Chapter 7
Knife woke the next morning with Tuesday curled warm and soft against his chest, her breathing slow and even. He’d worked until nearly ten the night before, finishing her closet so they could play today. The framing and drywall were done, the paint might need one more coat, but that could wait.
Last night, after the final brush stroke, he’d showered, ordered her into the pillory, locked her in, and fucked her ass raw, denying her orgasms at first before he’d ordered them one after another, her pulsing inner muscles milking his cock while he relentlessly pounded her hole.
She was completely wrecked and exhausted when he finally released her, repositioned her in his bed, and crashed seconds after she did, with her lush body tucked tight against him.
Today, though, he needed to claim her properly. Before, she’d been his while in his house and on his property, but not fully his.
That’d changed, though, and they needed a scene that left no doubt that he’d fully claimed her, and that meant working over all three holes as well as nipples and clit — at the very minimum.
And then there was his wolf, who wanted to punish her for hurting herself and her wolf.
His wolf knew damned well how fucking terrible it hurt to have the pack bonds severed, and his inner animal was still furious with her for doing it to herself.
So Knife was going to let his wolf come to the surface and feel as if he had a part in punishing her while Knife belted her.
He was smart enough not to share that with Tuesday, of course, because it wouldn’t be a punishment. Couldn’t be.
But his wolf needed it, so he’d let his wolf feel as if he got it.
He slipped out of bed, used the bathroom, and returned to find her sitting up, sheet pooled at her waist, looking delightfully rumpled and a little put out.
“Two mornings in a row without sex?” she asked.
He grinned. “Breakfast first, enough time to let it settle, and then you’ll spend the day in my ropes.”
Her scent bloomed into instant arousal mixed with happy anticipation.
“Do you want blueberry pancakes, or peach?” he asked.
“Whichever is faster.”
“They’re frozen, so that would be blueberry.”
After breakfast, they walked around the garage and discussed the most logical place for her office space, since she liked the idea of it being away from the house. He took some measurements and some pictures, and eyeballed where he could build a carport while he was at it.
And then told her, “Go upstairs and strip, use a glycerin suppository, and then…” he smiled at her. “You know how I want you waiting.”
She gave him a look that was half challenge, half heat, but headed up without argument. He went to his workshop to get the heavy piece of lead slag he used as a weight when he glued wood together, took his time tying a long piece of rope in a cage around it, and finally headed upstairs.
He was happy to see her standing naked under the pulleys, legs spread, arms behind her head, tits thrust forward.
Eventually, she’d have to challenge him.
He knew it was coming, and he was actually looking forward to transforming into a merciless disciplinarian so he could punish the defiance and disobedience right out of her.
But he was pleased she had the good sense not to test him this morning, and he took a second to appreciate her voluptuous tits and curvaceous ass, perfectly emphasized by this simple pose.
He started with the chest harness, wrapping rough hemp around her ribcage with deliberate care, placing the knots for maximum strain and irritation.
Next came her arms, bound securely behind her back and anchored to the harness, forcing her shoulders into that beautiful, straining arch he loved so much while pushing her lovely tits out.
He ran the crotch rope down between her legs in a tight V, taking the time to place the knots exactly right: two ropes framing her clit without touching it, coming together at a large knot jammed into the entrance of her cunt so the fibers would rub it raw, and another pressed directly over her tight little asshole.
A quick tie for a long rope to her right ankle, and then he lowered the ring hanging from the pulley until it was level with her ass. He tied her ankle off to it, then the chest harness.
A kiss to her temple, and he walked back to the wall, unlocked the pulleys, and carefully lifted her from the floor.
Her breath caught the moment the ropes took her full weight. He monitored her scent, drinking in the sharp spike of pain, the sweet thread of arousal beneath it, and the vinegary edge of fear when she realized just how badly this was going to hurt over time.
He used another piece of rope to tie her right leg higher, then higher still until it was elevated well above her chest, changing her center of gravity and tilting her entire body forward — reminding her exactly how helpless she was, driving home the fact she’d hang however he wanted her to.
He controlled everything while she suffered in his ropes.
Her left leg dangled free, and she clearly didn’t know what to do with it, moving it around, searching for relief that wouldn’t come. He’d fix that problem for her soon enough.
He stepped back and just looked at her.
Fuck, she was beautiful.
Suspended. Displayed. Offered up like living art. Her long hair cascaded toward the floor, her body stretched and straining in the rough hemp.
Her scent wrapped around him — pain and desperate need the two strongest, anticipation and fear threaded beneath.
She was still fighting, wasn’t even close to surrendering yet, but that was okay.
He looked forward to the victory of her capitulating to the ropes, the pain, and the unmitigated, incessant need.
He’d decided against a blindfold today. He wanted her completely present, so she’d feel every excruciating second. Every slow, building ache as her body gave way to gravity and the ropes became a living hell. Every lash, blow, strike, stretch, and abrasion.
His cock throbbed hard against his jeans, but he ignored it for now, and he circled her slowly, letting her feel his gaze like a physical touch.
The wolf was paying attention, so Knife let him rise closer to the surface so the beast in him could see and scent their mate offered up like this, suffering before they even started.
Ownership meant something different now, and he was going to savor every minute of this full, complete, indisputable declaration.
- - - ? - - -
Tuesday’s spine was forced into a wrenching backward arch, and every vertebra screamed. Her right leg was pulled up and sharply bent, the knee and thigh already strained and burning. Aching. Her left hip was heading the same direction but that pain was manageable. For now.
Her stomach was stretched taut, core muscles already trembling as they fought to keep some of her weight from hanging entirely on her shoulders and the chest harness. She knew her ab and back muscles would eventually give out, and when they did, the pain would become ten levels past unbearable.
Her left leg dangled uselessly. She tried bending it. Tried lifting it. There was nothing to do with it. It just hung there, adding its dead weight to the constant, shifting pull on her hip and lower back, while the hip and knee bitched about the angles being all wrong.
Minutes later, the bastard tied a rope to her right knee and pulled it outward. The new angle made the strain on that leg flare white-hot, and she couldn’t stop the pathetic whimper that escaped.
But then the sadistic motherfucker made everything infinitely worse, tying a heavy weight on her left ankle, dragging the leg downward and forcing her hip into an even more extreme, twisted angle — and it felt as if her joint was being slowly pried apart.
A long, broken whine tore from her throat and echoed back to her, as if her own sounds were taunting her.
She wanted to tell him how badly it hurt, how much worse it made everything, but she realized there was no need.
He knew exactly what he was doing, and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind he’d calculated every angle on every joint, and how to bring maximum stress to each.
How to make it so every breath, every tiny movement added to the relentless strain and agony.
“Tongue out.”
He stepped in close, placed chopsticks above and below her tongue, and tightened them down, looping the rubber bands over and over.
The sharp pressure made her eyes water even more, until tears threatened to spill.
She tried to pull back but there was nowhere to go.
The wood dug in hard, holding her tongue hostage outside her mouth, and she could already feel it drying out.
Eventually, even swallowing would be painful.
She’d wondered why he’d left her clit free, and thought it was so the rough, scratchy ropes would rub her raw all around it, but it all made sense when he put a suction bulb on her clit and squeezed the pump.
The suction grew stronger, pulling her clit impossibly tight.
It grew and grew, stretching the sensitive flesh until it throbbed with its own frantic heartbeat.
She gasped around the chopsticks, desperate for a relief she knew would not come.
He moved to her breasts next. The suction bulbs latched onto her already-tender nipples, drawing them deep into the glass with every pump. They swelled quickly, turning dark and aching, each pulse sending fresh sparks of pain that traveled straight to her swollen, throbbing clit.
He stepped away for a moment, his broad back blocking her view of whatever he was organizing at the folding table.
When he returned, he ripped all three suction bulbs off without warning and before she could even scream, he snapped a cruel clamp with tiny steel teeth onto her swollen clit.
The teeth sank in deep while the strong springs crushed every nerve ending.
Her screams were long and shrill. When she breathed in to scream again, she scented her own blood in the air.