Chapter 47 #4
His words are a dark spell, weaving around me, pulling me deeper into the pleasure and the shame.
With the way his face is scarred, with the way his skin is melted he looks like a very demon from hell devouring me, devouring my soul.
I can’t fight it, I don’t want to fight it.
I have to give in, have to continue allowing my body to submit.
My hips buck against his hand, meeting his thrusts, seeking more, seeking the release that is coiling tight and hot in my belly.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice a dark whisper. “Fuck my fingers, you greedy little bitch. Show me how much you need it.”
He adds a third finger, stretching me more, filling me. The sensation is overwhelming. His thumb presses down hard on the diamond piercing on my clit, and a white-hot bolt of pleasure sears through me.
“Master, please…” I beg but in truth, I don’t know what I’m begging for. For him to stop? For him to never stop?
“Please what?” he demands, his fingers never slowing their brutal pace. “Tell me.”
“I… I can’t…”
His free hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing, just holding. A threat, a promise, a claim. The pressure is firm, undeniable. It centres me, focuses all my swirling sensations on that one point of contact. My eyes widen, locked on his.
“Come,” he commands, his voice absolute.
It’s the command, the ownership in that single word that shatters me.
I may have been conditioned, I may have been reprogrammed or whatever the fuck that man called it until my body is no longer truly mine, but in this moment, it doesn’t feel like it’s just a response to my torture.
It feels like exactly what it is; me giving Antonio what he wants, me truly submitting.
The orgasm rips through my body with the force of a detonation.
I scream, a raw, ragged sound that tears at my throat as my body convulses around his invading fingers. Pleasure, white and blinding obliterates every thought, every protest, every ounce of my defiance. I am nothing but sensation, a vessel for his will.
He works me through it, his fingers milking every last spasm from me until I’m a trembling, sobbing wreck beneath him. Only then does he slowly withdraw his hand.
I lie there, gasping, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.
I hate him. I hate how he can do this to me.
And I hate how much I didn’t hate it.
He shifts above me, unbuckling his belt, pushing his trousers and boxers down in one rough motion. His cock springs free; thick, hard, and glistening at the tip. He’s enormous, and the sight of him after the intensity of my orgasm sends a fresh thrill of fear through my spent body.
He doesn’t give me time to recover, he flips me over onto my stomach with effortless strength. I gasp into the duvet, trying to push myself up on my weak arms.
“Stay down,” he orders, his voice a guttural command as his hand slaps my arse hard enough to make his point felt.
He then drapes his body over mine, his chest pressing against my back, pinning me. One hand wraps in my hair again, pulling my head back as the other guides his cock to my entrance.
He’s not gentle. He doesn’t try to prepare me further, he just pushes.
I cry out as he breaches me with a sharp, stretching burn that quickly melts into an overwhelming fullness. He’s so deep. He fills me completely, claiming every inch of me. He stills for a moment, buried to the hilt, his hot breath panting against my ear.
“You feel that?” he whispers, his voice ragged with his own restraint. “That is your place now. That is where you belong. Full of me.”
He sets a furious, punishing pace. He slams into me, each thrust driving me into the mattress, each withdrawal a near-complete loss before he fills me again, brutally, relentlessly. The sound of our bodies meeting, skin slapping against skin is loud and primal in this luxurious room.
“You are my whore,” he grunts, punctuating each word with a savage thrust. “My beautiful, disobedient, diamond-studded whore.”
His hand leaves my hair and slides around my waist, his fingers finding my oversensitive clit. He rubs hard, rough circles around the piercing, and a broken sob is torn from my throat.
Another orgasm is already building but it’s too soon, too much; it’s a tidal wave of sensation I can’t possibly survive.
“You come for me again,” he orders, his voice thick with his own impending release. “Come on my cock, you filthy slut. Let me feel you.”
He changes his angle slightly and on the next thrust, he hits a spot deep inside me that makes me see stars. I shatter entirely. My second orgasm is a silent, breathless convulsion; a deep, internal clenching that wrings a roar of triumph from him.
He fucks me through it, and it feels like his own control is breaking. His thrusts become erratic, animalistic. He leans over me, his chest plastered to my sweat-slicked back, his mouth against my ear.
“My pet,” he grunts, the absurd, degrading term of endearment shocking me even in my delirious state. “My sweet, tight little bitch. Take it. Take all of me.”
With a final, deep, grinding thrust he buries himself inside me and comes.
I feel the hot, pulsing rush of his release filling me, the ultimate mark of his possession.
A guttural groan is torn from his chest, a raw, unfiltered sound of pure conquest that seems to shake the very foundations of the room.
He collapses his full weight upon me, crushing me into the mattress, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his climax.