Chapter Sixteen #2
I already wish I were dead. The punishment isn’t just painful; it’ll be more humiliating than anything else he’s done to me to date.
“I hope you understand that this is for your wellbeing. Truly. If I don’t do this, I’ll have to kill you. And that is one thing I’m vehemently opposed to doing, even though you’re making it phenomenally challenging to keep you alive.”
He’s done with the ginger; it’s taken the exact shape he wanted it to. He walks around my back, until I can no longer see him. I tense in preparation for him to shove it up my ass, but instead, something worse happens; a blindfold covers my eyes, taking away my vision.
In the absence of that, all of my other senses heighten.
I can hear the cool rustle of sheets beneath me, feel the soft cotton brushing against my skin.
I can feel the bed dip as Killian presumably kneels on it and inches closer.
I can hear the sharpness of his breaths, evidence of his arousal.
I can even smell his spicy, pleasant, slightly woodsy cologne, intermixed with the acidic, sweet scent of the ginger.
“In a moment, the ginger is going into your ass,” he tells me, I release a quiet whimper.
“Now, I’m going to give you chances to speak tonight, but they will be brief, and if you fail to hop on the opportunity, you’ll miss it.
Right now is your first chance. If you want to reduce the chances of tearing and soften the sting of the ginger ever so slightly, you will say, “Please, Master, put the ginger in my ass. Do you understand?”
He’s forcing me to ask for a humiliating punishment to earn a sliver of mercy. No, not forcing, but dangling the promise of easing a fraction of my pain. Considering I’ve never even had a finger in my ass, I’ll have use for any slice of mercy I can get.
I nod my head, just once. Killian removes the gag.
I say through gritted teeth, “Please, Master, put the ginger in my ass.”
He slaps my ass cheek again. “Next time, lose the fucking attitude.” He positions the gag back between my lips, muting me again.
Something cool drizzles down the crack of my ass. Then, comes a sharp sting as Killian swirls the tip of the ginger around my rosebud. Without any preamble, without any warning or preparation, he shoves the ginger in.
The sting is immediate, and it is unbearable.
I release a long, prolonged whimper as an intense pins-and-needles sensation swiftly morphs into a stinging, prickling burn.
Fuck, it hurts. It hurts so much I want to beg Killian to pull it out, but I know he won’t—my pleas would only prompt him to keep it in longer.
“I’m going to hit you now, Lyra,” Killian says.
“Your ass, your thighs… your pussy, eventually. Each time my implement hits your flesh, you’ll clench around the makeshift plug.
Squeeze hard enough and more juices will leak out.
And, remember—this is no one’s fault but your own.
Next time you want to go around my back to talk to my ex-employee, I sincerely hope you’ll think better of it. ”
A slight zzz sounds before a hard hit lands on my soft, already bruised flesh.
My ass has mostly healed from the last time Killian punished it, and now, he’s ensuring I won’t be able to sit comfortably for another week.
He doesn’t hold back, and he doesn’t waste any time to warm me up, either; his hits are intense, precise, and devastatingly painful.
The flogger hits the backs of my thighs, my ass cheeks, a few hits even jiggle the ginger in my asshole, making me clench all the harder, which only triples the pain.
The assault is overwhelming. It’s endless. Killian’s strength doesn’t wane, but some hits are harder than others.
When I scream at the top of my lungs, loud enough for the noise to carry past the gag and echo around the room, Killian gives my ass and thighs a small break. Instead, he goes for the sensitive soles of my feet, which is almost worse.
If I were someone who enjoyed pain, I wouldn’t enjoy it when delivered in these sorts of extremes. This isn’t pleasurable or foreplay; this is outright agony. This sort of punishment violates my constitutional rights as an American citizen… but I don’t think Killian cares about my rights very much.
No, the only thing he cares about is my suffering.
When my screams have morphed into quiet whimpers and sobs, Killian finally, blessedly stops. I hear the flogger drop to the mattress with a slight thud. The only noises in the room are my quiet cries and Killian’s labored breaths.
“Now,” Killian says carefully. “You’re faced with another decision. You can either take another round with an implement, or you can ask me very sweetly for an orgasm, and I’ll give you one.”
I don’t know if I can take the flogger. My entire body sings with pain. However, I want an orgasm from this psychopath as much as I want a bad case of pneumonia, so…
Killian slips the gag out of my mouth. “Ask nicely, Lyra, and I’ll reward you for your obedience. Any defiance will result in further punishment.”
I should say it. I should shed the meager remainders of my pride and ask Killian for an orgasm.
“Fuck you,” I wheeze.
“I see your poor decision-making skills have seen no improvement. Very well. I am going to hit you ten times. Those hits are going to hurt, but they’re not going to preclude any pleasurable play.
Each time I hit your supple flesh, you will count, and you will thank me.
If you falter, if you fail, I add an extra. Do you understand?”
I release an animal noise of sheer fury.
I tug on my wrists, on my ankles, I shake furiously, wishing I could get out of this degrading fucking position and claw Killian’s eyes out.
I bare my teeth at him—he grips my chin in his hand, squeezing in warning.
“You fucked up, and you’re being punished.
Refusing, fighting back, will only prolong it.
If your wish is for this to be over sooner rather than later, then you will comply and do so sweetly.
I like it when you suffer for me, but I do not enjoy situations like this.
Do us both a favor and stop with the fucking bratting. ” He pauses. “Do you understand me?”
He's trying to paint himself as a benevolent master who’s abusing me for my own good. And, if I want this to end, I have to go along with it.
“Yes,” I hiss.
“Yes, what?” he asks sharply.
Bastard. “Yes, sir.”
He pauses for a moment. “That’ll do.”
He takes his position behind me. I tense in preparation for a continuation, and my ass inadvertently squeezes around the peeled ginger. I whimper as more fresh juices dribble from the root, coating my ass, my insides, and the skin of my thighs.
I don’t get a warning before something strikes my pussy in a slight tap. It’s not the whip or a flogger—it’s something else. A crop, I realize. A small square of leather that hit me, right over my labia.
“One,” I grit out. “Thank you, sir.”
“That was for practice, not as part of the count,” Killian responds, “but I do appreciate your enthusiasm. So much so, I’ll count it. I won’t be so kind with the rest.”
He hits me again, and this time, it stings and burns. It’s a different pain from the one lighting up my ass; back there is unbearable. Here is something… odd. Painful, punishing, but it also stirs something inside me.
“Two. Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome.”
The third hit is slightly softer, almost teasing; the fourth, hardest yet, and painful enough to make me screech.
“Easy,” Killian says, his words thick with… something. Desire.
“Four—thankyousir,” I pant, forcing out the words even though I’m desperate to tell him to go fuck himself with a piece of ginger. I want to tie him down and force a knife up his ass—see how he likes it when it feels like your body’s being torn up inside out.
“Easy, Lyra,” Killian repeats soothingly. I gasp when his cool palm smooths over my ass. It smooths a path around the ginger, and several fingers slide through my labia. No, not slide—glide. They glide… because, somehow, I’ve grown wet.
A deep shame warms my cheeks, my neck, maybe my entire body. More tears—this time ones from emotional pain rather than physical—stream from my eyes, caught on the fabric of the blindfold.
I’m turned on by the terrible things Killian’s doing to me; the proof is leaking from my pussy.
I bury my face in the mattress and sob.
Killian is nowhere near as devastated by this discovery as I am; in fact, he seems pleased.
He slides two fingers inside of me, gathering my wetness, then glides them up to my clit and circles his fingers around it.
My toes curl and my ass clenches, setting off another round of stinging pain, but this time the pain feels different. Almost… tantalizing.
“Soon,” Killian promises me. “Almost halfway there. Once I’m done, ask me very sweetly for an orgasm, and I’ll give you one. I’ll give you a powerful one.”
He strikes me three more times in quick succession, then returns to fondling my pussy, driving me closer and closer to an edge of pleasure. I try to fight it—I try desperately to keep my wits about me, but his fingers are skilled and my pussy doesn’t seem to share my moral dilemmas.
“Three more. As soon as you’ve thanked me for the tenth, beg me to come, or it’ll be another ten—and those’ll be hard enough to preclude any pleasure. Do you understand?” he pinches my clit in warning.
“Yes,” I hiss, straining against my bonds for a reason other than anger or pain.
“Good.”
The last three strikes are the harshest without a doubt, and the final one is intense enough to make me scream. I curl my hands into fists, digging my fingernails into my palms, and writhe around, panting.
“Lyra,” Killian warns.
“Ten,” I groan. “Thank you, sir.” I inhale a long breath. I can’t take any more pain. Killian’s already blown through all my limits; it’ll only get worse from here. “Please make me come.”
“Hmm. You have taken your punishment quite beautifully…” Killian’s hand returns to fondling my pussy, slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, while I’m breaking apart at the seams. “I think I’m inclined to be benevolent. You’ve suffered quite enough for your infraction.”
I suck in a sharp breath when he pulls the ginger from my ass—no warning, no uncertainty, he just pulls it out, which takes the sting to entirely new levels.
But then, something cold and pleasant drizzles over my ass—an oil or a lube of some kind.
It helps reduce the sting just enough to make it bearable, and for the ache in my pussy to reach unbearable heights.
“You are a vision,” Killian mutters. “Pussy weeping for me. Ass cherry red. A fucking vision, Lyra.”
He grips my legs, and in a sudden, jarring gesture, he flips me onto my back.
My arms are smushed beneath me, straining them, and my legs are spread-eagle—I still can’t see anything beyond the blindfold, but I can feel everything acutely.
I feel the bed dip under Killian’s knee as he leans over me.
I feel his fingers slide into my pussy just before his thumb glides over my clit.
I feel the low groan he releases, tickling my skin and hardening my nipples.
“Ask me again,” Killian demands. “Beg me to come, Lyra.”
I’m desperate enough for a temporary escape from the pain to shed the last vestiges of my pride and do as he asked. “Please—please,” I moan when he pinches my clit. “Please, make me come.”
“Are you going to be my good girl?” Killian purrs.
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Say it,” Killian requests. “Tell me you’ll be my good girl, Lyra.”
“I’ll be your good girl—please let me come!”
“Come.” He rubs my clit in rapid circles, curling the fingers inside of me.
My entire body trembles and a scream hurtles past my lips.
The pain and aches on my body accelerate the pleasure, forcing me higher and higher until I think I might simply die.
The orgasm is so intense it makes stars burst behind my eyes.
“Good girl,” Killian purrs. “There’s my good girl.” He slides his hand off my pussy, and I feel a tug at my blindfold before he slips it off. I flinch at the light of my room, blinking several times until I can see straight.
Then, all the pleasure dissipates from my body, fleeing like flowers after a frost. My heart drops down to my toes, and everything inside me shrivels up.
In his hand, Killian’s holding a phone.
The camera light is on, and it’s pointed at my naked body.