Chapter 61 #2
Viktor is already moving. “My turn,” he says, and he doesn’t bother with niceties. He hauls her legs up, bending her almost in half, putting her in a clearly uncomfortable and completely exposed position. He drives into her with a grunt, his thrusts shallow and frantic.
Clearly he is a man chasing his own pleasure, and Grace is merely the vessel.
It is during Viktor’s frantic bucking that Silas finally finds his release.
He pulls his cock from her mouth with a pop and, without ceremony, covers her breasts and stomach with thick, white come.
The men laugh as it lands on her skin and Grace moans, writhing beneath Viktor, her arousal spiking again as I hit the button on the remote and force her body to yield.
Then, Charles steps forward, laughing and begins to piss on Grace’s stomach and the bench as Viktor continues to fuck her.
The disrespect is not missed but it’s not to Grace, it’s an insult to me. He’s pissing on my property, pissing all over my hospitality.
My jaw tightens. I meet Konstantine’s eyes across the room. He has seen it too, and his expression is unreadable. I say nothing. To protest would be to break the illusion of absolute control, to show that one of my guests can affect me. I store the insult away, a debt to be collected later.
For now I simply watch, my face a neutral mask as the golden stream soaks her skin.
When Viktor is done, he pulls out, panting. The room smells of sex, sweat, and now, the acrid tang of urine.
“Antonio,” Silas says, his eyes gleaming with a new idea. “Can we take her together? Both of us in her cunt?”
Grace hears this, and a flicker of panic returns to her eyes. She starts to shake her head, a weak, “No…” escaping her lips as she tries to scramble away.
I move to her quickly, cupping her face in my hand, forcing her to look at me. She is a mess of tears, spit, and come. Christ, is she beautiful.
“Shhh,” I soothe, my voice dropping to an intimate whisper meant only for her. “You can take it. I have been preparing you for this. Your greedy little cunt was made for this. You want to feel full, don’t you? You want to be my perfect, used little fucktoy.”
I don’t give her a moment to actually answer; I don’t care if she does.
Charles hauls her up, pulling her to the edge of the bench, spreading her legs wide as she tries to pull away.
Silas moves to position himself behind Charles, an act of complicated geometry they seem to master quickly in their haste to be inside her.
Charles slides his cock back into her well-used cunt, groaning at the tight, slick heat.
Then, with a grunt of effort Silas pushes, and the head of his cock presses against the stretched entrance alongside Charles’s shaft.
Grace cries out, a sharp, shocked sound of overwhelming pressure. “No. No. No. It’s too much. It’s…”
“It’s exactly enough,” I correct her firmly, stepping up between the two men to stroke her hair.
“Please, I can’t, Master, please…” She sobs, “It’s tearing me, it’s…”
“Breathe through it. Give yourself over to the feeling and just relax.” I murmur, knowing she can do this. That I’ve trained her, stretched her, forced her body to take far bigger.
The men find a rhythm, a synchronized, brutal pistoning that makes her whole body shake. She is gasping, her eyes streaming as she continues to fight this.
“I want her arse.” Viktor shouts, not to be left out.
The other men groan, both in sympathy and anticipation. They manoeuvre her, a well-trained team now, forcing her unwilling body onto her side, bending her into another impossible angle. Viktor spits into his hand, lubricating himself before he slaps her arse cheek.
He pushes, and Grace screams; a raw, ragged sound as he impales her.
She is now utterly filled, a beautiful, writhing creature being used in every hole. She is gasping, begging wordlessly, her eyes never leaving mine for a second.
God, she’s so beautiful.
I reach down to the small, discreet remote in my pocket, pressing the button.
Her entire body convulses as a long, drawn-out wail of pure, unadulterated and forced ecstasy tears from her throat.
The men laugh, their thrusts becoming more frantic in response to the way her insides are clearly gripping them.
“Look at this fat, greedy little slut.” Charles grunts.
“She can’t get enough.” Silas agrees.
She comes again and again, as I demand one orgasm after another from her exhausted body.
She is drooling, her eyes rolled back in her head. She is nothing but a vessel for pleasure and use. I watch, mesmerized as my pet shatters completely.
The men follow soon after, roaring their releases as they fill her, one after the other.
When they finally pull out, Grace collapses onto the soiled bench, a broken, panting mess.
The men are laughing, congratulating each other like they earned this moment and that it was not in fact a gift bestowed on them by me.
“Antonio,” Konstantine says, and I realise he is no longer sitting in that chair. He is standing, examining Grace. “You were right, you have trained her exquisitely. She is the perfect pet.”
I smile, a genuine, triumphant smile. “Thank you, Grand Master. She is a good little bitch now.”
The other men grunt along, putting themselves back together, and without the need for me to say it, they all take their leave.
The room is silent now save for Grace’s ragged, exhausted pants.
I walk over to her and kneel beside the bench. I crawl over her sweaty, trembling body, my movements slow and deliberate.
Bit by bit I begin to lick her clean. Starting with her face, tasting the salt of her tears and the bitter tang of Silas’s come. I move down her neck, to her breasts, worshipping every curve, cleansing her with my tongue.
“You did so well, Dumpling,” I whisper against her skin. “So, so well. You are so good at taking cocks for me. My perfect, filthy little pet.”
She sobs, a shuddering, full-body thing but when I look at her face, she turns herself away like she is ashamed.
“No.” I snarl. “You do not do that, you do not feel that. There is no shame in being used as you have been. There is no shame in being what I need of you.”
She whimpers, torn between some delusional feeling of morality and some newer need to please me.
I continue my ministrations, cleaning the mess from her stomach, her thighs, even the piss from her legs. It is an act of reclamation. They may have used her, defiled her, but I am marking her again as mine. Purifying her through an act of intimate devotion.
When she is clean, I spread her legs. She is swollen, red, and glistening. Her cunt is a complete and utter mess, and I can see all the evidence of those men leaking out.
“One more, Dumpling,” I tell her, my voice husky with my own need. “I want one more orgasm, and I want you to push all their come out for me. I want to see my pet give back what does not belong to her.”
I lower my head between her legs. The smell is potent, a mix of her and them. I worship her pussy with my tongue, licking and sucking with a reverent focus on her swollen clit.
She is so sensitive that she cries out immediately, her hands tangling in my hair.
“I can’t, Master, please it hurts so much…” her voice is a broken, hoarse whisper.
I don’t stop. I am relentless, my tongue a precise instrument of both torture and adoration.
I feel her body begin to tighten, the telltale flutter deep inside her that signals the approach of another cataclysm. Her hips buck against my face but I hold her down, my hands splayed across her soft belly, pinning her to the bench.
“Push it out, Grace,” I command, my voice muffled against her flesh. “Show me you’re empty of them. Show me you only keep my come in you.”
A guttural cry is torn from her throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated ecstasy and strain. Her back arches off the leather, her muscles seizing as the orgasm rips through her with a violence that seems to surprise even her.
As she shatters, as she screams my name to the ceiling, I feel it; a warm, slick gush of their combined release, spilling out of her and onto my tongue and chin.
I drink it down. I take every last drop of it, the final, most profound act of reclamation.
This is the proof of her surrender.
The evidence of my absolute ownership.
She is giving back what is not hers to keep; she is making herself clean for me and only me, through the very act of her climax.
She collapses, sobbing, her body wracked with aftershocks.
I rise up over her, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and look down at my masterpiece.
Her eyes are glazed, her lips parted as she struggles for air. She is utterly spent, completely broken, and more beautiful than I have ever seen her.
“Sleep now.” I murmur. She has earned it. She has earned a week in bed for this, a week of every imaginable treat, every imaginable reward.