Chapter Fourteen
Lyra
Killian doesn’t allow me to go to the guest bedroom, but he also doesn’t touch me.
For once, we sleep on opposite sides of the bed, and strangely…
I don’t like it. Some warped part of me wants his arms wrapped around me.
They’re a cage, yes, but somehow they also seem to represent…
safety. Security. Some odd modicum of comfort.
In the morning, he doesn’t spank me or fuck me. Instead, he lays out my clothes for the day on the bed… and that’s when I freeze.
The panties are… wrong. They’re not panties, they’re some sort of sadistic game. First of all, they’re not made from cotton, silk, or lace; they’re made from leather.
And second of all, there are two… protrusions from the gusset. One slim, the other bulbous. It takes me several blinks for realization to dawn, and once it does… “I’m not fucking wearing those.”
“You are,” Killian says calmly. “We’re going to play a game. Today, you will go out and about in these. If at any point, you want them to come off, all you have to do is beg me to fuck you. Otherwise, you’ll be in them until tonight. If you win, I don’t fill you up with my cum. If I win, I do.”
“I don’t want to play.” I’m not keen to have anything up my ass. Aside from that not-so-little obstacle, walking around all day with a dildo inside me does not sound appealing whatsoever.
“I’m not asking. Since I’m feeling slightly generous after the difficult night you’ve had, I’ll offer your lube. If you refuse or try to fight me, I’m going to hold you down and put the panties on you dry. That’ll be the sort of pain even you probably won’t like.”
I gape at him. “I fucking hate you.”
“Fine line,” he murmurs. “Make your choice. You have five seconds.”
He can’t do this to me. He can’t. It’s too obscene.
It’s too… lewd. Except, his expression is unbending.
I’m still seated on the bed, wearing nothing but a thin camisole and short sleep-shorts, and he’s in only boxers, cutting an imposing figure.
I can see his erection pressing forward, and shit, it makes my mouth water.
“Three seconds,” he says helpfully.
I look back at the panties. It really will hurt if he puts them on without lube, and I’ve never known Killian to make idle threats. I don’t have much of a say in the matter.
“One—”
“Lube.” The word escapes me on a horrified whisper. Killian smiles, rounds the bed, opens his night stand drawer, and withdraws a bottle of lube. Has he had that in there the entire time? How long has he been planning on taking my ass?
“If you orgasm at any point today, I’m going to fuck your ass dry tonight,” he warns. “Get on all fours.”
Orgasm. From having those two… things inside me? It sounds uncomfortable and painful, not erotic. There’s no way. I comply, hesitantly.
“You’re lucky you agreed when I told you to.
” Killian pulls down my shorts, spread my legs apart, and drizzles cold lube onto my ass.
I shudder at the strange sensation as he starts rubbing his finger around my rosebud, over and over.
It feels uncomfortable, odd, wrong, but not painful.
Not good, either, just… weird. “If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have given you any prep. ”
His index finger, slicked up, starts to press against my back hole. I clench against it, grimacing.
“Why are you doing this?” The words come out as more of a squeak than anything.
“Because every part of you is mine to claim. And because I love hearing you beg—and I doubt you’ll make it to tonight before you beg me to fuck you. Stop clenching.” He lightly swats my ass for emphasis, which has the opposite effect. I clench up tighter and instinctively try to move away.
He winds a hand in my hair and yanks me back to position.
“Don’t even fucking think about it,” he grits out.
The pressure from his finger steadily increases, until just the tip breaches through.
I freeze, trying to process the alarming wash of sensations coursing through me.
No pain—maybe a slight prickle, but not real pain.
Just… a deeply, deeply strange awareness. It’s kind of hard to describe.
“Take a deep breath,” Killian instructs me, sliding in a bit further.
Prickles of panic travel up my spine. Nothing’s supposed to be back there; that is an exit, not an entrance.
As if Killian can anticipate my next move, he tightens his hold in my hair.
“Lie still and fucking take it.” The finger travels deeper.
Still no pain, but such an extreme sense of taboo and wrongness it’s almost worse than actual pain.
“Stop,” I gasp. “Please—”
“No. It doesn’t hurt, does it? I’m going slow, since you were a good girl.
If you weren’t, you would not be receiving the courtesy of lube and prep.
Lie there and fucking take it. Show me you can be a good girl, or so help me god, I will start treating you like a bad one—and I guarantee you won’t find any enjoyment in it. ”
It’s the epitome of humiliation to lie in place while he starts pumping a finger in and out of my ass, slowly increasing speed and intensity.
After a while, the initial discomfort fades, leaving behind not necessarily a sense of pleasure, but of something else.
I can’t classify it as enjoyment, but there’s something building back there, and it sets me on edge.
“Good girl,” he purrs, and a slight whimper escapes me.
His ensuing chuckle is as much of a taunt as this entire scene.
Me, on my hands and knees, held in place with his hand fisting my hair and his finger up my ass.
Him, totally in control behind me, holding me steady with his iron willpower even more so than his hands.
“I’m going to put another in. It’ll stretch, but it shouldn’t hurt. ”
Another fingertip slides inside me, and nerve endings that I didn’t even know existed buzz to life, making me squirm.
“Keep still,” he warns.
“I can’t!” I cry. “It’s—it’s—”
“Mm. I didn’t expect you to be an ass-slut as well as a pain-slut.”
That makes me stiffen with indignance. “Fuck you!” I try to move away in earnest this time, but he forces my upper body down, pinning me to the mattress. I struggle and I jerk, but he only chuckles in response, amused at my expense.
Somehow, the humiliation only forces heat to start gathering between my thighs. Some sort of weird alchemy is going on in my body—wires being crossed, sensations being played with.
“It’s not an insult,” he says calmly. “It’s actually a good thing. It means you’ll enjoy it when I fuck your ass for the first time.”
“I’ll never let you—” I cut off with a cry as both fingers slide inside me. Fuck, it’s weird, and what’s worse, it’s starting to feel good.
“Stop,” I gasp. “Please—”
“I think you’re ready for the plug,” he cuts me off. His fingers leave me, and I suddenly feel very empty. It’s almost as wrong as when he was filling me.
Then, cool leather kisses my clit. “You don’t even need lube in your pussy,” he chuckles. “You’re fucking dripping. Tell me again how you’re not an ass-slut?”
“I’m not, you prick—oooh,” I moan as the dildo slides inside of me.
It’s slim, not terribly intrusive, but just big enough to make me painfully aware of the pressure down there.
Then, the head of the bulbous plug presses against my ass.
I can barely believe that Killian is doing all of this one-handed, while his other hand is busy pinning me to the mattress.
“Deep breath,” he instructs. “It’ll be a lot more uncomfortable if you don’t comply.
” He starts applying steady, even pressure that makes me cry, whimper, and try to squirm away.
It barely seems to take him any effort at all to hold me still, and after a few moments, I go entirely limp.
The plug slides in easily, pressing against the dildo through the thin barrier of skin.
I feel dominated, owned, completely subdued.
And it doesn’t feel bad. There’s a slightly floaty sensation in my head that makes me feel like I’m in a dream.
“Beautiful,” Killian murmurs. I feel him fastening the straps of the panties on either side of my hips, pulling them tight to keep them in place.
When he’s done, he pats my ass. “Get dressed,” he tells me.
“Locke knows where to take you. If at any point it becomes too much, all you have to do is beg me to fuck you. There’s a phone for you on your nightstand with my number programmed in it.
Text me when you’re ready. Otherwise…” he chuckles. “Enjoy the torture.”
Killian’s sadism truly knows no bounds. Merely the act of getting dressed in a chic skirt-suit he chose for me has wetness slicking my thighs.
Each step I take makes the toys inside me move, sending ripples of pleasure and pressure coursing through me.
Ten minutes into this ordeal, and I’m already flagging.
But I’m determined not to let him win. He’s put a challenge in front of me, and I thrive in competitions. I won’t break. I won’t.
As soon as I get into the car with Locke, and the motions of the drive send the toys inside me nearly vibrating, I murmur a faint, “fuck.”
I might break. It’s too much and not enough. I’m already being driven up the hill towards an orgasm, not quite fast or far enough that I think I’ll come immediately, but close enough to be torturous.
I guess Killian’s sadism doesn’t just apply to pain. He also wants to use toys to edge me into oblivion and try to get me to beg him to fuck me. I don’t want to let him win, but after half an hour, I’m already worried.
Locke takes me to a boutique on Madison Avenue where I have a dress fitting scheduled.
Changing out of my clothes and into the preselected dresses is a new sort of torture.
Holding a conversation with the overly eager sales associate is nearly impossible.
I stutter on every other word, cheeks burning, praying to God I don’t leave any smears of wetness on the dresses I try on.