Chapter 8 #2
Realizing this absolutely wasn’t happening again today, he pulled his hand free, added fresh lube, and switched to her asshole.
He worked his fingers in — three, four, thumb tucked tight.
He pressed harder, until he knew the strain on that upper leg’s knee and hip might hurt as much as her asshole, obscenely stretched around his hand.
Her screams were more frantic now, raw and desperate, and her body shook violently in the ropes.
And then, finally, her hole gave way. This one wasn’t protected by bones, so he only had to force the tissues wide.
Her asshole stretched impossibly around his hand, then shrank down to grip his wrist like a burning, clenching bracelet.
He groaned at the heat, the tightness, the way her body tried to push him out and pull him deeper at the same time.
He pulled out a few inches, watching her stretched ring strain around the widest part of his fist, then pushed back in nearly to his elbow.
He worked her slow and deep, feeling every flutter and desperate spasm around his wrist.
He patted her clit twice, and she took that as the permission he meant it to be, and she came unglued.
The orgasm hit her like a freight train.
Her asshole clamped down hard around his wrist, rhythmic, violent pulses that tried to crush his hand even as her empty pussy fluttered and leaked, opening and closing in helpless pulses.
Her whole body seized in the ropes, jerking and swinging, the heavy weight on her ankle adding to it.
Raw, fractured screams tore out of her chest while violent spasms rocked through her, the pleasure so intense it eclipsed everything else in her scent.
But he didn’t let her come down from it.
He snapped a clamp back on her clit, hung a weight from it, and kept his fist buried deep and in motion, friction and movement, fucking her asshole, hurting her to keep the orgasm going, keeping her riding the crest of that high until the sharp, metallic edge of pain fought hard against the thick, syrupy waves of pleasure.
Her body had finally surrendered everything to the overload, and he held her in the space for over ten minutes.
Every time her orgasm started to crest and fade, he twisted his fist, or pressed in deeper, or pulled his fist out to the knuckles to stretch her hole to the maximum — and dragged her right back up into another peak.
Her screams turned hoarse and constant, her body shaking uncontrollably in the ropes, sweat slicking her skin.
The weighted clamps on her nipples and clit swung wildly with every convulsion, adding fresh sparks of pain that only seemed to feed the pleasure higher.
He kept her riding it, refusing to let her crash, feeding her orgasm after orgasm until she was nothing but a sobbing, trembling, dripping mess hanging from his ropes. Her asshole milked his wrist in frantic, exhausted pulses, her body giving him everything she had left.
Only when her screams turned into broken, whimpering sobs did he finally ease his fist out, slow and careful, watching her ruined hole gape and flutter around nothing.
She was his. Completely his.
But he wasn’t finished with her yet. She needed a break, but the day wasn’t over for her.
He went downstairs to wash his hands and get one of the huge hands of ginger he’d been planning to make ginger beer with. He looked them over and grabbed the biggest.
While she hung in his ropes, suspended in pain, he took his time whittling the ginger into a good-sized plug.
She was still blind and deaf, and she had no idea what was going on around her. She could probably scent the ginger, may have known it was in the room, but she had no idea it was headed toward her asshole, when he was finally ready to insert it.
Before it was all the way in, a long, keening wail filled the room. Her scent was full of shock and surprise along with the pain.
He removed the clothespins from her breasts, and the tenor of her screams shifted register entirely with the savage return of blood to crushed and bruised tissue.
His cock filled and pulsed, wanting back inside her, but this wasn’t only about his needs.
No, today was a quest to find every edge she had and then press past it.
It was about taking her farther than she thought she could survive, until she was so thoroughly claimed there was no part of her he hadn’t touched and marked and fucking owned.
He considered her nipples and decided they needed suction bulbs for now. He’d let them season properly, let the suction set them on fire all over again before he tortured them again.
But her clit should be ready for him, so he removed the clamp and went at the fiery-hot little nub with his fingers, twisting and squeezing until she was sobbing, and then switched to the electric toothbrush, lifting the hood away so the bristles could directly abrade the already raw nerve endings.
She tried to hold still, but it wasn’t possible, and she went into motion, hopelessly trying to escape it. Her scent told the true story — frantic arousal fighting the torturous pain, her screams a mix of agony along with a pleasure she couldn’t bear.
She wasn’t going to orgasm from this though, so when the pain began overtaking the pleasure for real, he clamped it again and returned to her nipples.
The bulbs came off and he carefully snapped cruel, steel-toothed clamps on the base of each nipple, leaving the ends exposed for the electric toothbrush, which he used with slow, methodical patience, ramping her screams right back to the top, and he kept at it until they went ragged.
Eventually, he removed the clamps and used his hands again — pulling, twisting, squeezing with everything he had — because he wanted her to feel him in this, not just a tool. His hands. His strength. His decision to hurt her in the most personal, intimate ways.
And then his gaze fell on the leftover ginger.
The fingers he hadn’t needed. He clamped her nipples again, whittled some slivers of ginger, removed the clit clamp, and sadistically worked the slivers one at a time under the hood, tucking them in where they’d burn slowest and deepest, where she couldn’t shake them loose or squeeze them out.
Then put the clamp back on and waited for the heat to do its job — to brand his fucking will into the raw nerve endings of her most sensitive sexual organ.
The heat built slowly, moving from sinister warmth to a raging fire, and she went very still for a few seconds, processing, and then her hips tried to move and couldn’t while her sounds became louder and more desperate. Not screaming. Pleading.
He watched her and felt nothing but satisfied.
It reminded him the ginger plug in her ass had long since done its job. He pulled it free, replaced it with his cock, and was gratified to find the ginger had drawn things up after he’d fisted her, and he pounded her hard and fast.
Still, he switched to her cunt to finish, and was pleased to discover it was swollen and inflamed, making it so fucking tight he had to work to get his cock inside.
It took him a while to work up enough speed to orgasm, but he took his time before he once again emptied himself inside her, slapping her clamped clit to give her permission to come a few moments before he let loose.
When he finally stepped back, her asshole was practically begging to be stretched all over again, and it took nearly ten minutes to work the giant plug back in.
His cock was hard all over again by the time it seated, and he realized there was a hole he hadn’t paid anywhere near enough attention yet.
Shifters can’t get sick from ass-to-mouth, and his cock was clean anyway, but he swiped it with a wipe to show a little consideration before he walked to her front, gently removed the gag, fisted her hair, fed his cock past her lips, and crammed it down her throat.
She had no say in the pace, the depth, or the duration, and her body swung helplessly in the ropes with every vicious thrust.
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, and he fucked her face even harder while a dark, possessive satisfaction flooded his psyche.
He buried himself deep to come, but then pulled back and dumped the majority of his load into her mouth to force her to taste it, to have to choke and swallow around him to keep from spilling his seed and earning a punishment.
She gasped for oxygen when he pulled out, and then attempted speech, her voice hoarse and shattered. Wrecked.
“Please, Sir. Please. I beg for mercy.”
He breathed in her scent and knew he’d taken her farther than this before. She’d been in worse shape and hadn’t used her safeword.
This was her needing him to say no. Needing him to take the choice away — to refuse her, to hurt her even after she begged for mercy.
He lifted an earmuff, pulled the earplug, and asked, “Is it bad enough to ask for ketchup on your spaghetti?”
She clamped her mouth shut, and he replaced the earplug and earmuffs.
He offered her the straw for more electrolyte water before he inserted a bit gag and buckled it tight, because after her entreaty, Knife needed to prove to both of them she could take a lot more, and he was going to use every sensitive place on her body to fucking prove who her body belongs to now.