Chapter 11 #3
Annoyance flared hot in her chest as she forced her fingers to uncurl, palms flat against the sheets.
Clenching into fists helped her fight the pain, but what she wanted didn’t matter, only what they demanded.
The realization hit hard — her body wasn’t hers to manage anymore, and she’d have to mold even her automatic reactions to their preferences.
Being theirs to shape suddenly took on new meaning.
And then the third strike landed and chased away all thoughts when it crossed the first and the overlapping heat turned the throbbing pain into an all-encompassing pulsing burn.
She focused on keeping her hands flat on the sheets and bit her lip because she’d already screamed her throat raw tonight.
The fourth came fast on its heels, the hiss of the cane cutting the air before the bite slammed into her right cheek alone, directly over the diamonds. A surgical cruelty that left her breathless. The deep throb followed, spreading warm and mean.
The fifth cracked across the tender flesh just below her sit-bones, low enough to make her gasp. The echoing ache made her thighs quiver, the aftershock almost worse than the strike itself.
The sixth and final was the hardest yet, laid diagonally across the others, pulling every earlier welt into the new bloom of pain. She buried her face in the bedding, not in defiance but in the fight to stay exactly as she’d been told while the fire licked through every nerve.
Silas stretched out beside her, and Boone lifted her and mounted her over him, knees straddling his hips.
Her raw, swollen pussy was forced down onto his cock, inch by brutal inch, until the stretch ripped a broken sound from her throat.
There was no give left in her, no slick ease.
Just sore, stretched flesh struggling to take more.
The position pitched her forward, pulling every welt tight across her back and thighs, the lingering heat flaring fresh as her body fought to adjust.
And then Boone’s hands spread her cheeks.
She barely had time to adjust before Boone’s huge hands bracketed her hips. His blunt head pressed against her asshole — the same one Silas had worked the night before, and that morning, still raw from wearing the plug most of the day.
The first push was hard and violent, breaching muscles unused to even half his size with a massive shove that put his head all the way inside. Her hands clenched against Silas’s chest.
Boone didn’t ease her into it. He forced himself in with those massive thighs, each inch making her walls fight for space around Silas’s cock. The deeper Boone got, the tighter Silas felt inside her — every thrust from one shifted the other, grinding against nerves she couldn’t name.
Her breath turned shallow, every drive into her ass rocking her hips down onto Silas until his cock was rooted deep. She could feel them meet inside her, the pressure almost unbearable, her body stretched so wide she wasn’t sure where one burn ended and the other began.
She hadn’t split open before, but she thought she might this time.
Tears blurred her vision, not from emotion but from sheer, overwhelming sensation — the sting of the cane welts each time Boone’s hips smacked her ass, the raw stretch in both holes, Silas’s cock dragging against every tender inch of her pussy.
Boone set the rhythm with deep, relentless thrusts while Silas shifted his hips beneath her, angling up to grind against the front wall with every pass.
She tried to keep her breath even, to ride the rhythm, but her ass felt like it was being split in two, and Silas only smirked, his hands gripping her thighs to keep her exactly where he wanted her. No sympathy, only control.
When tears flowed down her face, he asked, “What kind of cocksleeve cries when she’s filled with cock? Buck up, little whore. This is what you’re made for.”
Even with his harsh words, he held her to him, caressed her back while Boone tore her ass up, fucking her hard and fast, looking for his own release, using her body to find it.
Finally, he groaned low and ground deep, pulsing inside her, spilling into her.
He pulled out, collapsed beside them, and rolled over on the double-queen bed.
Silas ordered her off him, then back to knees and chest, and he sank his dick into her ass — still raw and inflamed.
No time to breathe, no time to adjust. Just one long, ruthless thrust until he was fully seated, inches deeper than Boone.
She’d thought she could handle Silas in her ass since Boone had stretched her so damned wide, but she’d been wrong.
She was so raw, so inflamed, a damned pinky finger would’ve been too much.
He was relentless, pounding her, using her body the way he wanted, each deep drive reminding her exactly who she belonged to.
By the time he finished, she was shaking, the sting from the cane still radiating heat, her ass stretched and sore.
She half expected him to roll over and ignore her, but Silas surprised her by taking the time to clean her with a warm cloth, his touch beyond gentle, wiping away sweat and tears before going lower and cleaning the mess between her legs.
Careful fingers applied a soothing balm on her asshole, warning her before he dipped in to soothe the inside, giving her comforting noises when he finished, telling her it was over.
When he was done and had washed his hands, he drew her into his arms, tucking her under his chin, one big hand stroking slow, steady circles between her shoulder blades. His voice was quiet, almost rough with something unspoken.
“That’s it, Girly. It’s just us now. No scene.” His hand stroked her back in slow circles, grounding her in the quiet. “You’re fine. Ours. Close your eyes and drift off. We have you.”
The steady beat of his heart under her cheek, the warmth of his body cocooning her, the low rumble of his breathing — it was more anchor than she’d realized she needed. Her eyes drifted closed, her body loose against his.
The last thing she felt before sleep took her was Silas’s hand tightening briefly at her hip, holding her in place like she mattered.
The quiet promise in the gesture followed her down into dreams.