Chapter 17 #3
He’d let her see the clock for a while after negotiations, but it was behind her now.
She had no idea how long she lasted. It felt like forever.
But maybe it had only been minutes. All she knew was that her pussy clenched, the orgasm surged— and the damned wand was pressed hard to her clit, killing the first spasm and dragging it into hell.
As usual, her screams filled the air because this month, he held it for nine seconds.
Next month would be ten.
“You’re getting there, little fucktoy,” he said, when the wand was back in its holster, his fingers pressing back into her.
Some days, she only felt the wand once during a session, but this time she just couldn’t hold her orgasms back despite the fact she knew Kenny would shock the fuck out of her clit before she managed to find more than a second of pleasure.
And worse? His fingers only went back into her for seventeen damned seconds after the last shock. She’d been so close.
Kenny walked to the horror of a fucking station, and adjusted the hip bar first, shifting the metal crosspiece to a higher peg on the vertical supports, then moved the block color-coded for him beneath the bar.
When she stepped onto it and leaned forward, she’d be the exact right height for him to shove his dick into her holes.
The station was built for this. A steel frame with two crosspieces, one to support her hips, the other several feet forward, far enough out she had to stretch to reach it.
The whole thing was engineered to lock her in place at the perfect angle, to present her holes at just the right height for all three men.
She stepped onto the block without being told, bent at the waist, leaned forward, and stretched her spine and shoulders to grab the forward bar.
And then, without ceremony and very little lube, Kenny fucked her ass yet again, making it four times in one day.
Her body clenched on instinct, but there was no give left, just ache stacked on ache, raw stretch layered over burning flesh.
He drove into her with measured force, each thrust pushing her forward against the bar, pressure blooming deep and sharp through muscles already wrecked. Her knees trembled on the block, the stretch unforgiving, the plug’s earlier seal now nothing but a memory.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t rush. Just used her.
Because that was the purpose of this setup — to position her holes like access points. To make her take what they gave, over and over, until even her pain was numb.
When he came, he pulled out without a word, and a heavy, stainless plug went in this time.
And then it was time for everyone to sit down and eat.
It seemed so normal, the four of them at the table, sharing brisket, potatoes. Pack talk, easy laughter. A home. A family meal.
But her ass burned with every shift in her chair, and the weighted plug turned the illusion on its head.
She had to clench hard every time she stood to refill glasses, her whole body tense from the fight to keep it inside her, every step sending another reminder that she wasn’t just part of this home — she was an owned possession, kept for their pleasure and convenience.
A treasured possession, but that didn’t make her any less owned. Or used.
She heard more about how Kenny and Boone resolved the morning’s issue, heard about the server and busboy at Silas’s restaurant who’d been dating hot and heavy and were now broken up, and how badly he wished he could yank them both up and spank their asses.
The talk was light, domestic even, but for her it threaded around the ache in her ass and the strain of holding the plug.
When she put her fork down, her plate empty, Boone asked, “You done?”
She met his gaze and nodded.
“Let’s walk for fifteen or twenty minutes. Let your food settle.”
“Might want to remove the plug I put in her,” Kenny said. “Hadn’t counted on you taking the pet for a walk.”
“Oh,” Silas said. “I can do that.” He turned to her, his smile pure malice. “Over the table, fuckhole. Let’s show Boone what a ruin Kenny and I have made of your asshole before his nice evening stroll.”
She leaned over the table, face blazing hot, and squeezed her eyes closed, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a cry when he pulled it out. She almost managed silence, but she couldn’t stop the short gasp.
And then she stayed bent over while Kenny spread her cheeks and the three talked about her body as if she weren’t there — how red and swollen it looked, how raw it had to feel.
Their words scalded nearly as much as the burn in her ass, worse than the stretch itself, humiliation crawling over her skin, but her cunt still pulsed, clenching with traitorous hunger while they appraised the wreckage.
When they finally let her up, she went to the downstairs coat closet to put on leggings and a jacket before meeting Boone on the back porch.
“I’m going to miss you,” Boone said, walking across the yard to the forest. “We all are.”
“I’ll miss all of you, too, but this is my job.
You go off to work five days a week, Sir, and I don’t make a big deal of it.
I’m home most of the time, but this is simply me leaving for work tomorrow.
I’ll be back when I’m done. I just cram all my work hours together, so I have a longer time to be off. ”
“I get that, but it’s still over a week without you. Not a guilt trip, just telling you how important you are to me.”
Eventually, he aimed them back to the house, taking the stairs first, his shoulders squared, confident. Just the way he held himself made her want to fall in line.
The coat and leggings had come off downstairs, and now she stripped out of the dress in the hallway and put it into the small dirty clothes bin in the bottom of the armoire, since she wasn’t likely to go back downstairs.
And then walked into her bedroom and stood to the right side of the wide-open expanse leading into the playroom, on the fancy Celtic knot inlayed with hundreds of different colored tiny little broken pieces of tile, all worked together into the larger, gorgeous, intricate symbolism of twisted rope.
This medallion was a close twin to the knot beside her bed, though the other was done in myriad tans.
“Enter,” Boone’s voice rumbled, and her pulse kicked a little when she passed from the low glow of her bedroom into the stark, unforgiving light of the playroom.
Another twenty steps and she made it to him, beside the leather sling.
She lifted herself into it, settled in, and put her hands and feet where she knew he’d want them. With the permanent cuffs, securing her to the leather was easy.
He showed her the plug and she nearly cried.
“I want you full tonight, but I also think your asshole needs a little help.” He opened a tube of healing ointment and lubed the plug.
She still yelped and whined when he inserted it because the damned thing was huge, but once it was in, it wasn’t so bad. Perhaps even a little better.
He poured lube directly onto her pussy, rubbed his fingers all around it to get them slick.
One finger slid in, then two. Her body flinched when the third pressed in, a deep, unrelenting stretch that made her eyes sting and her breath catch — and her hand squeeze into a fist.
He’d warned her about that, and her insides twisted when he looked up, saw them, and abruptly stood, turned, and walked to the cabinets along the wall.
She panted, arms trembling where they were clipped to the sling, her hands still clenched in betrayal of everything he’d drilled into her.
Boone returned with two small wooden boards, each studded with dozens of nails filed sharp.
He didn’t speak. Just took her right hand first, now open, and pressed her palm and fingers against the bed of nails until she hissed and whimpered, and the scent of her blood filled the room.
“Fists imply violence, and that’s unacceptable from a fucktoy. You show submission at all fucking times in this house, and especially in this room.”
He wound a large elastic band around the board and her hand, another around her fingers, and moved to the other hand to repeat the process.
A tear streaked down her cheek, and more followed. She whimpered, her breath coming faster, but she didn’t protest.
“There we are,” he said when he finished. “No more fists until I’m done. Maybe longer.”
And he sat and crammed three fingers right back into her as if there hadn’t been an interruption.
By the time four were in, her breaths were short and shaky. She tried to bite them back, tried to keep from making those whiny, desperate sounds, but the little gasps still slipped out.
Her fingers twitched against the nailbed, nerves screaming as the sharpened points bit deeper with every shift of her arm.
He met her gaze. “Who am I?”
“Boone, Sir.” Her voice shook, but she got the words out — and the next ones before he could even ask. “Spreading me open is the purpose, Sir. Your entire fist isn’t going to fit inside me tonight, that isn’t the point.”
His brows lifted, but the pressure on her cunt didn’t ease. Millimeter by millimeter, second by second, he kept opening her.
He tilted his head, waiting for the rest, and she gasped out, “The point is hurting me. Spreading me wider than I think I can take, Sir.” She flinched as a tremor ran through her shoulders that pressed her palms harder against the boards, digging the nails in deeper. The pain flared like fire.
“Exactly right, and you’ll tell me if a bruising pain is hurting worse than the stretch. If I need to adjust a knuckle.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He nodded and looked back to her pussy, but she knew not to look away because he’d expect eye contact when he looked back to her face.
At times, it felt as if he were prying her soul open, not just her body, and he always knew the exact moment the emotions of it hit her, and he’d look up, meet her gaze.
His look, dark and heavy, clearly told her he owned her in that moment.