Chapter 13 #2
I am broken. The last shred of defiance, the part of me that was still secretly enjoying the game, the chase, the challenge—it’s gone.
Incinerated along with that patch of skin.
There is no fight left. There is only a hollow, terrified need for the pain to cease.
For him to show mercy, even though I know he has none.
I nod. I nod frantically, desperately, my head thrashing against the pillows. The movement tugs at the clamps on my chest, sending fresh jolts through me, but I don’t care. I nod so hard my neck aches. Yes. Yes. I’m ready. I’ll behave. I’ll do anything. Please.
A tear drips from my chin and lands on the fresh burn. The salt makes it sting even more, and a fresh sob shakes my shoulders. I am completely, utterly his. In the real way.
The glowing tip disappears from my vision.
I hear the soft clink of the cigarette being set in an ashtray on the nightstand.
My body is still alive with pain, the fresh burn on my thigh screaming a high, clear note over the medley of other aches.
I can’t stop shaking, fine tremors running through my limbs like I’m freezing.
Then his hands are between my legs.
He doesn’t speak. His fingers curl around the base of the thick, buzzing toy still buried inside me. The vibration shifts, rattling my bones, and then he begins to pull it out. Slowly. So fucking slowly.
I can’t help the sound that escapes me, a high, choked whine muffled by the gag.
My hips try to follow the retreating toy, a pathetic, instinctive chase for the fullness, for that relentless pressure on the spot inside me that’s been my entire world for hours.
The empty ache that follows is worse. My hole clenches spasmodically around nothing, feeling gaping and raw and desperately empty.
The sudden absence is its own kind of torture.
But he doesn’t set me free. He doesn’t remove the cold, unyielding metal rod stretching my cock, doesn’t take off the ring strangling my balls. He just leaves me there, stretched and empty and still painfully hard, the need to come coiling tighter in my gut like a spring wound past its limit.
I hear the whisper of a zipper. The soft rustle of fabric.
I turn my head, my cheek pressed into the damp pillow, and watch through blurry eyes as he steps out of his pants, pushing them down his thighs.
He’s already hard. His cock stands thick and dark against his stomach, flushed and ready.
He doesn’t touch himself, doesn’t stroke.
He just looks at me, his expression unreadable.
Then he’s moving, climbing onto the bed between my splayed legs.
He grips my hips, his fingers digging into the burning, bruised flesh, and pulls me roughly towards him.
I have no strength to resist, my body limp and pliant.
He lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against my oversensitive, clenching entrance.
He pushes in.
It’s not a hard, brutal slam like before.
It’s one smooth, deep, relentless thrust that fills me completely in a single, devastating motion.
I cry out behind the gag, my back bowing off the mattress.
The sensation is too much. It’s everything all at once—the thick stretch of him, the cold intrusion of the rod, the biting constriction of the ring, the raw, burning ache of my beaten skin.
My nerves are so frayed they can’t decide what signal to send.
Pleasure, pain, violation, relief—it all crashes together into a static that blanks my mind.
He bottoms out and stays there, buried to the hilt, letting me feel all of him. Letting me drown in it. My breath comes in gasps around the gag, my chest heaving. The clamps on my nipples tug with each movement, sending sharp, bright jolts through me.
Then he begins to move.
Slowly. Deliberately. There’s no hurry in him, no frantic rut-driven pace.
Each withdrawal is agonizingly gradual, each thrust back in is deep and complete and measured.
He’s drawing it out. Making me feel every inch, every second, every single fraction of this.
It’s not about his pleasure, not right now.
It’s about the stretch, the slide, the relentless, slow grind that keeps the coiled spring inside me wound tighter and tighter with nowhere to go.
One of his hands leaves my hip. I flinch, expecting another burn, another slap.
But his fingers go to the cuff around my left wrist, secured to the headboard.
There’s a soft click of the mechanism releasing.
The pressure on my wrist vanishes, and my arm falls limply to my side, feeling heavy and alien, like it doesn’t belong to me.
He reaches across, and a moment later, my right wrist is free too.
My arms flop onto the mattress, completely useless. I can’t even lift them.
He moves down then, his hands going to the leather cuffs strapped above my knees.
One buckle releases, then the other. My legs, forced wide for so long, don’t snap shut.
They just slump outward, muscles trembling weakly.
He adjusts my position, hooking his hands under my thighs and pulling my hips up, folding me almost in half.
The movement pulls at the fresh burn on my thigh, and a broken sound tears from my throat.
He doesn’t pause. He just repositions himself and pushes back into me, sinking deep once more. The angle is different now, deeper, and he hits a spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. A full-body shudder runs through me.
He sets that same, slow, devastating rhythm again.
In and out. No faster, no slower. A metronome of torment.
My freed hands lie palms-up on the sheets beside my head, fingers twitching occasionally.
I have no strength to touch him, to claw at the sheets, to do anything.
I am just a thing being fucked. A vessel for his cock and his lesson.
Finally, mercifully, Suha reaches up. His fingers find the buckle at the back of my head. The leather strap loosens with a soft rasp, and then he is pulling the thick, saliva-slicked ball from my mouth.
I gasp. The sound is thin at first, my throat too dry and swollen to work properly.
Cool air rushes over my tongue, my teeth, the raw insides of my cheeks that have been pressed against the rubber for hours.
I suck in another breath, deeper this time, and it feels like my lungs are remembering how to expand fully.
Drool I can’t control spills over my bottom lip, a warm, messy trail that drips down my chin and onto my neck.
My jaw aches with a deep, grinding pain, the joints protesting the sudden freedom.
I work it slowly, trying to ease the stiffness, but every movement sends a fresh spike of discomfort through my skull.
His hand comes up again, but not to wipe my face.
His fingers grip my jaw, his thumb and forefinger digging into the hinges, forcing my head to turn and my eyes to meet his.
His gaze is dark, expectant. There’s no softness there, no hint of the mercy I’m silently begging for. It’s a command, clear and simple.
“Beg,” he says. Just that one word. His voice is low, completely even.
My own voice, when it finally comes, is a ruined thing.
It scrapes out of my throat, hoarse and broken, each syllable feeling like it’s tearing something loose.
“Please,” I gasp out. The word is wet, mangled by my swollen tongue.
“Please, I’m sorry. I’ll behave.” I have to swallow, a painful convulsion, before I can continue.
“I won’t—fuck—won’t let anyone else touch me. Just please let me come. Please.”
The words tumble out in a desperate, ragged rush.
There’s no thought behind them. My pride, the stubborn, stupid part of me that was still clinging to the idea that this was a game, that I had any control at all, is gone.
It was burned away, beaten away, vibrated into nothing.
I mean every single word in this moment.
I would promise him the moon, my soul, anything he wanted, if it meant he would finally, finally let me tip over that edge I’ve been dangling from for what feels like an eternity.
Suha watches me for a long moment, his eyes searching my face. He must see the absolute surrender there, because something in his expression shifts. Grim satisfaction. The satisfaction of a job thoroughly completed.
He seems satisfied by this.
His hand leaves my jaw. He moves down my body.
He reaches for the cold, hard length of metal protruding from the tip of my cock.
His fingers close around the end of the sounding rod.
I whimper, a high, pathetic sound, bracing for more pain.
But his touch is careful, surprisingly so.
He begins to pull it out, slowly, steadily.
The sensation is indescribable. It’s not exactly pain, but it’s so intensely foreign, so wrong, that my whole body seizes up.
I can feel every millimeter of the polished metal sliding through the tight, sensitive channel inside me.
A choked cry tears from my raw throat, my back arching off the bed without my permission.
It feels like it takes forever, that slow, slick withdrawal, and when the tip finally pops free, a full-body shudder runs through me, leaving me gasping.
He sets the rod aside on the nightstand with a soft clink. Then his hands are at the base of my cock, where the tight silicone ring has been biting into my swollen skin for hours. He finds the clasp, releases it, and peels the ring away.
The sudden release of pressure is its own kind of agony. Blood rushes back into my trapped balls with a hot, prickling flood that makes me cry out again, my hips jerking. The ache is deep and throbbing, a relief so sharp it borders on pain.
I come almost immediately.