Chapter 57 #2
My hands tremble as I reach for his belt, unfastening it with an eagerness that should embarrass me. When I free him from his pants, he’s already hard, the metal barbells glinting in the low light.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I raise my eyes to his as I take him in my mouth, watching his expression shift from control to pleasure. His fingers thread through my hair, not forcing, just guiding.
“That’s it,” he says, voice rough. “Show me how much you want it.”
I hollow my cheeks, taking him deeper, driven by the dark approval in his eyes. Each time I move, the plug shifts inside me, creating a rhythm of pleasure that builds with every bob of my head.
“So good for me,” he groans. “My perfect little poison.”
The pet name sends a shiver down my spine. There’s something about the way he says it—like I’m dangerous but cherished, like my toxicity is exactly what he craves.
When he pulls away, I feel empty, despite the plug still filling me. He helps me to my feet, guiding me to the bed.
“On your back,” he instructs. “Legs spread.”
I lie back, exposing myself to his gaze. His eyes travel over me, lingering on the jewel nestled between my thighs.
“Beautiful,” he crawls onto the bed between my legs. “Now, let’s see how sensitive you really are.”
His mouth descends on me without warning, tongue circling my clit with precision. The dual sensation—his hot mouth on my cunt, the plug pressing inside—is overwhelming. I arch off the bed, a cry tearing from my throat.
“That’s it,” he encourages between licks. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.”
His fingers join his mouth, sliding inside me, curling to find that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. The pressure from both sides—his fingers inside my pussy, the plug in my ass—creates a fullness I’ve never experienced.
“Soren,” I gasp, my hands fisting in the sheets. “I can’t—it’s too much—“
“You can,” he insists, increasing the pressure. “Give it to me, Ivy. Let go.”
The orgasm crashes over me, intense enough that tears spring to my eyes. My body clenches rhythmically around both intrusions, pleasure shooting outward until I’m trembling, incoherent.
He doesn’t stop, drawing out my climax until I’m whimpering, oversensitive and boneless.
“One,” he says with satisfaction, crawling up my body to kiss me. I taste myself on his lips. “That’s one.”
And I remember his promise—to see how many times he can make me come before he takes me completely.
“I don’t know if I can—“ I begin, but he silences me with another kiss.
“You can,” he says. “You will. For me.”
And despite the impossibility of it, I believe him.
His hands are everywhere at once, reawakening my oversensitive body. I’m still trembling from the first orgasm when he flips me onto my stomach, pulling my hips up while my face remains pressed against the mattress.
“Let’s see how this changes things,” he murmurs, fingers tracing around the jeweled base of the plug.
With gentle pressure, he begins to rotate it slightly, causing me to gasp as the sensation ripples through me. The movement is subtle but electrifying, sending shocks through my core.
“Oh god,” I whimper, my fingers clutching desperately at the sheets.
“Your body’s so responsive,” he says, voice thick with appreciation. “Look how wet you are just from having your ass played with.”
I should be embarrassed by his words, but there’s only honesty between us now. My body doesn’t lie to him—can’t lie to him.
He leans down, his chest pressing against my back as his fingers slide between my thighs. “I want to feel you come around my fingers while this plug is still inside you.”
His skilled fingers find my clit, circling with maddening precision while his other hand continues to manipulate the plug, creating a rhythm that builds impossibly fast. The dual stimulation is overwhelming—I’ve never felt anything like it.
“Soren, please,” I gasp, not sure if I’m begging him to stop or continue.
“Please what?” he asks, his breath hot against my ear. “Tell me exactly what you need.”
“I need—I need—” Words fail me as his fingers increase their pace.
“Say it,” he commands, his voice dropping to that hypnotic register that makes my insides liquify.
“Make me come again,” I finally manage, pushing back against him shamelessly. “Please, Soren.”
His satisfied chuckle vibrates against my skin. “Good girl. So polite when you’re desperate.”
He shifts his position, maintaining the pressure on my clit while his mouth travels down my spine. When he reaches the small of my back, he nips lightly at my skin, and the unexpected sensation combined with everything else sends me hurtling over the edge again.
“Two,” he counts as I collapse, boneless and panting.
Before I can recover, he’s turning me onto my back again, his eyes dark with hunger. “You’re even more beautiful when you come,” he says, brushing sweat-dampened hair from my forehead with surprising tenderness.
I stare up at him, dazed and floating. “I don’t think I can—“
“You can,” he interrupts, that familiar certainty in his voice. “And you will.”
He reaches for something on the nightstand—a small remote I hadn’t noticed before. With a wicked smile, he presses a button, and suddenly the plug inside me begins to vibrate.
I cry out, unprepared for the sensation. “Oh fuck!”
“Surprise,” he says, clearly delighted by my reaction. “Did I forget to mention this feature?”
The vibration radiates through me. It’s not localized like a vibrator on my clit would be—instead, it’s deeper, more diffuse, making my entire lower body hum with arousal.
“That’s—that’s not fair,” I gasp, writhing beneath him.
“I never claimed to play fair,” he replies, adjusting the intensity with another press of the button. The vibrations increase, and I arch off the bed involuntarily.
He watches me with rapt attention, cataloging every reaction, every gasp and moan. His gaze is analytical yet burning with desire—he’s studying me, learning what makes me fall apart.
“Please,” I whimper, reaching for him. “I need you inside me.”
“Not yet,” he says, though I can see how much it costs him to deny us both. “I want one more like this.”
He increases the vibration again, then lowers his head between my thighs. The first touch of his tongue against my oversensitive flesh makes me cry out. Combined with the relentless vibration inside me, his mouth brings me to the edge embarrassingly quickly.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against me. “Give me one more.”
When his fingers press inside me while his tongue works my clit, the fullness is exquisite—stretched and filled from both sides. The contrast between the unyielding plug and his living, moving fingers creates a friction that has me ready to shatter.
“Soren!” I cry out as the third orgasm crashes through me, more intense than the previous two combined. My body convulses, inner muscles clamping down on his fingers while the plug continues its merciless vibration.
He switches off the remote as I come down, giving me a moment’s respite. I lie there, chest heaving, limbs heavy, feeling thoroughly claimed already.
“Three,” he says with satisfaction, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before crawling up to kiss me deeply. I taste myself on his tongue, and something primal stirs in me despite my exhaustion.
“Now,” he says, pulling back to look into my eyes, “I think you’re ready.”
The anticipation in his voice sends a fresh wave of arousal through me. He reaches between my legs, gently testing the base of the plug.
“This might be uncomfortable at first,” he warns, his voice gentler than before. “Tell me if you need me to stop.”
I nod, nervous yet eager. He sees the conflict in my eyes and kisses me again, softer this time.
“Trust me,” he whispers against my lips. “I’ll make it good for you.”
He reaches for the bottle of lubricant, warming it between his palms before coating himself generously. The metal barbells gleam in the low light, and I swallow hard at the sight.
With careful movements, he begins to ease the plug out, his eyes never leaving my face. The sensation is strange—a slow, slick slide that leaves me feeling oddly empty when it’s finally removed.
“Breathe,” he reminds me, flipping me onto my stomach and positioning himself between my thighs. He pulls my hips back toward him, and squeezes my thighs closer together.
He stays on one knee, squatting with the other, grabbing a handful of my hair and using it to pull me back against him. I feel the blunt pressure of him against me, so different from the plug. Larger, warmer, alive.
He pushes forward with agonizing slowness, giving me time to adjust to each inch.
The stretch burns despite the preparation, and I tense involuntarily.
“Relax,” he soothes, stroking my hair. “Bear down slightly—it helps.”
I follow his instruction, and he slides deeper, the metal of his piercings creating an entirely new sensation as they drag against sensitive nerve endings. “Fuck,” he groans, his composure finally cracking. “You’re so tight here. So perfect.”
The pain gives way to a fullness that borders on too much yet somehow makes me want even more. When he’s fully seated inside me, we both pause, adjusting to the intensity.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.
I nod, unable to form words. The feeling is indescribable—invasive yet intimate, painful yet pleasurable.
He begins to move, shallow thrusts that gradually deepen as my body accommodates him. Each stroke sends the metal barbells dragging against my inner walls, creating friction in places I never knew could feel pleasure.
“Look at me,” he commands, and I force my heavy eyelids open to meet his gaze in the mirror near the bed.
What I see there steals my breath—beyond the lust and possession is something raw, something almost vulnerable. For this moment, he’s as exposed as I am, as consumed by what’s happening between us.
“Mine,” he growls, increasing his pace. “All of you. Mine.”
His hand slides around to circle my clit, and impossibly, I feel another orgasm building. I didn’t think I had anything left to give, but my body responds to him like it was made for this purpose.
“Come for me again,” he demands. “One more time, with me inside you here.”
The pressure builds, different from before—deeper, more intense. When it breaks, it tears through me like a storm, my entire body convulsing around him. I cry out his name, clinging to him as the world dissolves.
He follows immediately, his rhythm faltering as he groans against my neck, his body tensing above mine. I feel the pulse of him inside me, marking me in the most intimate way possible.
After, we lie tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin.
He’s careful when he withdraws, immediately checking to make sure he hasn’t hurt me. “Are you all right?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice as he gathers me against his chest.
I nod, too spent for words. He presses a kiss to my forehead, then rises to fetch a warm washcloth. The tender way he cleans me stands in stark contrast to the raw intensity of moments before.
When he returns to bed, he pulls me close, arranging my body against his with possessive precision.
“You were perfect,” he murmurs into my hair. “Even better than I imagined.”
I should be analyzing his words—better than he imagined when? How long has he been thinking about this? But exhaustion pulls at me, making such questions seem unimportant. At least for right now.
“Thank you,” I whisper instead, curling into his warmth.
“For what?” he asks, fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.
“For knowing what I needed before I did.”
His arms tighten around me, and I feel his smile against my temple. “That’s my job, little poison. To know you better than you know yourself.”
As sleep claims me, a distant part of my mind wonders if I should find his words disturbing rather than comforting. But wrapped in his arms, thoroughly claimed and cared for, it’s easy to silence that voice.
For now, this is exactly where I want to be.
Where I belong.
In his web.