Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
Vicky
The bed shifts as Alex climbs on, and one hand runs down the back of my thigh.
“Close your legs,” he tells me.
Well, that’s the most humiliating instruction he’s ever given.
I thought he tied my legs apart. I’ve left them spread, because that’s how they were. There was give on those ropes—I knew that, I tested it—but somewhere along the way, it’s slipped my mind.
My legs crash together so hard my ankle bones smack into each other with a jolt of pain, and my face burns where it presses against my arm. So embarrassing. Spread for him, all this time, like a wanton harlot.
He chuckles softly. “God, I hope you never stop fighting yourself,” he murmurs, running his hand up over my ass with an almost reverent touch. “If you do, I’ll have to find more and more deviant ways to make you squirm.”
“I don’t squirm.”
“Good. Then you’ll have no problem keeping still.” Oil drips down onto the crack of my ass, heavy drop after heavy drop, trickling to places it has no right to go. And God but I want to squirm. I grit my teeth, holding still with everything I have.
His finger traces the path of the oil, sliding down between my butt cheeks, massaging my anus, and fuck but that’s even worse. A moan of effort escapes, my jaw clenched so hard it aches.
“What’s that if it’s not squirming?” he asks.
Fuck. Did I move?
“I didn’t move,” I grind out.
“Of course you didn’t.” His finger slides lower, over my pussy, through my folds, not stopping until he finds my clit. And then he circles it, agonizingly slowly.
He’s made it into a battle of wills. Or I have. Either way, it doesn’t matter; I’m not going to break.
But Alex takes his time playing with me.
He’s hardly touching my clit, and he’s using only one fingertip.
It’s the lightest of strokes, between my labia, pressing fleetingly against my entrance, dipping back down to deliberately brush near, but not against, where I want him.
The oil doesn’t help. There’s no friction, no resistance, and it aids him not me.
“Don’t grind your teeth,” he says.
I unclench my jaw in reflex before I realize I wasn’t.
Bastard. Absolute. Fucking. Bastard.
“I love how your hips come up, always seeking more.”
Fuck. I was concentrating on not squirming. Hips side-to-side, twisting away. I didn’t do that.
I might’ve lifted them.
My butt’s in the air, and I don’t remember it being there; there’s no ‘might have’ about it.
He’s using my arousal against me. Torturing me.
And I’m so sensitive. So desperate for the release he’s not letting me have.
He won’t even touch my clit.
I try to shift my hips, just a little, getting that single damn finger where I want it.
“Keep still,” he says immediately. “Try not to squirm.”
Fucker!
“I hate you.” It just comes out.
Alex laughs. “Shouldn’t have married me then.”
“You didn’t give me a choice.”
His finger pauses. “You’re right, I suppose I didn’t.” His finger starts moving again. “Still, we both know that’s how you like it, don’t we?”
I choke on a gasp of indignation, only for him to give another of his irritating chuckles.
“Keep your ass raised,” he says, and I feel him moving over me.
His legs lie either side of mine, squeezing them closed.
His hips pressing into my ass, and his cock is already hard, sliding through the oil that coats me.
One hand comes down on the side of my body, and my mind provides the images: his weight supported on one arm, that gorgeous chest flexing, his stomach tightening.
My mouth waters, and I can’t even see him.
And my hips press up of their own accord, seeking him. A nonverbal begging.
Maybe I don’t hate him that much.
“There’s my Tink,” he murmurs. “Always ready for me, even when you refuse to admit it.”
…or maybe I do.
But the truth is, I can’t help my response to him. I’ve never been able to, not since the first day we met. And certainly not since the night of the dance, when he ripped off my dress and pinned me. Before the ropes even came out, before the spankings, the forced orgasms, the knife.
Is this relationship growth? A descent into depravity and darkness?
Fuck it, I don’t care anymore. This is what I want.
“Take my ass, you bastard,” I grind out through clenched teeth, “but you better not stop if you do. No more of that gentle sex you’re so fond of.” I give those two words all the disdain I can muster.
There. We’re communicating. Real progress.
His body stills. “Did you just beg me to fuck your ass hard as I can?”
“No, I…” I stop to think about it, and then I tremble.
His hand closes on the nape of my neck, and his chest pushes into my back. “As you wish, Tink.”
Then his hand slips away, and I whimper. Whether it’s at the loss of his touch, the promise of his words, or what’s about to happen, I can’t be sure.
I feel his fingers brush against my ass as he takes his cock in his hand. The head of him rubs through my folds, nudges against my clit, presses there for a delicious moment, then slides up to the entrance to my pussy.
And he drives forward.
Alex slides into me, my arousal and the oil that coats us helping, but the stretch is still tight enough to make me cry out.
And he’s not gentle; his hips slam into my ass, reminding me that one cheek has been thoroughly spanked.
The sting, the soreness, the fucking asymmetrical burn that merges with the incredible sensation of his cock penetrating me.
I go from empty and aching to filled and aching in the time it takes for his girth to force its way in, and God I know which I prefer.
Then he draws back, and slams into me again. And again.
Each thrust draws a cry from me. My arms are locked, hands pressing against the bars, muscles tensed as he takes me. He claims my body as his, and all I can do is brace beneath his onslaught and lift my hips in offering.
It’s hard, it’s brutal, it’s exactly what I need. I thought he was going to take my ass, but he’s inside my pussy, driving me toward my orgasm with every pounding thrust. My gasps grow high in pitch and I push back, wanting more. Just a little more.
“Don’t you dare come without permission,” he growls.
“No!” The word bursts free. I was so close! Bastard.
He chuckles, even as he fucks me, and I moan my frustration.
“Please may I come?”
“No.”
Mother. Fucker. I knew it.
His fingers find my clit; an added torture. I grit my teeth, clenching hard, whimpering my surrender to this sadistic, hateful man.
“Please…” I beg. “Please… please…”
“Are you going to try and run away again?”
What?
Oh.
“No.” I’ll agree to anything if he’d only let me come.
“I need your promise,” he growls, flicking a finger over my clit for extra torment. “Otherwise you don’t get to come again. Ever.”
I wail my defeat and submission, even while I love that he’s claimed me like this. Made me his captive, as much as his wife. He wants me. He wants me.
“I promise,” I gasp.
“Good girl.” He takes my clit between finger and thumb and pinches, and my body explodes. I can’t resist, I can’t stop, even though I try. “Come for me.”
I’m already coming, awash in pleasure, but now I have his permission, and his command just makes it so much better. I cry out with the force of it, clenching around him, and hear his grunt as I do.
“Damn it, Tink…” he says, the words almost pained.
I don’t know what I’ve done, but I can’t focus on anything right now. Only the sensations of him still thrusting inside me, his touch on my body, the weight of him pushing me into the bed.
Him claiming me.
There’s no better feeling.
“This pussy of mine… feels so damn good,” he murmurs between breaths, between thrusts. “I have to stop… otherwise, I’m not going to…”
His body stills, cock deep within me, and his weight settles on my back. His breathing is loud in my ear, ragged and uneven, just like mine.
“Fuck, Tink.” He gives a short laugh, and I mentally add another tally mark to the number of times I’ve heard him swear like that. It’s still so few. “You test my control.”
At least he still has some. Mine was shot well before he cut my panties off, and there’s none left now.
His cock is lodged so deep inside me that I can’t feel anything else. I clench around it, unable to help myself. He hasn’t come yet, and I want to feel it.
“Don’t do that,” he says quickly, but his cock twitches in response, and that only makes me clench again. He groans, the sound I love to hear, so raw it pulls at me. “If I don’t move now, I won’t be able to.”
“Then stay there,” I whisper, but he doesn’t listen.
His weight comes off me, back onto his arm, his hips lift, and his cock slides out. Then the head of it is pressing against my asshole.
He’s going to do it, I know he is, and I’m bound and helpless, unable to stop him.
I whimper, my body still awash with the pleasure of my orgasm.
Maybe that’ll help.
“Try to relax,” he murmurs, and pushes.
It’s not like when my pussy welcomes him. It’s so much more difficult, for him as well as me. He strains with a grunt of effort, and I cry out as the head of him forces its way inside. It feels so different, so wrong, so alien.
“You’re so tight.” His words are barely a breath.
He holds himself half in me, giving me a moment to adjust, his control absolute despite his earlier claims, then pushes again.
Unlike with the plug, there’s no tapering off.
His cock is so much thicker, and it stretches me open.
I muffle my cry against my arm, the pain burning, more intense than when he first penetrates my pussy, and I feel even more full.
It’s a steady pressure from within, uncomfortable and awkward, and there’s still more of him to come.
I feel every inch push its way into my body, and I don’t like it. But I’m not going to tell him that.
At last, he’s fully embedded, his hips pressed to my buttocks. His cock is in my ass, fully in my ass, and the thought makes me clench.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “You took me in so well.”