6
Jack doesn’t respond. Natasha hears the shuffle of fabric—the man pulling his pants up—and then the door clicking shut behind him.
Silence settles, heavy and sticky. Then Jack’s sigh ruffles Natasha’s sweat-damp hair.
His fingers hover near the bottleneck, tracing the obscene stretch of her cunt around the glass.
"Jesus," he murmurs, more to himself. His fingers ghost over her rim—not penetrating, just assessing—before he grips the bottle firmly.
Natasha tenses, but Jack doesn’t yank. Instead, he twists it slowly—agonizingly—counterclockwise.
Natasha whimpers as the glass drags against her oversensitive walls, her thighs trembling.
"My God," Jack breathes, mesmerized by the way her cunt clings to the bottle even as he turns it.
"This is so fucking horny." His voice is rough—something between awe and arousal—as he twists it again, watching her muscles ripple.
Natasha’s moan cracks halfway through, her hips jerking weakly against the restraints.
The glass shifts inside her, pressing against that spot—that deep, impossible spot—and her vision whites out again.
Jack exhales sharply. "You're still getting off on it, huh?"
His fingers tighten around the bottleneck.
"You filthy little thing." He drags it halfway out—Natasha’s cunt sucking desperately at the glass—before slamming it back in with a wet crunch.
Her scream dissolves into ragged sobs, her thighs quivering.
Jack’s fingers trace the obscene bulge in her lower belly, his thumb pressing down just to watch her writhe.
"Christ," he murmurs. The bottle tilts inside her, the cold glass scraping against her cervix.
Natasha’s breath hitches, her body betraying her with another pulse of wetness around the intrusion.
Jack licks his lips. "I should send a picture to the girls," he muses, twisting the bottle again.
"Show them what happens when you beg for it."
His free hand strokes himself absently, his cock thick and heavy against his palm.
Natasha whimpers—half-panic, half-pleasure—and Jack chuckles darkly.
"Relax, baby. I’m just teasing." But his fingers dig into her hip, holding her still as he twists the bottle deeper.
Natasha’s moan cracks into a scream as the widest part grinds against her g-spot.
Her cunt convulses violently around the glass, the sensation unbearable—too much, too deep, too everything.
Jack exhales sharply, fascinated. "Look at you," he breathes.
"Your fucking cunt’s taking it whole." His fingers tighten around the bottleneck, dragging it out inch by torturous inch until her rim stretches obscenely around the base.
Natasha’s whole body jerks, her muscles fluttering in weak, useless spasms.
Jack groans. "Fuck, I could watch this all night."
With brutal efficiency, he shoves it back in to the hilt, her cunt swallowing the glass with a wet squelch.
Natasha’s back arches violently, her scream dissolving into wet, broken gasps.
The bottle shifts inside her, pressing impossibly deep—against her cervix—and Jack twists it sharply, grinding the rim in circles just to watch her writhe.
"Christ," he mutters, palming his cock with his free hand.
"You’re so fucking wrecked now baby." His thumb presses down on the obscene bulge in her lower belly, and Natasha’s vision whites out as pleasure-pain detonates through her core.
Her cunt pulses around the bottle, sucking it deeper with each ragged contraction.
The semen coats the bottleneck still embedded inside her, dripping obscenely down the glass onto her swollen lips.
Jack exhales through clenched teeth, watching his release smear across her wrecked flesh.
His thumb presses down on her clit, grinding in rough circles as Natasha arches against the restraints—her scream dissolving into a broken moan.
The sensation is too much—too raw—but her cunt spasms anyway, milking the glass as if desperate for more.
Jack chuckles darkly, twisting the bottle lazily.
"Can't stop, can you?" His fingers trace the stretched rim of her cunt, spreading her wider just to watch her muscles flutter.
Natasha's breaths come in shallow gasps, her body trembling with aftershocks.
With deliberate slowness, Jack drags the bottle out—her labia still clinging to the slick glass—before pausing.
"Look at that," he murmurs, admiring the way her inner walls glisten under the dim light, stretched obscenely around nothing.
Outside, the muffled sounds of Amsterdam’s nightlife pulse through the walls—laughter, distant music, the occasional bicycle bell.
Jack exhales, shaking his head as if waking from a trance.
"Alright, baby. Enough." His fingers card through Natasha’s sweat-damp cubic hair, gentler now.
"Let’s get you cleaned up." He grips the bottle firmly again—rotating it counterclockwise for a moment, easing the pressure millimeter by millimeter before pulling it out.
Natasha whimpers as her cunt reluctantly releases the glass, each tiny movement sending fresh tremors through her wrecked body.
The man doesn’t move immediately. His fingers flex inside Natasha’s cunt, curling around the bottleneck still buried deep.
Natasha feels the tremor that runs through him—half-reluctance, half-arousal—before he exhales roughly and withdraws.
Natasha doesn’t lift her head, her cheek pressed to the leather, her breaths shallow.
The man’s palm smacks her ass—a parting shot—before he steps back.
"Tell me when she’s ready for more," he says, his voice thick with leftover lust.
Jack doesn’t respond. Natasha hears the shuffle of fabric—the man pulling his pants up—and then the door clicking shut behind him.
Silence settles, heavy and sticky. Then Jack’s sigh ruffles Natasha’s sweat-damp hair.
His fingers hover near the bottleneck, tracing the obscene stretch of her cunt around the glass.
"Jesus," he murmurs, more to himself. His fingers ghost over her rim—not penetrating, just assessing—before he grips the bottle firmly.
Natasha tenses, but Jack doesn’t yank. Instead, he twists it slowly—agonizingly—counterclockwise.
Natasha whimpers as the glass drags against her oversensitive walls, her thighs trembling.
"My God," Jack breathes, mesmerized by the way her cunt clings to the bottle even as he turns it.
"This is so fucking horny." His voice is rough—something between awe and arousal—as he twists it again, watching her muscles ripple.
Natasha’s moan cracks halfway through, her hips jerking weakly against the restraints.
The glass shifts inside her, pressing against that spot—that deep, impossible spot—and her vision whites out again.
Jack exhales sharply. "You're still getting off on it, huh?"
His fingers tighten around the bottleneck.
"You filthy little thing." He drags it halfway out—Natasha’s cunt sucking desperately at the glass—before slamming it back in with a wet crunch.
Her scream dissolves into ragged sobs, her thighs quivering.
Jack’s fingers trace the obscene bulge in her lower belly, his thumb pressing down just to watch her writhe.
"Christ," he murmurs. The bottle tilts inside her, the cold glass scraping against her cervix.
Natasha’s breath hitches, her body betraying her with another pulse of wetness around the intrusion.
Jack licks his lips. "I should send a picture to the girls," he muses, twisting the bottle again.
"Show them what happens when you beg for it."
His free hand strokes himself absently, his cock thick and heavy against his palm.
Natasha whimpers—half-panic, half-pleasure—and Jack chuckles darkly.
"Relax, baby. I’m just teasing." But his fingers dig into her hip, holding her still as he twists the bottle deeper.
Natasha’s moan cracks into a scream as the widest part grinds against her g-spot.
Her cunt convulses violently around the glass, the sensation unbearable—too much, too deep, too everything.
Jack exhales sharply, fascinated. "Look at you," he breathes.
"Your fucking cunt’s taking it whole." His fingers tighten around the bottleneck, dragging it out inch by torturous inch until her rim stretches obscenely around the base.
Natasha’s whole body jerks, her muscles fluttering in weak, useless spasms.
Jack groans. "Fuck, I could watch this all night."
With brutal efficiency, he shoves it back in to the hilt, her cunt swallowing the glass with a wet squelch.
Natasha’s back arches violently, her scream dissolving into wet, broken gasps.
The bottle shifts inside her, pressing impossibly deep—against her cervix—and Jack twists it sharply, grinding the rim in circles just to watch her writhe.
"Christ," he mutters, palming his cock with his free hand.
"You’re so fucking wrecked now baby. Hope this restores again next week."
His thumb presses down on the obscene bulge in her lower belly, and Natasha’s vision whites out as pleasure-pain detonates through her core.
Her cunt pulses around the bottle, sucking it deeper with each ragged contraction.'
The semen coats the bottleneck still embedded inside her, dripping obscenely down the glass onto her swollen lips.
Jack exhales through clenched teeth, watching his release smear across her wrecked flesh.
His thumb presses down on her clit, grinding in rough circles as Natasha arches against the restraints—her scream dissolving into a broken moan.
The sensation is too much—too raw—but her cunt spasms anyway, milking the glass as if desperate for more.
Jack chuckles darkly, twisting the bottle lazily.
"Can't stop, can you?" His fingers trace the stretched rim of her cunt, spreading her wider just to watch her muscles flutter.
Natasha's breaths come in shallow gasps, her body trembling with aftershocks.
With deliberate slowness, Jack drags the bottle out—her labia still clinging to the slick glass—before pausing.
"Look at that," he murmurs, admiring the way her inner walls glisten under the dim light, stretched obscenely around nothing.
He exhales, as sounds of Amsterdam’s nightlife stream into the room, shaking his head as if waking from a trance.
"Alright, baby. Enough." His fingers card through Natasha’s sweat-damp cubic hair, gentler now.
"Let’s get you cleaned up." He grips the bottle firmly again—rotating it counterclockwise for a moment, easing the pressure millimeter by millimeter before pulling it out.
Natasha whimpers as her cunt reluctantly releases the glass, each tiny movement sending fresh tremors through her wrecked body.
Jack drops the bottle onto a metal tray with a sharp clink.
It rolls slightly, smearing a wet trail of fluids across the steel.
His hands move to the restraints next, unbuckling the leather belt around her waist with practiced efficiency.
The moment it loosens, Natasha collapses forward, her arms trembling where they’re still cuffed beneath the bench.
Jack exhales through his nose, crouching to unlock her wrists.
"You alive down there?" His thumb brushes the raw skin where the metal bit into her, fingertips lingering just long enough to make Natasha shiver.
Her limbs feel boneless—like liquid poured onto the leather—but she manages a weak nod.
Jack’s chuckle is low, warm against the shell of her ear as he helps her sit up.
"Good. Because I want you back here next week you know."
His palm splays across the small of her back, steadying her as the room tilts.
"Customers are starting to ask for you!"
He tilts her chin up, studying her blown pupils, the slackness of her mouth.
Pride bleeds into his voice. "You are my new little rising star."
The End.