Chapter 32 #2
She had teardrop-shaped bruises and welts all over her body. Some from the day before just after they’d started, some from ten minutes earlier, and many, many hundreds from the time between.
While she hung from her wrists with her shoulders backward and her bent thighs on fire, he continued to force her to drink water with electrolytes. She’d tried to shake her head, but he insisted, and she wasn’t in a position to refuse.
She’d had to pee for a while, and eventually, she had no choice but to do so again.
There was no “Good girl,” this time, though. He was damned gruff when he told her, “If you’d have done that an hour ago, your legs and shoulders wouldn’t be hurting so bad. Stubborn-headed little painslut.”
She thought they were finished when he finally released her, but he tossed her over his shoulder, carried her inside, and hung her from her wrists under his pulleys.
Now, he didn’t have to worry about sound, so as soon as she was in place he picked up his cruelest horsewhip and told her, “Feel free to scream now. No words, but scream all you want, my beautiful little painslut.”
The first lash landed across her shoulders with a vicious crack, and the force sent her swinging, and there was no way to stop the momentum. The second strike came from the other direction and wrapped around her ribs with a fiery sting that made her cry out.
The whip flew again and again, every impact adding to her striped body and making her swing helplessly in the air, twisting, turning, offering new angles of unprotected skin.
More than half the strikes wrapped — the braided leather curling around her hips, her ribs, the soft underside of her arm, the tender skin just below her ass.
Each wrap felt like liquid fire dragging across her flesh.
She swung wildly, completely out of control, unable to brace, unable to dodge the never-ending lashes until her entire body felt like one continuous blaze of pain.
She lost track of time. She lost track of everything except the swing of her body and the next inevitable strike.
He whipped her until his arm had to be exhausted, and still he continued.
The only sounds in the room were the crack of the whip, her broken screams, the creak of the ropes as she swung, and the labored breath of two werewolves in human form.
When he finally cut her down and carried her toward his bed, he told her, “Just a little more. Not quite done with you yet, but we’re getting there.”
And with that, he put her in the pillory at the foot of his bed, her feet on the floor, bent at the waist, neck and wrists trapped.
She heard him lubing his cock and knew what came next, but she wasn’t prepared for how badly it was going to hurt on her raw asshole.
It was in even rougher shape now than it’d been after he finished with it in Atlanta, and he shoved in without mercy — raw, violent thrusts that slammed into her over and over, his hips impacting with her bruised flesh, his cock stretching her sore, abused hole wide with every savage stroke.
She cried out with each thrust, the pillory holding her steady while her body jolted forward, the wood creaking under the force.
It hurt. It burned. But this was about his pleasure, and he fucked her ass like a damned caveman.
And he demanded she orgasm. Told her he could go forever, and he would if she couldn’t give him yet another orgasm, when he’d pulled hundreds from her since he’d bound her into that first brutal position shortly after ten in the morning, before he’d taken her outside.
But his threatening, demanding voice did something to her that his cock wasn’t. She’d thought there was nothing left. Her body was raw, every nerve screaming, and another release shouldn’t even be possible.
But his command bypassed everything, the submissive parts of her responding to this male her wolf wanted to roll over for, and the human agreed.
Her muscles locked hard. A guttural, broken sound tore from her throat as her pussy clamped down around him in sharp, involuntary pulses.
The orgasm hit like a fist — painful, electric, an excruciating clench through overtaxed nerves.
It was obedience made physical, ripped from a body that’d already given everything.
Her hips jerked once, a helpless spasm, and then she was shaking, every muscle trembling as the release shuddered through her in short, violent waves.
Knife growled low and deep, thrust hard one last time, and emptied himself inside her. “Good girl,” he growled against her skin. “Such a good little motherfucking painslut.”
Then everything changed.
He released her from the pillory, lifted her into his arms, and carried her to the bed. He settled her gently on her side, gently cleaned her with a warm cloth, and then held her. Soothed her.
His touch was so tender it made her chest ache.
- - - ? - - -
Knife knew she wasn’t in subdrop this time. These tears were full of grief, and it didn’t take him long to figure it out.
He’d broken her down to nothing, and it’d been what she needed. Now that she was coming back… this was her facing what he was trying not to face.
They were perfect for each other, and there was no way they could make it work.
He’d spent time alone on his family’s mountain and looked at the problem from every direction, and the only solution was for him to leave his club.