Chapter 25
Scott
I felt my own control slipping as I watched Grace surrender so completely beneath me.
The sight of her—face pressed into my sheets, bottom raised high, taking my cock with desperate sobs—stirred something primal that went beyond mere power exchange.
Each thrust drew sounds from her that made my chest tighten with an emotion I felt a good deal of reluctance to name, given everything it implied.
“You’re mine,” I growled, the words coming from somewhere deeper than conscious thought. “Every hole, every thought, every time you touch that sweet little cunt—mine.”
“Yes!” she screamed into the mattress, her whole body convulsing. “Yours, sir… oh, God… yours!”
I reached around to find her whipped pussy, my fingers sliding through the wetness there despite the punishment I’d administered. The moment I touched her swollen clit, she came violently, her bottom clenching around me with such force that I had to grip her hips harder to maintain my rhythm.
“Did I give you permission to come?” I asked, though we both knew the question was rhetorical. Her punishment was far from over.
I pulled out suddenly, leaving her gasping at the loss. Before she could process what was happening, I flipped her onto her back again, pushing her knees up to her chest. The sight of her—pussy red and swollen from the whip, bottom gaping from my use—made my cock throb with need.
“Hold yourself open,” I commanded. “Show me what belongs to me.”
Her hands moved immediately to spread herself, tears streaming down her face as she displayed her punished flesh.
I positioned myself at her bottom again, but this time I could watch her face as I entered her.
The way her eyes rolled back, her mouth falling open in a silent scream—it was intoxicating.
I fucked her harder than before, if that was possible, each thrust meant to drive home the lesson.
But something had shifted. This wasn’t just about punishment anymore.
The way she looked at me, the complete trust mixed with desperate need in her eyes, made something crack in my carefully maintained control.
“Grace,” I said, her name coming out rougher than intended. “My perfect little New Modesty fuck toy.”
She sobbed at the degrading endearment, but her hips pushed back against me, taking me deeper. I could feel my own climax building, the pressure at the base of my spine that signaled I was close. But I needed something more from her first.
“Tell me what you are,” I demanded, my thumb finding her clit again, circling it with just enough pressure to keep her on edge.
“Your fuck toy,” she gasped immediately. “Your personal slut, your property, your—oh God, sir, please—”
“Please what?”
“Please come inside me,” she begged, her voice breaking. “In my naughty bottom. Please mark me, claim me, fill me with your seed. Teach me to be a good girl for you. I need it, I need you to—”
“Soon,” I growled, “but not until you show me more.” I pulled my thumb away, and Grace whimpered with frustration. “Play with your cunt,” I commanded. “Make yourself come with my cock in your little ass.”
Grace
Part of me thought I should be confused—that I should maybe even talk back, sass my master about the way he kept contradicting himself.
The rest of me understood at a level that went beyond any logic.
I understood that Scott’s contradictions weren’t contradictions at all.
They were tests, challenges, ways of pushing me deeper into submission.
When he punished me for coming without permission, then commanded me to make myself come—that wasn’t inconsistency.
It was dominance in its purest form. My pleasure existed only at his whim, to be granted or denied as he saw fit.
My fingers moved to my whipped pussy automatically and without hesitation, the first touch making me cry out from the sensitivity I found there.
The bare, shaven flesh felt hot, swollen, almost alien under my fingertips.
But beneath the soreness lay that terrible, wonderful ache that only grew stronger when Scott thrust so deep into my bottom that I thought I might feel the effects of his possession for weeks.
“Look at me while you do it,” he commanded, and I forced my eyes open to meet his gaze.
The intensity there made my breath catch.
This wasn’t the controlled, professional Scott from the office.
This was something rawer, more honest. His face was hard with unconcealed aggression, his eyes narrow and his jaw set in a way that struck me almost as cruel as he maintained the brutal rhythm of his thrusting tool while watching me pleasure myself.
I circled my clit with trembling fingers, each touch sending sparks through my oversensitive flesh. The excess of sensation—his cock stretching my bottom, my own fingers on my punished pussy—created a feedback loop that had me spinning toward climax within moments.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Scott demanded, his hands gripping behind my knees to keep me spread much too wide. “Right now. Don’t filter it.”
“I’m thinking…” I gasped, my fingers moving faster despite the burning sensation. “I’m thinking that I’ve never felt more like myself than right now. That those years before… even… even on NMB… were just… rehearsal. That this is what I was made for—to be used like this, to be yours, to be—oh, God—”
“Continue,” he growled when I broke off, my body starting to tense with approaching orgasm.
“To be nothing but holes for you to fuck,” I sobbed, the words pouring out though I could barely form them through the overwhelming sensations. Something deep inside me needed to confess this truth, though.
“To be… to be trained,” I wept. “M-made… made into exactly what my m-master wants.”
My fingers pressed harder against my swollen clit, and I felt myself approaching the edge. Scott’s cock in my anus seemed to swell even larger, if that was possible, and I knew he was close too.
“I… I th-think about you… I think about you… constantly,” I continued, my voice rising with desperation as my hips jerked uncontrollably under Scott’s.
“When I… I wake up… when I’m w-working… when I’m trying…
trying to… to sleep. Your hands on me… your big, beautiful c-cock in me…
oh… oh, God… y-your voice telling me what to… to do.”
“Come,” he commanded, his voice rough with his own approaching climax. “Come with my cock in your ass, you perfect little slut.”
The permission unleashed something violent inside me. My orgasm crashed through me like a tidal wave, my whole body convulsing.
“Master…” I screamed, “sir… oh… please… please, come…”
I felt him thrust deep one final time, burying himself completely as he filled me with his release. The sensation of his hot seed flooding my punished bottom sent me into another climax before the first had even finished.
We stayed frozen like that for a long moment, both of us gasping for breath.
When he finally withdrew, I whimpered at the loss, at the strange emptiness.
I could feel myself gaping open, unable to close, his seed beginning to leak from my thoroughly used bottom.
The humiliation of it should have horrified me.
Instead, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction, of rightness.
Scott moved to lie beside me on the bed, pulling me against his chest. His arms wrapped around me with surprising gentleness after such brutal use. I pressed my face into his neck, breathing in his scent, feeling safer than I’d ever felt in my life.
“Grace,” he murmured against my hair, and there was something different in his voice now. Something softer, more vulnerable. “You did so well. So perfectly.”
I lifted my head to look at him, searching his face. What I saw there made my chest tighten with an emotion I wasn’t ready to name. His usual controlled expression had softened into something almost tender. It only lasted a moment, though, as if Scott felt he had revealed too much, too soon.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said. Before I understood what he was doing, he had gotten out of bed and scooped me up into his arms as if I were made of feathers.
Scott carried me to his massive bathroom, my arms looped around his neck, my face still pressed against his chest. Every step made me aware of how thoroughly he’d used me—my whipped pussy throbbing with each movement, my bottom feeling impossibly empty and sore.
I could feel his seed leaking from me, trailing down my thigh, and the mortification of it made me bury my face deeper against his skin.
He set me down gently in the shower, keeping one steadying hand on my waist as he turned on the water.
The spray was perfectly warm, and I sighed as it cascaded over my exhausted body.
Scott stepped in behind me, his hands surprisingly tender as he began washing me with expensive body wash that smelled like sandalwood and musk.
“Spread your legs,” he murmured, his tone gentle but still commanding.
I obeyed immediately, whimpering as his soapy fingers cleaned between my thighs with careful attention.
He washed away the evidence of my arousal, of his use, his touch efficient but also so intimate that my blush redoubled.
When his fingers brushed over my still-swollen clit, I gasped and grabbed his forearm for support.
“Still so sensitive,” he observed, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “You’ll feel this for days, Grace. Every time you sit, every time you move, you’ll remember tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, though the thought made my stomach flutter with a confusing mix of dread and anticipation.
He turned me around to wash my back, and I felt his fingers pause at my bottom. Without warning, he spread my cheeks, and I felt the warm water rinse away the last traces of his seed. The intimacy of it, the casual ownership of even this most private moment, made my eyes well with fresh tears.