Chapter Twenty Nine #3
“Good fucking girl.” He rips his hand away only to shove two fingers between my lips, forcing them deep while he keeps fucking me through the quake. “Bite down, suck, choke on me while your cunt milks my cock.”
I gag around his fingers, tears leaking down my face, but the raw, overwhelming pleasure keeps building. My walls clamp tighter, desperate, dragging every ounce of heat from him.
He bites my ear, filthy and low. “I’m not stopping until you cum again. Until you’re shaking, crying, begging me not to fill you. And then I’m going to do it anyway.”
His fingers choke my mouth open, slick with my spit, his cock still hammering into me like he’s trying to brand me from the inside out. My body’s wrecked, trembling, but he doesn’t let up. Not for a second.
“You think this is yours to control?” Dax snarls, sweat dripping down his temple onto my cheek. “You think you get to decide when you break? No, Butterfly. That’s mine.”
He yanks his fingers free, grabs a fistful of my hair, and forces my head back until my throat arches like a sacrifice. His other hand clamps over my mouth, cutting my air as his cock slams deeper, harder, his hips a brutal rhythm against mine.
My chest heaves, panic and pleasure tangling as spots burst in my vision.
“You love this,” he growls against my ear, his breath hot and filthy. “My hand on your throat, my cock splitting you wide open. You fucking love it.”
He loosens his grip just enough to let me gasp in one desperate, broken breath—then shoves me back into the edge of suffocation again.
The pleasure spikes so hard I whimper against his palm.
“That’s it,” he rasps. “My greedy little cunt can’t cum without being ruined first. Can it? Tell me.”
I shake my head, nails digging bloody crescents into his shoulders.
“Say it,” he snarls, thrusts turning vicious, slamming me so hard my back bruises against the mattress. “Say you only cum when I take the air out of your lungs.”
“Yes!” I sob into his hand, words muffled, desperate. “Yes, Dax—”
He rips his hand away, spits into my mouth, then crushes his lips over mine, swallowing the filthy confession. His hips grind deeper, balls slapping, his cock hitting that brutal spot until I’m screaming into his mouth.
“That’s right,” he groans, teeth scraping my lips. “Cry for me. Break for me. You’re nothing but my perfect little hole to ruin.”
I shatter again, my orgasm ripping me raw, my body convulsing under him while he keeps fucking me through it, relentless, punishing, every thrust dragging another sob from my chest.
And when I think I’m spent—wrecked, wrung out—he grabs my jaw, forces my eyes wide on his, and growls: “I’m not done. Not until you beg me to stop. Not until you forget your own fucking name and remember only mine.”
I’m already shaking, body torn wide open, but he doesn’t give me time to catch air. Not a fucking second.
Dax flips me onto my stomach, his hand fisting in my hair so hard my scalp burns as he drags me up onto my knees. My face smashes into the pillow, spit smeared across my chin, my ass forced high while his cock drives back into me with a single, brutal thrust.
I scream into the sheets.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, yanking my head back by the hair until my throat arches. His lips crash against my ear, his words filthier than the thrusts splitting me in half. “You scream for me and only me. You breathe for me. You cum for me. Nobody else. Ever.”
The sound that rips out of me is pathetic—raw, animal, desperate.
His palm slams flat between my shoulder blades, pinning me down as his cock pistons in, deeper, harder, faster. Each thrust drags my body forward on the bed, my knees bruising, my voice breaking into sobs I can’t control.
“You hear that?” Dax snarls, his hips slamming against my ass so hard the sound cracks through the room. “That’s your pussy choking on me. Begging me. Fucking addicted to me.”
“I c-can’t—” My words dissolve into a moan, my body convulsing, slick dripping down my thighs.
“You can.” He leans down, bites the back of my neck hard enough I see stars. “And you will. Over and over until you forget who the fuck you are without me.”
He pulls out halfway, the emptiness brutal, then slams back in with such force I scream his name like it’s the only one I know.
“Say it,” he growls, hand tangling tighter in my hair until my scalp burns. “Say whose little whore you are.”
“I’m yours!” I sob.
His cock drives deeper, punishing. “Again.”
“I’m yours, Dax!”
He spits down my spine, the wet trail mixing with sweat as he drags his hand back down between my thighs. Two fingers press against my swollen clit while his cock still pounds me raw. The overstimulation rips another orgasm out of me so violently my vision whites out.
I collapse forward, but he doesn’t let me fall. He keeps me up, keeps me open, keeps using me until I’m nothing but a wrecked, sobbing mess in his hands.
“You’ll never get clean,” he rasps, his voice shaking with hunger and rage. “You’ll drip with me for days. You’ll smell like me. Taste like me. Every time you spread your legs, you’ll remember my cock tearing you apart.”
“Please—” My voice is shredded, my body twitching against him.
“Please what?” he snarls, hips never slowing. “Please stop? Please more? Please ruin me, Dax?”
And God help me—my broken whisper spills out before I can stop it.
“Please ruin me.”
I don’t know where I end and he begins. My body’s already broken open, sweat slick down my chest, thighs trembling, throat raw from screaming. But Dax doesn’t slow. He doesn’t stop. He fucks me like he’s trying to erase every version of me that existed before him.
His cock drives so deep I swear I can feel him in my lungs. My nails claw down his back, leaving bloodied lines he doesn’t flinch from, his teeth sinking into my throat like he’s marking prey.
“Don’t look away,” he growls, forcing my chin up with his blood-slick fingers, shoving them into my mouth until I gag around them. “You look at me while I own you.”
Tears sting my eyes, my jaw aching as he fists deeper. The taste of salt, sweat, iron coats my tongue.
“Good little Butterfly,” he hisses. “Choke on it. Choke on me.”
My body convulses, another wave tearing through me, violent and humiliating. My cunt clenches around him so hard he snarls into my neck, his thrusts punishing, savage, grinding me further into the sheets.
“You feel that?” he spits, pulling his fingers free to smear my spit across my cheek. “That’s mine. Every twitch. Every sob. Every orgasm—mine. You don’t come without me. You don’t fucking breathe without me.”
I whimper, broken, wrecked. My hips try to buck against him, greedy even in my ruin.
He slams me flat, pressing me into the mattress with his weight until I can’t move, can’t think, can only take. His cock pistons into me mercilessly, dragging cries out of my throat I don’t recognise as mine.
“You’ll cum again,” he snarls, hand gripping my jaw so hard my bones ache. “Not because you want to. Because I fucking told you to.”
And God help me—I do. My body obeys him, betrays me, another brutal climax ripping me open as his cock splits me deeper. My scream chokes into a sob, my eyes rolling back as he grinds through my orgasm, forcing me to feel every inch of him.
When he finally pulls out, I collapse, trembling, ruined. Relief doesn’t come. Because he fists his cock, hard and slick, and shoves my thighs apart again.
“Open your mouth, Butterfly.” His voice is ragged, feral. “You’re not done until I say you’re done.”
I obey. Broken. Helpless. His.
And when the heat of him floods my tongue, spilling down my throat, his filthy growl burns through me, a brand on my soul:
“You’ll swallow every drop. Because you’re mine. My whore. My Butterfly.”
The air is thick.
Sweat. Musk. Him. Me. Us.
My body’s shaking, wrung out, every nerve still strung tight like the echo of his voice is tattooed beneath my skin. I can’t move. I don’t want to. Not when he’s still inside me, heavy and hot, pinning me down like his cock is the only thing keeping me tethered to this earth.
Dax doesn’t soften in his eyes. Not even now.
Not even when he drags his mouth across my damp cheek, tasting the salt of my tears like he earned them.
“You cry so fucking pretty for me,” he mutters, his breath scorching my ear. His hand slides down my throat, not squeezing, not yet—just resting there like a claim. “And you’re still mine when it’s over. Especially when it’s over.”
I gasp, my body clenching around him. He feels it. Of course he does. His smirk cuts sharp against my skin.
“That’s right, Butterfly,” he whispers, grinding deeper, so slow I choke on the aftershock. “Even your cunt knows who it belongs to. Still gripping me like you don’t want me to leave. Like you’d break if I did.”
“I would,” I whisper, the confession ripped raw from my chest before I can swallow it.
His hand tightens at my throat, just a fraction, just enough for me to feel my pulse hammering against his palm. “Say that again.”
“I’d break,” I choke, tears spilling hot again. “If you left me, I’d break.”
He exhales like it’s a victory. Like I’ve just given him something sacred. His lips brush mine, filthy and reverent all at once. “Good. Because you’re supposed to. You’re supposed to break for me. Every time. Forever.”
My nails dig into his arms, weak, shaking, but clinging anyway. He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t give me space. He stays buried, keeps me open, keeps me filled like he’s afraid I’ll forget what he’s done to me if he lets me go.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, dragging his thumb across my swollen lower lip. “Fucked wide open, dripping, ruined. And you’re still here. Still mine.”
He presses my thighs tighter around his waist, locking me in. “This is aftercare, Butterfly. My kind. My twisted kind. You don’t get soft words and gentle strokes. You get this—” his hips roll, slow, deep, cruel—“reminders. Brands. Proof that you belong where I put you.”
I sob, shuddering, but my body arches into him anyway.