Chapter 21 #2
She rocked her hips, bounced on Kenny’s cock as best she could, but the burn from Silas’s clamps pulled her focus. Then he started twisting them, pulling, teasing, letting them go only to snap them back on again.
She stopped moving.
Scratch.
And again.
Scratch.
Boone’s cock was hard again now, ready, and she was supposed to stroke it while she fucked herself on Kenny and endured Silas’s sadism — but her hand was frozen, her cunt too full of need, her mind gone molten and useless.
Her body betrayed her over and over.
Thirty. Thirty-five.
Her legs cramped.
Forty-two.
Her asshole still throbbed from earlier. Her hands were slick with sweat and lube. Her cunt ached from need, her thighs throbbed from the angle. Her brain was clouded from arousal and denial, from trying to stay focused, from the weight of everything she wasn’t doing right.
Fifty.
The chalk scraped slower now, deliberate.
Fifty-one.
Fifty-two.
Fifty-three.
She’d lost count long ago. But Kenny hadn’t.
The room went quiet, save for the harsh pant of her breath and the whisper of the chalk making marks and being set down.
She collapsed in Kenny’s lap, whimpering, the clamps still tugging at her tits, her body used and fucked and dripping with failure.
Kenny ordered her to knees and chest before cramming his dick in her ass with brutal force. No pause, no time to adjust before he pounded her hard and fast, finally emptying into her with a feral growl.
She didn’t know what they’d do to her next, but she knew she’d earned it, and the weight of her failure settled heavier than the clamps, heavier than the chalk dust on the board.
Her men went to the playroom, and she stood on the red medallion in the most graceful inspection pose she could manage.
She was going to do better.
That was the promise she made herself while she waited, and then once she was given permission to step into the playroom.
She had to. She was theirs, and being theirs meant pleasing them, all of them, even when there were three cocks, three sets of expectations, and three very different men demanding she meet their needs at the same time.
She’d failed. Hands shaking, mouth gagging, hips stuttering when she was told to fuck back, not just take.
It wasn’t just her muscles that needed training. It was her coordination. Her ability to stay present when every hole was filled and every sense overloaded.
She could do this. She would do this. No thoughts. No fears. Just obedience.
When told to enter, she stepped under the winch and offered her hands up to them. Whatever was about to happen, she deserved.
Suspension cuffs clicked shut around her wrists, locking her into place. The chain creaked as it lifted her arms, higher and higher, until her toes barely brushed the floor, weight pulling down on every joint.
Silas bent down to situate a heavy metal spreader bar between her ankles, and she winced at the intense stretch. This wasn’t just a position; it was the warning before the punishment. She was vulnerable, helpless.
They’d bound her so she’d be obedient whether she wanted to be or not. Whether she fucked up or not.
Her heart pounded in her throat, chest rising too fast to get a full breath. She’d failed, and she was about to experience the consequences.
She was grateful for owners who cared enough to enforce their rules, but shame still crawled through her belly like acid, thick and hot.
But she accepted it because this was about letting them shape her into something better. Something worthy.
Terror still gripped her, but that didn’t stop her pussy from clenching reflexively, an involuntary plea for friction even as her mind scrambled to retreat.
Boone stepped in front of her, holding a small bottle of oil and a plug. They didn’t usually let her see what they put into her. This one was thick, and she knew she’d scream when it spread her too much. Too wide.
And it was ribbed.
She breathed through her nose, tried to hold still, but her thighs quivered from the stretch.
He opened the oil and she smelled something… not quite pine. Sharper, colder. A dark metallic layered under the evergreen.
Her whole body tensed when Boone stepped behind her, spread her open, pressed the plug against her rim, and pushed.
She groaned, gasped, her whole body tightening, shoulders burning from the suspension.
The stretch was brutal. Her ass resisted and then gave way, and then—
Fire and ice.
It wasn’t just the stretch. It was sharp. Cold. Not like ice cream cold, like dry ice. Like peppermint pine needles stabbing her from the inside out. Winter wind buried deep in her ass.
She tried to scream, but her breath caught. Her spine arched, toes curling midair.
The plug seated. Locked in place, and her asshole spasmed around it, uselessly trying to expel the burning cold.
“That’s Siberian fir,” Kenny said, stepping in front of her with a tiny square of gauze between his fingers. “We’re going for a Christmas theme. This one’s soaked in clove oil.”
He smiled, all controlled calm because no one was threatening his privates with damned clove oil.
“We want to make sure you remember the lesson,” he said. “Hold still, little toy.”
She didn’t dare move.
He reached between her legs, lifted her clit hood with fingers as gentle as they were unyielding, and pressed the gauze in.
All the way inside, nestled right up against her clit, using careful fingers to wrap it all around the little bundle of nerves before he carefully settled the hood back around it.
And the burn began.
Not a scream like the fir, but a smolder that seeped into her and wrapped her in heat. Every pulse of her blood drove the oil deeper, coating nerve endings and settling in like a sadist setting up camp inside her skin.
And her cunt ached with need. Hot and empty. Desperate, frictionless hunger. A signal flare of want they could read with a single sniff, as if her pussy was begging to be punished.
Shame bloomed hot in her chest because her body craved it — burned for it, even as her mind begged for mercy.
Which is when Silas stepped in and fucking grinned.
“You don’t think we’d forget the cunt itself, do you?”
He held up another plug. Thicker than the one in her ass, swirled with something dark and red, and she recognized the scent before he had to tell her.
Cinnamon. Not the sugary kind in cookies, the essential oil kind that burns like fuck.
“Cassia for your cunt,” Silas said. “Stronger than cinnamon.” His eyes narrowed. Voice dropped. “A useless whore who can’t properly pleasure her men deserves to hurt. To have all her holes plugged.”
He reached towards her pussy and she hopelessly tried to twist away. “No, please!”
He shoved the plug inside her cunt like he was claiming a prize, and her scream came high and raw when it seated.
And then—
Agony.
The burn exploded outward, a wildfire ripping through her insides, savaging her opening, her lips. It felt like boiling brandy, and it stole her breath.
The clove on her clit pulsed harder now, the cinnamon echoing it, and on the other side, the Siberian fir sent icy spears upward from her ass like jagged icicles punching through muscle and nerve.
Three flames.
Three brands.
Each unique, and all of them overlapping, clashing and harmonizing in a symphony of unrelenting pain.
She hung there, twitching in the restraints, mouth open in a silent scream, tears tracking down her cheeks. Her body couldn’t decide what to do. Pulse pounding. Muscles clenched and trembling.
And they weren’t even done yet, because this had nothing to do with the fifty-three marks on the damned chalkboard.
Kenny stepped in front of her with a wiffle ball gag, and she choked on a sob but opened her mouth to accept it as Silas’s words about deserving to have all her holes plugged echoed in her head.
Thankfully, this one didn’t burn like fuck, but she figured they wanted her mind on her crotch, not her face.
Kenny moved behind her, Boone to her left, and Silas stepped in front of her, coiling a short single-tail in one hand, his smile all sharp teeth and cruel promise.
The world narrowed, then it broke. Exploded.