Chapter Twenty-One #2
“Good girl.” Max flattens his hand on my lower back, stroking his thumb over my skin.
“Fuck, you’re tight back here. We gotta prepare you for when I decide to take this hole.
” His thumb disappears, and then I feel something cool and heavy—metal?
—pressing against that hole. I tense my muscles until they ache, breathing harshly as he slowly but surely starts to push the plug in, forcing it past my body’s resistance.
It feels like he spends an eternity on it—when he finally finishes, my rosebud closes around a narrow part of the plug. He wiggles it around, and I jump.
“Very pretty,” he says with a chuckle. “Just one more thing, and your punishment can start.”
Another foreign object assaults me—this time, pushing against my entrance. A dildo. It’s slim, not overly imposing, but still feels odd as he pushes it in. I can feel it rubbing against the plug, inspiring a host of strange sensations.
Something presses against my clit—an extension of the dildo? It’s like a tiny arm nestling directly against the most sensitive part of my body. I squeeze my eyes shut, giving my head a shake.
Then, the extension starts vibrating, and I nearly crawl out of my skin.
Pleasure overrides the strange feelings, stemming from my core and spreading throughout my entire body.
I bite my lip until I taste blood to withhold a moan—an orgasm starts building, but then, the vibrations shut off.
Unbearable need grabs me in a chokehold.
“It’ll be going on and off periodically, but only for a couple seconds at a time,” Max says.
“Sometimes five, others ten, even thirty on occasion. If you can come from those few seconds, go for it, but I don’t think it’ll be enough.
” He pats my ass. “I’ve got a shitload of work to catch up on.
I’ll leave you to your thoughts—when I return, we can have a conversation like adults, possibly followed by a reward.
Alternatively, you can continue being a fucking brat, and I’ll leave for another, longer stretch of time. ”
“Wait,” I gasp. He’s leaving me?
“Too late,” he sing-songs. “Enjoy. I’ll see you later.”
His footsteps carry him away from me, and I hear the door shutting. A moment later, the vibrator turns back on… and when it flicks off just as fast, leaving me a needy mess, I realize I’m going to be in for a very long fucking punishment.
An eternity passes. Sweat drips down my body, staining the sheets.
My muscles start to burn from trembling—no amount of writhing lets me squeeze my thighs together and rub myself to an orgasm, and no jerking on the restraints gets them to loosen.
I’m so wet I can feel moisture dripping from inside me, slicking my thighs and making a puddle on the sheets.
This is so much worse than the spanking and whipping. Pain, I can handle; I have more than enough experience with it. This is an entirely new form of torture—I can feel tears of frustration prickling my eyes, though I don’t let them fall.
The vibrator buzzes to life again. I’m already on the cusp of an orgasm, so when it buzzes, my trembling intensifies, but just as I crest, it shuts off. I release a groan of sheer fury, only to tense when a chuckle comes from behind me.
Max is back, and he’s amused at watching this torture. I’m not sure what I want more—to torture him to death, or to get him to make me orgasm. In either case, I just need this torment to be over, even if it doesn’t end in satisfaction. I really can’t take much more.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he says casually. “Are you ready to talk?”
I don’t even remember what he wants to talk about—I’m not sure I could recite the alphabet right now, even at gunpoint. I’ll say virtually anything for this to be over. “Yes,” I gasp.
“Good,” he replies easily. He rounds the bed. Takes a seat beside me. His fingers fist my hair, sharply jerking my head to the side, forcing me to face him.
“Do you want me to give you an orgasm?”
Desperately, but I shake my head. I won’t give in. I won’t lose that self-respect by bending. “Take them out, please.” My words are a whispered plea.
Max arches an eyebrow, seeming mildly surprised. “Let’s talk.” He pulls something out of his pocket—I think it’s a remote—and clicks a button. Nothing happens, so I assume he’s turned off the torturous vibrator, and my body sags with relief. A small smirk steals across his lips.
“Why are you being punished?” he asks.
I search my brain for an acceptable answer. “For being a brat.”
“How so? I’d like specifics, Ember.”
He’s not calling me Flame, his odd term of endearment. I think that goes to show how serious he is.
“For being a brat by…” asking a captive some relevant self-reflection questions. “Being mean to Scarlett.”
“Hmm. And what about Tobias?”
“That wasn’t me being a brat. It was me being who I am.” As were my questions to Scarlett… though I guess I could’ve been a bit gentler with her.
Still, if my simple questions were enough to cause insecurity in her, maybe she should reflect on why that is and whether there’s any merit to those insecurities.
After seeing the greenhouse, her creations, and hearing her story, I do think I ought to have been more gentle…
but for her to flinch when I barely pressed on a soft spot is indicative of underlying issues, which aren’t my fault.
“Could you have been a bit more respectful with Tobias?” Max wonders.
“Could I have? Sure. Should I have? No. He was out of line, asking for an apology and demanding I get punished.”
Max considers this for several moments before nodding. “I suppose he was.”
I relax at that. Part of me was expecting a fight over what should be common sense. Then again, me questioning Scarlett is common sense—I do not deserve this punishment over that—but it seems Max cares about Scarlett.
I have no idea why that irritates me.
“What made you get angry earlier?” he asks calmly, stroking his free hand over my back.
He’s so deliberate, so in control, it’s difficult not to hand over all my power and go with whatever he says, especially now while I’m as vulnerable as a person can be. Naked, bound, stuffed in both my holes, and still suffering from what feels like an eternity of denied orgasms.
Still, I mumble, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Max shrugs. “Alright. I can leave you here for another while, see if that loosens your tongue—”
“No!” I yelp.
Max arches an eyebrow, hold in my hair tightening.
I swallow. Then, I mumble, “You called me a masterpiece.”
He blinks, confused. “You are.”
“I’m not an object to be admired,” I snap. “I’m not a thing. I’m not a piece of art molded by an artist, I’m a fucking person. Something that the world seems to have forgotten.”
Recognition dawns in Max’s eyes. “Ah. Dagon called you that, didn’t he? Alright—I’ll never say it again. In the future, if you simply tell me as much, this hassle can be avoided.”
He clicks a button on the remote. The vibrator springs to life again, buzzing against my clit. My eyes widen as the orgasm that had almost died out completely comes roaring back.
“No!”
“Relax,” Max says calmly, reaching down to pinch my nipple.
“Let it happen. I’m getting an orgasm out of you; be grateful that I’m not in the mood to torture you with them.
” He rolls and twists my nipple hard, and a tortured moan escapes me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think of anything besides this moment, try to disconnect from my body to deny Max the satisfaction, but my efforts seem to be in vain.
The orgasm keeps building, creeping up on me, and this time, the vibrator doesn’t shut off.
“Getting closer, aren’t you?” Max says. He releases my nipple and clicks the remote again—the vibrations dial up.
Then they dial up again, until I’m trembling violently, biting my lip so hard I taste blood.
Max releases my hair, uses one hand to dig his fingernails into my nipple, setting off a burst of pain, and reaches back with the other one to jostle the plug.
My hands twist the bedsheets and my face contorts as the orgasm slams into me with such intensity I scream.
My pussy convulses around the dildo and my ass clenches the plug—all the points of stimulation are too much to bear.
“There it is,” Max breathes. “Good girl. Ride it out.”
I have no other choice. He’s relentless, torturing my nipple and twisting the plug, prolonging the orgasm until I’m close to bursting into tears and it feels like he’s poured gasoline over my body and struck a match.
Finally—finally, he shuts everything off.
“Thank you,” he says, sounding infuriatingly sincere, as if I’ve given him a gift. “That was very pretty to watch. Next time, you’re going to come on my cock.”
There won’t be a next time—there can’t be, because I need to get out of here.
His hand strokes up and down my back in soothing, calming gestures.
Slow sweeps of skin over skin that make me inadvertently relax.
My eyes blink closed, and tension begins to melt out of my muscles.
After a while, Max quickly and painlessly pulls the plug out of my ass, jarring me.
Then, he slides the dildo out, and carefully sets to work freeing me.
Once all of my limbs have been released, I sag on the mattress, more exhausted than I ever remember being.
I’ve been on complex hit jobs less taxing than this.
Max disappears with the toys, first into the bathroom, then into the closet.
Probably to wash them and tuck them away.
I watch through lidded eyes before curling up on my side.
My body feels fuzzy; my brain is working at the pace of molasses.
He returns not long after, getting into bed with me.
He lays down beside me, and carefully hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me into him. “Stop,” I mumble tiredly.
“No,” he replies. “Don’t ask again. We both need comfort after that scene, and I’m satisfying our needs.”
I yawn. “Don’t pretend to know what I need.”
“But I do, Flame,” he says softly. “I always have.”
That’s the last thing I hear before drifting off.