
Killian, who’s standing behind the piano, looks down demonstratively, and I know something’s there, waiting for me. Something I don’t want.
Hesitantly, I round the piano, and the moment I see the new piano bench beside the regular one, I freeze. It’s a simple black bench. No padding. Just a clean, shiny surface—with a long, wooden phallus sticking up in the middle.
“This is not funny,” I say, shaking my head.
“That goes inside your ass.” Killian points at the horrible wooden protrusion, his grin widening.
The blood drains from my face, and I retreat a step.
Killian scoffs. “I’ve stuffed your ass three times, and you’re still acting like a prim little princess instead of the greedy little ass slut we all know you are.”
I retreat two more steps. Straight into Ian, who grabs my upper arms.
“Ask Killian—very nicely—to help you try your new bench.”
I swallow against the thick knot in my throat, staring at the bench for a long moment before I part my lips. “I-I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can.” Ian leans close to my ear. “You’re a good girl. You’ll show the appropriate gratitude, and you’ll ask nicely for help.”
“I—” I want to protest, but Ian’s words somehow make it impossible.
“Go on,” he urges.
Closing my eyes, I draw a shuddery breath. “Will you please—” I start in a shaky voice.
“Look at me,” Killian demands.
My shoulders bunch up, but Ian’s tightening grip sucks the tension straight out again.
I sink into him, seeking his stability as I lift my gaze to Killian and my world crashes.
“Will you…” I swallow to clear the hoarseness from my voice, but it lingers.
“Will you please help me try out my new bench?”
“Of course, princess.” With a slight bounce to his movements, Killian turns and grabs a latex glove and a bottle of lube.
Facing me again, he demonstratively holds up his right hand as he drags the black latex over it, smiling excitedly as he goes.
Then he opens the lube and squeezes a generous amount onto the wooden phallus.
When he wraps his fist around it and starts pumping, I can’t stand it anymore. Jerking against Ian’s grip, I try to turn around, but he drapes an arm over my chest and presses his other hand to my forehead, effectively trapping me. “Watch,” he demands.
I give another jerk, but it gets me nowhere.
Killian makes a show out of preparing the dildo, squeezing more lube onto it to create a slick sound when he moves his hand up and down and turns his fist.
My hands fly up to grab onto Ian’s arm. Not to fight—I’ve already given up—but to hold on as everything spins around me.
I sink into him, drinking in his warmth and his strength, even knowing he’s no better than the man watching me with an evil smirk.
But I need his stability, or I won’t get through this.
“Please…” I say when Killian finally releases the dildo and makes a deceptively chivalrous gesture toward it.
Ian grabs my arms to steer me forward. “You’re not getting out of this.”
Digging my heels in, I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant.” My voice becomes low, almost imperceptible. “Please, can I have a hug?”
Killian scoffs, but Ian pauses and turns me around. “Repeat that so I can hear it.”
I swallow through the hoarseness and look up at him. “Please, will you hug me first?”
A smile softens his stern expression. “Of course.”
Ian pulls me into him, and I wrap my hands around his shirt, holding on for dear life. My anchor in the storm.
When he releases me, I say sincerely, “Thank you.”
He brushes his knuckles down my cheek. “You’re welcome. Now, be a good girl and go to Killian so you can try my gift for you.”
I nod, and in that brief moment, I almost feel thankful—like it truly is a gift. But the gratitude dissolves when I turn around and approach the horrible thing.
Killian grabs my arm when I stop close to the bench.
His grip is more punishing than his father’s, fingers digging into my flesh and aching in my muscles.
But it makes me want to give up and give in just the same.
Because the dominance is there too. The uncompromising authority that snuffs out my will and makes me easy prey for these two predators.
“I’ve missed your tight little hole,” Killian drawls, reaching up under my skirt and pulling down my panties. He drags a finger through the crack between my cheeks. “Has it missed me too?”
I stiffen, but behind the tightly coiled distress, there’s a slight hum. A desire for him to strip me bare and reduce me to his toy.
“Has it?” he urges, pulling me closer.
I close my eyes, reeling from the proximity as he leans close, fear and lust going off in all directions.
Despite the trauma he’s brought on, he’s also the source of my first and only true pleasure.
That experience was so strong that not even the blow of the following events could fully wipe out the profound effect, and my reaction to him reflects it.
I hate it. Vehemently. But that learned desire is also the only thing that will get me through this. That and Ian.
I glance up, finding stability in Ian’s steady presence. Calm but uncompromising.
“Yes,” I admit, letting Ian hold my gaze as I slump in defeat.
“I thought so.” Killian steers me to stand between the bench and the piano, and I keep my eyes trained on Ian while Killian lifts my skirt and smears lube around my tight opening.
It’s all I can do to stay afloat. Letting Ian see the shame and desire warring in my eyes has humiliation crawling through me.
I want to hide, but I know that if I do, I’ll spiral.
The sound of snapping latex tells me Killian is removing the glove. Then he grabs my arms again and slowly lowers me toward the bench.
My lips quiver, and I want to scream when the tip of the wooden dildo touches my tight opening. But Ian gives me a slow nod of approval, and it lends me the determination I need to hold myself together.
Getting the dildo inside is a slow process. No matter how many deep breaths I take, I remain tense. Killian makes me work my ass against the horrible thing to loosen my muscles; it takes so long that my legs start shaking from the bent position.
“Stop fighting,” Ian says when I whimper, straining my arms to support my weight. “Killian won’t suddenly push you down. You can lean into him.”
As if to prove just that, Killian wraps an arm around my chest to support my weight. His hot breath tickles my ear, sending bursts of sensation down my arm. “Go ahead, princess. I’m the one controlling this show. There’s no use trying to pretend otherwise.”
With a defeated whimper, I give in and lean into him.
Killian easily holds my weight, and the process goes a little easier from then on.
At least physically. The tip finally breaches my opening, and the wooden length slowly goes inside me.
It’s not big as such—thinner than a normal cock—but to my ass, it feels like a monstrosity.
And it’s so damn long—almost as long as Ian’s—and it takes forever for Killian to lower me onto it.
The rigid feeling is oppressive, and it goes straight to my mind, wiping out myself and my dignity—just like Ian promised.
I feel like an empty vessel, no longer my own.
Theirs to fill. And they do fill me. To the brim.
By the time I finally sink into place on the bench, the dildo rooted deep inside me, stiff and unrelenting, I’m sniffling and constantly wiping at my eyes.
Ian comes to stand at my side, taking a tissue from a box and holding it in front of my face. “Blow your nose.”
I reach for the tissue, but Ian swats my hands away. “Blow.”
The humiliations just keep coming. Screwing my eyes shut, I blow my nose in the paper.
The movement goes straight to my ass, making me clench around the horrible intrusion.
Shame coils tight. I want to crumble and curl in on myself.
I’m about to do so, but when Ian places a warm hand on top of my head and speaks in a soft voice, I can’t deny the effect.
It doesn’t matter what he’s saying; I lap up his warped praise like a starved kitten.
“Good girl,” he croons. “Now we don’t have to worry about you soiling my bench anymore. Let’s see how well you play on your new one.”
Killian sits on the padded bench at my right and grabs my face between his long fingers, staring deep into my eyes. He doesn’t speak, but the message is crystal clear in his hard gaze that bores into me, demanding entrance past my defenses. You’re mine.
A need so hot it scorches my insides flares.
I hate myself for it. But when he releases me and orders, “Play,” I forget the shame and the conflicting emotions as I sink into the music, right alongside him.
The wooden thing stuck inside me still dominates my mind, but I don’t need my mind to play.
I have already learned the first few pages of “Die Moldau” by heart.
But as Ian makes us repeat several times, I grow increasingly flustered and still more aware of my locked-up position and restrained movements.
Desire hums in my lower body when I inadvertently move against the dildo, but despite the rousing effect, the unforgiving stiffness is brutal. I start squirming, drawing ragged breaths as pleasure and distress war inside me.
“Are you wet?” Killian asks at one point when we stop playing. Without preamble, he shoves a hand between my legs and slides his fingers through my slit.
My whimper sounds more like a moan as new sensations burst to life, making my whole lower body pulse and clench, grabbing onto the phallus with a strength that hurts. He rubs my clit, and when he pulls away after only a few seconds, I’m so hot I can’t stop panting.
“Shit, you really do love having your ass stuffed.” Killian smears his wet finger across my cheek. The humiliation squashes my desire, and my throat closes up, making it hard to breathe.
From then on, my playing only gets worse. I can’t ignore the desire that keeps pulsing between my legs. And I hate it. I don’t want to like any of this. Not Killian, his mockery, or this horrible, horrible bench they have me fixed on.
Ian must sense my growing discomfort, because he stops the lesson mid-playing.
“That’s enough.” He places a hand on Killian’s shoulder. “We’re done for today.”
Getting up, Killian leans close to my ear. “Soon, it will be my cock inside that tight ass of yours.” Then he’s gone.
The whiff of his cologne lingers—fresh air and eucalyptus—dragging up an unwanted sense of longing. It nearly breaks me. I’m so wrought and overwhelmed that I’m hovering on the brink of a breakdown, just waiting for a tiny nudge to push me over.
Ian steps behind me and gently grabs my arms. “Thank me for your gift, then I’ll help you off.”
“Thank you,” I say, but there’s no sincerity or emotion. I’m obeying on autopilot. I can’t focus on anything but the rigid length stuck inside me, trapping me. I barely even dare to push up, remembering how long it is and realizing how much it will take to get it out.
“Good girl. Now gently ease up.” He starts pulling, tightening his hold on my arms.
I press my palms into the surface and try to push up, but my inner muscles are clamped tight onto the dildo, refusing to relax, and the movement pulls painfully at my tissues.
“Stop,” I urge, grabbing onto the edge of the bench.
“Shh, it’s no wider at the tip than the base. It won’t stretch any more than it already does.”
“I can’t,” I squeal, panic closing in, squeezing my lungs.
Ian pulls a little again, and I cry out, the sensations too sharp, the tension too tight. Suddenly, my stomach is cramping. And not just a little. The stiffening spasm grows explosively, spearing pain through my abdomen at the smallest motion.
“Stop,” I scream, pushing at his hands. “Stop!” That’s when I start sobbing. Utter desperation claws at my insides, panic screeching through my mind. I need to get off this thing, but I can’t.
“Jenna, relax.” Ian leans in, but I swat at him, huddling in on myself. I don’t want him or any of his fucked-up, fake comfort. I just want everything to disappear.
“Sweetheart, I’ve got you,” he reassures, but the soothing words only make everything worse. Because they’re not real. They’re just means to manipulate me and turn my body against me.
“Just leave me alone,” I beg. My sobs come harder, shaking my chest, making my muscles clench even tighter around the dildo. It keeps going, each spasm tightening, wringing my stomach from the inside. Soon, I’m panting, digging my nails into my arms. Panic is taking over. Hot and blinding.
“Jenna,” Ian urges repeatedly, but I barely hear him. It’s like my ears are stuffed with cotton, closing me into my own narrow world of lonely agony.
“Killian,” he roars, and this time, the sound penetrates the void.
It rattles through me, a shock to my system.
I pull harder in on myself, sobbing with painful desperation.
I just want to curl up and disappear from the world.
But I can’t. I’m stuck. On this horrible bench and in the tightening panic that is about to swallow me whole.