Chapter 3
The following days were hell. Literally. For starters, Kenny came to her the following morning, fucked her face while she was flat on her back, took the straightjacket off, and told her to follow him to Boone’s room.
He opened the door when he arrived, motioned her in.
Boone was still in bed, and he stood, his dick hard and still growing. He pointed to the center of the bed and growled, “Knees and chest.”
No nickname. She swallowed and climbed onto the bed.
At least he lubed his cock this time, even stuck a single finger in her ass, but she was so damned sore from the day before, from the dry fuck that had split her open and hollowed her out. But Boone wasn’t interested in how she felt.
He shoved in and found a ruthless rhythm from the start, pushing her into the mattress with every thrust, turning her breath into hitched little gasps. Her body clenched and trembled around the intrusion, her pulse loud in her ears.
He came inside her, put a different plug in. Not her normal one. This one was fatter, both the inside part and the stem. Her asshole spasmed around it.
“For the foreseeable future,” he said, his voice like cold steel, “you’ll be disciplined on this bed every morning.
Move to the exact motherfucking spot you were in when you had your unsanctioned orgasm.
Lay exactly as you were when you disrespected me.
Disparaged what you are to us. Foreswore your promise to belong to us and obey. ”
She crawled to the corner like a broken thing, stretched her body over the edge exactly as she’d done before. Her heart splintered with every inch. The shape of her crime burned into muscle and memory.
He mechanically clipped her wrists behind her back. Fastened her ankles together with cold precision, and then he beat her ass and the backs of her legs with a fucking evil tawse.
She didn’t know how long it lasted. She only knew that by the time the real pain started, she’d already been crying for what felt like hours.
And apparently, her tears were only the halfway point.
The tawse kept falling, each strike heavy and deliberate, always landing where she already hurt the most. Same muscles at identical angles, as if he meant to carve the lesson into her.
Her body trembled under each blow, straining against her bondage without meaning to.
By the time he stopped, she couldn’t tell which pain was new and which had started days ago.
When he finally unfastened her cuffs, he muttered a curt, “Dismissed.”
And walked to his shower. Leaving her a bawling mess.
She went back to her room sobbing, her ass and the backs of her legs on fire. The bruises he’d beat into them screaming with every step. Her hole throbbed, aching from use. From punishment.
And the morning was just getting started.
The cold enemas when she took her icy shower every morning were perhaps the worst of the torments. Worse than canes, worse than the damned shocks to her clit from both the TENS and the violet wand.
Because she had to give them to herself. No one holding her down. No one watching her break. Just the order, the cold nozzle in her hand, and the knowledge that she had to shove it inside and twist the knob to make cold water flow into her bowels. Alone.
Physically excruciating along with a mindfuck of epic proportions, being made to give them to herself with no one there to witness her agony.
No one there to see her body clench and fight.
She hadn’t known that about herself, that part of what made suffering bearable was having her tormentor present.
Their gaze, their control, their ownership.
Without it, the pain was stripped raw, meaningless. Just cold, cruel emptiness.
The cramps hit in waves — rolling, brutal spasms that twisted her insides until she couldn’t tell where her guts ended and asshole began.
Her abdomen locked, then knotted tighter, a storm tearing through her intestines like a flood of broken glass.
Each gush of water was a dagger, stabbing cold, stabbing deep. Freezing her from the inside out.
Her vision went black at the edges. The cold shock so violent, she pressed her forehead to the tile to stay upright, dizzy and nauseous, bile burning in her throat as her belly cramped around the frigid invasion.
Her whole body convulsed — shivers and cramps colliding until she couldn’t tell if she was shaking from cold, pain, or both.
A howl ripped up her throat, strangled back because no one was there to hear it.
And all the while, the shower hammered down, freezing her skin while the enema twisted her core.
The only thing warm in that shower were her unwitnessed tears, spilling hot against the cold tile.
But she never, not once, considered giving her safeword. Never considered walking into Kenny’s office to tell him it was too much.
She’d broken trust. She understood that now.
And she’d earn it back by accepting the punishment, by showing them she knew she’d earned every minute of pain. Every second of disgrace.
This was about more than the orgasm. It was about trying to excuse herself from having it, trying to pretend it wasn’t her fault. Trying to bend the truth to stay out of trouble.
She’d tested them, and if she was honest, their reactions were a little… not comforting, but it was like they cared enough to discipline her. Cared enough to fix what she’d fucked up.
She made her way downstairs to start breakfast, but Kenny was already frying the bacon. He nodded to the table. “Sit and read. If you understand, you’ll know what to do. If you don’t, ask.”
She sat and saw a schedule in effect while she was being punished, with a note that this would continue until he felt the lesson had taken.
The words at the top of the schedule hit home.
Wolves value loyalty and honesty above all else. Hawks do not, but if you’re going to be part of the pack, you need to understand how badly your actions hurt the men who own you.
We aren’t doing this because we want to break you. We’re doing it so you don’t break us.
Tears threatened to blur the words, but she blinked them away and read through the schedule.
Kenny would come to her in the mornings, take her to Boone, who would use her and then provide his personal statement, which she assumed meant beating the fuck out of her while she was in the same position she’d been for the orgasm, which conveniently aimed her ass up so he could whale on it.
When Silas woke, he’d use her as usual, plus provide his personal statement, and she was basically terrified to find out what that would be, but she knew she’d get through it, whatever he chose. There was a note he’d have a one-time punishment for her when he arrived home from work that evening.
Also, four days of kneeling on rice at midday. She winced, but kept reading.
The next item said she would not eat from a dog bowl again, but she would stand in a corner for mealtimes, and would eat by herself when the men were finished.
A tear finally ran down her cheek at that, because she understood they didn’t want to pretend everything was okay until it was actually okay.
Lines, five hundred per day, half in the morning and half at night. To continue indefinitely: Kenny, Silas, and Boone own this cunt.
And finally, a separate apology letter to all three men, a minimum of seven hundred and fifty words for each letter, but it could be longer.
Without him outlining it, she figured she’d be apologizing to all three for the orgasm: to Kenny and Silas for being dishonest, and to Boone for disrespecting him and his space.
A note that denial training would continue, with the addition of the Jennings gag for all sessions, and that this was the only permanent change.
A long-term reminder not to lie. Fuck.
What would she know to do, once she read it through? She looked back through it, understood what he wanted, and said, “Which corner, Sir?”
He aimed her at one that would put her back to them while they ate. She wouldn’t even see them in her peripheral vision.
“Boone didn’t put the devices in me, Sir.” Only the huge damned non-vibrating plug, and nothing in her pussy.
“We’re exploring other programming options.”
She nodded and walked to the corner. Clasped her fingers behind her head when told to, and stared at the ninety-degree angle.
When they left, she ate breakfast by herself and then started on the lines first, wearing her dress to Kenny’s office, closing the door and taking it off, and then sitting at the conference table to write Kenny, Silas, and Boone own this cunt over and over.
When Silas texted her he was awake, she went to him, bent over to be assfucked, though she wasn’t sure his heart was really in it, and then followed him into his bathroom, heart in her throat.
She was terrified of what the sadist had planned, but she just wanted him to stop looking so sad. Whatever he needed to do, she’d accept.
He reached into the medicine cabinet, took out a brand-new bar of soap, and held it out so she could see the brand — an old-fashioned one. Lye soap.
Her stomach dropped.
Not because it would taste bad, she could handle that, but because the sadist who knew a thousand ways to make her scream, had chosen this instead — an act that would taste horrible and burn, but was more about making a statement than hurting her.
She’d truly wounded him, and it made her heart hurt.
It stripped her bare, like nothing could ever scrub her clean.
“I know saying I’m sorry isn’t enough, Sir, but I truly regret my actions, and I’m sorry I hurt you.”
He ran it under the water until it was foamy and said, “Open.”
She obeyed.