Chapter 41
The Tally
Jenna
“Keep eating,” Ian demands, moving his finger inside me.
A long, keening whimper draws through my throat.
I claw at my palms and bite my lips. Humiliation runs red-hot through my veins and sinks into every fiber of my body.
I want to disappear, but not away from it all; I want to disappear into the sensations—into their control.
I want to be nothing. Just theirs. So I keep eating even as I wriggle uncontrollably against Ian’s finger, sensation bursting at my core.
He’s left me wanting for so long, and just that one finger drives me mad with the need for more.
But when I hear the squeaky sound of a latex glove, the growing acceptance snaps, and I forget about the desire.
I know exactly what that means, and it’s more than I can bear in my already deeply degraded state.
Squealing with the full force of my desperation, I whip my head from side to side, straining in the precarious position suspended over the bowl.
My muscles ache, begging me to let go and just drop my head into the bowl.
But I can’t do it; I can’t dehumanize myself even further.
The urgency builds and builds as I just hover there, caught in their devastating control, forced to take another humiliation.
A lid pops—a foreboding omen that has me holding my breath. When a drop of lube lands between my ass cheeks, my control snaps.
“Stop!” I cry. “I can’t take it!”
“One,” Killian counts. He pushes the dog bowl aside, climbs over me, and shoves his hand into my line of sight, counting my words on his fingers.
“Two, three, four, five words.” He wraps his latex-clad hand around my nape, pinning me to the floor.
“Five extra words, Jenna. That brings you to twenty-two. Not good.”
He leans close, his hot breath fanning the shell of my ear.
He’s so close I inhale his scent with each panted breath.
It swamps my senses—his scent, his heat, and his unwavering dominance.
I feel every bit the animal they have reduced me to.
Base and defenseless. I want to fight it, and I want to let it consume me.
And feeling Killian like this makes me come dangerously close to doing the latter.
“I want you to beg us to fuck both your holes at the same time,” Killian snarls into my ear. “I want to hear how much you want the disgusting, delicious depravity. It’s going to add to your tally, but you’ll do it anyway. Because I want you to.”
I shake my head wildly, and the pressing tears break loose, quiet and slow.
Ian settles a warm hand on my hip, drawing my attention to him.
“It’s not just you, Jenna. We’re all in this, enjoying it.
We’re all depraved—for doing this to you and for doing it together.
The only difference is that we’re in control; you’re not.
Since we’re the ones doing this, it’s obvious that we want it.
We want to hear that you feel the same.”
“I do,” I croak. “So much.” I can’t believe I’m saying it, but Ian’s words have wiped away all doubt and left me a needy little creature that craves the attention of my masters any way I can get it—and especially in the ways that cement my position beneath them.
Because I don’t want to belong to myself anymore.
I don’t want to bear the responsibility of being a sweet girl living up to the prim and proper picture society has painted when I know I’m anything but.
Killian holds his fingers in front of my face again. “One, two, three, four. Twenty-six strikes.” He presses a swift kiss to my cheek. “I can’t wait.”
I whimper. It’s the only reaction I can manage. At that moment, I barely even care. All I can focus on is this―them.
“Good girl,” Ian croons, rewarding me with a slow stroke of his finger along my inner walls. “Now lift your ass in the air and show us just how much you want Killian inside it.”
More lube drips between my cheeks, making me shudder with the helplessness of it all. I shake my head repeatedly, but I obey, arching my back to jut my ass up. They truly have reduced me to a mindless beast. All I know is their command.
A latex-clad finger connects with my opening, smearing the lube around, awakening a new area with buzzing bursts of sensation.
“Do you like it, Jenna?” he asks. “My finger inside your ass, Dad’s in your pussy.”
I keep shaking my head, but the staccato rhythm of my breath reveals just how badly I want this.
It doesn’t make sense because part of me truly hates it, yet another part craves it.
I try to reason my way through the chaos raging in my mind, but there’s no reasoning.
There’s only the burning need, and it wipes out everything else as Killian claims my body with one long push of his finger that brings him deep inside my ass.
Ian pulls out, drawing more moans from me at the maddening sensation of finally having something in that hole and now losing it.
My pussy clamps and contracts, begging for something to hold on to.
I groan in frustration, expecting him to retract completely, but just when he reaches the edge, he adds another finger and sinks deep.
“Ah,” I moan, bucking off the floor, clawing at the air behind me, wriggling wildly.
The size of his two big fingers fills me out and presses against the intrusion of Killian’s digit inside my ass.
The friction buzzes in my rear opening, and electricity sparks alive in my pussy.
I almost can’t breathe, overcome by a burning need.
When Ian sinks in place, I’m hovering right on the edge, my core vibrating with the need to come, my muscles working in greedy pleas for more.
Just a little more. I try to move my hips—to fuck myself on their fingers—but Ian clamps a hand onto my hip, fingers biting into my skin.
“Be still,” he admonishes.
With a mewl of defeat, I go slack, accepting their utter control.
Leaning over, Killian pushes the dog bowl in front of me. “You won’t get to come until the bowl is empty—every last drop of sauce licked clean.” Gripping my hair, he lifts my head above the bowl.
With my dignity washed away by my crazed need, I dig in, lapping up the food, not caring to try and muster any grace.
My scalp stings beneath Killian’s grip, but I welcome it.
It’s a testament to his power, and my muscles are tired from having held myself suspended above the bowl, shaky from the pleasure shuddering in every fiber and cell of my body.
So I let him control my movements. I barely even protest when he gives my head a push or jerks it to the side to dip my face into the bowl.
“Such a dirty, dirty little dog,” he tuts. Once the bowl is finally empty, he turns my head toward Ian, making it strain at an awkward angle. “Did she make a mess?”
It takes everything I have not to shy away from Ian’s scrutiny as he leans to the side to get a full view of my sauce-stained face. The humiliation burns hot when he sighs and shakes his head, but the power in those eyes keeps me steady.
“You have sauce all over your face,” he says. “We’ll have to add three extra strikes to your tally for making such a mess.”
“No,” I whimper.
“That’s thirty,” Killian says, kicks the bowl away, and places his foot below my head. “That’s where you belong, at our feet. Kiss it, and then maybe you’ll get to come.”
The leather of his shoe feels smooth and soft against my cheek.
When he releases my hair, I turn to place a long, reverent kiss against the material.
I’m not sure what happens at that moment.
It’s a rush through my whole body. It drags me deep.
Into a place where I can’t think—where nothing matters beyond the sensations in my body and the utter, mind-numbing loss of control that leaves me blissfully free to just float and obey.
Fingers start moving. I don’t know which one goes first. I can’t tell anything apart. All I know is the sensations that fire off at my core, deep in my pussy, deep in my ass, making me buck and yelp. They fuck me with merciless brutality. It hurts, yet it feels so good.
Tension coils, twisting and turning, drawing a dizzying veil over my eyes.
“Come for us,” a deep voice commands. Fingers press to my clit, stroking and circling, and that’s it. A raw scream tears from my throat, and I shatter into a thousand little pieces.
“I’m yours,” I cry with the full force of the orgasm.
“Ours,” they both agree, smacking my ass and gripping my hips.
The orgasm keeps rolling, on and on. They keep going even after it dies down.
I scream and squirm, unable to take any more.
I collapse on the floor, bound and utterly helpless, flopping like a fish on land.
Still, they keep fucking me. Just when I’m about to reach a new peak, they pull out, suddenly and abruptly, leaving me reeling.
“No, no, no,” I pant, utterly desperate.
“That’s thirty-three,” I hear one of them say.
“We’d better gag her,” the other says. “For her own good.”
Then someone’s pulling me up to sit against a solid chest. Ian. His cedar-cardamom scent envelops me, familiar and safe.
Hands work to bring my head forward, pushing the rubber ball into my mouth and buckling the straps. When they release me, my head lolls onto a shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” Ian says, smoothing his hand over my forehead in a soft gesture. I don’t understand why he’s reassuring me until the first strike lands.
Thwack!
The cane bites into my thigh. With a cry, I buck forward—or try to. Ian’s hand firms over my forehead, his arm banding tight around me. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he repeats. “Just breathe. There’s a lot more coming.”
I whimper around the gag, lifting my gaze to Killian, who’s towering above me.
“That’s one,” he says, licking his lips, eyes burning with feral fire.
Kicking my legs apart, he steps between them.
When he places the cane against my inner thigh, I strain my legs, wanting to close them, but he only widens his stance, asserting his unrelenting control.
It goes straight to my head, deepening the daze, clouding whatever little thought that still exists.
Only a brief pause, and he strikes again. A new scream tears from my throat.
Ian kisses my cheeks, stroking my hair. His comfort is all over—whispers in my ears, caresses along my hairline, firm grips and soothing hugs.
All the while, Killian keeps going at my thighs, demanding my attention stay on him through the sheer force of his furious eyes, full of violence and desire, his voice raw with primal power as he counts each strike.
“Two, three, four, five…” He keeps going.
Striking and counting. Saturating my world in pain and desperation.
Soon, I’m weeping, then sobbing, utterly lost to his unrelenting dominance.
But somehow, I manage to stay afloat—Ian holds me up.
I sink into him, soaking up his every calming caress and every comforting word. He’s my lifeline, my anchor.
“Twenty-five,” Killian counts and tosses the cane aside. I know there’s more to come, but my brain can’t quite process it. All I see is that willful force towering above me, holding me captive. I keep crying for a while, utterly exposed and unraveling beneath the mighty force that is Killian.
“Shh,” Ian soothes, wiping my eyes and my mouth, holding a tissue up for me to blow my nose. I don’t release Killian’s gaze through any of it. I can’t. It’s all his to soak up—my utter crash into helplessness.
When my sobs turn to sniffles and my convulsing spasms turn to shudders, Killian sinks to his knees before me.
His eyes flare with burning lust as he aims his eyes between my legs.
That feral look is my only warning before he drops down and goes at my pussy like a hungry beast. Licking and lapping at my clit, he shoves two fingers inside my pussy—just like Ian did before.
I greedily latch onto him, my inner walls clenching and spasming, hungry to be filled after having been ignored for so long.
Killian is utterly feral, grunting and growling.
I think it must be an awkward position, but he doesn’t need to stay there long.
Within minutes, I’m screaming around the gag, jerking and straining with the full force of a stormy orgasm.
Drool slips down my chin, tears trickle from my eyes—pure overwhelming sensation.
I can’t control anything. I don’t want to.
Killian rises to his knees and scoots between my legs.
Grabbing my face, he starts licking my lips, kissing me around the gag, licking up my spit and advancing past the gag to let me taste myself on his tongue.
It’s awkward and so damn depraved, and it has me moaning and leaning my head back, wanting more of Killian’s dirty possessiveness.
Ian wraps his hand around my throat, tightening his grip around my middle to the point where I can barely breathe, thrusting more possessiveness upon me.
It’s coming from all directions, their power, their desire to own me.
I feel like I’m about to drown in it, and at that moment, I think that would be the sweetest way to go.
I wouldn’t even want to fight if that were my fate.
When Killian suddenly pulls away, feral intensity hanging thick in the air, I reel. I haven’t even refocused my eyes when the next strike lands, harder than any of the previous.
I scream around the gag—no sobs this time, just raw, harrowing screams. Killian is merciless.
He keeps going, delivering the last eight strikes in rapid succession.
My entire body locks up under the building pain, my mind threatening to cave in beneath the pressure.
Yet somehow, I don’t crash. Because between Killian’s wordless possession and Ian’s calm claim, I’m right where I want to be.