Chapter 19 Sadie
SADIE
Ifeel the hot press of Landon’s cock against my ass, and every muscle in my body goes rigid. My breathing stops completely.
“You’re tensing,” he murmurs, his hand stroking down my spine. “Breathe.”
I can’t. The toy was one thing—impersonal. But this is Landon’s cock. This is him about to take the last part of me that’s never been claimed.
“I can’t,” I whisper, panic rising in my throat. “You’re too big. I’ve never—no one has ever—”
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I’m taking my time. That’s why I’m the one who should have this part of you.”
His fingers dig into my hips, holding me in place as the pressure increases. Not entering, just threatening to. Testing my resistance.
And God help me, that resistance is what’s making the space between my legs flood with heat. My pussy grows wetter with each second that he holds me on this precipice of invasion.
Why am I like this? What’s wrong with me—that being restrained, taken against my protests, treated like a possession makes a dark, hungry part of me unfurl?
I know the answer. I’ve always known.
I’m broken. The assault broke a fundamental part of me, twisted my responses until fear and arousal became so tangled that I couldn’t separate them. Until the thing I should fight against the hardest became the thing that makes me burn the brightest.
“Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking for.
For him to stop?
For him to continue?
For someone to fix the broken wiring in my brain that makes this violation feel like salvation?
“You’re fighting yourself more than you’re fighting me,” Landon observes, his voice dark velvet against my skin. “Let go of the past and stop thinking, Sadie.”
A sob escapes me as his words strike at the core of my shame. How can he see through me so completely? How does he know the war raging inside me—between what I should want and what I actually crave?
“I’m broken,” I confess, the words torn from a wounded space within me. “This shouldn’t—I shouldn’t want—”
His pressure increases, the burn of stretching as he breaches me with excruciating slowness. I whimper, caught between the urge to escape and the need to surrender.
“Shhh,” Landon whispers, his hand gentle on my lower back even as he continues his relentless invasion. “You’re perfect just as you are. Your past is just that, past.”
A tear slides down my cheek, dropping onto the bench below.
“Being whole is overrated,” he continues, his voice hypnotic as he pushes deeper, pausing when I tense. “The people who claim to be whole are the real frauds. They’re just better at hiding their damage.”
My breathing comes in shallow pants as he gives me time to adjust before pressing forward. The burn is intense but not unbearable—he’s being careful.
“It’s the jagged edges that make you who you are,” Landon says, his fingers tracing my spine.
“The cracks and fissures where the light gets in. The places where you’ve been shattered and pieced yourself back together.
” He slides in another inch, and I gasp.
“Those broken pieces are everything that makes you you, little butterfly. And I fucking love that about you.”
His words sink into me deeper than his body does, penetrating defenses I didn’t know I still had. How can this monster be the only one who sees me—all of me—and doesn’t turn away?
“You don’t need fixing,” he whispers as he seats himself fully inside me. “You need someone who appreciates the masterpiece your scars have created.”
I can’t believe he’s inside me completely. The fullness is overwhelming—different from anything I’ve ever felt before. The burning stretch has transformed into a new sensation entirely, a heavy pressure that sends confusing signals of pleasure-pain through my entire body.
“Oh god,” I gasp, my fingers gripping the padded bench so hard my knuckles turn white.
“There you go,” Landon murmurs, his voice strained with restraint. “Taking all of me like you were made for this.”
He holds still, letting me adjust to his invasion. The vulnerability of being spread open in such a vulnerable place, completely at his mercy, is terrifying and exhilarating.
“I’m going to move now,” he warns.
When he slides back, slipping from my body maddeningly slowly ensuring that I feel every inch of him before driving forward again, a broken sound escapes my throat—not pain, not pleasure, but the jagged edge between them.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Your ass is like a vise. So fucking tight around me. So damn good.”
His praise shouldn’t affect me, shouldn’t make heat pool between my legs, shouldn’t make me push back against him seeking more. But it does. Each filthy compliment strips away another layer of my resistance.
“The way you take me,” Landon continues, voice rough. “Like your body was waiting for me to claim this part of you.”
My breath comes in shallow pants as the discomfort gives way to a pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable. Each thrust sends shockwaves through my core, lighting up nerve endings I never knew existed.
My body yields to him in ways my mind still resists, opening for him as he claims the last vestiges of my virginity.
“Every. Fucking. Inch.” Each word punctuated by a thrust deeper than the last. “Every part of you belongs to me now.”
His fingers dig into my hips with bruising force, lifting me slightly to change the angle. The new position sends waves of pleasure radiating from where we’re joined to my throbbing clit.
“Oh god,” I gasp, shocked by how good it feels.
“Not god,” he growls, his pace becoming brutal. “Say my name when I’m defiling you.”
His hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back with a sharp tug that makes my spine arch painfully with my wrists still restrained. The mixture of pleasure and pain short-circuits my brain.
“Landon,” I whimper, my voice breaking as he bottoms out inside me.
“Good girl,” he praises, then suddenly he sinks his teeth into the junction between my neck and shoulder.
I cry out as he marks me, the sharp sting of his bite sending endorphins through my system. He doesn’t release, instead bearing down harder as his hips continue their relentless assault on my ass.
“Please,” I beg.
Everything is too much—the stretch, the fullness, the taboo nature of what we’re doing in front of a room filled with people.
Landon releases my shoulder, licking the indentation his teeth have left. “Your ass squeezes me so perfectly when you beg,” he pants against my ear. “Like it’s trying to milk my cock.”
His fingers slide around to find my clit, circling it. “You’re dripping,” he observes. “Getting this wet from having your virgin asshole stretched open. You filthy, perfect thing.”
I should feel shame at his words, but instead, I feel seen. Known. My darkest desires are exposed under the harsh lights of the orgy room, witnessed by strangers and embraced by the monster who understands me.
My eyes dart around the room, suddenly aware again of our public setting.
Several unlucky hunters watch us with hungry stares, their masks hiding everything but their obvious desire.
Yet most of the crowd has paired off or formed groups, lost in their own pleasure.
The sounds of ecstasy echo through the room—moans, gasps, the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin.
No one’s really paying attention to us. We’re just another scene in this twisted carnival of flesh. Inside me, a shift begins—a surrender, a release of the last thread of resistance I’ve been clinging to.
What’s the point of fighting this? Of fighting myself? Here, in this moment, I can be the broken, twisted thing I’ve always feared I was. Here, with Landon, my darkness has found its match.
I let go.
“Take me,” I whisper, pushing back against him. “I’m yours.”
Landon’s rhythm falters for a second, as if my surrender has caught him off guard. Then he growls, the sound vibrating through his chest and into my body.
“Fucking finally,” he hisses, slamming into me harder.
His thrusts become punishing, each one driving the air from my lungs. The burn returns, but it’s good now—a cleansing fire that consumes everything except sensation.
His hand wraps around my throat, fingers pressing against the sides of my neck rather than the front. Not cutting off my air, but restricting blood flow to my brain. The effect is immediate—a lightheaded, floating sensation that intensifies everything.
“This is what you needed all along,” Landon says, his voice distant through the rushing in my ears. “To be owned. Possessed.”
The world narrows to pinpricks of light as my vision begins to tunnel. Every sensation amplifies—the stretch of him inside me, the sound of flesh meeting flesh, the cool air on my sweat-slicked skin.
Just as darkness threatens to overtake me, he releases his grip. Blood rushes back to my brain in a euphoric wave that makes me cry out.
The rush from his chokehold, combined with his relentless assault on my ass, pushes me toward a towering cliff edge. His fingers return to my clit, circling.
“Come for me,” Landon demands, his voice strained as his hips slam against me. “Come with my cock in your virgin ass.”
The command cracks me apart. The orgasm detonates, waves of violence rolling from my core as I thrash against the restraints. His name rips out of me as my body shakes, gripping him hard.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Landon chants, his rhythm faltering as my muscles contract around him. “Your ass is milking me, Sadie. I’m going to fill you up.”
He drives into me one final time, so deep. His cock pulses as he groans, a sound of possession as hot spurts of cum flood my insides. The sensation of being filled—marked internally in this most intimate way—prolongs my orgasm until I’m sobbing from the intensity.
Landon collapses over my back, his breath hot against my neck as we both tremble through the aftershocks. After several moments, he straightens, still buried inside me.
He pulls his cock out slowly, and I whimper in protest, feeling so empty.
“Push it out,” he commands, his voice hoarse. “I want to watch my cum drip from your ass.”
In my pleasure-drunk state, the request doesn’t even register as humiliating. I bear down, feeling the strange sensation of his seed leaking from me as he slowly withdraws.
“That’s it,” Landon murmurs, his fingers spreading my cheeks wider. “Show me how well I filled you.”
I push harder, feeling the warm trickle down my thighs as I expel his release. The sensation is strangely erotic—another surrender, another way he’s claimed me completely.
“Beautiful,” he purrs. His finger traces through the wetness, spreading it over my sensitive flesh. And I realize in that moment that it’s no longer a question of whether I’m his or not. I belong wholly to the man who hunted me.