Chapter 10 #3
He fucks me like this, his hand a vise on my throat, his body a piston driving into mine.
The pleasure, twisted and sharp, coils tighter, fed by the dizzying lack of oxygen.
Black spots dance in my vision, a strange, floaty detachment trying to take hold, but the physical reality of him—the smell of his sweat and pheromones, the burn of the stretch, the heat of his skin—anchors me violently to the moment.
Just as the grey at the edges of my sight starts to swallow everything, his hand releases.
Air floods back into my lungs in a harsh, wheezing rush that burns all the way down.
I cough, my body convulsing around his, which only makes him groan and drive deeper.
I am panting, tears streaming from the corners of my eyes and mixing with the sweat on my temples.
My head spins, the room swimming back into focus with a nauseating lurch.
He doesn’t give me time to recover. His mouth abandons my neck and finds the other shoulder.
His teeth are not gentle. They sink in with purposeful, claiming pressure, breaking skin with a sharp, bright pain that makes me cry out, a weak sound torn from my newly freed throat.
He bites and holds, worrying the flesh, marking me all over again.
The pain is a clean, fiery line that cuts through the hazy, needy fog in my head.
It grounds me even as it hurts, a brand that says mine as clearly as if he’d spoken it.
I moan, the sound long and shuddering, my hips pushing back against him shamelessly.
The pain feels good. It feels right. It’s a punctuation mark to every brutal thrust.
His rhythm begins to fracture. The steady, punishing pace breaks apart into shorter, harder drives of his hips, each one accompanied by a grunt that is ripped from his chest. His breathing is harsh and loud in my ear, hot puffs against my damp skin.
I can feel the change then, the swelling at the very base of his cock where he is buried so deep inside me. The knot.
A fresh, wild desperation seizes me. My body clenches around him instinctively, my muscles tightening, trying to pull him deeper, to welcome the stretch. I want it. I need that final, undeniable claim.
He snarls, an unfiltered sound of pure alpha triumph, and slams home one final time. The thick bulge of his knot catches against my rim, an impossible pressure, and then he forces it through.
The stretch is blinding. It steals the air from my lungs all over again.
My mouth opens in a silent scream before sound finally rips free, a hoarse, broken shout that echoes in the large room.
He is locked inside me, swelling to full size, tying us together.
His teeth find the original bond mark on my neck, the one from our first time, and he bites down over the scarred tissue.
The pain of the fresh bite merges with the overwhelming fullness of the knot. He comes, and I feel a hot, pulsing flood deep inside me that seems to go on and on. His body shakes with the force of it, his growl subsiding into a deep, satisfied rumble against my skin.
And I am left sobbing.
Tremors wrack my body, violent and uncontrollable.
I am oversensitive everywhere—the bites sting, my ass feels brutally stretched and used, my skin is hyper-aware of every point of contact with his sweat-slick body.
But the worst, the most agonizing part, is the need that has not been met.
My cock is painfully hard, an angry, dark purple, straining against the cruel black ring that still holds me captive.
Precum leaks from the tip in a steady, shameful stream, pooling on my stomach.
The orgasm that should have been ripped from me by his knot, that my body was screaming for, is trapped, held back by a simple circle of silicone.
The frustration is a physical agony, sharper than any bite.
I am filled with him, claimed by him, knotted and bleeding and utterly possessed, but I am hovering on the very edge of release without being allowed to fall.
Tears of sheer overwhelm and deprivation track through the sweat on my face.
I am panting, whimpering, completely wrecked and utterly, desperately unsatisfied.
“Please,” I beg again, my voice a hoarse whisper. “Suha, please, I can’t... it’s too much. Just let me come. Please.”
He is still knotted inside me, his weight a heavy, possessive anchor.
His breathing is starting to even out, the harsh pants softening into deeper draws of air.
He shifts slightly, and the movement sends a fresh, dizzying jolt through my oversensitive body.
One of his hands, which had been braced on the mattress beside my head, lifts.
His fingers, slick with sweat, trail slowly down the side of my face, tracing the track of a tear.
His fingers continue their path, skating down my neck, over my pounding pulse, then across my collarbone. They drift lower, through the mess on my stomach, and finally close around the base of my cock, just above the ring.
His touch is electric. I gasp, my entire body arching as much as the restraints allow. His grip is firm, his thumb stroking over the swollen head where precum still beads and drips. It’s a tease, a cruel reminder of what’s being withheld.
“Please,” I whisper once more.
Then, with deliberate, agonizing slowness, his other hand joins the first. His fingers find the edge of the silicone ring. He doesn’t rip it off. He doesn’t snap it free. He begins to work it downward, millimeter by torturous millimeter.
The sensation is unbearable. The tight pressure eases incrementally, allowing blood to flow back with a tingling, prickling rush that is its own kind of pain.
The ring catches, and he pauses, applying a slight twist before continuing his slow, steady descent.
My breath hitches, my eyes squeezing shut.
I can feel every ridge of the ring, every shift of his fingers.
Time distorts, stretching into a single, endless moment of anticipation.
Finally, with one last, slick slide, the ring passes over the head of my cock and comes free in his hand.
The release is not gentle. It is catastrophic.
It hits me like a lightning strike, a detonation that originates in my balls and erupts outward, vaporizing every coherent thought in its path. My vision goes white. A broken shout tears from my throat as my body convulses violently against the sheets.
My back arches so sharply I fear my spine might crack, my shoulders straining against the cuffs.
My hips piston upward uncontrollably, and I come in thick, pulsing ropes that stripe my stomach and chest, each spasm wringing another choked sound from me.
The pleasure is so intense it borders on agony, wiping out the frustration, the pain, the desperation, leaving only a blank, shuddering aftermath.
I can feel myself clenching rhythmically around Suha’s knot, my internal muscles milking him in time with my own release.
The feeling of my come spurting across my skin, hot and wet, is obscenely vivid.
Every nerve ending in my body lights up at once, a final, spectacular firework display before the darkness rushes in.
I collapse.
All the tension, all the fight, drains out of me in an instant.
I go completely boneless, my body sinking into the mattress as if my bones have dissolved.
The cuffs are the only thing holding my arms up.
A long, trembling sigh escapes my lips. My eyes are open but unseeing, staring blankly at the ceiling as the aftershocks continue to ripple through me, smaller and smaller tremors that make my toes curl and my fingers twitch.
I am hollowed out. Wrung dry. Ache permeates every inch of me—a deep, satisfying ache in my muscles, a raw, stinging ache in my ass and at the bite marks, a tender, throbbing ache in my spent cock.
But the screaming, frantic need is gone.
For this one perfect moment, there is only a heavy, weighted stillness.
Suha is still knotted inside me. His breathing is deep and even against the side of my neck, stirring my damp hair. He doesn’t move for a long time, and I am too wrecked to care.
When his knot finally softens enough for him to pull out, I wince.
The sensation is a raw, slick slide, followed immediately by the hot spill of his come leaking out of me, a messy, undeniable proof of what we just did.
I make a small, pained sound in the back of my throat and let my head loll to the side.
But he isn’t done.
His rut, temporarily sated, is far from over.
I can feel it in the tension that returns to his body almost immediately.
Within minutes, his hands are on me again, turning me roughly onto my stomach.
The movement jostles every fresh bruise and bite.
I groan, my face pressing into the pillow, too exhausted to offer even token resistance.
He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to.
His body says everything. He’s hard again already, his cock pressing insistently against my sore entrance.
He pushes inside, and this time the burn is different—deeper, a familiar stretch over already sensitized flesh.
He sets a relentless pace once more, and I can do nothing but take it, my body pliant and used beneath his, the cycle beginning all over again.
By the time Suha is finally exhausted enough to sleep, I have lost count of how many times he has taken me.
My body feels like one giant, throbbing bruise.
Every muscle aches with a deep, satisfying fatigue.
My ass is raw and burning, a persistent heat that flares with every slight shift of my hips.
The bite marks on my neck, shoulders, and thighs sting sharply, a network of claimed territory etched into my skin.
My wrists are rubbed sore from the cuffs, and my legs feel like wet noodles, completely useless beneath me.