Chapter 8 #2
But the temperature play didn’t keep him occupied for much longer, and he leaned to the side, and his hand went into the bathwater when he straightened, but she didn’t see what was in it.
Her tears sped with fear of the unknown, and his words didn’t make it any better.
“Hold still.” His voice was sharp, and she froze.
Fingers on her clit, pulling the hood back, and then something on it. Over it.
She whimpered the moment it touched her, nerves already frayed.
And then she recognized it, and her stomach dropped. Her clit was already screaming with raw nerves, and he’d chosen the one device designed to make it worse.
Silas adjusted the suction cup, locked the seal in place, and squeezed the bulb with a slow, deliberate rhythm.
Her clit screamed. The bruised, barbed flesh swelled further under pressure, throbbing like a wound. He pumped until it was more than twice the normal size, and all she could do was hold her mouth open in a silent scream.
“Already tender from your little leaf lingerie,” he said, voice too calm to be comforting. “Let’s see how desperate I can make you before you beg.”
Each pump made her thighs twitch. Made her cunt clench. Made her nipples sting harder.
And made her clit grow impossibly large.
He reached between her legs and tested the pressure with his fingers, released the device, removed it, and dragged the pad of his thumb over the suction-swollen bud.
She nearly climaxed from the friction alone.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned. “You come without permission, I’ll make you piss in a bottle and then drink every last drop, and we’ll keep it up, every time you piss until you’ve had twelve ounces drain down your gullet.”
She whimpered, shame clawing its way through the pain because her cunt clenched at the words, traitorous, as if it wanted every threat he promised — dragging her back to the damned primordial mud again.
He rubbed again, just shy of cruel. Enough to keep her right at the edge.
“I want you trembling. Right there. Too swollen to think, and too desperate to smart off. You’ll stay there for me, won’t you?”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“I believe you.”
He put the pump back on. Squeezed it all over again while he watched her squirm, his gaze cool, clinical, like a sociopath watching a moth struggle after ripping its wings off.
A flick of the wrist. Another squeeze.
“Because I’ll make sure you do.”
And another. Her pain fed his rhythm.
She whimpered as he pumped again, harder this time, her clit bulging against the glass. The suction gripped her flesh like a vice, and the ache burned hotter with every heartbeat. It felt like her clit would split down the middle, like the blood swelling inside it might rupture her.
Each pump ratcheted the pressure tighter. Her cunt clenched, nerves stretched to their breaking point. Her thighs shook, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t think.
“Good,” Silas murmured, almost to himself. “Now we’re cooking.”
She couldn’t stay still. Her hips jerked, rocked instinctively, desperate for friction, for anything, and he chuckled as he trailed his fingertips across her stomach, down her pelvis, and finally between her legs, massaging around her clit without touching it.
Gloved fingers this time. Mustn’t touch the fucktoy’s toxic privates with bare hands.
He tapped the pump with a cruel nudge, making it jostle, then plunged two fingers into her.
Her head slammed back on the tub’s edge, mouth open in a strangled sob.
Even underwater, her cunt was slick enough to welcome him in — from need, shame, from raw nerve endings fighting the war between pain and pleasure.
“Soaking. Of course you are.” His voice was low, with that same quiet cruelty he used when he was enjoying himself.
His fingers curved deep, rubbed the spot he knew too well. The pleasure knifed through her, sharp and jagged under the ache of the suction. She was shaking, gasping, held in place by pressure and need.
His fingers moved slowly at first, curling deep, deliberate, concentrating on the sweet spot and pressing until her breathing was ragged, until her swollen clit throbbed under the pump with every heartbeat. She was on the edge of everything.
And he held her there.
“You feel how open you are right now?” he asked quietly. “Your body begging for it? This is what obedience feels like. Soft. Accessible. This is how a good little fuckhole opens for its owner. No tension. No resistance. Just meat, accepting whatever gets inserted.”
She sobbed as he kept his hand moving, his fingers pressing against the front wall, keeping her arousal high but just out of reach. Every nerve in her lower body was millimeters from short-circuiting into a conflagration.
“You think you’re close now?” he asked. “This isn’t close. Not quite yet.”
He squeezed the bulb again, another sudden spike of suction. The pain jolted her and she screamed, a strangled sob, helpless under the surge of pressure.
“Now you’re close.”
Her whole body shook. Her mouth opened on a silent plea, cunt fluttering around his fingers, aching for release.
And he withdrew his fingers.
“No! please—” she gasped.
“No,” he said coldly. “You want mercy? Earn it. You’ll come when I say you can, and not a second before.”
Her mouth fell open on a silent wail. Her body begged, twitching with unmet need.
“Kenny and Boone gave you the all-clear, but you won’t get one from me until you show me you want to be a good little whore again, more than just a mouthy cunt in need of correction, even when you’re needy. Especially when you’re needy, desperate, and still denied.”
He leaned in, “I don’t want a bratty bitch with disrespectful opinions, I want obedient meat with a heartbeat.”
Rather than breaking her and cooling her passion, his words stoked the fire and shoved her closer to the edge. She writhed in the tub, panting, her body desperate for friction. Her clit throbbed under the pump like it had its own pulse, every ragged breath a plea.
She didn’t notice the ice until it was already inside her, cooling everything just enough to stall the orgasm millimeters away from taking her under.
Then another. And another until the cold inside her made her clit hurt rather than merely throb under the pump. The freezing cold in her cunt made everything cramp and scream, and she wailed like a banshee, wretched anguish bouncing off the walls, filling the room.
Another cube. And another. Shoved deep, turning her former heat into arctic agony.
Then one tucked between her cheeks, centered right over her raw, welted asshole, and he pressed it inside.
The cold twisted her bowels and she screamed again. Couldn’t stop.
“You don’t get off,” he chuckled when her screams faded. “Time to calm you the fuck down.”
The chill took the edge off, but the swollen ache still pulsed between her legs. Every shift in the water sent little shocks through her.
He tapped the bulb again. Gave it another slow squeeze. Another cube pressed into her pussy. Her back arched. Her muscles trembled with effort just to endure. Another brutal squeeze.
Her eyes fluttered. Her arms trembled. Her body was no longer hers. She collapsed back, panting. Her entire pelvis throbbed with raw, angry heat beneath the cold — a mess of conflicting sensations that blurred into agony.
“You’re leaking poison,” he said softly, crouching beside the tub, brushing her hair from her face. “Sass. Pride. Anger. Ego. That’s what this is. I’m sucking it out of you, draining it from your greedy little whore clit.”
He squeezed the bulb yet again, analytically watched her arch, then finally released the suction.
She shuddered. Whimpered. Her clit throbbed like an open wound. Her cunt clenched around emptiness.
“Thank me,” he whispered, leaning close. “Thank your owner for drawing some of the poison out.”
It hadn’t occurred to her the pain might be for a reason, and her breath hitched. “Thank you, Sir, for drawing some of the poison from my clit.”
He leaned down and kissed her temple. Gentle. Reached for the shampoo and washed her hair with slow, steady fingers. Massaged her scalp with such jarring tenderness she nearly cried all over again.
She let him wash her. Let herself be handled. She was meat, but she was his meat. A thing ruined and wrecked, but then cared for.
And still, her cunt pulsed between her legs.
When her hair was conditioned better than she ever managed, when he’d rinsed it and kissed her on the temple again, he ordered, “Spread-kneel.”
She went to her knees, and he soaped the cloth and worked it down her back, over her sore shoulders, all the way to her bruised, burning ass. He didn’t rush. Didn’t avoid the angry lines or the leftover sting.
He included them.
Honored them with care.
“You’re my good girl,” he said quietly. “The best little tongue whore ever, not because of your skill, but because of your enthusiasm no matter how much you hate it.” He sat back.
“You fucked up, you suffered, and you learned. You’re still mine.
Still ours.” Another kiss to her temple.
“You’ll earn another orgasm from me eventually. ”
Her face flamed red, shame curled hot in her gut while pride twisted in her heart. Her psyche struggled to sort her reaction to his crude words, but her brain knew the only answer she could give was a whispered, “Yes, Sir.”
He gave her a gentle smile and said, “Good. Soak another five minutes, then I’ll take you to bed.”
To sleep, hopefully, but Boone would be there, and she figured they had a plan. She didn’t really expect an answer but she dared to say, “And you’ll…”
He smirked. “My balls need draining, but my dick’s not going in your ruined holes until we’re sure all the nettles are gone. Mouth’s still functional though, and you can’t smart off with a dick in it. Boone’s already in bed, not sure what he wants.”
She sagged. Grateful. Broken. Loved. Owned.
So very, very owned.
Silas dried her with the same calm thoroughness he applied to everything. No rush. No softness. Just efficiency. She gasped and yelped when he rubbed over the hurty places, but stood with her arms limp at her sides.
Her clit still throbbed, swollen and sore, the skin so tight she could feel each heartbeat like a pulse in her bones, every nerve lit and raw. Her pussy pulsed with the same rhythm. Her thighs trembled from strain.
When he finished, he tossed the towel in a separate bin.
“Come, single-use fuckhole.”
The words arrowed through her and landed in her gut, but her feet moved anyway, carrying her forward on shaky legs, through the doorway and to her medallion.
Boone was stretched out on the bed, naked, hair damp from his own shower. His eyes tracked her as she entered. Cool. Assessing.
She stood in inspection pose on the medallion and waited, every inch of her body throbbing. And yet, it wasn’t as bad as it’d been before the bath.
Silas stripped his wet pants off, tossed them into her bathroom, climbed onto the bed naked, and studied her a good fifteen seconds before saying, “Permission to enter the bed and kneel between Boone’s thighs.”
When she was in place, Silas’s hand wrapped around the back of her neck, and he said, “Open your only available fuckhole.”
She opened.
He shoved her forward, hard — no time to adjust, no time for her jaw to get used to him. Boone’s dick filled her mouth in one long, brutal thrust. She gagged, choked, fought not to panic, and then Silas pulled her back just enough to let her inhale.
“Look at me,” Boone said.
She forced her eyes up, and humiliation roared through her like fire. Her cunt clenched with heat and ache and shame.
“This is what your mouth is for.”
His hands came around her head, holding her in place. Silas let go and shifted back, letting Boone guide her with slow, punishing control — down, down, until her nose brushed coarse pubic hair and her throat was stretched around him.
He held her there, and she did her best to swallow around his huge girth stretching her insides, tears pricking her eyes, face burning with shame.
Silas leaned in close to her ear, voice smooth. “That mouth is for serving. Not snapping.”
Boone groaned. “We all know I prefer your throat to your tongue.”
He fucked her slow, pinned between his thighs, his hand at the back of her head — claiming her like a fleshlight built for obedience, every thrust grinding the humiliation deeper. Her swollen clit sparked with every movement, raw nerves catching fire.
Silas’s fingers stroked down her spine, reminding her they owned her. Every inch.
When Boone pulled her mouth off of his wet, glistening cock, there was no reprieve.
“Silas,” he said.
“Gladly.”
Silas was already kneeling nearby, and his voice dropped a decibel to order, “Over here, and open your whore mouth again.”
She obeyed because there was nothing left but to do as she was told.
Silas’s use was different, smoother and more controlled, but just as degrading. He pushed past her lips and groaned, one hand at the back of her skull holding her where he wanted her, using her like a thing.
“Boone is right. I much prefer your throat.”
She moaned around him, but not from arousal. From relief. From submission. From the brutal, blessed safety of only having to obey.
Silas pulled out and finished himself with a few rough strokes, spilling hot and fast across her tongue.
“Swallow it,” he said.
She did. Because he told her to. Because she was supposed to. Because it was part of him, and even if it tasted vile and disgusting, she accepted it into her body as a gift.
Silas moved, Boone replaced him. “Open.”
He fucked her mouth hard and fast with zero finesse this time until he came in her mouth rather than her throat.
And then watched her swallow.
Silas arranged her between them. One on each side.
No kisses. No praise.
Just heat on either side of her and a silence heavy with power. She didn’t even realize she’d fallen asleep until Boone snugged his warmth at her back and tucked her under his arm.
Not tenderness.
Possession.
And she let the dark take her under again. Safe and warm.