Chapter 20
Tuesday held her breath when he pulled out. Waiting.
Not even a second after her ass was free, before it had time to close, the bastard rubbed cinnamon oil all around her stretched, gaping rim.
The sharp, vicious burn flared instantly, like someone had poured liquid fire straight into her raw, abused hole.
She thrashed wildly in the ropes, a broken, guttural scream ripping from her throat as the oil sank deep into her sensitive, freshly-fucked flesh.
The merciless burn spread inside her like acid, making her asshole clench and spasm violently around nothing in a desperate, useless attempt to ease the searing pain.
She whimpered and shook, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, the fire so intense it felt like her body was trying to turn itself inside out.
“The cool thing about cinnamon oil,” he told her conversationally, “is that by morning your skin will have absorbed nearly all of it. At most, I’ll get a pleasantly warm tingle when I fuck you.
” She could hear him smiling. “However, I applied enough to give you a minor burn. You’ll still feel it tomorrow morning, but I won’t. ”
He coated her pussy with the burning oil next, working the liquid between her wide-open lips and all around the entrance to her hole with slow, deliberate fingers. Spreading and respreading the blistering fire like a painter making sure he didn’t miss any spots.
Her screams went crazy when he pulled the bulb from her clit, both because of the increased sensations when it came off, and because she knew what was coming.
His cruel fingers rubbed the fiery oil into her hood first, and then under it, directly onto her clit, coating every swollen, hypersensitive inch.
It felt like her clit fucking glowed in merciless, pulsing waves, and the agony of the fire engulfed her from the top of her mound all the way to her asshole.
She let out a long, keening whine when he pressed the massive plug against her ruined, burning asshole — but her screams turned frantic when she realized he’d lubed it with cinnamon oil.
She fought it with everything she had, but he pressed hard and forced the ribbed silicone into her, stretching her already-tender hole wider than his cock had, the fire sinking deep into her with every inch he worked inside her.
“All those little ribs let me get so much more oil onto it, and then into you,” he noted once it was in. “Don’t have to ask if you felt it.”
He patted the plug, wiggled it, and then pressed two fingers into her pussy. Then three. Four.
Her breathing grew ragged, and he pulled them out and flicked her clit. Hard.
She breathed out in relief when his fingers worked at the clamp on her right pussy lip, but he only moved it a little higher and clamped it right back on. Then the same with the left, moving them to fresh spots so the pain flared all over again.
She scented him closer. Near her face. Cinnamon burned her sinuses, and she shook her head.
It didn’t matter, though. A warm finger rubbed gently over her lips, and a second later, the vicious fire hit, igniting her lips like liquid flame, searing into the sensitive inner flesh as well — and every breath felt like she was inhaling embers.
He kissed her cheek. “Now all your fuckable holes can burn.”
Then he released her left leg.
Nothing else. Just the one leg. Ten seconds later, she couldn’t figure out what to do with it. Holding it up wasn’t an option, but letting it dangle strained her hip and knee. Not just strained them, fucking hurt them.
She folded up against her body and found a little relief, but she knew that wasn’t going to work for long.
When she heard him get into bed, a broken whimper slipped out before she could stop it.
Then another. Her whole body was on fire — clit, pussy, asshole, thighs, everything — and the need roaring through her was almost worse than the pain.
She was empty, aching, and desperate. Every nerve screamed for a release she wasn’t allowed to have.
Her hips twitched uselessly, and her breath came in short, needy little gasps.
She wanted to beg so bad it hurt her throat to hold the words back.
“I’m aware you didn’t come,” he said from the bed, voice low and amused.
“Submissives don’t always get what they want.
If you’re good tonight and hang there like a good girl without making noise so your Sir can get some sleep, I’ll probably allow an orgasm in the morning before breakfast, or maybe after.
If you wake me with whining, you won’t get one. ”
She hung there in the abyss of total darkness, the only sounds her own breathing, the creak of the ropes as she shifted, and various wildlife noises outside the large window.
Sound was all she had, because the cinnamon on her lips drowned out all smells.
Hours later, her supporting leg trembled with fatigue while the dangling one ached worse every minute. There was no good position for it. She tried bending the knee, straightening it, letting it hang. Nothing helped. Every attempt just loaded her hip and lower back with fresh, deep pain.
At the other end of her body, she had to deal with her head.
Holding it upright strained her neck and shoulders until the muscles burned.
Dropping it back stretched everything from her throat down through her abs in a long, aching line that turned breathing into difficult, tiring work.
She kept switching, trying to find relief, but there wasn’t any. Just different kinds of torment.
The cinnamon oil still burned everywhere he’d put it. A constant, scorching heat that refused to fade.
More hours passed.
The cuffs bit deeper with every tiny movement.
Her wrists and shoulders throbbed. Her right hip was no longer sitting in the joint right, and her pelvis was catastrophically being pulled in two directions at once.
The heavy weight on her ankle never stopped dragging, twisting her hip into that cruel angle.
Her clit and nipples pulsed and burned with a throbbing, eternal ache that kept her body humming with unsatiated arousal.
Because despite her predicament, she was so fucking horny.
Her empty pussy clenched desperately around nothing.
The burn from the cinnamon oil only made it worse, and every throb of her clit sent another wave of need through her.
She wanted to beg, to rub herself against anything.
She needed to come so badly it was a roar in her head, but she didn’t dare make a sound because she might die if he didn’t let her find release in the morning.
So she hung there, suffering in silence, every muscle screaming, every nerve ending on fire, her mind floating in that exhausted, aching, needy place where pain and want blurred together until she couldn’t tell which was which.
She took solace in the knowledge he wanted her to hurt for him.
He’d once told her the pain overnight seasoned her for him the next morning, like marinating steaks. After a night of bondage, he could easily hurt her just by fucking her, without the need for anything else.
But there was more to it, tonight. She’d asked him to put his vest on her, and now he was validating his ownership. Proving to both of them just how much of herself she was giving him.
So while every part of her body hurt and exhaustion pulled at her, the memory of the rich, dark scent of his sadism wrapped around the stark torment of her situation like a heavy bondage collar locking around her throat — comforting and terrifying.
- - - ? - - -
Knife set a light to blink at four in the morning. With the blindfold, she wouldn’t know he’d set an alarm.
He woke quickly, looked her over, and held a bucket for her to pee in, telling her, “If you don’t piss in the bucket, I’ll put a weight on the dangling leg for the rest of the motherfucking night.”
It came out gruffer than he intended, but it did the job.
He cleaned her up after, gave her some water with electrolytes, and put the left leg up and let the right one down.
She’d find it a relief for about five minutes, and then it would be worse than before.
He touched his tongue to her cunt, but the cinnamon was still too strong to fuck her, so he fastened clover clamps on her nipples and then clipped weights to them, dangling on long, thin chains that hung lower than her ass, so they’d swing every time she moved.
And he went back to bed.
He woke again a little after seven, put her right leg back up, and fucked her cunt while the huge plug was still in her ass. The weights on the nipple clamps swung wildly, and he could scent her need even over what was left of the cinnamon.
His girl was beyond exhausted, but she still needed to come nearly as much as she needed to breathe.
But he didn’t give her permission while he fucked her. He knew she was close, and he warned her once not to. She held onto it, but he knew it’d been close.
Which meant she needed a reward, and for a masochist, a painful orgasm is the ultimate.
So he pulled the butt plug nearly all the way out, holding it right at its widest point until her rim stayed stretched obscenely around it. He squeezed her swollen, angry red clit between thumb and forefinger, pulling it away from her body until the tension made her whole pelvis tremble.
“Come, my beautiful little painslut,” he growled. “Come apart for me.”
She shattered.
Her scream tore through the room and her body locked hard around the thick plug. Her cunt opened and closed, spasming with nothing in it.
Every convulsion made the weighted clamps on her nipples swing wildly, adding fresh sparks of pain that only drove her higher.
Eventually, when the orgasm slowed, he squeezed her clit harder and worked it with cruel fingers, tugging and rolling all those little nerve endings while her hips jerked helplessly in the ropes.
He watched her come apart with dark, possessive satisfaction — this woman who’d given everything up for him was now hanging from his pulleys, sobbing and screaming her pleasure despite her pain because he demanded it.
Mine.
The word pulsed through him with every brutal contraction of her body.
She was his in a way no one else would ever understand.
She’d severed her pack bonds, walked away from safety and family to run straight into his arms, trusting him to be enough.
And here she was, exhausted, burning, wrung out from a night of suffering — still giving him every last piece of herself without hesitation.
He loved her so fucking much it hurt.
He kept working her clit through the long, rolling orgasm, pulling the plug in and out in short, punishing strokes to keep her at the peak.
When her screams finally started to fade into exhausted whimpers, he put a harness on her that would hold the plug in, so there was no way it could come out, and released her from the ropes.
While he took the suspension cuffs off and replaced them with everyday cuffs, he told her, “We’re going for a run, and you still don’t have permission to speak.
You’re allowed an exercise bra, whatever kind of shorts you want to run in, socks, and your choice of shoes.
Brush your teeth and put your hair in a ponytail. No makeup. Chapstick if you need it.”
He looked at her a second. “If I’m missing something you need, you may speak the item or items, but nothing else.”
She shook her head, and he nodded. “Get to it.”
For wolves, a four-mile run is nothing.
But this was two miles down the mountain and then two miles back up, and she was exhausted and sore.
He didn’t let her slack, though. He’d told her before they started he would keep a count, adding to it every time she wasn’t keeping up.
He went slower than normal, a pace she should’ve been able to keep, but he owed her seven strikes by the time they returned.
She’d seen the prison strap before. He’d explained how he’d carved the two pieces of hickory for the handle, cut a piece of heavy rubber from an old industrial conveyor belt, sealed it between the hardwood and riveted it together. And he’d explained this was only brought out for punishment.
His little fucktoy was about to get her first lesson from his favorite teaching tool, and Knife was looking forward to hearing her screams.