Chapter 29 #3
“No,” he commands, his hand stopping its movement instantly. The knife inside me stills. “You don’t come until I say. Feel how much control I have over your body, your pleasure, your pain. You feel it until I’m ready for you to fall apart.”
Another sob rips through me as I submit further, bending over the counter fully, sticking my ass out in surrender.
“You really are a slut, aren’t you, Pet? A filthy fucking whore, bending over farther so I can fuck this knife into your ass.”
“Yes, fuck, I am. It’s so good, so much.” Tears are streaming down my cheeks from the intensity of this.
“My perfect, fucked-up little toy,” he says, stroking me with one hand while the other twists the edge of the knife inside of me, stealing my breath.
“I am. I’m your whore, your slut, your hole to do whatever you want with. Your toy, Master. I belong to you.”
“Good,” he praises, his grip on my dick tightening, strokes getting faster. “And what do toys do?”
“They… they get used,” I manage, my voice trembling. “They please their Master.”
“That’s right,” he says, releasing my dick, and I gasp at the loss, but then I feel the knife handle moving in and out of me, fucking me while I’m bent over the counter.
I’m unable to speak as he picks up the pace, the handle of the knife pistoning in and out of my ass.
The stretch is intense, rigid, but knowing I’m being fucked by a knife is truly overwhelming.
“Please,” I beg. “Please let me come, Master. Please.”
He continues driving the knife into me, and I can feel my orgasm building, coiling deep in my gut. It’s inching closer. Zane doesn’t acknowledge my pleading as he watches me writhe across his counter and push back on the knife.
“Pathetic,” he murmurs, and my cock leaks profusely at his words of humiliation, but I don’t care.
“Please,” I sob again, my body trembling with the effort of holding back. “Please, Master. I can’t… I need to come.”
“Then come,” he commands, his hand reaching back around to stroke my dick while the other manages to push the knife handle deep inside of me, and I shatter.
My orgasm crashes over me. It’s blinding, all-consuming, and it leaves me gasping and trembling.
I can feel my ass clenching around the knife handle as my knees start to go weak.
“That’s it, Little Psycho.” His voice is thick with praise and satisfaction. “You did so well, Pet. Coming all over my knife like the filthy slut you are. It’s beautiful.”
I collapse against the counter as the last of my orgasm hits me. Zane catches me, slowly pulling the knife out and tossing it in the sink. The sudden emptiness is a stark change, and I whimper. My range of emotions is catching up to overwhelm me.
“Shhh,” he soothes, his hands gently stroking my back.
I’m dead weight against the counter as he pulls me into him.
Every muscle is liquefied, my mind blank from the intensity of it all.
I feel hollowed out, exposed, wrecked, and completely cared for at the same time.
“You did so well for me. So well, Mason. I’m so proud of you. ”
I can feel his lips against my skin, a soft, gentle kiss that’s a stark contrast to the threat of our encounter. Zane holds me, one hand rubbing soothing circles on my back while the other cradles my head.
“Breathe with me,” he instructs, and I match my breathing to his, slow and steady, coming down from the adrenaline spike. “That’s it. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
I nod into his chest, feeling so safe in his arms.
“I’m going to scoop you up and bring you to the couch, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Strong arms carefully lift me. My legs are useless, refusing to wrap around him, but he manages. I’m boneless, pliant, completely surrendered to his hold as he carries me effortlessly through the kitchen and into the living room.
He settles us both on the couch, arranging me so I’m sprawled across his lap, my head tucked into the crook of his neck. He grabs the throw blanket from the back of the sofa, draping it over my trembling body. The soft weight is a comfort, grounding me.
“You’re so beautiful. Thank you for trusting me,” Zane murmurs, stroking my hair, petting me.
I can only make a whimpering sound in response as tears streak down my face. The fear is receding now as I navigate the intense comedown. My mind is catching up with what I just endured as Zane continues to whisper soft praise in my ear while stroking my hair.
“You were so good, Mason. So incredibly brave. You took everything I gave you so well. I’m so proud of you. You amaze me.” Words of reassurance continue to fall from his lips, washing away the lingering shadows of fear until all that’s left is a deep, profound sense of safety.
I burrow deeper into his embrace, my body slowly ceasing its trembling.
The frantic energy that had been humming beneath my skin is gone, replaced by a heavy, languid satisfaction.
I can feel the faint sting of the marks he left on my skin, the lingering ache in my muscles, the ghost of the knife’s presence.
Proof of what I experienced. Proof of what I am for him.
And as I lie here, spent and satisfied, I can’t help but think about what we’ve just done. About how far we’ve come. And how much I want to eventually do it again.