Chapter 21
Tuesday’s nipples burned with a throbbing, ruthless fire. The alligator teeth dug deep into the tender flesh, and her clit still pulsed with sparks of agony from the returning blood flow.
She leaned forward the half-inch or so she could manage again, and it helped for a few seconds — the pull on her nipples lessened, her shoulders got the tiniest bit of relief.
But the movement pulled hard on her wrists, and the strain shot up her arms in a searing line. Soon, her shoulders ached in an entirely different way.
Again, she tried to find the right angle, the one that would balance the pain, but there wasn’t one. Every solution created a new problem. He’d bound her into a cruel equation with no right answer.
Her asshole contracted and seized around the massive plug, the burning stretch unrelenting. It was too big, too much, but even if it’d been possible to eject the merciless fullness, his final threat kept her from trying.
The constant low burn made her hips twitch involuntarily, which only pulled on the chain attached to her nipples and sent another wave of fire through her.
And God, her clit.
It was swollen, blazing hot, and pulsing in time to her racing heart.
The evil clamp had left it hypersensitive, and now it ached with a deep, needy throb that apparently tricked her body into thinking she was fucking horny again — and her hips wanted to pump with need.
Never mind she’d just come until stars burst around her.
Never mind she was exhausted, hurting, and raw.
She floated in a sea of pain and confusion, every part of her screaming for relief while her clit kept sending these confusing sparks of need straight to her core.
She wanted to beg. She wanted to cry. She wanted him to come back and either hurt her more or finally let her rest. She didn’t much care which, she just didn’t want to be frozen into this anymore.
Every movement hurt, every breath hurt, every heartbeat sent more heat to her clit and nipples.
All she could do was breathe through it and try not to move.
But then her nose picked up something sweet. She was so far out of it, she needed three breaths to identify it.
Butterscotch.
And not the cheap stuff. This came across as decadently rich, with threads of caramel, and it wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Her stomach gave a hungry little growl, and her taste buds woke with sudden, desperate interest — which somehow made her asshole clench and spasm even more.
She heard his bare feet on the steps, and she caught another scent. Something nutty, possibly a little boozy.
Saliva poured faster from her mouth to the floor now, and there was nothing she could do about it.
But the motherfucker didn’t release her. He walked to the wall and returned with one of the intense plug-in vibrators attached to a long extension cord.
“One more really good orgasm, my beautiful little painslut,” he said, voice low and rough. “And I mean a good one. If it’s wimpy, we’ll keep going until you can find one that isn’t.”
She could see her swollen, deep crimson clit from her vantage point. Could see the vibrator approaching. She tried to lift up, but the sharp movement only tore fresh agony through her shoulders and yanked viciously on her clamped nipples.
When the buzzing head made contact, every raw, overstimulated nerve ending in her clit detonated at once.
A white-hot bolt of pain slammed through her, so intense her hips jerked hard and a raw, guttural scream ripped from her throat past the gag.
The relentless vibrations drilled straight into her most sensitive flesh like a live wire, buzzing mercilessly against the swollen nub while she hung there, unable to pull away, unable to close her legs, forced to take every brutal second of it.
Her whole body shook violently, breath hitching in desperate, ragged gasps past the bit between her teeth, pressing her tongue down.
His fingers wrapped around the base of the huge plug still buried in her ass and fucking tugged it, stretching her burning ring wide again, then let it sink back in.
Back out, and in. Shallow, cruel movements that forced her sore hole open over and over.
She whimpered and clenched helplessly around the thick silicone, the spasms shooting deep into her guts, sending fresh waves of cramping, burning pain radiating through her core.
She heard him talking, but it took a moment for her brain to translate it.
“Look at this poor neglected little cunt,” he murmured, almost conversationally, as he kept the vibrator steady on her clit and continued fucking her slowly with the huge damned plug.
“I can see it moving. Wanting attention. Aching to be filled while I’ve been doing just that with your other holes. ”
His words hit home because she needed to be fucked. Needed release.
Her entire body shook now. Being forced to ride the edge of bliss without going over turned mere need into an all-consuming visceral imperative despite the pain.
Every raw nerve ending screamed, but her body curved toward the vibrator like it was the only thing left in the world.
Her hips pumped, and her noises were whines of need, desperate pleas for release.
He kept her right there on the edge for long, merciless minutes — the vibrator buzzing relentlessly against her clit while he worked the plug just enough to keep her asshole stretched and burning, the spasms traveling all the way through her core.
Every time she got close, he eased the pressure or shifted the angle just enough to pull her back.
Until finally he didn’t.
“Come for me, my desperate little painslut.”
The orgasm crashed over her like a massive breaking wave. Her entire body seized, back bowing as much as the ropes allowed, and raw, shattered cries ripped from deep in her chest.
Her clit pulsed and her ass clamped hard around the plug, and her legs gave out completely, leaving her hanging by her wrists while wave after wave rolled through her.
Only when the last tremor finally faded did he turn the vibrator off and immediately cut her free from the spreader bar. He released the twine from around her big toe and then lifted her into his arms with one hand while he released her wrists from the overhead chain.
He carried her to the bed, settled her on her side, and then released her wrists from each other before rolling her to her back.
She screamed in pain as her arms came to her side, and he said, “Sshhhh. I know it hurts. Breathe through it. Take it for me. Accept it. Coming out of it is as important as surviving it.”
She tried to breathe through it, but it was too much.
“Touch your palms to each other in front of you.” It was an order, but she wasn’t sure she could.
She tried. Her hands barely lifted before the pain exploded through her shoulders, chest, and back. She dropped them with a broken cry.
He shook his head a single time. “I’m disappointed.
What kind of painslut are you?” He made a tsking sound, and then both alligator clamps were suddenly off her nipples, and the hot rush of blood roared back into the crushed flesh.
She screamed, body arching hard, and his cruel fingers were on them — squeezing, rolling, pinching, pulling.
“That’s it, bad girl,” he said. “Scream for me. Let me hear how much it hurts.”
He removed his fingers after several long minutes of agony, and her screams fractured into raw, gasping sobs.
“Let’s try it again,” he said, his voice calm, and then repeated his earlier order. “Touch your palms to each other in front of you.”
This time she forced it, hands shaking violently, fresh tears spilling down her face. The effort tore broken whimpers from her throat.
“There we go,” he said, approval rough in his voice. “Now use those pretty hands to remove your gag. The buckle is at the back of your head. Chop-chop, or your clit feels your failure.”
Moving her arms up and back was excruciating, but she managed it by holding her breath and forcing her shoulders and elbows to go far past pain, then willing her numb fingers to work after being asleep so long.
And then realized she’d need to sit up.
The plug shifted inside her, drawing more yelps from her, but she managed to get vertical enough to work the buckle.
She was slowly opening and closing her jaw when he walked to her with a large domed plate, and she caught the scents all over again. Butterscotch, caramel, sugar, and something she couldn’t place. Sweet and decadent though. Rich.
“Good girl,” he told her. “No words tonight. You can speak tomorrow.” He settled himself on the bed in front of her, put the plate between them, and lifted the dome.
Cake, with a thick glaze instead of icing. Layers of it.
He sliced into it with a fork, lifted it to her mouth, and she accepted it.
The rich caramel sweetness mixed with the unexpected exotic edge of…
Hazelnut. He’d made the glaze with Frangelico.
Clever man.
The caramel-rich butterscotch along with the other flavors melted together on her tongue. The cake was decadent and perfect, and so disparate to everything that’d come before, a single tear slipped down her cheek.
He gave her another bite before he fed himself, and then gave her a warm smile.
“I made it Sunday night. No boxes…” A smirk. “Unless we count the baking powder. I’ve never actually made a glaze before, and it was surprisingly easy. Confectioners’ sugar and Frangelico with a little melted butter.”
He fed her another bite. “The cake, however, was not easy.” He took a bite. “Totally worth it, though.”
Tuesday felt cherished and seen in a way that went far beyond the physical.
On top of their beautiful, exhausting day together, it was too much, but she forced herself to stay in the moment — warm cake on her tongue, his steady presence in front of her.
Maybe they were taking things too far. Maybe today had been a mistake.
But she wasn’t going to think about any of that. Right here, right now, was fucking perfect, and she was going to enjoy it.
Tomorrow would take care of itself.
For tonight, she would let herself be held and fed and cared for by the man who had spent the relatively short evening breaking her open all over again. He wanted to put her back together again, and by damn, she was going to let him.
- - - ? - - -
Knife fed her the last bite of cake, her eyes heavy, her body soft and spent.
She looked wrecked in the best possible way — lips puffy near the edges from the bit gag, eyes red-rimmed, nipples a deep, deep red, and her clit peeking out between her lips, swollen and possibly a darker crimson than her nipples.
She was sitting on the stripes and bruises he’d put onto her ass and thighs, and her asshole was still stretched tightly around the plug.
And would remain that way through the night.
She swallowed, looking up at him with those soft, exhausted eyes, and he damned well knew the tenderness between them was fucking dangerous.
Hellfire, what had he been thinking? Making the fancy cake with the frou-frou icing? That’s the kind of thing boyfriends do. Not fuckbuddies.
The answer came as soon as he asked himself the question. He was thinking he had this cruel scene planned, and he wanted her to come back for more, and that meant damned good aftercare. He’d make the damned cake again, given the chance, even if it sent a terrible message.
And the brutal truth was that he’d gone farther with the scene than he’d oh-so-carefully planned ahead of time.
Why? Because after the feelings that kept raising their heads all day like a damned game of whack-a-mole, he wanted to prove sex was still their main attraction. Their fantastic day, he had to admit to himself, fucking scared him.
So he’d tried to prove she was here for the sex. That she was here because she likes what he can do for her. And while that may be true, it wasn’t their whole truth.
He hadn’t been careless with her — never would he do that — but he’d hit harder and longer with the belt, tightened the tit-twine a little shorter, fucked her longer, used a bigger butt plug.
And that last forced orgasm? Hadn’t been in the plans until he’d returned with the cake and decided she hadn’t fucking come enough.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d needed to prove to both of them that, even in her current state, she couldn’t deny her pleasure. Couldn’t deny she needed what he could give her. So he’d proved it to both of them.
But it was more than that. He’d wanted their evening to overwhelm everything that came before it.
Wanted the intensity to easily beat out the day they’d spent together — the ride, the hike, the country restaurant, the easy conversation, the trail mix, the way she’d looked at the spot where the creek vanished on the way back.
But not even that last, earthshattering orgasm had managed it.
No amount of pain or pleasure he’d poured into her had overshadowed the simple, quiet joy of the day.
He’d made the damn cake with the frou-frou Frangelico glaze because he’d wanted her to come back for more, but watching her lick the last of the glaze from her lip, he knew the truth.
He’d fallen in love with her, and he was going to have to choose between her and his brothers.
His mind spinning, he put the fork on the plate, then the dome, and he walked it to a table near the door so he could take it down the next morning.
For now, she was here, she was his, and nothing else mattered. He’d figure out what to do about his latest revelation later.
Acting on autopilot, he turned the lights off except the one beside the bed, and then looked her over — running careful fingers over the worst of the welts and rope marks, making sure nothing needed immediate attention.
She could hurt like a proper masochist through the night, and then he’d make her cunt as sore and raw as her asshole before he plowed back into it all over again.
Perhaps he’d belt her ass again while he was at it, for good measure.
He pulled the sheet over her body, then crawled into bed beside her.
She turned toward him instinctively, tucking her face against his chest with a small, exhausted sigh.
He wrapped an arm around her, palm resting lightly over the worst of the bruises on her ass, and waited until her breathing evened out and her body went heavy with sleep.
Only then did he let himself crash.